The Ninth Circle: Treachery (Cantos XXXII-XXXIII)

He doth accuse himself. Nimrod is this,

Through whose ill counsel in the world no more

One tongue prevails. But pass we on, nor waste

Our words; for so each language is to him,

As his to others, understood by none.

Canto XXXII

"Hic, ne deficeret, metuens avidusque videndi 

Flexit amans oculos, et protinus illa relapsa est, 

Bracchiaque intendens prendique et prendere certans 

Nil nisi cedentes infelix arripit auras."

Ovid, Metamorphoses

"La langue est un systéme dont toutes les parties peuvent et doivent être considérés dans leur solidarité synchronique."

Saussure, Course in General Linguistics

Is it possible to mean something with the words that we use? Is it possible for language to have meaning, and to hold it? If so, where does language get its meaning from? What is the source of meaning? If language is built upon the foundation of meaning, what then is the bedrock upon which meaning is situated? Is it simply turtles all the way down?

There are those who would advocate for an infinite regress of meaning in language. After all, meaning is a word, just like any other word. To search for a meaning of meaning that exists outside of language might not be logically possible. Words get their meanings from other words. It could be that there is no single point to which meaning may be traced back to, as a fountainhead or locus of meaning. Perhaps words only mean what they mean because of the total language within which they find themselves.

Superficially, this line of questioning is a merely an academic curiosity from a niche field. But if its challenges hold true, the broader philosophical implications are vast. Effectively, structuralism amounts to a transcendental nihilism: a denial not only of meaning but of the very possibility of meaning. But were meaning itself truly meaningless, surely even that wouldn't mean a damn thing.

Meaning is not meaningless. There is meaning: both in the world and in the words we use. Where does it come from, and where does it go? This is perhaps the most elusive question we can ask. Like Orpheus trying to lead his beloved Eurydice out of the underworld, if we glance back at her too soon, she shall be lost forever. It is this way with meaning: she is always close to hand, yet if we reach to touch her, she slips away and our hands grasp nothing but the air.

How can we possibly be satisfied with this? If our meaning shall disappear the moment we turn back to grasp at her, how can we be certain she is with us at all? Does this not demand a courage too great for any man - to ever believe, yet never even try to see? Does it not ask of us to renounce our very humanity - for what is man without his curiosity?

We should be careful to understand Orpheus, for we are in his position ourselves. Leading our beloved meaning forth and out from the netherworld of obscurity and vagueness, toward the very light of day, can we really trust that the devil has been forthright in his deal? What if it was merely a ruse to get us to leave willingly without our prize. Don't look behind, he says - because there is nothing there! Shall we risk bringing only a phantom of meaning into the light just because we were naive enough to place our faith in the devil?

If meaning is always close to hand and yet slips away the moment we grasp for it, what leads us to believe that there is any meaning at all? It could very well be that meaning itself is an illusion. Could meaning be a mere article of faith, to be accepted and never questioned, lest it be revealed as vacuous dogma?

There is meaning both in the world and in the words we use. During pivotal moments in our lives, we celebrate that something meaningful has come to pass. Birthdays, graduations, marriages, funerals: these significant events are often accompanied by ceremonial words. Happy birthday, congratulations, 'til death do us part, ashes to ashes, dust to dust: these words and events may be repeated endlessly and grow to become mundane mere simulacra, devoid of significance.

Although meaning may be forgotten, it is never lost. If but one person speaks the ceremonial words with sensitivity and conviction, we are immediately reminded of the vital significance of what is marked by the occasion. A thousand people may congratulate us in passing and it means nothing. But if one congratulates us in earnest, the mundane and trite are forgotten, such that we may recall the sincerity of the original intent of the words.

When we attend to our language in its use, the authenticity of our encountering language connects us with the very font of meaning, and we are empowered to bring forth that which lies latent and ready always in our words.

Meaning may be forgotten, but it is never lost. It is locked deep within the words we use, ready to come to light if the right speaker comes along to subtly coax it to the surface. On this point, the task of the poet and the philosopher is the same, for both strive to lure meaning and truth out from the deep and into the light.

Perhaps we are close to going too far. If truth is a woman, she is not just any woman. If she is to be seduced, first we must know something about her, lest we miss the mark entirely and foolishly seduce the wrong woman.

We are after meaning herself, not simply truth. We do wish to say true things about meaning, and to discover the truth about meaning, but we do not want to mistake meaning for truth, or truth for meaning. It would be an easy error to make: after all, meaning and truth do tend to frequent the same circles. It would be easy to accidentally seduce truth, bring her to bed, and only later discover that we took the wrong girl home.

We should not get bogged down in our journey by asking such a seemingly relevant question as: 'What is the truth of meaning?'. We are not principally or primarily interested in the relationship between meaning and truth, for we are not in pursuit of the truth of meaning, but rather meaning herself.

The meaning of meaning is not just another meaning. In a world overpopulated of dictionaries listing off endless words, each with their corresponding meanings, each appearing within its stark white pages with weight equal to every word around it, it is exceedingly easy to forget that some meanings are more meaningful than others, others more malleable than some, and still more escape the bounds of every reason. It would be wise for us to keep this in mind, and to be watchful of the manifold ways our words are actually used in this strange world, lest we start chasing conjured phantasms or building castles of logic and sand.

Perhaps it would be better if dictionaries left certain words undefined, leaving the user to define them as they will. That is certainly more akin to how things work in the real world. Our dictionaries would have us believe that for every word there is a single and certain definition. In reality the meaning of a word is neither single nor certain, but rather manifold and fluid. Meaning is not otherworldly, but practically and pragmatically of this world. Language is developed by its users, and it is always in development. This continuous use of language determines its living pulse. For language lives as its speakers live, grows as its cultures flourish, and withers as its higher significance fades from memory.

Perhaps we have again come close to going too far. We are along the road to meaning. If it will benefit us to explore meanings in this journey, then we welcome the chance. But we must never lose sight of our true objective and destiny: to arrive with understanding at meaning itself.

Canto XXXIII

"Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent."

Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus

Must we truly resign ourselves to silence if we cannot speak with precision and clarity? We do not deny that what we wish to discuss is naturally beyond the realm of discussion, but we cannot allow it to remain in silence, for we cannot permit silence on a scale of this magnitude.

Although our concern is for matters inexplicable, we cannot allow the mere impossibility of our task to bring cessation to all attempts. For the transcendent is essentially higher: higher than the internal logic and consistency of language, higher than the certainty of empirical confirmation, and higher than anything our limited experiences can dream or realize. Therefore, our highest concern within this discourse is not accuracy, consistency, nor even plausibility. We have no concern higher than the absolute and unequivocal affirmation of that single unifying something which dwells within us all, that transcendent something that strives ever to find expression, regardless of laws and logic, and by any means necessary.

We will risk misunderstanding, for should we succeed in communicating our understanding to just one other soul, it will be worth the misunderstanding of a thousand. Admittedly, our topic of discussion is vague and resistant to analysis. Unfortunately and inevitably so, for it is that which stands truly and wholly outside of transitory experience, and thereby also without of the sovereign authority of language.

But if we know it, we have discovered the grounding beneath everything that holds true. If we know it, we have unveiled the fountain from whence all meaning springs. If we know it, we dwell content knowing there is purpose, beauty, and love.

We readily acknowledge all risks opened by this discussion. We accept that our endeavor is likely futile. We freely recognize that we are much more likely to be misunderstood than understood, confused than clarified, denigrated than praised. We accept that our attempts could put our lives in mortal danger. We do not recoil, not for an instant. For once we have become aware of the constancy of this presence within us, we realize that nothing else matters outside of it.

We may be called mad by many and certified insane by more, but this does not matter. We may even be persecuted and chased to the world's end for our understanding, but this does not matter. Once this spirit is revealed, we become quickly aware of a high duty which surpasses the bonds of tradition, duty and obligation to become the very purpose of our lives. We know that it is our purpose to transmit this understanding to even one other, even if it costs us everything. For this is no mere thing, akin to and dwelling among other things. Indeed, it is everything, and nothing else is meaningful without it.

We principally and primarily wish to speak to that which we cannot speak about clearly. In the vast majority of cases it would be better to say nothing at all than to say something incomplete and inaccurate. For our subject we take the exception.

Silence is not an answer to our questions. On these matters too much silence is imprudent, for if we turn our ears deaf to false answers, the question itself is muted and relegated to obscurity. Such silence is worse than censorship, for it is the silencing not only of error, but of all attempts to truth.

It is easy to talk about the world around us, since we share it in common. It is much more difficult to discuss the world within us. We wish to speak of our inner world, but the only language we have was developed specifically and only to cope with the shared world and its necessities. Inevitably, we despair, for our words were not built capable of expressing the one thing most worthy and most needful of expression. It is for this reason that we need art. Only art is capable of directly accessing and addressing our internal experiences, cutting through needless skepticism and analysis to arrive directly at that heart of meaning which is inspiration.

Shall we relegate our concerns to the realm of art alone? Or are we justified in attempting to address such matters by way of analysis? Shall philosophy renounce its claims to the ineffable higher truths, and allow its scope to be so narrowed as to become the concern of a mere niche group of specialists? Truly, this transformation is already well under way. In the name of science and respect, philosophy has gradually sacrificed its artistry in favor of rigor and technical proficiency. But the beating heart of truth dwells still within its bounds, poised and ready to meet all prospectors who have the requisite patience and courage to endure its trials.

Is it responsible for us to allow the scope of philosophy to be so drawn back and limited? Would it be wise for us to simply do away with our will to a higher truth, and allow the unspeakable to remain forever unspoken? As beings possessed of the will to expression, how would this kind of cultural shift affect the inner lives of our people? Would we not all have to become artists in order to bring our various wills into harmony? Would we not each have to find a separate truth, so as to satisfy our various needs to be unique? Although we are all endowed with a deep and thriving internal life, are we also equally possessed of the ability to give it expression? Certainly we all need art in our lives. But are we all capable of becoming artists?