Meaning Lives in the Sentence
Words do not mean anything one at a time. The complete sentence is the smallest thing that actually says something, and the isolated word is a piece abstracted from it, a reversal of how we assume language is built.
The natural assumption is that we build sentences up out of independently meaningful words. Bentham reverses it. The sentence, not the word, is the smallest unit that genuinely asserts anything; the single word is an abstraction, a part torn from the whole where meaning actually lives. Written around 1813 to 1816 beside his fragments on logic and ontology, the essay was long not read as philosophy of language at all. It is now recognised as a strikingly early statement of a principle modern logic and linguistics would independently arrive at, that meaning is a property of propositions first and of words only derivatively.
- legal theory
- philosophy of language
- language
- communication
Enter a dialogue
- Even 'snow is white' asserts four things: the thing, its quality, the link between them, and that the link exists. Why count so many?
- Isn't it plainly false that words mean nothing alone, when a single name can call a whole thing to mind?
- You say every word must be understood as part of some assertion. When someone shouts a single word like 'Help', what is the assertion?
- Even the rudest speaker talks in whole statements, and single words came ages later by analysis. Why would isolating a single word take ages?
- If the sentence comes first, how do we ever learn the words that make it up, one by one, as children plainly do?