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
- For someone who assumed a word carries its meaning alone, what changes once the sentence becomes the real unit?
- Isn't it plainly false that words mean nothing alone, when a single name can call a whole thing to mind?
- How would you tell the meaning a word truly has from the meaning it merely borrows from the sentence around it?
- What habit of thought must a person break to stop treating single words as the bricks that language is built from?
- If the sentence comes first, how do we ever learn the words that make it up, one by one, as children plainly do?