Why a ship is a ship
When I was a young boy I, like all kids, used to scheme to put off bedtime for that extra ten, twenty, or two minutes. One night after tucking me in to bed and wishing me goodnight, I called out to my dad just before he could flick the light off. “Why do we call a ship, a ship?” I asked him. With a quick stutter he asked me to repeat the question. “I mean why do we call a ship a ship instead of calling it a giraffe?” My father was on to my desperate efforts and so he answered matter-of-factly, “It just is. And you know that. Now time for bed.” And with that, the light was flicked off. But I stayed awake, pondering my question and the dissatisfaction I felt with the answer I had been given.
The depth of what I was asking was likely not something I quite grasped that night, but that question set the course. My interest in the names of things and the human person were set. And the answer to the question “Who am I?” lay somewhere down the path of words, as I relate to them, as I use them, and as they define me.
Professor Bob Doede introduced me to the great American writer Walker Percy, who explained language as relationally possessing a triadic interaction. Essentially I, the signifier, use a word, the sign, to point out a thing, the signified. This is a triangular relationship and it occurs in every name given.
In a triadic, semiotic relationship, the signifier — whoever’s speaking — speaks a word, which then means a thing. But if the speaker attempts to speak of the self, that relationship is no longer triadic because the signifier and that which is attempting to be signified, are one and the same. This is more than just a dilemma of semiotics. It is the dilemma of the self, of identity.
Walker Percy explained it best in Lost in the Cosmos:
“Semiotically, the self is literally unspeakable to itself. One cannot speak or hear a word which signifies oneself, as one can speak or hear a word signifying anything else, e.g., apple, Canada, 7-Up. The self of the sign-user can never be grasped, because, once the self locates itself at the dead center of its world, there is no signified to which a signifier can be joined to make a sign. The self has no sign of itself.”
What reads like a verbal stumble is really quite simple. What Percy is describing might be best summed in this simple statement: I am lost, I am scared, who am I?
Because I cannot define myself, something outside of me must speak into my life and say, “There you are. I found you. And I know you.”
Essentially, I believe the voice to which one responds is the voice which defines. If the world defines us, we are the world. Or if our parents define us, we are our parents.
But, language only enables us to define so much. We look at an object, we share a word, and only a near complete understanding is held in common. When I speak the word ship, you think of quite a specific object. Yet it may range in color or slight variations in size and shape. So while no other animal possesses the syntactical abilities and depth of definition we do, there is limit.
This world is filled with those willing to entangle definitions, roping meaning with status and social clout. But, when we respond to the world or to strangers who accept and reject readily, we ascribe value to words which define superficially. We permit strangers to calculate our value on a relative metric that sits absolute within our hearts. “My nose is not straight, I am a lesser man,” or, “She does not desire me, I must not be desirable.” You see, the words we ascribe or permit to be ascribed to ourselves will always be incomplete, because you cannot be summed up. A sign-giver is only capable of using words, and with words, you are weakly defined, tragically purposed, and infinitely unfulfilled. Why? Because it is outside the ability of one person to define another.
There is seemingly only one word for which we cannot find. It is a word gone missing. Perhaps it was that first word, that one in the beginning that they say was with God. It is the word for the self. But what if God supplied that word, maybe the one that was there in the beginning, that one that was with God and was God, but somehow seems to have gone missing now? Perhaps that word would suffice in adequately defining me. Whether Christ has not found me or I have not found Christ I do not know. But he seems good, and if what they say is true, then he knows me, and I will keep listening and waiting for that voice—the voice of the one that knows me, the one that knows why we call a ship, a ship.
Yikes. While looking at possible Universities to attend I came across this article and found the title moderately intriguing. Perhaps that intrigue was fueled by my ‘inability’ to sleep and the ensuing lack of clear thinking. But here are a few words that I have with the intention of holding a certain standard of writing and thought (and when I say the word ‘few,’ I use it incorrectly). The Bible says a wise man consults many advisors… With that in mind: Have somebody edit before you post essays. Somebody with a proven and vast knowledge of writing and communication if possible. I, who by no means am such a person, spotted many flaws in your essay with the limited knowledge I do possess. For starters, readers cannot go two sentences before spotting error, “One night after tucking me in to bed and wishing me goodnight, I (wow, you tucked yourself into bed and wished yourself goodnight? Impressive) called out to my dad just before he could flick the light off.” Perhaps it may have been written, “One night, *after my dad finished* tucking me into bed and wishing me “Goodnight,” I called out to him just as he was about to flick the light off (or flick off the light).” I’m sure you spot the error(s).
The reasoning in several places is invalid, for example, “Essentially, I believe the voice to which one responds is the voice which defines. If the world defines us, we are the world. Or if our parents define us, we are our parents.” Taking this sort of thinking it would follow that because God defines us, we are God. Or if a girl defines me, I am the girl. Not gonna lie…That frightens me… :P Although I’m quite sure of what you are trying to say there, it is false to make the word ‘respond’ equal to ‘obey.’ We all respond to the world and our parents, the question is how do we respond (which you actually confirm later on in your essay)?
You said so many words, and said so little – but if you said more than a little, I heard less than you intended. :)
A tip? Focus more on making the article simple to understand for readers. For example, the word ‘syntactical’ is not going to be understood by the majority of the English speaking world, (and not understood by ANY of the non-English speaking world, naturally. :P)
“A sign-giver is only capable of using words, and with words, you are weakly defined, tragically purposed, and infinitely unfulfilled. Why? Because it is outside the ability of one person to define another.” What is a sign-giver and how do they relate to the point you’re trying to make? Why am I weakly defined with/by words? Explain what ‘tragically purposed’ means, and what is ‘infinitely unfulfilled’ (other than a redundancy, of course as the unfulfilled is simply unfulfilled…perhaps you mean will forever be unfulfilled? I do not know)? And you say here that it is outside of the ability of one person to define another, but earlier, if I am not mistaken, you said that it was only possible for one person to define another: “Because I cannot define myself, something outside of me must speak into my life” and similarly within your quotation of the ‘Lost in the Cosmos.’ Furthermore, in your final paragraph (note I did not call it a ‘conclusion’) you say that ‘(Christ) seems good’…and here we go again attempting to define something outside ourselves again so now this reads a bit as we define Christ/God. Here things can get rather intriguing since some people will say that God is the only entity whose reason for being exists within Himself. I know, this one sometimes makes me go cross-eyed too.
“There is seemingly only one word for which we cannot find. It is a word gone missing.” Who says a word has ‘gone missing’? How would we even know that a word went missing even if it had gone missing? I think what’s gone missing is sound speech and logic and elementary writing where we clearly support our claims and explain what we are actually trying to say, why it is important, how we can use that information to enrich our lives (and yes, how we ought to avoid run-on sentences like mine, ha)…Those types of things. However, I would be interested in hearing what the answer to those questions were/are. Namely, what is your point? What is your intention? All I had (and naturally I do not know you and I hope this was not your intent) was the impression that you hoped that you would come across as intelligent in the eyes of your peers through the use of obscure thought and – there are more humorous words I could use here but I shall refrain and simply use – big words. I did not perceive a clearly stated (or any stated, for that matter) moral or something the reader can take and apply to his or her life or anything that might point them closer to and deeper their understanding of God.
So, in short. What is the point? Why ought we to have read the article and why was it important? If there is a moral, how are we to understand it fully and follow it?
Yeah, I’d imagine my own ‘essay’ here wasn’t written properly but I do imagine it will all be rather clearly understood at the least. Hope I did not come across as grumpy or that! I only wish my own English instructors would have been more critical with me so I would have greater ability then I possess now. So I pray my next instructor will be as brutal as I am with others writings! (Actually, hopefully even more-so…as I desire to learn as completely as possible in order to write and communicate best).
Have a great weekend!
John E.
P.S. I love your last name…is it Norwegian? Scandinavian I’m sure.
“So, in short. What is the point? Why ought we to have read the article and why was it important? If there is a moral, how are we to understand it fully and follow it?”
I could ask you the same thing…
Hi John,
Thank you for your response. Feedback, even if it’s critical, is always good to hear. I’m sorry that my article didn’t quite do it for you or that I lost you in highfalutin language. But in truth, what I was hoping to do in that article was to tell a bit of my story, and point the reader toward an understanding of personal identity that is not commonly conceived. I think we look at ourselves by asking questions like, “Who am I?” but don’t consider the possibility that you do not define yourself directly. In short, your identity is a composite (a compound or compilation of many parts), of the affirmations of others. This idea, if adopted, would have a huge impact on how we view ourselves, right?
Firstly, in regards to your comments on my writing style, use of language, and poor grammar, I apologize. Perhaps that is something I need to work on. I will attach below the unedited copy of my article which I believe will communicate the voice I intended for the piece. There were necessary pauses lost in editing, which originally (or at least I hoped) moved the reader through the article at a slower pace. It is not as academic as it is narrative. I was hoping to take the reader somewhere, and to be honest, I believe that was lost in some of the editing that occurred. Or perhaps I took too much license in my writing style–that is also possible.
Secondly, the basic principles of semiotics are a difficult concept to simplify and so I took a risk attempting to do so, but I don’t regret it. I may have lost some (or all) readers and perhaps I should have refined and edited my ideas, but I believe language understood through semiotic principles is a great means for talking about the human person. The original title to my article was, “Why We Call a Ship a Ship,” not, “Why a Ship is a Ship,” you see the imperative word “call” is essential in my opinion. It’s all about the naming of things not as much about the thing in itself. So when I say “Essentially, I believe the voice to which one responds is the voice which defines. If the world defines us, we are the world. Or if our parents define us, we are our parents.” I am not saying, as you proposed, that if we apply this to God, then we ourselves are God. What I’m saying is that God would then by the defining voice in your life. God would be the author of your identity. Does that make any more sense? That was the crux of my argument so I’m really sorry that I didn’t effectively communicate that. I’m sorry.
Thirdly, when I wrote, “There is seemingly only one word for which we cannot find. It is a word gone missing.” It was an attempt at allusion (not illusion, mind you). I was referencing “that one in the beginning that they say was with God.” I’m talking about Christ. I’m saying that the word for the self, the way that we might most truly know ourselves, might be found in that word that was with God and was God. It’s all about Christ, John. I’m not exactly a Christian per se but I’m searching things out pretty hard right now. I’m drawn to the idea that Christ defines us. That we might enter into that kind of a triadic relationship (Christ being the author of our definition rather than our peers, parents, or the media)! I really hope that I’ve communicated more effectively in this reply than in the article, because “the point” of my article is something I care about.
Finally, yes my name is Norwegian. I’m glad you like it. I suppose I’ll keep it.
Thanks again for your thoughts, John. My writing has developed over my time at Trinity but that’s not to say I don’t have miles more to go. I really recommend this school if you’re considering it. The professors are wonderful and the community that is fostered on our campus is unparalleled. I’m not sure if you’re in the area or not but if you would ever like to meet and hear more about it, I would love to talk. My e-mail is: michael.biornstad@gmail.com
Below is the original article as I intended it. *Inside scoop: I wrote it with a slight southern drawl*
Best wishes, John.
Sincerely,
Michael Biornstad
Here’s the original unedited version of the article. Mind you, editing is a difficult task and I am grateful for all the work of the Mars’ Hill staff. They’re wonderful people and this article would have been too long unedited; however, I think the original preserves a voice that I was really trying to communicate. Thanks for the comments John and Kevin (love you bro)!
Why We Call a Ship, a Ship
By Michael Biornstad
When I was a young boy I used to, like all kids, scheme to put off bedtime for that extra ten, twenty, or two minutes. One night after tucking me in to bed and wishing me goodnight, I called out to my dad just before he could flick the light off. “Why do we call a ship, a ship?” I asked him. With a quick stutter he asked me to repeat the question. “I mean why do we call a ship a ship instead of calling it a giraffe?” My father was on to my desperate efforts and so he answered matter-of-factly, “It just is. And you know that. Now time for bed.” And with that, the light was flicked off. But I stayed awake, pondering my question and the dissatisfaction I felt with the answer I had been given.
The depth of what I was asking was likely not something I quite grasped that night, but that question set the course. My interest in the names of things and the human person were set. And the answer to the question, “Who am I?” lay somewhere down the path of words, as I relate to them, as I use them, and as they define me.
As I’ve grown older, I likely give that late night question to my father more depth and credit than it’s due; however, if one looks at language and our use of verbal signs, the question of, “Why do we call a thing, a thing?” really does mean something significant.
Prof Bob Doede introduced me to the great American writer, Walker Percy, who explained language as relationally possessing a triadic interaction. Essentially I—the signifier, use a word—the sign, to point out a thing—the signified. This is a triangular relationship and it occurs in every name given. My late night question to my father was, “Why do we use signs.” And the answer is that it enables me to share in common the knowledge of a thing. If I say, “The ship set sail,” no one imagines a giraffe floating in the water. A ship brings to mind a specific thing—a ship.
You see, language enables us to define. We look at an object, we share a word, and a near complete understanding is held in common. When I speak the word ship, you don’t envision a paddle boat or a tugboat or even a yacht. You think of quite a specific object. Though it may range in color or slight variations in size and shape, the fact remains that a single word permits a common understanding with a high degree of accuracy. No other animal possesses the syntactical abilities and depth of definition which we do, and I think it indicates something quite incredible when taken one step further in analysis—analysis of the self.
There is only one word for which we cannot speak of. It is a word gone missing. Perhaps it was that first word, that one in the beginning that they say was with God. It is the word for the self. Bear with me. In a triadic, semiotic relationship, the signifier (whoevers speaking), speaks a word, which then means a thing. But if the speaker attempts to speak of the self that relationship is no longer triadic because the signifier and that which is attempting to be signified, are one and the same. This is more than just a dilemma of semiotics. It is the dilemma of the self. Of your identity. Of your soul.
Walker Percy explained it best,
Semiotically, the self is literally unspeakable to itself. One cannot speak or hear a word which signifies oneself, as one can speak or hear a word signifying anything else, e.g., apple, Canada, 7-Up. The self of the sign-user can never be grasped, because, once the self locates itself at the dead center of its world, there is no signified to which a signifier can be joined to make a sign. The self has no sign of itself. [Walker Percy, “Lost in the Cosmos,” 106-107.]
What reads like a verbal stumble is really quite simple. What Percy is describing might be best summed in this simple statement: I am lost, I am scared, who am I?
You see, what semiotics has taught me most effectively is that I do not define myself. Rather something outside of me must speak into my life and say, “There you are. I found you. And I know you.” Essentially, I believe the voice to which one responds is the voice which defines. If the world defines us, we are the world. Or if our parents define us, we are our parents. So to with friends and even strangers. And I believe it is quite clear the potential detriment and destruction that can occur when one is defined by the whirlwind flight of the callous, careless world.
This world is filled with those willing to entangle definitions. Rope meaning with status and social clout. But, I for one believe this to be a perilous decision. Peril of hope and purposeful significance that is. When we respond to the world or to strangers who accept and reject readily, we ascribe value to words which define superficially. This is what I believe to be the power of culture and media and the weakness of the individual. We permit strangers to calculate our value on a relative metric that sits absolute within our hearts. “My nose is not straight, I am a lesser man,” or, “My clothes are not as new as his, my value is not as great as his,” or even, “She does not desire me, I must not be desirable.” You see, the words we ascribe or permit to be ascribed to ourselves will always be incomplete, because you cannot be summed up. You cannot be defined by words. You are more than individual qualities, particular characteristics, or nuances which can be summated in language. Every other thing in existence can be adequately defined by a single word, but not you.
So, if you permit yourself to be defined by another individual, a sign-giver only capable of using words, you are weakly defined, tragically purposed, and infinitely unfulfilled. Why? Because it is outside the ability of one person to define another. Your wife or husband, will not complete you. They are one person, living with the same desperation you feel. By all means, commiserate in the struggle of existence, but do not err in complicating existence by conflating ultimate meaning with the significance found in relating to another.
You see, as a boy, I wanted to know the meaning of a ship, but now as I’ve aged some, I desire something more. To know the meaning of me. But there does not seem to be an agreeing community, putting forth my definition, and to be quite frank, I am damn well pleased with that fact for the very reasons stated prior. Yet, my satisfaction in an individuality undefined by my peers, is accompanied by a concern for the fact that there may very well be a lacking definition altogether. Who is my sign-giver if not me?
But permit me to pose the question which may stand as an answer to the one above. What would it mean to respond to the voice of God? I can’t say that I know, although I have listened most intently for it and I’m not certain but I believe I heard a whisper. But what if God supplied that word, maybe the one that was there in the beginning, that one that was with God and was God, but somehow seems to have gone missing now? Perhaps that word would suffice in adequately defining me. Whether Christ has not found me or I have not found Christ I do not know. But he seems good, and if what they say is true, that he knows me… Well, I suppose I will keep listening and waiting for that voice—the voice of the one that knows me, the one that knows why we call a ship, a ship.
As a huge Walker Percy fan, it was great to see this writer give him some attention. Overall, an exceptional grasp of his lengthy and dense section in Lost in the Cosmos on semiotics.
Percy, a Kierkegaardian if there ever was one, was often misunderstood by his peers and attacked for being irrational or paradoxical. Kierkegaard himself was given even worse treatment and found zero acceptance in the academic community of his day. One of the major criticisms levelled at Kierkegaard back in the day (and still to this day) could be summed up as “What’s the point?”.
If I was you, I would take Jon’s criticism as a compliment.
Good work.