1. -University of Northern Colorado
Greeley, Colorado
MEANING IN LIFE AND THE LIFE OF MEANING
A Thesis/Capstone
Submitted in Partial Fulfillment
for Graduation with Honors Distinction and the
Degree of Bachelor of Arts / Science
David Berger
College of Humanities and Social Sciences
May 2015

2. Signature Page
MEANING IN LIFE AND THE LIFE OF MEANING
PREPARED BY:
David Berger
APPROVED BY:
Thomas Trelogan
HONORS ADVISOR:
Thomas Trelogan
HONORS DIRECTOR:
Loree Crow
RECEIVED BY THE UNIVERSITY THESIS/CAPSTONE
PROJECT COMMITTEE ON:
May 2015

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Abstract
Semiotics is the study of how meanings are interpreted; it is the study of the signification of what
is significant. As a young discipline, semiotics is now at the forefront of the development of
philosophy (Cobley, 2010). The insights provided by writers on semiotics are current and thus
have a closeness, rather than being old and seeming distant. For instance, “Semiotics of Nature”
provides a biologically centered foundation for thinking of man as a “semiotic animal”
(Hoffmeyer, 2010) “Semioethics” articulates a semiotically centered concept of responsibility
(Ponzio and Petrelli, 2010). A strong philosophical paper needs to draw from both kinds of
sources: the recent scholarly work as well as the older theoretical foundations. As I delved into
this subject, I found the semiotic approach in philosophy to be the most revealing when it comes
to matters of language and its relationship to reality—and here I mean reality in the sense of the
way things bear themselves. Reality here takes on the richer sense, where what is perceived is
constructed as such—that is, made out to be in such-and-such a way. More importantly, this
approach constitutes a broad enough scope in its questions to encapsulate the full breadth of my
topic of inquiry. This thesis therefore has two main aspects: 1) The reasons and reasoning behind
taking a semiotic approach to life, and 2) the implications for such an approach, primarily framed
in metaphysics and ethics. The implications I focus on are mainly pragmatic, as this work lays an
empirical foundation for what I have termed our semiotic responsibility. The exploration will
also provide the reader with the opportunity to find a sense of the limits of language, and therein
may lie a mystic experience—in other words, a familiarity with the ineffable.

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I would like to thank Tom Trelogan for being a more than excellent mentor and friend.
I would also like to thank Loree Crow for helping with this whole process.
Special Credit goes to Jack Temkin for providing me with much excellent conversation that
helped inspire these ideas.

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Table of Contents
Title Page .......................................................................................................................................1
Signature Page ...............................................................................................................................2
Abstract .........................................................................................................................................3
Acknowledgements .......................................................................................................................4
Introduction ...................................................................................................................................6
Definitions .....................................................................................................................................9
Semiotic Theory ..........................................................................................................................23
The Human Animal, Primate Powers ..........................................................................................23
Semiotics of Nature (Biosemiotics) ............................................................................................27
Structure of Structuring ...............................................................................................................31
Implications .................................................................................................................................36
Things Stand Out .........................................................................................................................36
Identity of Things ........................................................................................................................39
Liberation of Things ....................................................................................................................42
Semioethics..................................................................................................................................45
Conclusions................................................................................................................................. 50

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Introduction
In a sense, what follows is a treatise on human nature. It is about who we are, and what
we do. But unlike a traditional “Treatise on the Nature of Man,” this paper is about a specific
aspect of who we are, and some general and some specific things we do. I think it will make
things easier to come right out and say it: we are linguistic beings, who create meaning. Perhaps
then this might be thought of as a Treatise on the Linguistic Nature of Man. Though I think,
rather than “nature,” the more accurate word would be “capacity.” I would like to describe how
my research has led me to this conclusion, and explain why I think of us as linguistic beings, and
what it means to think of us in this way. In doing this I will bring out some characteristic and
some less-noticed ways in which we create meaning, each of which, as we visit, will call for a
general description. I will then see if I can apply these to specific examples, of which there are a
plethora at hand and infinitely many more to be imagined. In doing this, my intention is to shed
light on certain aspects of our thought about which we do not often think—aspects that may have
been mentioned in their day (indeed, it is possible that each of the things I describe has been
mentioned before, in a different form, somewhere in a tome with which I am not familiar), but
that have fallen into a darkness akin to the surface of a deep liquid or thick mist. The darkness is,
of course, history.
An inquiry into the history of an idea is like a foray into this darkness lit up by the
powerful light of our curiosity and investigation. Such inquiries are not for everyone, and so
those of us who have gone down into this darkness do our best to bring things to the surface, for
others to see, and to bring as much to the surface as we can in order to establish the complete
context. For something to gleam, it must first have our light shined upon it. This metaphor

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captures at least the process by which I have found enlightenment and inspiration in turning my
eyes towards idea with an eye to tracing their evolution, their genealogy, if you would. But what
we are up to is of course not merely a genealogy of an idea. There is not so much interest for our
broader philosophical purposes in uncovering the history of the development of the field of
semiotics as there is bringing to light within this history ideas that have philosophical importance
for us now. By philosophical importance, I mean such ideas that enrich and enhance our thinking
about various matters that perhaps would otherwise go unnoticed—ideas that reveal things about
the world (including each of us), or at the very least, ways of conceiving this. How? Because a)
they are connected logically, so understanding one part of the web brings out the nature of the
whole; and because b) we can expand on these connections The web of connections of ideas
extends deep beneath surface of the darkness. It is seldom glimpsed save where parts of it rise to
the surface, but when we take a critical eye to these ideas, and shine our light in the darkness, the
nature of the relations that constitute the “structure” of the whole become apparent. I say
'structure' tentatively, because while it is true that our ideas evolve and that there are discernible
connections, the network is ever-evolving, and some parts grow anew while others disappear.

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Meaning in Life and The Life of Meaning:
A Semiotic Theory of Human Lives and Choices
I think we might describe what I am doing here as theory at its core, and the rest explores
the implications of this theory. The Greek root of our word “theory” is “theoria,” which means a
kind of looking at, gazing, or viewing. We shall explore new ways of looking at things—in
particular, new ways of looking at ourselves, at the nature of our thought—ways that reveal truth
about the world. By “truth” here I mean what is the case, and what can be revealed is how things
relate. Understanding new relations affects our understanding of the system—the whole—in
which they are related. If we take seriously Gilbert Ryle's metaphor for theories as a kind of
forging of paths into the wilderness (Ryle 288-290), we can develop it into a metaphor of a web,
a network of paths in which old trails become disused, and eventually overgrown. If this is
allowed to happen, one just might lose one's way. So I will add to Ryle's metaphor of forging
new paths another aspect: the aspect of returning and retracing paths, of exploring previously
explored paths. This seems a necessary part of any serious exploration of the past of an idea. For
paths are not blindly forged onward from nowhere; they are always made from somewhere to get
to somewhere else, and for the sake of the metaphor the distance covered is in understanding. We
cannot truly have a sense of where we are going, unless we have our bearings—unless we know
where we are coming from, where we come from. Understanding where we come from and the
context in which semiotic life arises: that is the aim of this essay.

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Definitions
As we need to know what we are talking about here, it will be useful, I think, to begin
with some definitions. I shall be using some technical terminology, mostly terms drawn from the
field of semiotics, and they could use some explanation. Some of the other terms I shall be using
are terms with which the reader will already be familiar, but I shall be using them in somewhat
unfamiliar ways. My use of some of these terms, such as “language” and “sign,” will be more
nuanced than usual and may give them a deeper shade of meaning, but in all these cases, my
purpose is to have an adequate vocabulary at my disposal that will make it possible for me to
proceed smoothly without having to stop for any bumps. If in laying out a theory we are always
laying out a path by which we might proceed, we would do well to take care that it is well laid
out so that we can enjoy unimpeded walking.
Sign – Signs are the building blocks of semiosis. Every sign itself comprises a signifier
and signified (Saussure 858), and in later theories there is a third element, an interpretant who
perceives the sign itself. Ferdinand de Saussure brought this relation back into the eye of modern
linguistics. The signifier can be anything; its selection, as Saussure pointed out, is arbitrary
(Saussure 857), though once paired with whatever it represents or recollects, (the signified) it
maintains its identity as a sign (its significance) within its particular system . Its meaning exists
in a context in which it is surrounded by other signs, so that changes in one part of the system
will certainly cause changes in others (Saussure 858). In the languages we humans speak, this
shift of meaning is constantly taking place, both gradually (over thousands of years) and more
abruptly (in the space of a few years or even a few months). Note how this shifting pattern

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mirrors changes in human cultures. A sign can be as simple as the change of atmospheric
pressure that signals the approach of rain, or the bristling on a dog’s neck that we can observe
when it becomes agitated. Signs can be deliberate, as are our greetings and sounds of surprise, or
they can be complex and extensive, such as the elaborate array of words that might constitute an
explanation, the conceptual play in a metaphor, or the almost ritualistic placement of elements in
speech-acts. Some, for instance Kull and Hoffmeyer, theorize that even at the level of the most
basic individual single-celled organisms, signs play an essential role. Indeed, signs permeate
every aspect of our culture, and perhaps they also pervade every corner of the universe as we
know it.
Semiosis, semiotics, and metasemiotics – “Semiosis” is our name for what occurs when
something (an object or event) is significant, that is, when it sends some kind of message.
Routledge defines “semiosis” as meaning “the action of signs” (Cobley 318). Semiosis can occur
naturally (such as when a dog wags its tail with joy or puts it between its legs in cowering, or
when someone blushes out of embarrassment), or in a cultural setting (as, for example, in speech,
gestures, and artwork). A sign’s being a sign takes place in semiosis—without signs there is no
semiosis, without semiosis there are no signs. Notice how in each of these cases, the sign is
perceived by some interpretant. Also note: “there is an enormous variety of semiosis which is
non-human in character” (Cobley 318).
Semiotics is the thinking we engage in when we consider the significance of things.
Semiotic thinking can be thought of as “metasemiosis” (Cobley 318), (Ponzio & Petrelli 157).
Arguably, every philosophical question is a semiotic undertaking, for to answer a question well,
we must first ask how we are to read the question, and then consider many significances in

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answering it. Semiotic thinking is thinking about semiosis, the process of interpreting things as
significant. Semiotics is also used to refer to the field of sign-study—in this work I will preface
such a use with “the field of.” (“Semioticians” will of course refer to those engaged in the field.
We have a word already for those engaged in semiotics in the broader sense of the term—we call
them philosophers!) Our current project of reflecting upon and drawing conclusions about
semiotics might be called a sort of metasemiotics. Reflecting on the signs we encounter and
suspending response for possible deliberation is semiotic activity. “We can approach signs as
objects of interpretation undistinguished from our response to them. But we can also approach
signs in such a way as to suspend our responses to them, laying out the conditions for
deliberation” (Ponzio & Petrelli 157). This can be as simple as noticing that someone has made
one angry, and thinking about how to act rather than simply being moved by the emotion. (“Why
does that make me angry? Is the gratification of being enraged worth the stress?”). Raising such
questions can be seen as metasemiosis (semiotics) in action. I like to say that the essential
question of semiotics is: “What does it mean?” One can see that we are constantly engaging in
semiotic activity so defined, and yet most people are unfamiliar with this language—language
that can be used to describe this important part of their lives.
Mind – That which thinks, takes account of, understands, means, feels, etc. Taking heed
of the work of Gilbert Ryle and wanting to proceed in all definitions with the finest scrutiny, I
take our evidence for minds in his sense, that is, as presenting itself for our observation, and shall
shy away from inferring the existence of entities we cannot perceive. Minds don't just involve
certain undergoings and dispositions; they are minds insofar as they are certain undergoings and
dispositions—“mind” is our name for these (Ryle 167-168). What I am particularly interested in

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is the undergoing of semiosis, both in the passive and active sense (both of which always involve
semiosis, in what Uexküll calls “functional cycles” (Kull 46)). Therefore, I shall speak only of
those phenomena that we observe to be involved in the activities of mind, and mind will be
thought of as the making of meaning, rather than some sort of setting wherein meaning occurs.
The setting where meaning occurs is this world, and mind is the occurrence of this meaning, or
interchangeably, the presence of semiosis. A mind understands, and this understanding need not
be conceptual. This will allow the suggestion that minds are not necessarily only evident in
humans. This is not just suggested, but outright argued by Jesper Hoffmeyer. I shall elaborate on
this when we focus on the theory of biosemiotics and his work in that theoretical field, which he
pioneered.
Language/Linguistic – “Linguistic” means having to do with language. A language is
typically thought of as a conventionally shared vocabulary capable of being deployed in equally
agreed-upon grammatical arrangements. The objects in the vocabulary are typically thought of as
regularized vocalizations, or words. The words are signifiers of the signified meaning (Saussure
858). This meaning is often thought of as representational, that is, words stand for objects,
actions, and other phenomena (“run,” “tree,” “cat,” “change”), but there are other ways in which
we can mean things. We sometimes do things with words, (like getting married, placing a bet, or
warning someone of something) (Austin 2-4) . When this occurs, the words are still significant,
but they are arranged in such ways that they mean something different from what they mean
when they are used normally.
When I say that I think we are linguistic beings, however, I am using the word
“linguistic” in a broader sense. There are forms of language that use gesture only (sign language

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for the hearing-impaired), forms that function only in pictures, forms that are read only by
computers, forms that are based on patterns of color or shape, and so forth. It would seem it is
not a stretch to define a language as conventionally systematized semiosis. This serves to fit
every case in which we talk about language in this broader sense of the term. Language is
systematized because the relations between 'significant objects' have a kind of regularity by
which something means something else, and we can understand for instance such relations as
complementarity, negation, and predication, by identifying them as patterns that achieve
different kinds of meaning. The whole is a unified grammar (the systematic aspect), and
vocabulary (the conventional aspect); (but this vocabulary can, as I said, be much more than
mere vocalizations or inscribed alphabets and words). Language is conventional because there is
an agreement on how meaning is expressed. Conventionality in a system is consistency. This can
be personal or interpersonal. We usually think of language interpersonally, and so we might say
the term “convention” applies because it captures the sense of agreement between parties on a
system that can be shared.
However, meaning works at a personal level as well, if we think of the way in which
certain things are meaningful to each individual in a special way. Saussure describes syntagmatic
relations and associative relations1
as those where some words are “evoked” (Saussure 865).
Take the example of how in hearing one word, say, “tree”, the hearer will immediately think of
1: Syntagmatic relations bear a particular order, where “the elements are arranged in sequence on the chain
of speaking.” They are thought of as “inside discourse” (Saussure 864). Associative relations invoke a whole family
of associations without any particular order. They are thought of as “outside discourse.” “Their seat is in the brain.
They are part of the associative storehouse that makes up the language of each speaker” (Saussure 864). It would
seem “syntagms” are just a specific form of association, applied in the practice of speaking. The syntagm seems to
have more to do with the flow of syntax in the practice of speaking. The association takes place at a deeper level,
where we might identify the often surprising leaps our minds make when contemplating things, as well as our
understanding of the apparent sense of a personal experience with language. The associative relation will thus be our
primary interest, and is in fact a highly important aspect of our semiosis, particularly at the linguistic level. The
syntagmatic relation may come up again but it is of less importance for our purposes.

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others that are associated with it, (e.g. “leaf”, “green”, “trunk”, “oak”, “forest”, “nature”) We
could use any word in any language as an example, as all words are involved in these relations.
“A word can always evoke everything that can be associated with it in one way or another...A
particular word is like the center of a constellation; it is the point of convergence of in indefinite
number of co-ordinated terms” (Saussure 866). Saussure only applies this idea in the limited
scope of language, but I think it can take place in any kind of semiotic activity. Smells provide us
with a great example, because some people love one kind of smell, being drawn to it, taking deep
breaths, and others could wrinkle their nose and retreat from the same. (Take, for instance, the
smell of a campfire, or that of a permanent marker). Encountering a certain kind of tree could
remind me of a very specific childhood memory. Insofar as this takes place, it may seem to some
degree conventional (it may be, for instance, that I am always drawn to this smell, or this tree
always reminds me of this moment in childhood). But this is only a semblance of the
conventional, as these alter with such circumstances as mood and recent events, and thus always
bear a degree of unpredictability. We see also that when associative relating takes place, it can
jump out of the linguistic system into other ways of meaning that we do not exactly have a
vocabulary for, (though we could attempt to describe these experiences in our language-
vocabulary, in effect making an attempt to re-enter the system). But then, we cannot say that
associative relations are necessarily linguistic. They can, however, be based on language, and
insofar as they are, they constitute a whole world with language at its foundation. This turn from
language away from language will be further explored in describing the Lebenswelt, and in the
later part of this essay when we explore implications. For now it will suffice to say that not all

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meaning is both conventional and systemic, but insofar as it is, it is manifest in a grammar and
vocabulary, and is thus linguistic.
If I write a sentence half in English and half in another language, say Spanish, I will of
course be operating with different kinds of grammar for each half of the sentence, but someone
who understands both languages could still put the meaning together. I have violated the
systematic but not the conventional nature of language—and notice that “violate” is here to be
taken softly, as expressing a stepping-outside-of-the-qualifications. It is simply enough to switch
between systems to no longer be residing in one whole. This does not necessarily impede
meaning so long as the listener is acquainted with both systems. We shall say that the way in
which meaning takes place in such cases is intersystemic, taking place within both systems.
Now, take the converse case: I write a sentence grammatically for one half and in the other half
break into a grammar that nobody else understands, but that I myself still mean as a completion
of the thought to be expressed by the sentence as a whole. I have violated the conventional but
not the systemic nature of language. If I speak ungrammatical gibberish at any point, even if I
use a recognized vocabulary, I have violated both.
When I pointed out that I could shift between languages, I meant also to hint at
something even deeper. When we create meaning, we always do so in the context of a broader
system, which is not itself violated as one shifts between linguistic systems. Indeed, there are
many who will switch to whatever language suits them at a given time. It is in this way that it
might make sense to think of intersystemic relations—but only insofar as elements from
linguistic systems come together to make up the whole of ways of making meaning—of being
significant.

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These matters may seem trivial in some respects and unduly complex in others, but I have
talked about each of them only to make it clear what I mean when I say language is
systematized, conventional semiosis. As such it is patently semiotic. Understood in this way, it
can make sense to talk about the language in which we think. What this allows us to see is that at
a personal level, we are always changing conventions. As we meet new people, for instance, we
begin to realize, if we are attentive, that a particular pattern of behavior, say, a facial twitch, can
mean many different things. One could come to understand different twitches as evidencing
different kinds of personality, or at least as predictors of people's emotional states. Or one could
realize that such a pattern of behavior evidences no such thing, and that it was a mistake to base
prior judgments on the idea that it does. This shifting in meaning is a shifting in convention, and
it always results in a growth of the system. We are constantly doing this all the time. On the
external or interpersonal level, convention is not usually quick to change, but internally, at a
personal level, it is always changing. And recall that the personal level does not imply a “private
language”, but rather what we should call “individual interpretations.” Insofar as they are
systematized, it makes sense to think of personal language in a sense, but it is more of a personal
spin on language. It might be better to think of a “personal dialect.” What I will get to in short
order is the importance of understanding that we can exercise a great deal of control over these
changes.
Object; Idea – The term “object” will be used to refer to whatever is recognized as such.
When something is known to exist in one way or another, it is an object of perception. Anything
that stands out with its particular significance is an object, and since this appearance of objects is
always a semiosis of some kind, we might say they are manufactured or created. The recognition

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of objects as what they are is tucked away in memory for future reference, and thus the objects of
our perception often appear like the words in a vocabulary. This is because words, too, take on
their meaning as part of a semiotic process. Indeed, when a word is uttered, we shall say it takes
on the form in our perception of a linguistic object. When we think of written language, this
characterization of words is even more fitting to the way we usually think of “objects.” The same
goes for any kind of signal that is produced and regularized. For it to be recognized, it is
recognized as whatever it is being taken to be. As there is with many objects a consistency in
their recognition, it would seem that many of them have their place as a matter of convention;
and this fits with the idea of an object-vocabulary. We can see that the process of what I shall
call objectification is primary to and required for the emergence of language, which is but a more
complex form which takes place on the semiotic level, where objects are seen as objects.
Another word which we can apply in these cases is “thing.” A thing's being seen as something
distinct from other things is a process of objectification.
The question arises, what about one's hidden “dialect” of thought? Might we consider
certain patterns of language or thought-images and other meaningful thinking as kinds of
objects? Thought does not seem so grounded as the objects of sense do, though they too are
experienced each moment. Thought is so liable to change, to disappear into the forgotten or
reemerge as reborn, that it seems to be different from objects. We may say that the objectivity of
objects is an operation of thought (objectification), but could the regularity of thought itself be an
object? There is some sense in which we behold our own thoughts, but it also seems that thought
has a much more essential part in consciousness. There is another term we have for these object-
like thoughts which has a similar sense, and that is idea. Ideas are wont to change in a way in

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which objects are not. They also bear the stamp of being tied to individuals and their respective
thoughts. Ideas include concepts but also vague associations that bear some degree of regularity.
They are best thought of as recurring thoughts, and their being recognized is what gives them a
character similar to that of thought. Rather than take the route of implying unverifiable entities,
we shall avoid thinking of “mental objects” and simply refer to these object-like aspects of
thought as “ideas.” These are simply objectified thought.
Thought/Thinking – Two people may sit in the same room and be having thoughts
together, but neither one can know what the other is thinking. Even if we attempt to express and
communicate our thoughts, it is but an echo of the thought that inspired the word. With thoughts
that occur in the form of familiar words in a common vocabulary, we can perhaps get closer to
sharing this experience, but the only way to really know the thoughts of another would be to live
his or her life. Whenever we engage in semiosis in its various forms—pictures, words, or other
symbols—thinking happens for each one of us. We sometimes consider how a dog thinks, and it
takes an even more diligent effort of the imagination to imagine how a bug can think, or how a
plant can think. Of course, the reader might now ask why I do not pose the question if any of
these life forms think. The fact of the matter is that each of these organisms engages in some
rudimentary form of semiosis, and I have already said that wherever semiosis is taking place,
thought is taking place. I say this for reasons similar to the ones I have for thinking of mind in a
similarly broader sense. This aspect of life on our planet will be further explored when we
discuss biosemiotics.
For my dog to become excited when I tell him to be happy and offer him food, but to
become scared when I become upset and threaten him, shows thought in the most basic sense.

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The fly moves away when I move my hand towards it. But why would we complicate our
discussion of these phenomena when our language of semiosis seems fit? The place where it
becomes useful to talk about thought is when we consider reflective thinking, or thinking that
considers what is thought of, and reconsiders how to consider it. When something happens, say
the breaking of a glass, I have many thoughts, but I also move. Thought and action are always
concurrent, even if that action is rest, even if the action is involuntary. When I focus on what
comes to mind for me, I distinguish this from what may come to another's mind when he or she
hears the glass break, by saying we had different thoughts about, say, what caused it to break. In
other words, while at the present, thought and action are as one, it is when we turn to reflect on
what has just happened that we make such a distinction. Even immediately after having spoken,
people will sometimes correct themselves, saying, “well, what I thought was different.”
A curious phenomenon we might use to mark this distinction is when someone switches
two words in a sentence, or inadvertently inserts something into the sentence that doesn't belong
there because something else was on his or her mind. Where this innenweltsort of thing happens,
it clearly betokens a discrepancy between what the speaker is saying and the silent dialogue that
he or she is experiencing as he or she is speaking. Some might go so far as to consider such
incidents evidence of the separation between body and mind, but I ask them where they have
ever seen these operations of “mind” happening without taking place somewhere, sometime.
Without the language of “thought” and “mind”, we would not be able to make such distinctions,
but I emphasize the importance of care in usage as we need not imply unnecessary entities when
speaking of “thought” and “mind.”

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Umwelt, Lebenswelt, Innenwelt – These terms have the status of technical terms in the
writings of Jakob von Uexküll, and have been adopted in just about every writing in the field of
Semiotics since. Umwelt is defined in The Routledge Companion to Semiotics as “The self-
centered2
world of an organism, the world as known, or modelled” (Routledge 348). Where
particular things, such as places, smells, and patterns of movement, even certain chemicals are
recognized and reacted to, there is a most basic kind of Umwelt. This recognition is always a
recognition as. The model is Umwelt, and the process of modelingumwelt (which involves not
just recognition, but also thought which relates), is Innenwelt. “The Innenwelt is like a cognitive
map that relates the self to the world of objects, the Umwelt being the objective world...” (Cobley
348). It may be tempting think of Umwelt as the world we can share and communicate about and
Innenwelt as the world we return to in reflection, a la an objective-subjective distinction. I must
be clear, then, that objective is here used to refer to things that are significant as objects, and this
is Umwelt insofar as Innenwelt is the process of mapping or modeling these signs in a coherent
system. Kalevi Kull provides what I think is a more precise and detailed explanation:
“Description of somebody's Umwelt will mean the demonstration of how the organism (via its
Innenwelt) maps the world, and what, for that organism, the meanings of the objects are within
it” (Kull 43). Lebenswelt, then, is best described as the world arrived at by a kind of modeling
which uses signs as such, by way of a vocabulary and grammar. We might think of it as the
2 It is important we not assume the self to be conceived as an entity in the concept of Umwelt. However, the world
is always showing up as being interpreted, which requires an interpreter, i.e. a perspective. The most basic level
at which the term “self” is functioning here is to distinguish one center of interpretation from another, something
which is regardless implied when we talk of “individual organisms.” The basic fact of the matter is that I see
your, his, her, and everybody else's reactions as separate from mine. A sign with writing on it has its back to me
but the words facing another. They can react to the writing while it has not yet become a part of my own
Umwelt. “Self” is thus understood symptomatically in the same way that we understand “Mind.” It is this sense
of understanding a self that underlies the procedure articulated in the process of Innenwelt, In this way we may
talk of different Umwelten.

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picture arrived at through linguistic semiosis (which is always semiotic). In my earlier discussion
of language, I identified all linguistic activity as systemic and conventional. However I have
come to think it is worth mentioning that not all of the ways in which language stands out as
significant are conventional. To take into account the entire Lebenswelt is not to describe only
what can be expressed grammatically, but to include the whole world of meaning that exists with
language at its basis, in the way that Umwelt is the world of meaning with semiosis at its basis,
not just the ways in which semiosis can take place.
These terms are useful in distinguishing the different levels or steps at which semiosis or
semiosic activity occurs. We distinguish the “levels” not by supposing any inherent value, but by
observing how at higher levels of complexity, which emerge from the previous ones, the way in
which things are related in a cohesive picture changes. Taking account of what kind of system is
in place where Umwelt emerges, and distinguishing this from the emergence of Lebenswelt
allows us to take note of essential differences in the kinds of semiosic activity taking place. This
will be explored in more detail as the matter comes into our discussion. “Umwelt” and
“Lebenswelt” are the terms which show up in the later writings in semiotics, where “Innenwelt”
seems to take more of a passive or implied role. When I speak of “structuring” or “modeling”, it
will mean something like Innenwelt, but the term will not have as marked a role as “Umwelt” and
“Lebenswelt.”
Icon, Index, Symbol – Charles Sanders Peirce worked extensively on understanding
meaning and interpretation, and his triadic system of classifications is still useful to philosophy
today. These three terms—“icon,” “index,” and “symbol”—correspond to different kinds of
semiosis. Iconic understanding sees signs, but does not catalog them. An icon is “a sign which

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would possess the character of significance, even though its object had no existence” (Cobley
242). Indexes might be thought of as signs that are remembered and oriented in some kind of
scheme. “The index is a sign that signifies its object by a relation of contiguity, causality, or by
some other physical connection” (Cobley 243). Symbols are signs seen as such, and thus may be
used and thought of in their significance. Whereas an indexed sign can be used repeatedly, a
symbol can be extracted from its usage and viewed as the sign it is. Language is thus essentially
a symbolic kind of understanding. This terminology will mainly be of use as a model for
distinguishing different levels of semiosis and Umwelten, and understanding the character of
Lebenswelt.
Semiotic Theory

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Unless I make plain the grounds for taking a semiotic perspective on life, everything I am
about to say will seem to be a mere flowery embellishment, a celebration of one way of thinking
of things that seems to make sense to this particular writer. However, I was brought to this thesis
not by mere preference, but by a sense that I had discovered something deep at the basis of who
we are. This sense of discovery has not just been a hunch that I have followed, but has been
framed by some questions, questions I think I am now in a position to formulate directly. These
questions which shall guide our exploration henceforth have already shown up in glimpses, but
here is the time to make them plain: 1) How are we to understand ourselves as semiotic beings;
and at a more refined level, as linguistic beings? This I have undertaken by looking into semiotic
theory, and here I weave things together into my own theory of a semiotic being. 2) Why think in
terms of semiotics? This question might also be put as follows: what does a semiotic
understanding bring to our lives? We will explore this primarily by investigating the implications
and applications of semiotic thought, as well as through the theory of semioethics. This second
question is itself a semioethical question, as are all questions of the form, “why should I
understand myself in this or that way?” The power of the applications of this theory might serve
to speak for itself to some. However it is clear that in this day and age especially, if any kind of
ethical assertion is to be heard, it must be given a foundation, a premise for argument that can be
clarified empirically. Of course, in tying together these ideas, the aim is not so much to find a
picture that fits a required premise, but to show how the premise emerges from the picture of
things so presented. The “premise” I speak of is the fact of our semiotic nature, and I call it a
premise only because it will function as such for any argument made on its basis. In itself, this

24. 24
fact is a revelation about who we are, and even just in so far as it is that, it deserves careful
treatment and explication.
The Human Animal, Primate Powers
One of the guiding questions in my research has been: what distinguishes us humans
from other animals? At the time I formulated this question, I had in mind that we have a written
system of language which allows us to record words and preserve them for countless years. In
this way, we have a link to the past, albeit through a partial representation. But it seems as
though there is a deeper level at which we might understand this incredible linguistic capacity, a
capacity that does not appear to have yet been matched in the Earth’s history. Tracing
commonalities with our closest relatives, we can better discern the breakoff point. The biological
perspective provides us with a great way to approach this, as it looks at us as just another animal
species, and puts us in a position to consider evolutionary phenomena.
Robin Dunbar takes just this approach in his presentation, “What Makes Us Human?” He
begins his talk by describing the social groupings of animals, and in particular the social
groupings of mammals. Reviewing different brain types, he shows that primate brains, with their
dense make-up, make use of the highest complexity with the smallest area—in other words, they
are more efficient. This is why primate social groups can be much larger than those of any other
animals. An important statistic is the correlation between brain efficiency and the size of social
groups. Larger brains allow for larger social groups, and, as one would expect, it is in larger
groups that we find more complex brains. There is an important chemical release involved in all
of this, having to do with endorphins. Primate groups are as large as they are because primates
spend so much time grooming. But interestingly, humans have the largest group size by far, yet

25. 25
they spend the smallest amount of time on grooming. This is where Dunbar particularly focuses
his inquiry: “why is this?” he asks. It turns out that we can enjoy the effects of social bonding
and release of endorphins by verbal means. Storytelling thus becomes a substitute for grooming.
Here is where things get interesting: Complex brains show the ability to think at high
levels of intentionality. Intentional thinking is of the form where we imagine what is being
thought by another. A thought of second-order intentionality would look like: “I want you to
believe x.” A fourth-order would be: “I want you to understand that I want you to believe x.”
Here we arrive at Dunbar’s main thesis: imagination is the key that distinguishes humans from
other primates. Religion and storytelling are the examples of activity that involves intentional
thinking that he discusses at length. By developing these practices, humans got the twofold
benefit of making their use of time more efficient, and stimulating a further development in the
complexity of their brains. This allowed us to break from a very basic brain structure. While the
most advanced non-human primates seem capable of second-order thinking at best, humans
regularly operate at around five levels. A story-telling genius like Shakespeare can and does
attain an even higher level of complexity. Here we have an evolutionary account of the
emergence of the story-telling phenomenon that would at least appear to shed light on the
centrality of language in our lives. As it turns out, homo sapiens may have become possible only
through the effects of a linguistic mode of existence. Human life began as a life filled with
meaning.
We can think of this as coinciding with a shift in the semiotic level, from mere semiosis,
the process of signification, to semiotics, the point at which signs are recognized as such, and
used as signs for various purposes. Storytelling and religion are early forms of metasemiosis, and

26. 26
this fact, along with the conclusions of Dunbar's investigations and the further fact that they both
take place at the level of Lebenswelt, leads me to think that both could have a great deal to do
with the shift from Umwelt to Lebenswelt. Jesper Hoffmeyer approaches this shift in describing
the place of humans in the emergent pattern of “semiosic activity”3
taking place through the
development of forms of life: “Very late in organic evolution a further potentiation of semiosic
activity took place through the appearance of human beings that from the first beginnings were
embedded in a linguistic Lebenswelt, based on the particular ability of this species to understand
symbolic linguistic referencing” (Hoffmeyer 35). Taken alone, this statement about the
emergence of “human beings” seems to have some degree of truth, but one wonders just what
kind of “symbolic linguistic referencing” we're talking about here and just why it was our species
in particular that developed this capability. If we think of this along the lines of the process
described by Dunbar, the picture comes together in such a way that we see that humans did not
just suddenly appear, but gradually developed this capacity to use signs in such a deliberate way.
Once the first stories began to be told, our semiotic capacity could have been stimulated this new
potential, launching off into a much more rapid phase of development. “Life is thought of as
originating from semiosis in its most primitive and basic form, and from the more basic systems,
the more complex emerge” (Hoffmeyer 32). Once a system more complex than its predecessors
is firmly in place, it can serve as the basis for the emergence of an even more complex and rich
system. This thinking along evolutionary lines that leads us to the notion of emergent complexity
3 Hoffmeyer is the only writer among those I am citing to use this term, and he apparently uses it to refer to the
general scope of semiosis as seen among species and even larger groups of organisms as a whole, rather than the
particular scope of individuals engaging in semiosis (on which he also at times focuses). He seems to develop
this from the way of talking in biology in which we characterize living organisms to engage in various
“activities.” In the biological sense, he is interested in one kind of “activity”, namely any activity of semiosis, a
kind of activity he dubs “semiosic.” It is a useful term and we may find ourselves borrowing it for our purposes.

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seems to mirror the examples provided by Dunbar about the complexity of animal brains. A
more complex brain allows for more complex semiosis. But let us take the opportunity provided
by Hoffmeyer to look more deeply into this process, and into how we might understand what I
propose to call “the life of meaning.”
Semiotics of Nature (Biosemiotics)
Jesper Hoffmeyer is one of the most innovative thinkers in semiotics. He first obtained
his degrees in biochemistry. His biological perspective and the theory of biosemiotics offer an
invaluable paradigm for understanding the natural world and our place in it. According to
Hoffmeyer, semiosic activity begins at the most basic cellular level where the interpretant reacts
to something within the environment. “At first such anticipatory activities would have to have
played out at a very simple level, as when a bacterium ‘chooses’ to swim upstream in a gradient
of nourishment rather than tumbling around waiting for nutrients to reach it…” (Hoffmeyer 34).
This “biosemiosis” emerges from early “proto-semiosic activity,” “a gradual formation of
ordered configurations and processes...” Eventually, with the development of a cellular
membrane, there emerges a difference between internal and external, a configuration that appears
at the most basic cellular level, where regularities in the environment become established as
signs “read” by an interpretant. Semiosis happens all over the natural world, and in fact it occurs
wherever we find life. Perhaps we might say that biosemiosis is the beginning of semiosis. Here
it would seem we have departed from mere cause and effect—however, while there may be a
semblance of individuality here, what is lacking is any hint of freedom. True, a dead cell reacts
differently in the presence of nutrients from the way a living cell reacts, and in fact (and this is

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perhaps where the distinction is particularly significant), the dead cell cannot even be said to
react. However even in the living cell there still seems to be nothing at all like real freedom.
Hoffmeyer puts it well: “At primitive levels the semiotic freedom of agents is still very low, and
a bacterium for instance cannot itself not choose to move upstream in a nutrient gradient.”
(Hoffmeyer 35). Here Hoffmeyer seems to be using the term “agent” in the sense of “one who
performs an action.” The type of complex semiotic thinking we are capable of today—the type
that allows us to act as free agents—developed over time through increasingly complex emergent
patterns. But Hoffmeyer adds in a footnote that we ought not to count out the semiotic freedom
even of a bacterium, which “is capable of changing its behavior by the active uptake of foreign
DNA from bacteriophages.” (Hoffmeyer 35). The level that particularly interests me is the more
complex level at which we dwell, but what this shows is that it is not some unexplainable
mystery, but, as Sebeok says, in a passage quoted by Hoffmeyer, “human semiotic activity is
only one—although radical—further refinement of a biosemiotic capacity that has unfolded itself
on earth for nearly 4 billion years.” (Hoffmeyer 35). This semiotic freedom will be the key to our
understanding the world and ourselves semiotically. It would seem emergent complexity is a
common theme in the Dunbar's and Hoffmeyer's research—perhaps it has to do with the
evolutionary themes in biology. It is by systematizing significant phenomena that we are able to
predict and respond to them. Here we return to the emergence of humans and their “Lebenswelt”
mentioned earlier.
At the earliest stages, where what we encounter is a cell that has an interior separated
from everything else by a membrane, through which it interprets and interacts with the world, we
have an intersystemic relation. As systems of greater complexity emerge, so do the possibilities

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of more complex intersystemic relations. Paradoxically, the increase in levels of separation is
accompanied by an increase in the possibility of connections. Many examples can be cited to
show the application (and surely to some degree the inspiration) of Hoffmeyer's theory. One is
that of the bird who pretends it has a broken wing in order to lure a predator away from its
nesting area, to which it then swiftly returns, having safely misled the potential threat. Even
plants seem to communicate to one another via a system of chemicals that are released in the
presence of certain stimuli. For instance, one kind of fava bean plant, when in the presence of an
aphid pest, emits signals that are received by other members of its species and that cause them to
release an agent that attracts aphid parasites. Thus undamaged plants are saved from the fate of
those that had initially been attacked (Hoffmeyer 38).We might be inclined to say that at the
level of the animal there appears to be more choice, perhaps what we might call intelligence. But
in the terms of this theory what we see is simply a greater degree of semiotic freedom.
The other thing Hoffmeyer calls for goes even further: he thinks we ought to reenvision
the very way we conceive of nature so as to think of things in general semiotically. This is the
only way to recognize the deep way in which we are connected with the whole of life. He pushes
away from “the disrespectful attitude implicit in our scientific ontology” (Hoffmeyer 40),
inviting us to make use of ways to bridge the gap that many see as existing between the sciences
and humanities—biosemiotics being one of these ways. The big picture is that we should not just
think of “mind” in terms of human minds, but everywhere we speak of life. “Even the simplest
living systems have a capacity to learn.” (Hoffmeyer 41). It would seem Hoffmeyer is not just
calling for us to think of things as existing in ecosystems (and the broader global ecosystem)—he
wants us to look at life itself as involved far more extensively in systems; (and indeed, the very

30. 30
nature of life is postulated as systemic). Each one of us is a system within systems, a kind of
semiosis founded on deeper levels of semiosic activity. Mind is a feature of the world as such,
not a peculiar feature possessed only by humans. “Human mind, then, would be a more peculiar
instantiation of this general mind” (Hoffmeyer 41). I make a similar call in my essay, “Man and
His Nature,” where I first attempted to expound my ideas about our capacity at the individual
level for thinking of the world in different terms (might we say “to each his own Innenwelt”) and
then made a push for thinking in terms of an ecosystem, (a shift in Lebenswelt at a
cultural/societal level facilitated by this modeling activity at the individual level). In doing this, I
used Hoffmeyer's theory to establish a foundation for our role in this ecosystem as semiotic
beings, and even as metasemiotic beings, looking at our incredible degree of semiotic freedom,
and I also used him as an example of how we might apply this power.
Regardless of how we can compare our semiotic freedom to the apparent semiotic
freedom of a dog, it is clear that we possess an incredible degree of this freedom.
We can, for instance, think of ourselves as conquerors or stewards, as occupants
or children. We can think of ourselves as being part of a capitalist system where
we play a role of developing and commodifying our world, or as part of a natural
system where we are living as natural beings, or, a la Hoffmeyer, as semiotic
beings. (“Nature”, Berger 9)
Indeed, it is our semiotic freedom that allows us to conceive of the very idea of semiotic
freedom. Both Hoffmeyer and I see that the shift toward making the world a better place and
avoiding the path to near certain environmental disaster involves tapping into this capacity and
utilizing our freedom. It involves, at its core, a shift in understanding, a semiotic shift. In “Man
and His Nature,” I applied semiotic theory and biosemiotics to our understanding of the earth,
with the specific aim of urging readers towards ecosystems-thinking. This is, however, just one

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(albeit a singularly important) application of semiotics to ethical life. I shall return to this in
greater detail as an example when I turn to the topic of semioethics below. For now, I think we
would do well to spend a bit more time on trying to understand just how semiosic activity takes
place in its various forms, so that we might bring to light the character of the emergence of
semiotic freedom and language.
Structure of Structuring
We have been looking at life in terms of meaning in order to reveal characteristics of both
which, so long as these two things—life and meaning—are regarded as distinct domains, remain
in the dark. I introduced “Umwelt” as a technical term to refer to the world of meaning, as
experienced by various organisms. In “Umwelt and Modeling,” Kalevi Kull uses this
terminology to give a detailed account of some of the different ways in which we can see
semiosis occurring, explaining the role of the modeling process and identifying distinct kinds or
levels of semiosis and Umwelten. His account is, like Hoffmeyer's, biologically oriented,
grounding his descriptions of the vegetative, animal, and cultural Umwelten on what is possible
given varying degrees of physical apparatus. The resulting arguments are not only precise but
insightful. For instance,
The distinctions an organism draws are individual, but due to the similarity of body plan
of the individuals of the same species, and of the environment they live in, the Umwelten
of conspecifics may be quite similar. In simple Umwelten, like the ones of a tick or snail,
there are very few objects, whereas the Umwelten of birds and mammals are usually very
rich. (Kull 45)
Kull thinks this use of the concept of Umwelt provides grounds for a “shift in evolutionary
theory,” a shift that “becomes more visible if attention is shifted from the ‘awareness’ side of

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Umwelt to its ‘manufacturing’ side. Organisms make the world” (Kull 46). His example of the
flower stem in illustrating “species-specific Umwelten” clearly demonstrates ground for thinking
in these terms: “...a flower stem is tranformed as: a) it is picked up by a little girl to make it an
ornamental object, b) it becomes a 'path' for the ants that walk along it, c) it is building material
for the cicada-larva that pierces it, and d) it constitutes wholesome fodder for the grazing cow”
(Kull 47). The “functional cycles”4
that underlie these Umwelten are semioses particular to the
organisms, the “basic rhythms” that make them all possible.
Understanding the limits of various species-level functional cycles further allows us to
understand the possibilities of modeling that coincide with different organismic structures, and
thus the coinciding possibilities of Umwelten. Kull distinguishes three “levels” which coincide
with a Peircean triadic classification of iconic, indexical, and symbolic.
A most general typology would distinguish between three major types of
Umwelten: vegetative (non-spacial and non-temporal – solely iconic), animal
(spatial and non-temporal – exclusively iconic and indexical), and cultural
(simultaneously spatial and temporal – iconic-indexical-symbolic). (Kull 49)
Kull identifies the “vegetative Umwelt” as first taking place with single-celled organisms.
He first explains how “the cell has the full set of components of a functional cycle” (Kull 51). A
cell is able to recognize signals in its environment, however, “a cell evidently has no means to
distinguish between the patterns of the signals, thus it cannot categorize distances, angles, or
4 “Funktionskreis,” translated as “functional cycle,” is, according to Kull's reading of Uexküll, from whom he
borrows the term, “the process that creates and builds an Umwelt” (Kull 46). A functional cycle describes the
twofold relation, first between a signal “(which can be perceived or represented as an object)” (Kull 46) and
processes in the organism, and then between these processes and the action performed by the organism. This
somewhat mechanistic form of description provides a context for explaining why different organismic
configurations allow for different forms of semiosis.

33. 33
shapes” (Kull 51). He illustrates the example of the cell in a nutrient medium through a basic
true/false table that brings out the simplicity of this level of semiosis. “All organisms are
supplied with many functional cycles that enable vegetative relations...Vegetative relations are
just correspondences, or relations, of pure recognition only, which means these are exclusively
iconic” (Kull 52). This of course follows from understanding cells to engage in vegetative
semiosis, for organisms are comprised of collaborations of cells. As we proceed into the higher
levels, these early forms of semiosis remain present beneath, and in some ways could be
considered elementary to all higher levels of semiosis. (The question of in just what ways opens
itself up for further study). I find that this early “iconic” or “vegetative” stage of semiosis may
indeed provide us with a new way to understand the idea of “instinct,” where we no longer
postulate instinct as a mysterious set of urges but rather semiosis originating at a cellular level,
manifesting itself now at the level of the more complex organism.
An organism with connections between different receptors allows for the animal Umwelt
to emerge. “This form of the functional cycle may then establish the relations of distance and
angle which will allow the mapping of space. Such a cognitive mapping of space results in an
effective capacity of orientation, evident in the behavior of many animal species” (Kull 53). In
this section Kull makes a remark of particular significance: “The indexical semiotic threshold
zone is probably the one where the capacity for associative learning arises” (Kull 53). I think this
section would be even clearer if Kull were to explicate his idea of “associative learning.” It
would seem he makes out the spatial world as a set of associations between patterns of
significance. If this is indeed the case, then it would seem by this theory that a spatial world is
learned, or to say it better for our purposes, understood as such. However we do not yet see at

34. 34
this level the world understood to be such, for there is not yet a concept of being. Kull quotes
Bains: “At this stage, ‘animals communicate and are aware of their surroundings, but not of their
surroundings as surroundings, of their Umwelt as an Umwelt’” (Kull 53).
The most interesting shift takes place in passing from the indexical or animal Umwelt to
the symbolic or cultural Umwelt. “The appearance of language becomes possible due to the
appearance of signs that signify a relation itself” (Kull 53). Thus, “what we will see with the
appearance of language is the ‘creation’ of time” (Kull 53). This makes sense, for how can we
conceive of time without thinking of moments as being related sequentially? “Symbols, as the
relations built upon indexes, can move (indexical) maps, can reorder and rearrange them, [sic]
can put them into asymmetrical sequences” (Kull 54). We do not only perceive relations as such;
we also abstract them and apply them to new things freely. If we think of what would be possible
at the indexical level in terms of semiotic freedom, what is there to be manipulated is always
what is available in the present moment. No matter how ingenious an animal is, its ability to
create a world is limited, and even its memory shows up as present, “now,” but not “now” as
opposed to “then,” but simply as the context wherein things show up. At the symbolic level,
“now,” too, is a thing that shows up—it is seen as a state of things, a way in which things can be
related. This means that “the current state of things” can be compared to an imagined “future
state of things.” “Thus conscious purpose, with all its benefits and problems, becomes possible”
(Kull 54).
This framework provides as an even richer way to understand the picture provided by
Dunbar's hypothesis. A temporal world is needed in order to create the narrative structures that,
on Dunbar's hypothesis, accelerated our species’ development into cultural beings, into human

35. 35
beings. If we take all of this seriously, then it is not just that culture was developed by humans,
but that humanity developed as it developed its culture, so that the idea of “human” is not even
possible without culture. Every story has its crucial elements: the “I” vs the “other”, the x “and”
y, the “this followed by/preceded by that” (which requires “this” vs. “that”), and even the sense
of difference expressed in that “vs.” We are so accustomed to thinking of our world in these
terms that it seems bizarre to point them out. But, then, it was by thinking in these narrative
terms that we came to understand the world as we know it. Much of our lives is told and
simultaneously read. But then the unavoidable question finally rears up to face us: how much of
this world, and indeed, even what I have been talking about in this paper, is itself a story, a
fabrication? I think at least this much is plain: that this fabrication extends as far as Lebenswelt.
Implications

36. 36
Things Stand Out
When I go to a public place and gaze around, there is much to be interpreted. Various
faces, objects, and activities around me present themselves, and I am constantly thinking as I go
along. There is nearly always a stream of language-laden thought that goes on concurrently with
my perceiving, and it is a multifaceted process as well—the various stimuli will start new chains
of thought, and sometimes their focus is enough to derail my thinking entirely from what had
been its focus before. Much of what we see we do not think about that much. But some things
stand out. When they stand out in perception, they stand out in thought. Perhaps I come across
someone who has a shirt that declares, in big letters: “Giraffe Fan.” I could continue walking, but
now, regardless of whether I like it or not, I have the words, “Giraffe Fan,” along perhaps, with
the face or some other feature of the person wearing the shirt, mixed in with my experience. I
will almost certainly be thinking that he might be a fan of the animal. I might wonder if
“Giraffe” is the name of a band I have not heard of. I might end up talking to whoever is wearing
the shirt, asking him about his fandom and maybe even pursuing the question whether “Giraffe”
refers here to an animal or something else—“So is 'Giraffe' just the animal or what?”
Such is one of the many ways that language affects our perceptions. Recall or imagine an
encounter with someone particularly soft-spoken, someone who has a very kindly demeanor and
who inquires about your comfort. And then think of an encounter with someone who is tense and
hasty, who is quick to criticize, and who lacks any hint of concern about your well-being. Body
language, the unspoken patterns of breath—these affect the impression created in each of these
circumstances just as do the phrases uttered. If you think of each of these apparently distinct and

37. 37
seemingly opposite personalities in the context of the full range of ways in which they could
present themselves, you may notice something. Each has been you at some point! Indeed, just as
the adjectives in the descriptions I have provided shape the idea you have of the person I’ve
described, so each of us, in our different moods, seems like an altogether different person.
This usage of the word “idea” comes from the modern period of Enlightenment and post-
Enlightenment philosophy. Ideas were thought of by these writers as occupying the realm of
“mind,” a realm supposedly distinguishable from that of the body. David Hume preferred to refer
to the contents of our sensory experience as constituting a world of impressions, as opposed to
ideas. A strong impression, he thought, could give rise to a strong idea. Ideas are what we
organize and relate by thinking (Hume 316-317). Today we have little use for such talk of a mind
distinct from (and contained somehow within) the body. But Hume's metaphorical talk about the
way in which impressions leave their imprints on the mind as if it were a block of wax seems apt.
People who wish to remember something or take it deeply to heart will often repeat a mantra.
This creates what seems like a vocal “impression,” which produces a more intense and longer-
lasting effect than thought alone.
However, the whole of what I have produced thus far in this paper has brought us to the
understanding that the world is not just impressed upon us, but is rather manufactured or created.
Out of sensory input we organize things into a coherent (meaningful) picture. To be sure, we
must not take the language of impression/idea too far, for one might ask, aren’t some thoughts
more salient than others, to the degree that they might constitute “impressions” of a sort? And
here we have something more apt then the antiquated talk of Hume’s empiricism: Rather than
impressions vs. ideas, let us instead think of the salience of certain experiences, and let this

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characteristic include thought. Salience is just the surging forth or standing out of intense
experience, the kind that echoes in the mind for a while thereafter. The thought that we repeat
again and again surges forth ever more, like a song played on repeat—and therein is the force of
a mantra. It seems fitting to think of leaving marks, but rather than tie ourselves up in language
that was used in the context of mind/body dualism, we use something that can generally apply to
meaningful experience.
To return to the “Giraffe Fan” example: if I had not seen that fellow's shirt, I would not
have started thinking about giraffes and everything else it led me to think about that might be
associated with it. He most likely put on the clothes he did with the intent (as we say) of making
some kind of impression. Indeed, this common way of speaking inherited from the
Enlightenment thinkers is what almost led us to use the term earlier. This is especially obvious
when someone wears something with words in a language on it. Words have a peculiar salience:
they're like knives cutting through conscious experience. This is something to keep in mind in
our interactions with each other, but also in connection with one's own mental life. Repeated
forms of thought become habitual, just as do repeated actions, and many of our thoughts take
place in terms of words. What kind of language do you use when you talk to yourself? Are you
harsh and demanding, or gentle and sweet? There is a power behind both conventions. The
patterns of our thought that are habitual can indeed ring with force. What's more, there is so
much out there to expose ourselves to, to further increase the availability of different ways of
making these marks. What is salient in your life—what surges forth?
Identity of Things

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As I gaze about my room, I see many objects that I can call by name. Ashtray, pen,
spoon, cup, lamp. One of the things this naming enables us to do is communicate to one another
when we wish to direct attention to various objects. We distinguish many more 'kinds' of objects
than any other species known. Furthermore, we can articulate various properties within objects,
as well as describe relations between these things. The way the world is understood is in a sense
the way the world of objects (Umwelt) is understood. It is shaped by the way language is brought
into contact with these things. At the most basic level, we can have the friend who asks, can you
hand me that book? My attention is brought to bear on a particular object, one with which I
might not have even been involved had it not been for this semiotic process. I can gaze upon a
picture of someone I have never seen, and ask the picture's owner who it is. I might learn that it
is in fact his brother and might even subsequently meet this fellow, confirming things the
picture's owner had said about the person in the picture. There is also the way in which our
words can bring things into focus. I could be looking at a photo of someone that I feel seems
quite familiar, but I really can't put my finger on it. I ask my friend, who explains that it is a
certain acquaintance I've spent time with on only a couple occasions. She is wearing her hair
differently in the picture from the way she was wearing it on those other occasions. Instantly I
realize who it is and I have a “snap to” recognition.
It would seem our semiotic apparatus allows a very complex system of identification by
which we recall the associations of things by bringing up the right meaningful relations with the
help of language. We say “This is...” as well as personally, identifying oneself in the sense of “I
am...”, and this is what I mean by “identity”: we see things as being the things they are said to
be. But just how far does this power extend? Frank Ebersole speculates about the relation

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between language and perception in his aptly named book, Language and Perception. He
mentions the example of a pattern in the clouds that one is able to see only when it is mentioned
by another: “It looks like a dog. There's its tail, see?” He also talks about the deeper problem of
whether someone who does not have words for two different hues of a color—say, blue—can, in
looking at two objects, see that one is cerulean the other azure. How can we know that people
perceive this difference, if there is no way for them to articulate it? Of course, one might say, we
teach them the missing color-vocabulary, and when they see the objects again, they can identify
the different shades of blue. But it would seem that even if they saw the same colors before, they
did not see that they were cerulean and azure. Ebersole thus brings in the important distinction
between what he calls “seeing” and “seeing that.” (Ebersole 92).
Here the expression “seeing that” refers to our having a way of articulating something we
have noticed. We also use the phrase in a sense that extends beyond visual perception—when we
speak, for example, of having learned something new—of now seeing that the facts or ideas
connect in this or that way. The ideas in our internal language, just as the linguistic objects,
present themselves as distinct forms in this experience, adding to the way in which we may relate
things already present. But the phrase “seeing that” bears with it the connotation of the truth of
what is being seen, as though there were some already present relation that had only to be
revealed by finding the right words for it. I think the phrase that more broadly applies to this
process of identification is one which we have been using: “seeing as.” The way our language
augments the world, by our words appearing as linguistic objects, allows us to make such
conceptual identifications; and indeed all identifications are conceptual. We tend to say that the
truth is that there are azure and cerulean, and Ebersole seems to be asking his question from this

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perspective: can people without the words “azure” and “cerulean” see that this difference exists?
This is a difficult and perhaps even impossible question to answer, but it may reside with us in
the background. What I am here exploring is the way in which we do identify things.
We have this power of creativity—(creating words, and thus further relations, a process
which has the effect of changing the Umwelt)—and this is most evident in the processes of
teaching and learning. When someone is given the language that relates to various other semiotic
systems, doors to vast realms are opened for them. This is obvious in many cases. A good
example is that of becoming able to understand the science of chemistry by learning the language
chemists use to describe the processes that happen in chemical reactions, thereby becoming able
to represent this in thought and writing. We have the sense that someone thus educated can “see
that” chemistry works this way. It would seem from a semiotic perspective that the more proper
description is that we see things as being related in these ways that we did not, without the
language of chemistry, have any way of conceptualizing.
In personal relations, as well, this is something people do not often take account of. So
often, when listening in a public place to some of the conversations taking place around me, I
hear people passing judgment after judgment on other people. Other people seem to be the most
popular topic of discussion among most people. They identify so-and-so as such-and-such, and
proceed flagrantly to say things that the subject of the conversation may or may not enjoy
hearing. These usually are quite trivial matters, but sometimes people have strongly expressed
convictions about each other, and about themselves. How often do you repeat an idea about
someone, having the sense you know “what kind of person” he or she is? What words do you
find yourself using when reflecting on yourself? When you encounter strangers? When you read

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the news? When we are with friends, ears and hearts are often more open. We have the power of
exerting great influence on one another. Taking care of the kinds of judgments we pass will lead
to relationships which are open to natural growth, and learning. By taking care, I mean always
remembering to ask the question, “why do I see things in this way? Do I really know things to be
identifiable in the way I have construed them?” Learning in the sense of becoming able “to see
that...” is always a process of becoming able to see something new, to see anew. But to “see that”
is to lock oneself into the way of seeing things that forms preconceptions, which will cloud
seeing clearly.
Liberation of Things
The way in which we define and identify (and hence objectify) things brings to light the
deepest level at which the semiotic activity we engage in creates a picture of the world.
Whenever we see something as being the thing we understand it to be, the implication is that it is
not something else. If something is tall, it is not short. The self, thought of as separate being, is
that self and no one else. Whenever we understand something to be good, that means that its
absence or opposite would be bad. Yet the things we give a certain label are tied together with
other different things which we find similar enough to identify as being such-and-such, and we
rule out as not deserving that label, yet other things we regard as dissimilar. For instance, how
could we even have the concept of tallness or shortness if we didn't have objects of different
heights to compare? Tallness is a category the boundaries of which depend on what objects are
being considered for comparison. This is why context is essential to meaning. Friedrich
Nietzsche, who was writing before the modern field of semiotics had even started its formal

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development develop, has a firm grasp of this dynamic and abstract nature of objects. He
provides a revealing description of this process of conceptualization in his essay “On Truth and
Lying in a Non-Moral Sense.” Consider his example of our concept of “honesty”:
We have no knowledge of an essential quality that may be called honesty, but we
do know of several individualized and hence non-equivalent actions which we
equate with each other by omitting what is unlike, and which we now designate as
honest actions; finally we formulate them into a qualitas occulta with the name
'honesty'. (Nietzsche 767)
This “qualitas occulta” or “hidden quality” does not just characterize “honesty.” It is in fact the
character of every “quality” that it is “hidden” or unavailable to our perception. This includes
things’ being the things they are. (Indeed, even a thing’s being the thing it is, thanks to the
predicative aspect of our language, gets described as its identity—as if it were a quality). Using
the language of his predecessors, Nietzsche puts it in theoretical terms: “[Human beings] now
generalize all these impressions first, turning them into cooler, less colorful concepts in order to
harness the vehicle of their lives and actions to them” (Nietzsche 768). This is dependent on our
criteria of correctness: we say things really are this or that way, and thus when something is seen
as being truly the way it is being understood, we say that we “see that” it is the case. But even
this concept of truth, on which the supposed validity of all other concepts depends, is itself based
on this modeling process which equates a multiplicity of instances where statements have
seemed valid, so that “A way of designating things is invented which has the same validity and
force everywhere” (Nietzsche 766). Indeed, for all the practical purposes it serves, truth itself
was borne of tying together things that are different from one another by “abstracting”—
inventing, really—a quality that can be seen as common to them all.

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Nietzsche declares all these “criteria of correct perception” as non-existent (Nietzsche
770). In a sense, he is right, as all of these invented concepts are not to be found in direct
perception but only as abstracted from our manifold perceptions. “Truth,” “goodness,” and “evil”
are nowhere to be found but arise only in our talking about them. But this pierces deep into the
very core of our lives. There are many who think that there are definitive moral choices in certain
situations, and that there are things that are definitively true. While it may be that we see enough
similarities among the differences between things to know what we're talking about, their being
what they are is simply something that we say. If we take a semiotic perspective on life, it
becomes clear that we are the creators of these concepts. While some may feel shaken by such a
revelation, I can guarantee you that this does not strip these lofty concepts of all value. But it
does call for a shift in how we understand these values. For while to say that concepts are created
may seem to imply that they are meaningless, as we come to all of our concepts by the semiotic
process, this would imply that all of our concepts are meaningless. For indeed, the value of our
concepts of valuation is their meaning. What we consider to be good and evil is a part of our
Umwelt, and a change in that understanding leads to a change in the character of one's
understanding, and thus a change in action. Everything is meaningful in the context in which it
shows up, and for each concept, that context is a meaningful world—a world of meaning.
This is the highest degree of semiotic freedom we have known—a freedom
unprecedented (or at least as of yet not observed) in all the lower “levels” of semiotic and
semiosic activity. Not being anchored in a definitive understanding of concepts, but rather in a
semiotic understanding, we are given the role of listening: rather than asking, “why is this thing
good or bad?” we need to ask, “why do we understand this thing as good or bad? What does it

45. 45
mean to say that it's good or that it's bad?”. If someone claims that some statement “really refers
to the way things are,” we can ask: “why do we understand it in this way? What would it mean to
understand it another way?” This, of course, is not always the most prudent way to proceed, but
in many cases it can be invaluable. Our concepts, including the concept of “self,” do not
disappear entirely, but they do shift back into their places a products of our modeling process.
While they still have the force of meaning (which I would rather call power of meaning), they
lose their status—their power to make us think of them as having absolute reality (validity). Thus
we do not bend our lives to fit these concepts, but rather understand how these concepts fit into
our lives—and indeed, how we may bend them to achieve a better fit in each and every
particular situation. Rather than being buried beneath the architecture of concepts and signs, we
find ourselves on top—and this higher vantage point allows us to take a more complete view.
When we liberate things (by seeing them as being what they are thanks to the way they show up
and fit into our system of signs), we liberate ourselves.
Semioethics
I have used both the metaphor of listening to and that of viewing semiotic processes, and
both metaphors serve to provide the sense of examination or consideration of minute aspects.
This very examination is able to take place because of our superior degree of semiotic freedom.
Susan Petrelli and Augosto Ponzio see this as a powerful capacity for diagnosing various kinds
of situations. “[S]emiotics provides the key to a full understanding of why and in what sense
each human being is responsible for semiosis or life over the entire planet” (Ponzio and Petrelli
158). Now, more than ever, we are in an age in which we communicate on a global scale, and it

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is on this scale that Ponzio and Petrelli suggest we implement our semiotic capacity. Taking note
of the wide-acting effects of such models as Capitalism, the post-Industrial Revolution approach,
and the implementation of these designs on a global scale, they claim that
What characterizes our world in the phase of globalization is its destructive
potential at a planetary level...If semiosis and therefore life is to continue, risks
must be identified and communicated to others (especially the younger
generations). We need a sense of global responsibility, just as global as the social
system that is overwhelming us. (Ponzio & Petrelli 154)
In my paper, “Man and His Nature,” I propose communicating this sense of responsibility
through a holistic model that views every organism on the planet, including ourselves, as being
tied together in an integrated ecosystem. Here my primary focus is on our ability to change the
context in which we see things. We might think of the ecosystem suggestion as just one way of
applying this skill. This implementation of our semiotic capabilities requires carefully
considering the way things fit together, which starkly differs from the common practice of
thoughtlessly taking for granted an inherited model of the way things fit together. Sticking with
the “listening” metaphor for this reflective process, Ponzio and Petrelli characterize signs in this
way: “each wish, sentiment, value, interest, need, exigency, evil, or good, examined by
semioethics as a symptom, is embodied, expressed by words, the singular word, the embodied
word, that is, by voice. Semioethics carefully listens to voices” (Ponzio and Petrelli 152). Going
along with the metaphor involved in describing signs as voices, we might say that this “careful
listening” is one of the crucial components of a semiotic approach. A human is “[a]n animal
capable not only of of semiosis, but also of semiotics, that is, of using signs to reflect on signs,
therefore capable of being fully aware, of acting in full awareness” (Ponzio and Petrelli 157). It

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is my position that the heightened awareness Ponzio and Petrelli speak of is achieved most fully
by the “liberation of things” I discussed in the immediately preceding section. In this section we
focus on what we can do with this awareness.
By becoming aware of the significance of things that would otherwise serve as mere
stimuli to immediate action, we can consider the nature of this significance, and our
comportment regarding it.
As a semiotic animal the human being is endowed with the capacity to suspend
action and deliberate, with a capacity for critical thinking and conscious
awareness...the human being is invested biosemiosically and phylogenetically
with a unique capacity for taking responsibility, for making choices and taking
standpoints, for creative intervention on the course of semiosis in the biosphere.
(Ponzio & Petrelli 158).
Taking into consideration the biosemiotic approach, this “capacity for taking responsibility, for
making choices and taking standpoints” is but a further refinement of our semiotic nature. Ponzio
and Petrelli characterize semioethics as a thinking that “develops our awareness of the extension
of the semiosic network in the direction of ethics” (Ponzio & Petrelli 161). This ethical domain is
the place of which, as far as we know, we humans are the only ones to demonstrate an
understanding (which makes sense as all ethical considerations are in the realm of abstractions).
Ponzio and Petrelli are speaking mainly to semioticians, and it is from this perspective that they
make their powerful statement: “from a semioethic perspective the question of responsibility
cannot be escaped at the most radical level (that of defining commitments and values)” (Ponzio
and Petrelli 161).

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This claim, however, pierces deep into the core of ethics. For even if one does not see
oneself as a semiotician, to reflect upon values and to consider responsibilities is to make the
semioethic turn. The fact is that we are capable of reflecting on these things, and to ignore this
capability (and simply go with inherited responsibilities and values) is to ignore a fundamental
part of who we are. I have discussed some of the ethical considerations that semiotics allows us
to take note of at both the level of individual interactions and on a global scale. If you want to be
a certain way, that involves investigating what it means to be that way. We implement our
semiotic capacity not just in our critique of a picture of the world conceived as a whole, but in
each and every situation where the significance of things comes into question. I have made it
clear that this question can arise in any situation, though there are obviously some in which this
questioning will be more practical than others.
In my paper, “How We Take Responsibility,” I argue that having an idea of what would
be a good way for things to be implies responsibility in the mundane sense regarding one’s
choice to work towards that goal or not to do so. The mundane sense of responsibility is the
sense in which one is accountable for all the actions one was involved with (“Responsibility”,
Berger 6). Whether one takes responsibility or not, one is accountable. This means that if one is
aware of something taking place, even the choice of turning away and ignoring it is an action for
which one is responsible. This applies to anyone who has read this thesis: if one understands that
one can think critically about the significance of things, then not doing so is ignoring a
possibility one is confronted with. Ponzio and Petrelli seem to be thinking in terms of what I call,
in the sense of being specified the special sense of responsibility. The special responsibilities are
those which we take on as we put on a banner for a cause (“Responsibility”, Berger 6). To take

49. 49
the role of semiotician is a special kind of responsibility that involves careful listening. This
extra responsibility is additional to the already present responsibility for taking advantage or not
taking advantage of our semiotic capabilities.
If one decides to be a good person, that is a special responsibility. If one decides that the
earth should be kept healthy and our practices should be sustainable, that is a special
responsibility. However one goes about this, the fact remains that we could really carefully
consider the significance of everything involved. As I have construed things, for anyone who
considers him or herself a good person or who wants to evaluate his or her responsibilities, part
of living up to these goals is tapping into each of our semiotic capabilities. To fail to do so is to
shirk a responsibility—to ignore a part of the task at hand. And even if one does not care about
such things, the fact remains that the semiotic aspect of one's being remains neglected, so long as
one is aware of it—a group which now includes you who have read this up to this point! Thus
such a person is responsible for having or not having taken the semiotic turn, for having or not
having utilized many tools that this capacity affords us, some of the implementation of which I
have articulated in earlier sections of this essay.
Conclusions

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And so we have come full circle. In the beginning of this paper, I attempted to show in
some form the merit or value in undergoing a metasemiotic effort such as this. This was not a
mere embellishment, but rather an attempt to answer the question, “why understand ourselves
semiotically?” In order to really properly answer this question, we had to first deal with the more
primary question, “how can we understand ourselves semiotically?” Thus, as had been the case
in my own journey of research, the value of this kind of thinking has really only become fully
apparent to us through engaging in it and becoming immersed in the critical theory which
explains it. Thus we went on this adventure of describing semiotic thought through semiotic
thought, and we reached the crucial point of the theory that brings out an essential sense of
responsibility. We find in ourselves this amazing semiotic power, a power that coincides with
our language. In “Man and His Nature,” I ended by dwelling on the words commonly attributed
to Voltaire, “‘With great power comes great responsibility’” (“Nature”, Berger 17). These words
have a poignant way of resonating with the semioethical aspects of our life. However, the ethical
frame of thinking is just one (albeit one important) frame of mind (semiotic turn) that we can
take in our thinking, our lives, and our choices. To end this I will put forward these words which
I think express the sense of this paper more completely: with great power come great
possibilities.
Works Cited

51. 51
Austin, J. L. How to Do Things with Words. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1962. Print.
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Berger, David. “Man and His Nature.” 2014. Electronic.
Cobley, Paul. The Routledge Companion to Semiotics. Ed. Paul Cobley. New York: Routledge,
2010. Print.
Dunbar, Robin. “What Makes Us Human." Oxford University. Science Oxford, Pulse-Project. 22
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Ebersole, Frank B. Language and Perception: Essays in the Philosophy of Language. “Does
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Kull Kalevi. “Umwelt and Modeling.” The Routledge Companion to Semiotics. Ed. Paul Cobley.
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Ryle, Gilbert. The Concept of Mind. United Kingdom: Gilbert Ryle, 1949. Print.
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