I think it is a good time to return to the language game, Wittgenstein's way, but this time looking at it through Splectrum glasses. To not let the game itself stand in the way of understanding, let's use a simple one-word language game: Slab.
A builder and assistant are building a straight wall, no complications. The game is to coordinate actions and build the wall efficiently by adding slabs to it. "Slab," says the builder whenever he is ready for the next one, and the assistant obliges. A repetitive action driven by a single word.
Let's expand this into equivalent scenarios.
In the first, no confirmation is needed — "Slab," and there it comes. In another pair, the builder wants audible confirmation: "Slab?" asks the builder. "Slab," confirms the assistant when the next one is ready. The same word, used by a different actor in the game — different meaning.
Another pair likes more etiquette: "Give me a slab, please," says the builder, and when ready — "Here is the next slab," answers the assistant.
And there is even a pair that doesn't like to speak when working: the builder raises his hands when a new slab is needed, and the assistant obliges. No words at all.
These scenarios are part of the same language game, but each uses a different language, albeit an equivalent expression of the rules using different words or gestures. Reality always comes with more than just one incarnation, being in the world is always more complex. That said, we find it easy to partially share what is well-understood and ignore what one could call differences on the fringe. What we share always exists in a world of ambiguity.
And then there is the outside view. I am looking at a builder-assistant pair doing their job — a language game, part of their way of life. Every minute or less I hear the builder shout "Slab" and without delay the assistant shoots off and fetches one. This gets repeated over and over again. The outside view is where the equivalent expression is most striking. Watching the different builder-assistant pairs going about their work, all with their own language game quirks, it is obvious that all are essentially playing the same game. The languages are related, like a family. Each has equal standing. Each expresses the same wall building concept.
It's not only that there are equivalent expressions of the same game concept — there are different points of observation as well. The outside observer, not participating in the game. The builder, with his own narrative — "when I need a slab, I shout slab." The assistant, with hers — "when I hear slab, I rush to fetch the next one." These are all different ways of experiencing the reality of the game. Although they may all agree on the same concept, they all have their own personal experience of the reality of it.
In what is described above, there is only one concept explicitly in operation. It is implicitly assumed you know what I am talking about when I say builder-assistant pair, or slab. There is prior knowledge, prior concepts that are assumed shared already. If an explanation is needed then more concepts come into play, and maybe more again. Without prior knowledge there is a never-ending cycle of explanations. It is turtles all the way down.
Analysing simple things hides so much complexity. And this is necessary — we wouldn't be able to share effectively if we weren't able to hide complexity away. This is an important function of language: to share a vocabulary that mediates a clear transfer of what then becomes shared knowledge. Although each observer has their own experience — sharing languages with appropriate vocabulary and grammar creates a solid foundation of shared knowledge, a strong cultural cohesion.
Each observer's experience of what is happening goes far beyond what is shared. The builder feels the weight of each slab landing, the roughness under his hands, the sun on his back. The assistant feels the strain of lifting, the rhythm of the work, the satisfaction of a clean handover. None of this enters the shared vocabulary — it doesn't need to. But it is there, in every moment. The personal experience goes well beyond language and what language can share. That is where Heidegger's being in the world really kicks in.
This post is part of the language series. More on Splectrum and language in the language area of the reference library.
Photo: Brett Jordan / Unsplash
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