What is the meaning of meaning? This is hard to say because we need words to express meaning, yet words are often inadequate. There is a word for this - ineffable. And this word is a good example of how a word can be inadequate and how a word can muddy meaning. When I use this word am I simply saying that I cannot find the words? Or am I saying that the meaning is beyond expression? Or am I implying a spiritual or transcendent component attached to the meaning? Any one or all of these are valid interpretations, though at this point in this instance, because we are working to define one thing by saying it is indefinable, have we moved from meaning to meta-meaning? Or because we recognize the hazy uncertainty of words, are we actually closer to authentic meaning? And does any of this help me to find or even come closer to the meaning of meaning? Or will meaning always be beyond words?
This takes me to another word that I am actively hopeful, once past, I will get to the point. The purpose (or meaning) of definition (by definition) is the act of making something definite, distinct or clear. Yet because all words are subject to interpretation, (which is by definition elucidation, which is by definition explication, which is by definition explanation, which is by definition interpretation, all with the potential for varying degrees of theoretical exposition), nothing is ever definite, distinct or clear.
And this...
(I am nearing my point now in which I will expound theoretically for several hundred more words.)
…this is why, I Love Books!
Anyone who shapes 80,000 words to cohesively elucidate, explicate, explain, and expound, and does it well... Wow! I don't have the words to describe this marvel of transcriptural engineering. And because I don't have the words you can see I just made one up.
This past weekend in my weekly trek to the local bookstore, I was genuinely thrilled with a couple of finds. They have been added to my list to purchase as my budget allows. When I connect as I did on this trip, it is as if I can feel each one of these millions upon millions of words reaching out to me. I can almost see them standing with hands clasped behind their backs, and leaning forward ever-so-slightly; and I can almost hear them politely, eagerly asking me to read them, interpret them, and find meaning. They must be polite. Not only within the (seemingly shrinking) realm of considerate organized thought, but also within the (seemingly) much larger world of disorganized, rhetorical, loud and abrasive (and often abusive) verbal antics, there is much competition for my attention.
As much as I was lifted and inspired inside the bookstore, I was every bit as much disillusioned and disheartened upon reentry into reality. And as vivid the personification of those millions upon millions of eager words, I could now see each one taking a knee, head down, brow creased, and grimacing sadly at my departure. I have to remember: the lower the lows, the higher the highs. Without the contrast, there would be no possibility of definition.
I believe considerate, organized, well-written thought is the best source for contrast and reason, and I believe it better serves to enhance my potential for understanding than any other form of media. And while there are many outstanding examples of shorter pieces of considerate, organized, well-written thought, I believe books are the better option for a depth of understanding unavailable in any other form. I believe that today far too many of us choose to believe that considerate, organized, well-written thought, (especially that in the form of books), is inaccessible because it is perceived as pretentious and/or disagreeable; or even dangerous. And because of this, when we choose our books, I believe that far too many of us choose simple and safe; God forbid I should think for myself.
Yes, like most I spent many years choosing books that appealed to me, which in hindsight was probably in most cases books that appeared to present a familiar perspective; I judged the book by its cover. But as I stretched myself, I found bits and pieces of alternative thinking which led to larger and more diverse chunks which ultimately brought me into realms of thought I had never thought. Books have guided me from narrow, unmoving certainty to a breathtaking vista of skeptical uncertainty and a passionate and overwhelming desire to save the world. Today, the problem with this desire is that no one seems to want to listen to someone who freely admits to uncertainty, and no one wants to expend the effort to find (much less research) experts for every challenge we face. No, I cannot save the world by myself, but neither can any other single individual or particular ideology. Yet it is so much simpler to gravitate to self-proclaimed saviors.
Perhaps I am not as great an exception as it appears to me; (I certainly and actively hope I am not). But if I am not in the minority, then why are we where we are? Why does it appear that most of us remain entrenched within the narrow, rigid walls of our unmoving certainty. I see very little active synthesis. It appears that much effort is expended to stand still. Yet there are Books! Books can move us! And for all the Books I see, there must be a lot of readers. Right? I don't want to believe that most of us are just buyers and not really readers. So perhaps we are too busy reading to actively participate? Perhaps those who are standing still have more opportunity to control our movement? And because they control, we do not move? And perhaps readers are content to sit in one place and read. It makes some sense. If we perceive movement – if we are moving – it is the narrow, rigid, definite, certain, straight-line movement of narrow, rigid, definite, certain, lazy, straight-line thinkers.
Books can move us!