The Senior Common Room at St Anselm's
The rain had settled into the sort of steady determination that seemed to belong permanently to old colleges. The windows of the Senior Common Room glowed amber against the grey afternoon. Professor Quillibrace sat beside the fire, turning the pages of a scientific journal with the mild concentration of someone reading a particularly careful crossword.
Mr Blottisham arrived carrying tea and an expression of cheerful certainty.
"I've just read the most extraordinary neuroscience paper."
Quillibrace looked up.
"Oh?"
"They've found neurons that respond specifically to nouns."
"Have they indeed?"
"Quite remarkable. It seems we've finally located the building blocks of language."
Quillibrace folded the journal carefully.
"What precisely have they found?"
Blottisham blinked.
"I've just told you."
"No," said Quillibrace pleasantly. "You've told me what you believe they have found. What did the experiment actually observe?"
"Neurons firing."
"Good."
"Specifically before nouns."
Quillibrace nodded.
"So the experiment observed neurons whose activity systematically accompanies the production of what linguists classify as nouns."
"Exactly."
"And from this you conclude..."
"...that the neurons contain the grammatical machinery."
Quillibrace stirred his tea thoughtfully.
"Contain?"
Blottisham frowned.
"Well... perhaps 'encode'."
"I see."
A brief silence followed.
Miss Elowen Stray entered quietly, carrying three fresh cups of tea.
"I hope I'm not interrupting."
"On the contrary," said Quillibrace. "Mr Blottisham has just improved 'contain' into 'encode'."
She smiled.
"Has the problem improved as well?"
Blottisham sighed.
"I don't see the difficulty."
Quillibrace leaned back.
"Suppose I write the word cat on this notepad."
He did so.
CAT
"There."
Blottisham nodded.
"Does the ink contain a cat?"
"Obviously not."
"Does it contain the meaning of cat?"
"Well..."
"It must," said Quillibrace gently, "if meanings are things that words carry."
"No, no. The ink carries the word."
"And the word carries the meaning?"
"Precisely."
"So where, exactly, is the meaning?"
Blottisham hesitated.
"In the word."
Quillibrace slid the notepad across the table.
"It appears to contain only ink."
Miss Stray looked at the page.
"My niece couldn't read that."
"No?"
"She's three."
"So," Quillibrace continued, "if the meaning is already inside the word, why does she fail to find it?"
Blottisham laughed.
"Because she hasn't learned English."
"Ah."
Another pause.
"So learning English changes..."
"The reader."
"Not the ink?"
"No."
"Curious."
Blottisham shifted in his chair.
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
"I probably do."
"But you're being impossible."
"I hope only temporarily."
Miss Stray looked thoughtfully at the word on the page.
"It seems the marks don't change."
"No."
"The meaning changes with the person reading."
Quillibrace inclined his head.
"Or perhaps..."
She considered.
"...perhaps the meaning only comes into existence when someone capable of reading encounters the marks."
Blottisham waved a hand.
"That's merely interpretation."
Quillibrace smiled.
"Indeed."
"As though interpretation weren't the whole point."
Blottisham ignored this.
"The neurons are different."
"How so?"
"They don't contain meanings. They contain grammatical functions."
"I see."
"And grammatical functions are..."
"Nouns."
Quillibrace waited.
Blottisham frowned.
"Well..."
"Do neurons fire before nouns because they contain nounness?"
"No."
"Or because they participate in producing utterances that linguists subsequently analyse as containing nouns?"
Blottisham looked into his teacup.
"I suppose..."
"Take your time."
"...the second."
"Excellent."
Miss Stray leaned forward.
"Then the noun isn't inside the neuron."
"It would seem not."
"It's something recognised within the utterance."
Quillibrace nodded.
"Or more precisely, within a particular linguistic construal of the utterance."
Blottisham rubbed his forehead.
"I don't like this."
"No?"
"It feels as though things keep escaping."
"Escaping?"
"First the meaning isn't in the word."
"Apparently not."
"Now the noun isn't in the neuron."
"So it seems."
"What next?"
Quillibrace smiled into the fire.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On how many other things we've quietly imagined to be inside other things."
The room fell silent.
Outside, rain continued its patient conversation with the windows.
Miss Stray broke the silence.
"Professor..."
"Yes?"
"I'm beginning to wonder whether this isn't really about neurons at all."
Quillibrace's eyes twinkled.
"I was hoping someone might notice."
Blottisham looked from one to the other.
"You two have become insufferably cryptic."
Quillibrace stood and returned the journal to the table.
"My dear Blottisham."
"Yes?"
"The experiment is perfectly admirable."
"I thought you'd disagree."
"Not at all."
"Then what troubles you?"
Quillibrace considered the question for a moment.
"The experiment reveals relations."
"Yes?"
"We explain them by inventing containers."
Blottisham stared blankly.
Miss Stray quietly closed her notebook.
"I think," she said, "that may become rather important."
The fire crackled softly.
No one disagreed.
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