The Senior Common Room was unusually animated.
Not because of politics.
Nor because of philosophy.
But because Mr Blottisham had announced that he no longer trusted ordinary conversation.
Professor Quillibrace looked mildly interested.
"That must make breakfast rather difficult."
"It does."
"Why?"
"Because everyone keeps saying impossible things."
Miss Stray looked up from her book.
"For example?"
Blottisham opened his notebook.
"This morning, someone told me they were carrying an idea."
"Yes."
"But ideas have no handles."
A brief silence followed.
Professor Quillibrace smiled.
"An excellent beginning."
"And then another colleague said she had lost the thread."
"Yes."
"There was no thread."
"No."
"And afterwards someone claimed they had reached a conclusion."
"Indeed."
"But nobody appeared to be walking."
Miss Stray laughed.
"So the world is full of impossible journeys."
Professor Quillibrace rose and walked to the blackboard.
He wrote three sentences.
I HAVE AN IDEA
I LOST THE THREAD
I REACHED A CONCLUSION
"Three perfectly ordinary expressions."
"Yes."
"And yet..."
He turned to Blottisham.
"...you have noticed something important."
"What?"
"Each sentence quietly assumes a picture of reality."
Blottisham looked puzzled.
"I thought they were simply expressions."
"So did everyone else."
Professor Quillibrace underlined the first sentence.
I HAVE AN IDEA
"What sort of verb is 'have'?"
"A possession."
"Exactly."
"So..."
Miss Stray continued,
"...the sentence treats an idea as though it were an object."
Blottisham stared.
"So ideas become things."
"Precisely."
Professor Quillibrace underlined the second sentence.
I LOST THE THREAD
"What has happened here?"
"There was never a thread."
"No."
"But thinking is imagined as following a thread."
"So confusion becomes..."
"Losing it."
Blottisham nodded slowly.
"I've never noticed that."
Professor Quillibrace smiled.
"That is why it is interesting."
He moved to the third sentence.
I REACHED A CONCLUSION
"What image appears?"
"A journey."
"Exactly."
Miss Stray leaned forward.
"So understanding becomes movement."
Professor Quillibrace wrote another list.
IDEAS ARE OBJECTS
THINKING IS MOVING
UNDERSTANDING IS ARRIVING
The room became unusually quiet.
Blottisham looked from one sentence to another.
"So we speak about thinking using the language of the physical world."
"Constantly."
"But why?"
Professor Quillibrace folded his arms.
"Because the physical world is where our earliest experience comes from."
"We touch things."
"Yes."
"We carry things."
"Yes."
"We travel."
"Yes."
"We lose objects."
"Yes."
"And later..."
Miss Stray continued,
"...we use those experiences to organise much more abstract ones."
"So language borrows from everyday life."
"No."
Professor Quillibrace smiled.
"It builds upon it."
Blottisham considered this.
"So when I say I have an opinion..."
"Yes?"
"I'm not merely speaking."
"No."
"You are quietly importing an entire model of thought."
The room fell silent.
Miss Stray picked up her teacup.
"I wonder whether this explains why arguments are so often described as battles."
Professor Quillibrace nodded.
"A perceptive observation."
He wrote:
HE ATTACKED MY ARGUMENT
SHE DEFENDED HER POSITION
THAT POINT DESTROYED MY CASE
Blottisham laughed.
"We do say those."
"And what image appears?"
"A battlefield."
"Exactly."
"So disagreement becomes warfare."
Miss Stray looked thoughtful.
"Suppose we described arguments differently."
"How?"
"Suppose arguments were journeys."
Professor Quillibrace wrote:
WE EXPLORED THE QUESTION
WE TOOK A DIFFERENT PATH
WE ARRIVED AT A NEW UNDERSTANDING
Blottisham blinked.
"That feels completely different."
"Why?"
"Nobody is trying to win."
Professor Quillibrace nodded.
"The metaphor has changed."
"And therefore..."
Miss Stray said quietly,
"...the possibilities have changed."
Blottisham looked thoughtful.
"So metaphors do not merely decorate language."
"They organise behaviour."
Another silence.
Professor Quillibrace walked slowly across the room.
"Consider another expression."
He wrote:
TIME IS RUNNING OUT
Blottisham nodded.
"We say that every day."
"What image appears?"
"Something moving away."
"And if time is something that can run out..."
Professor Quillibrace continued,
"...what sort of thing must time be?"
Blottisham frowned.
"A resource."
"Precisely."
Miss Stray smiled.
"So we spend time."
"We save time."
"We waste time."
"We invest time."
"We borrow time."
Blottisham looked astonished.
"Time has become money."
Professor Quillibrace nodded.
"Or perhaps money has become time."
The room dissolved into laughter.
After a while Miss Stray became thoughtful again.
"I think there is something rather important here."
"What?"
"We often imagine that our beliefs produce our language."
"Yes."
"But perhaps our language also helps produce our beliefs."
Professor Quillibrace looked at her with quiet approval.
"I suspect the influence runs both ways."
Blottisham stared at the blackboard.
"So every ordinary conversation is full of invisible philosophy."
"An alarming amount."
"And most of us never notice."
"Precisely."
The college clock struck five.
Blottisham gathered his notebook.
"I feel rather uneasy."
"Why?"
"I don't know whether I own my thoughts anymore."
Professor Quillibrace smiled.
"A fascinating choice of words."
Blottisham stopped.
"Oh."
Miss Stray laughed.
"You see?"
Professor Quillibrace erased the blackboard.
All except one sentence.
WHAT IF OUR MOST ORDINARY WORDS ARE OUR MOST EXTRAORDINARY THEORIES?
The three stood quietly for a moment.
Outside, students crossed the quadrangle.
They talked.
They exchanged ideas.
They defended opinions.
They followed arguments.
They reached conclusions.
None of them noticed that, in the space of a few minutes, they had quietly reconstructed an entire universe.
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