Since the dawn of time, philosophy has been trying to figure out, you know, just a couple of small things.
The Pre-Socratics, for example, were on a mission to find the one principle behind everything. Some said water, others apeiron, air, fire... The more poetic among them even claimed the world came from a harmonious clash of opposites. But later on, the question shifted a bit. At centre stage arrived a rather peculiar, one-of-a-kind being: the human. Suddenly, we were the main topic. And so philosophy turned to asking: what exactly is this creature? What makes a human, human? What’s that one thing that, if taken away, would make us stop being who we are?
Just a tiny question, as we were saying. And from Socrates onwards, philosophers really let their imaginations run wild with definitions. For some, humans are rational and political animals (that one’s easy, thanks, Aristotle). For others, the essence of humanity is purely material, and our ultimate good, the thing that drives us, is pleasure (good old Epicurus knew how to have a good time).
We could go on for hours, centuries even (just like they did). And there are those who say such definitions are impossible anyway, because the human being is messy and contradictory, full of both light and shadow, reason and emotion, thesis and antithesis. And, to be fair, they’ve got a point.
Still, let’s try to throw in a definition of our own: humans are loquens creatures, beings who speak. Because it’s undeniable: we have language, we can talk. Only us? Well, not quite. Animals communicate too. Not in the same way, sure, but they do pass on information.
There was a biologist—no small name, mind you; he won the Nobel Prize for Medicine in 1973—called Karl von Frisch, who was the first to crack the code of how bees talk to each other.
According to his research, when a bee finds food, she flies back to the hive and tells the others where it is using two types of dances: if it’s nearby, she draws circles; if it’s farther away, she performs a figure-eight. So the bee (X) draws shapes for her companions (Y) in reference to the food source (Z). And by doing that, she creates a meaningful connection, a kind of text.
Even our friend Aristotle said something along those lines: speech is made up of three parts: the one who’s speaking (X), who they’re speaking to (Y), and what they’re talking about (Z).
But something feels off, doesn’t it? You start to wonder if we’re really all that different from bees. Amazing and essential little creatures, sure, but haven’t we got a little something extra?
Short answer: yes. And that’s because humans aren’t just loquens, we are e-loquens.
Long answer: yes, there’s a fundamental difference between transmitting information and communicating. Animal language is mostly about transmission. The bee sends out a message, but she doesn’t care whether the others really get it, or understand it properly. She doesn’t expect a reply. The only possible response is a simple, mechanical one: fly off and fetch the food.
So today we’ve learned something important: humans are not bees. (Shocking, we know.) If you already suspected as much, nice instincts. If you had your doubts, well, here’s a line of reasoning to clear things up.
Either way, this little series about philosophy and language will be in three parts. So we’ll see you next time. For questions about language, or bees, write to us at supernova@remidastudio.com: we’ll try to answer both.
