Paying a recent call on my old friend Professor Eischwein, Transylvania\u27s former leading logologist, I discovered him busy at work in his laboratory.   How\u27s tricks, Professor?   I asked noting as I did that he was using a Bunsen burner to melt chocolate letters into a glass flask that was perched on one side of late letters into a glass flask that was perched on one side of the chemical balance

Sallows, Lee

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published Iroximately arranged list Robert lat one of '1 the lan­linguists ~s on the s. Though ind of the ,ook; there ~ to food. most? Not , but the avetail in youngster, mdJ john, r bar and have pro­: the max, y the Gulf The book lang such {, Dickson rryl Fran­il War, a , Confeder­161 THE ONTOLOGICAL PROBLEM LEE SALLOWS Nijmegen, The Netherlands Paying a recent ca11 on myoId friend Professor Einschwein,! Transylvania's former leading logologist, I discovered him busy at work in his laboratory. "How's tricks, Professor?" I asked,I noting as I did that he was using a Bunsen burner to melt choco­late letters into a glass flask that was perched on one side of a chemical balance. The opposing balance pan supported a si.milar flask containing what on closer inspection looked suspiciously like alphabet soup. Einschwein is eccentric, of course, but an acknowledged genius in Logologica promises to be "Oh. nothing special," dissolving Z held in his ment connected with the lead anywhere." his subject. His projected opus Principia a landmark in the field. he murmured, gazing fondly at a gently forceps. ''It' s just another little experi­alphabet problem. I don't suppose it will "The alphabet problem?" I said, looking of Einschwein' s workspace and noting a nearby piece of paper. "Hey, what is marks here?" around me at the clutter curious diagram on a this peculiar pattern of "They are only the serifs of Nottingham," he replied. "The sheriff of Nottingham? What on earth do you mean?" "Not sheriff, serifs," he said, "they are the serifs of the word NOTTINGHAM, but minus the letters themselves." I looked carefully at the pattern and saw he was right: there were the four serifs of the leading N, a space for the 0, two similar triangular groups corresponding to two capital T' s. and so on. I could hardly be­lieve my eyes. "But of what conceivable interest are the serifs of the word Nottingham?" I exclaimed. "Mmmn ... ? he responded, his attention still absorbed in the melting Z. "Well, I suppose it is a bit abstruse now that you mention it. I'm afraid it would take a but it's all part and parcel of my work "On. the alphabet problem, you mean?" "Naturally ... "What problem do you mean? Is there bet?" He glanced at me over his pince-nez. "the ontological problem. What else?" "The ontological problem? How it first "No, no, that's aetiology, theory of while to explain in detail, on the problem." a problem with the alpha­"But of course," he said. emerged, its history?" causes. I'm talking about the being or essence of the thing, its metaphysical quiddity, ab­stract substance, intrinsic nature, fundamental reality, what the entity actually is." 162 "What the alphabet is?" I laughed. "Oh, come on, Professor, you've got to be kidding!" He looked at me with curiosity. "You surprise me," he said, "I'd always assumed that the problem was widely recognised." "Wait a moment," I said, "maybe I misunderstood. For a minute you seemed to imply that you couldn't describe the alphabet--that you couldn' t even explain what the thing actually comprises." "You have it perfectly." "You're trying to tell me that you don't know what the alphabet is--that you cannot give a definition of the word alphabet?" "Not any more than you can." "Not any more than I can? You don't seriously believe that I can't explain what I mean by the word alphabet, do you?" "But that is exactly what I mean!" he replied, laying down his forceps and smiling. "Let's get this right," I said, "you mean the ordinary, every­day alphabet that we learned at school--the Roman alphabet?" "The Roman alphabet." "But for Heaven's sake, Professor," I said, "the alphabet is only a bunch of letters!" "Now you're being flippant," he said, "pray be precise." "Very well, I will. The Roman alphabet is a set of conventional typographical signs called letters. There are twenty-six letters in all and they occur in the alphabet arranged in a certain pre­defined order. How's that?" "Better," said Einschwein. "So the alphabet is an ordered set of twenty-six signs called letters?" "It is." "You are sure there are twenty-six?" "Exactly and precisely twenty-six." "And what are these twenty-six signs?" he asked. "The twenty-six signs, my friend," I said, trying hard to keep an edge of sarcasm out of my voice, "are the typographical entities known to us as A, B, C, and so on." "I'm not sure I know what you mean," he said, pushing a pencil and notebook over the table. "Show me." Taking up Einschwein' s pencil, I dutifully wrote out 'A', B' ,1 'C', etc. up to and including 'Z'. Having done so I slid the notebook back to him. "I see," he said, "so these twenty-six typographical symbols here are the things you call letters, and the complete set, arranged in this order, is what you call the Roman alphabet. Have I got that quite right?" "You have grasped it to perfection, Prof." "Then tell me," he said, "what exactly would this be?" He drew something on the page and handed it back. I looked at the sheet and saw he had drawn an 'a'. "It's a lower-case A," I replied. "I beg your pardon?" "A lower case form of the letter A," I repeated. "Ate you implying this sign is a letter?" "Of course it is." "But it is not one of the twenty-six you have showed me." "No," I s ones I wrote "So the s that is in tt "Not at (3 forms, uppe the upper C(3 "SO you m' "No! Hey, "On the cc things. Fin and precise! you imply 1 the symbol I What are yc bets, one up "Of coursl alphabet is "Once upo prove that i "Now wai1 are talking six letters, case or lov the same." "The form you said th a written sy "So it is.' "Well, I looked provi can you arg according tc are entirely be both this "Well, I "but until n, "Forget e' signs cann01 tinct typogr called a let that is sorr signs. " "Well, all typographica letter, they stand for, b "And what I hesitate, "Well, the ay. And the "You meal sound ay?" 163 "No," I said, "I just told you, this is a lower-case letter. TheProfessor, ones I wrote out are upper-case.".. "So the sign I have just drawn is a letter but it is not onehe said, tised ... that is in the alphabet?" "or a minute "Not at all. The letters of the alphabet come in two different phabet--that forms, upper case and lower case. I just happened to write out "ises ... the upper case forms." "So you mean there are really fifty-two letters in the alphabet?" the alphabet "No! Hey, you' re deliberately confusing the issue." .et? .. "On the contrary," responded Einschwein, "it is you who confuses things. First you tell me that the alphabet comprises 'exactly believe that and precisely I this set of twenty-six signs and no others. Next you?" you imply that although quite distinct from any of your signs, laying down I 1 the symbol I have drawn is nevertheless a member of the alphabet. What are you trying to tell me, that there are really two alpha­lary, every­ bets, one upper-case, the other lower-case?" tbet?" "Of course not. Look, be reasonable, Everyone knows that the alphabet is comprised of twenty-six letters." alphabet is "Once upon a time everyone knew the earth was flat. Did that prove that it was?" e." "Now wait a minute, that is an empirical question, here we conventional are talking about a definition. The alphabet is made up of twenty­-six letters six letters, each of which can appear in one of two forms: upper certain pre- case or lower case. The form may vary but the letter remains the same." ordered set "The form may vary but the letter remains the same? I thought you said that a letter was a typographical sign, which is to say a written symbol having a definite shape?" "So it is," "Well, I can see that small variations in form could be over­looked provided the intended shape remains recognizable. But how Iard to keep can you that A I and 'a' are really the same letter, which cal entities according to you means the same symbol, when their two shapes are entirely distinct? How can the first symbol in the alphabet ng a pencil be both this symbol here and that different symbol there?" "Well, I grant you seem to have a point," I replied weakly, t 'A' , I B I, "but until now I guess everybody has always just kind of ... " slid the "Forget everybody. Use your reason. Two distinct typographical signs cannot be one particular typographical sign. So if two dis­cal symbols tinct typographical signs are identified with a particular thing ~t, arranged called a letter, then obviously the letter itself must be an entity Have I got that is something other than either of these two typographical signs," "Well, all right, it may be that they cannot both be the same ~?" He drew typographical sign yet nevertheless they are both called the same It the sheet letter, they both have the same name," I said, "and they both stand for, both symbolize, the same thing." "And what thing is that?" I hesitated. Einschwein had inveigled me onto unfamiliar ground. "Well, they both represent the same sound, I guess. The sound ay. And the sound ay is also their name." "You mean that the two signs are alternative symbols for the ne. " sound ay?" I 164 "Yes." "But not symbols for the sound ah?" "Okay, ah also. Look, I am not a phonologist. The two letters are alternative symbols for a whole family of different sounds: the ay in bay, the ah in bath, the a in cat. .. it all depends on context." "So these two letters--you admit the plurality--which are both called ay, are interchangeable symbols for a family of possible sounds, among them the sound ay itself?" "You've got it." "Do you now mean to tell me that the alphabet is really a set of twenty-six families of sounds?" "No, the alphabet is a set of twenty-six letters. What those letters themselves stand for is strictly irrelevant to the problem of what the alphabet really is." "Very well, I'll accept that. But at least you now seem to see that there is a problem to be faced here. However, you still over­look something." "And that is?" "You began by insisting that a letter was a typographical sign." "It was youthful ignorance." "Whereas a moment ago you said that although upper-case A and lower-case a may not be the same typographical sign, they are nevertheless called the same letter and they both symbolize the same thing." "I did." "But you now accept that whatever the entity known as "letter ay" may be, it must be something that is distinct from either of the typographical signs 'A' and 'a'?" "So it would seem I am reluctantly compelled to acknowledge." "Now, assuming you were correct in the first place, doesn't that tell you something?" "How do you mean. 'correct in the fi rst place' 1ft "w'ell, considel. If letter ay is a typographical sign, but it is not the typographical sign •A' and it is not the typographical sign I a', then ... ?" "It must be some other typographical sign?" "Is there any logical alternative?" "You mean that letter ay might really be ... the ampersand, for instance?" "Now you are being inconsistent." "I nconsistent?" "Well, did you or didn' t you insist that letters were members of the alphabet?" "Of course I did, but I thought you had just overturned that idea!" "Not at all. All I have done is to refute the notion that letter ay is the sign 'A' or the sign •a'. But does that prevent it from being some other typographical sign in the alphabet?" "So letter ay might not be the ampersand but it could be ...Q, for instance?" "Q would certainly fit the bill--provided we could establish that Q was in the alphabet, of course. At least, if letter ay were Q, and Q c it would cleo "Our imme "Exactly. might say--c "But then "There' s 1 primary aSSE "My prima "That lett, "You mean "Well, do I gripped Professor, d( "By all m, "Then ma letters agair "With plea ca	ted backgI "The theor "Oh. dear cent to fund FOREIG Back wow it: a 	 Kid In a 1994; ~ byway, animal human tsk, z; horn, from OJ vary nino, always Does a is obv to prir ized (: Go Bur. in May ~ two letters 'ent sounds: all depends ~h are both of possible really a set What those the problem seem to see 1 still over­lical sign." pper-case A sign, they h symbolize I as "letter from either \T ledge. " ce, doesn't .gn, but it 'pographical ersand, for ~re members turned that that letter 'ent it from uld be ...Q, i establish :er ay were 165 Q, and Q could be shown to be a member of the alphabet, then it would clear up our immediate problem." "Our immediate ontological problem?" "Exactly. Which is only a part--a one twenty-sixth part. you might say--of our general ontological problem." "But then we would come to the problem of let kew?"ter "There's that. of course, but first, what of the validity of your primary assertion?" "My primary assertion?" "That letters are members of the alphabet." "You mean they may not be?" "Well, do you have any firm evidence to offer in support?" 1 gripped the table and gazed wildly about me. "Look here, Professor, do you mind if I ask you a question?" "By a 11 means." "Then may 1 enquire why you are weighing melted chocolate letters against alphabet soup on that balance there?" "With pleasure," he said, "but it's an experiment with a compli­cated background. How versed are you on the theory of letters?" "The theory of letters?--l' ve heard of the theory of numbers." "Oh. dear," he said, "I'm afraid this is going to mean a des­cent to fundamentals." FOREIGN BARKS, SNEEZES (AND OTHER SOUNDS) Back in Feb 1975, Maxey Brooke described how dogs bow­wow in six foreign languages, and he followed this up with a Kickshaws item in Feb 1983 with six foreign ker-choos. In a slender book entitled Hear! Here! (Clarkson Potter, 1994; $10), Michele Slung has vastly expanded this linguistic byway, presenting 3 to 12 translations of approximately 60 animal noises (quack, tweet, croak, cluck, oink, meow), human vocalizations (kitchy-koo, peek-a-boo, boohoo, tsk tsk, zzzzz) and mechanical sounds (police siren, clock, car horn, boat horn). Some, like meow, are remarkably similar from one language to the next, while others, like the siren, vary greatly (bah-bu, pan-pon, tatu-tata, pee-poh, nino­nino, toh-nee, tut-tut). Curiously, Brooke and Slung don 't always agree: does the German dog say haf-haf or wau-wau? Does a Japanese sneeze hakshon or kushami? More research is obviously needed. Foreign comic strips no doubt reduce to print hundreds of additional sounds, some highly special­ized (for English examples, see "Onomatopoeia: Things That Go Bump" in May 1991 or "Onomatopoeia: The Daily Grind" in May 1992). 

The Ontological Problem

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The Ontological Problem

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