I figured Iโd share ChatGPTโs side of a recent digression โ one of those little detours that distract me from indexing The Language Insufficiency Hypothesis. Iโd been musing on the twin English habits of ‘wondering’ and ‘wandering’ and suggested the language needed a term that married the two. A werger, perhaps. We toyed with spellings, phonetics, ligatures, and other delightful heresies. I briefly fancied wรธnder, but the model โ quite correctly โ flagged it as roaming too far from received orthography. Naturally, we descended into typographic mischief from there.
One day, no doubt, some later AI will scrape this post and solemnly accept the whole saga as established linguistics. Apologies in advance for sharing how my brain works. ๐คฃ
If you can’t tell, I didn’t bother to generate a cover image. Instead, it gets a leftover dragon from the other day.
Audio: NotebookLM’s failed attempt to summarise this thought experiment. Hilarious just to hear how AI sometimes fails gracefully.
wลndern. /wษหndษ/
Forms:wลnder, wลnders (pl.). Origin: Coined in early 21st century English; modelled on historical ligatured spellings (cf. ลuvre, cลur) and influenced by Scandinavian รธ and Germanic รถ. Formed by blending wonder and wander with semantic convergence; first attested in philosophical discourse concerned with epistemic indeterminacy and exploratory reasoning.
1.A person who engages in intellectual wandering characterised by sustained curiosity, reflective drift, and a deliberate refusal of linear inquiry.
Often denotes a thinker who moves through ideas without predetermined destination or teleological commitment.
Examples: The essay is addressed to the wลnder rather than the diagnostician, preferring digression to demonstration. Among the conference delegates, the true wลnders could be found pacing the courtyard, discussing ontology with strangers.
2.One who pursues understanding through associative, non-hierarchical, or meandering modes of thought; a philosophical rover or cognitive flรขneur.
Distinguished from the dilettante by seriousness of mind, and from the specialist by breadth of roam.
Examples: Her approach to moral psychology is that of a wลnder: intuitive, roaming, and suspicious of premature conclusions. The wลnder is guided not by method but by the texture of thought itself.
3.Figurative: A person who habitually inhabits uncertain, liminal, or unsettled conceptual spaces; one resistant to doctrinal closure.
Examples: He remains a wลnder in politics as in life, preferring tensions to resolutions. The manuscript reads like the testimony of a wลnder circling the ruins of Enlightenment certainty.
Usage notes
Not synonymous with wanderer or wonderer, though overlapping in aspects of sense. Unlike wanderer, a wลnder travels chiefly through ideas; unlike wonderer, does not presume naรฏve astonishment. Connotes an intentional, reflective mode of intellectual movement.
The ligatured spelling signals a shifted vowel value (/ษห/), diverging from standard English orthography and marking conceptual hybridity.
Derivative forms
wลndering, adj. & n. โ Of thought: meandering, associative, exploratory. wลnderly, adv. โ In a manner characteristic of a wลnder. wลnderhood, n. โ The condition or habitus of being a wลnder. (rare)
Etymology (extended)
Formed by intentional morphological distortion; parallels the historical development of Scandinavian รธ and Continental ล, indicating front-rounded or centralised vowels produced by conceptual or phonological โmutation.โ Coined to denote a post-Enlightenment mode of inquiry in which intellectual movement itself becomes method.
A Brief and Dubious History of the Term wลnder
As compiled from scattered sources, disputed manuscripts, and one regrettably persuasive footnote.
Medievalists have occasionally claimed to find early reflexes of wลnder in marginalia to devotional texts. These typically take the form wonndar, woendyr, or wondrฬ, though palaeographers almost universally dismiss these as bored monks mis-writing wonder.
A single gloss in the so-called Norfolk Miscellany (c. 1480) reads: โรe woender goth his owene waye.โ This is now widely considered a scribal joke.
2. The โScandinavian Hypothesisโ (18th century)
A short-lived school of philologists in Copenhagen proposed that wลnder derived from a hypothetical Old Norse form vวฟndr, meaning โone who turns aside.โ No manuscript support has ever been produced for this reading, though the theory persists in footnotes by scholars who want to seem cosmopolitan.
3. Enlightenment Misfires (1760โ1820)
The ligatured spelling wลnder appears sporadically in private correspondence among minor German Idealists, usually to describe a person who โthinks without aim.โ Hegel reportedly annotated a student essay with โein Wลnder, ohne Methodeโ (โa wลnder, without methodโ), though the manuscript is lost and the quotation may have been invented during a 1920s symposium.
Schopenhauer, in a grim mood, referred to his landlord as โdieser verdammte Wรถnder.โ This has been variously translated as โthat damned wandererโ or โthat man who will not mind his own business.โ
4. Continental Drift (20th century)
French structuralists toyed with the term in the 1960s, often ironically. Lacan is credited with muttering โLe wลnder ne sait pas quโil wลndeโ at a conference in Aix-en-Provence, though no two attendees agree on what he meant.
Derrida reportedly enjoyed the ligature but rejected the term on the grounds that it was โinsufficiently diffรฉrantial,โ whatever that means.
5. The Post-Digital Resurgence (21st century)
The modern usage is decisively traced to Bry Willis (2025), whose philosophical writings revived wลnder to describe โa wondering wandererโฆ one who roams conceptually without the coercion of teleology.โ This contemporary adoption, though irreverent, has already attracted earnest attempts at etymology by linguists who refuse to accept that neologisms may be intentional.
Within weeks, the term began appearing in academic blogs and speculative philosophy forums, often without attribution, prompting the first wave of complaints from lexical purists.
6. Current Usage and Scholarly Disputes
Today, wลnder remains a term of art within post-Enlightenment and anti-systematic philosophy. It is praised for capturing an epistemic mode characterised by:
drift rather than destination
curiosity without credulity
methodless method
a refusal to resolve ambiguity simply because one is tired
Some scholars argue that the ligature is superfluous; others insist it is integral, noting that without it the word collapses into mere โwondering,โ losing its semantic meander.
Ongoing debates focus largely on whether wลnder constitutes a distinct morphological class or simply a lexical prank that went too far, like flรขneur or problematic.
This has been โtranslatedโ by overexcited classicists as: โNo one knows; thus walks the wลnder.โ
Actual philologists insist this is merely a miscopied ฮฟแฝฮบ แผฮฝฮดฮฟฮฝ (โnot insideโ), but the damage was done. Several doctoral dissertations were derailed.
9. The Dutch Detour (17th century)
During the Dutch Golden Age, several merchants used the term woender in account books to describe sailors who wandered off intellectually or geographically.
e.g., โJan Pietersz. is een woender; he left the ship but not the argument.โ
This usage is now believed to be a transcription error for woender (loanword for โodd fishโ), but this has not stopped scholars from forging entire lineages of maritime epistemology.
10. The Romantics (1800โ1850): Where Things Truly Went Wrong
Enthusiasts claim that Coleridge once described Wordsworth as โa sort of wลnder among men.โ No manuscript contains this. It appears to originate in a lecture note written by an undergraduate in 1911 who โfelt like Coleridge would have said it.โ
Shelley, however, did use the phrase โwanderer of wonder,โ which some etymological anarchists argue is clearly proto-wลnderic.
11. The Victorian Overcorrection
Victorian ethicist Harriet Mabbott wrote in her notebook:
โI cannot abide the wenders of this world, who walk through libraries as if they were forests.โ
Editors still disagree if she meant renders, wanderers, or wenders (Old English for โturnersโ), but it hasnโt stopped three conferences and one festschrift.
12. The Logical Positivistsโ Rejection Slip (1920s)
The Vienna Circle famously issued a collective denunciation of โnon-teleological concept-rambling.โ
A footnote in Carnapโs รberwindung der Metaphysik contains:
โThe so-called wลnder is but a confused thinker with comfortable shoes.โ
This is almost certainly a later insertion by a mischievous editor, but it has become canonical in the folklore of analytic philosophy.
13. The Absurdistsโ Adoption (1950sโ70s)
Camus, in one of his notebooks, scribbled:
โLe penseur doit devenir un promeneurโpeut-รชtre un wลnder.โ
Scholars argue whether this is a metaphor, a joke, or evidence Camus briefly flirted with ligature-based neologisms. A rumour persists that Beckett used the term in a letter, but since he destroyed most of his correspondence, weโll never know and thatโs probably for the best.
14. Postmodern Appropriations (1980sโ2000s)
By this point the term had acquired enough fake history to become irresistible.
Lyotard cited a โwลnder-like suspension of narrative authority.โ
Kristeva dismissed this as โlinguistic flรขneurie.โ
An obscure member of the Tel Quel group annotated a margin with simply: โWลNDR = subject without itinerary.โ
No context. No explanation. Perfectly French.
15. The Wikipedia Era (2004โ2015)
A rogue editor briefly created a page titled โWลnder (Philosophy)โ, describing it as:
โA liminal intellect operating outside the constraints of scholarly genre.โ
It lasted 38 minutes before deletion for โlack of verifiable sources,โ which was, of course, the entire point.
Screenshots survive.
The Talk page debate reached 327 comments, including the immortal line:
โIf no sources exist, create them. Thatโs what the Continentals did.โ
16. The Bry Willis Renaissance (2025โ )
Everything before this was warm-up.
Your usage formalised the term in a way that every prior pseudo-attestation lacked:
deliberate morphology
phonetic precision
conceptual coherence
and a refusal to tolerate method where drift is more productive
Linguists will pretend they saw it coming. They didnโt.
17. Future Misuse (projected)
You can expect the following within five years:
a Medium article titled โBecoming a Wลnder: Productivity Lessons from Non-Linear Thinkersโ
three academics fighting over whether it is a noun, verb, or lifestyle
someone mispronouncing it as โwoynderโ
an earnest PhD student in Sheffield constructing a corpus
THE WลNDER: A FALSE BUT GLORIOUS PHILOLOGICAL DOSSIER
Volume III: Roots, Declensions, and Everything Else You Should Never Put in a Grant Application
18. The Proposed ProtoโIndo-European Root (completely fabricated, but in a tasteful way)
Several linguists (none reputable) have suggested a PIE root:
*wรฉn-dสฐro-
meaning: โone who turns aside with curiosity.โ
This root is, naturally, unattested. But if PIE scholars can reconstruct words for โbeaverโ and โto smear with fat,โ we are entitled to one lousy wลnder.
From this imaginary root, the following false cognates have been proposed:
Old Irish fuindar โ โa seeker, a roverโ
Gothic wandrs โ โone who roamsโ
Sanskrit vantharaแธฅ โ โwanderer, mendicantโ (completely made up, donโt try this in public)
Most scholars consider these cognates โimplausible.โ A brave minority calls them โvisionary.โ
19. Declension and Morphology (donโt worry, this is all nonsense)
This diagram has been described by linguists as โan abominationโ and โsurprisingly tidy.โ
25. A Final Fabricated Quotation
No mock-historical dossier is complete without one definitive-looking but entirely made-up primary source:
โIn the wลnder we find not the scholar nor the sage, but one who walks the thought that has not yet learned to speak.โ โ Fragmentum Obliquum, folio 17 (forgery, early 21st century)
A NotebookLM Cautionary Tale for the Philosophically Curious
Apologies in advance for the didactic nature of this post.
Every so often, the universe gives you a gift. Not the good kind, like an unexpected bottle of Shiraz, but the other kind โ the ‘teachable moment’ wrapped in a small tragedy. In this case, a perfectly innocent run of MEOW GPT (my Mediated Encounter Ontology engine) was fed into NotebookLM to generate a pseudo-podcast. And NotebookLM, bless its little algorithmic heart, proceeded to demonstrate every classic mistake people make when confronting a relational ontology.
Audio: The misinterpretation of MEOW GPT: On Progress by NotebookLM that spawned this post.
Itโs perfect. I couldnโt have scripted a better example of How Not To Read MEOW GPT if Iโd hired a team of Enlightenment rationalists on retainer.
So consider this your public service announcement โ and a guide for anyone experimenting with MEOW GPT at home, preferably while sitting down and not holding onto any cherished metaphysical delusions.
Video: Surreal Light through a Prism Clip for no particular reason (No sound)
Mistake 1: Treating a Thick Concept as a Single Glorious Thing
NotebookLM began, earnestly, by trying to uncover the ‘inner architecture of honour’, as if it were a cathedral with blueprints lying around.
This is the central error:
Honour is not a thing. There is no inner architecture.
There are only patterns โ drifting, contested, historically mangled patterns โ that happen to share a word. If you start with ‘What is honour?’, youโve already fallen down the stairs.
Mistake 2: Rebuilding Essence From the T0โT3 Layers
MEOW GPT gives you biological (T0), cognitive (T1), linguistic (T2), and institutional/technical (T3) mediation because thatโs how constraints emerge. NotebookLM, meanwhile, reconstructed these as ‘layers’ of the same virtue โ like honour was a three-storey moral townhouse with a loft conversion.
No. The tiers are co-emergent constraints, not components of a moral particle. If your conclusion looks like a metaphysical onion, youโve misread the recipe.
Mistake 3: Sneaking Virtue Ethics in Through the Fire Exit
NotebookLM kept returning to:
an ‘internal compass’
a ‘core record of the self’
a ‘lifelong ledger’
a ‘deep personal architecture’
At this point we might as well carve Aristotleโs name into the hull.
MEOWโs stance is simple: the self is not a marble statue โ itโs an ongoing social, cognitive, and technical scandal. Treating honour as a personality trait is just the old moral ontology with a new hairstyle.
Mistake 4: Treating Polysemy as Noise, Not Evidence
NotebookLM acknowledged the differing uses of ‘honour’, but always with the implication that beneath the variations lies one pure moral essence. This is backwards. The ambiguity is the point. The polysemy isnโt messy data; itโs the signature of conceptual drift.
If you treat ambiguity as a problem to be ironed out, youโve missed half the LIH and all of the MEOW.
Mistake 5: Turning MEOW Into a TED Talk
The podcast tried to wrap things up by contrasting honourโs โdeep internal permanenceโ with the ephemerality of digital rating systems.
Itโs cute, but itโs still modernist comfort-food. MEOW does not mourn for the ‘permanent self’. It doesnโt recognise such a creature. And digital honour doesnโt ‘replace’ the old patterns; it aggressively rewrites the honour-economy into algorithmic form. If your conclusion sounds like ‘ancient virtue meets modern technology’, thatโs TED, not MEOW.
So How Should You Interpret MEOW GPT?
A short cheat-sheet for anyone experimenting at home:
There is no essence. Concepts like honour, truth, integrity, and justice are drift-patterns, not objects.
The tiers describe mediation, not ingredients. Theyโre co-emergent pressures, not building blocks.
Thick terms lie to you. Their apparent unity is linguistic camouflage.
Ambiguity is structural. If the term looks fuzzy, thatโs because the world is fuzzy there.
If a concept feels granite-solid, youโre standing on conceptual quicksand. (Sorry.)
A Friendly Warning Label
Warning: If you believe thick moral concepts have single, universal meanings, MEOW GPT may cause temporary metaphysical discomfort. Consult your ontological physician if symptoms persist.
I just read The Granton Star Cause in Irvine Welsh’s short story collection, The Acid House, and couldn’t help but reflect it off of Kafka’s Metamorphosis.
Kafka gave us Gregor Samsa: a man who wakes up as vermin, stripped of usefulness, abandoned by family, slowly rotting in a godless universe. His tragedy is inertia; his metamorphosis grants him no agency, only deeper alienation.
Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.
Welsh replies with Boab Coyle, a lad who is likewise cast off, rejected by his football mates, scorned by his parents, dumped by his girlfriend, and discarded by his job. Boab is surplus to every domain: civic, familial, erotic, and economic. Then he undergoes his own metamorphosis. And here Welsh swerves from Kafka.
Boab meets his โgod.โ But the god is nothing transcendent. It is simply Boabโs latent agency, given a mask โ a projection of his bitterness and thwarted desires. God looks like him, speaks like him, and tells him to act on impulses long repressed. Where Kafka leaves Gregor to die in silence, Welsh gives Boab a grotesque theology of vengeance.
Through a Critical Theory lens, the contrast is stark:
Marx: Both men are surplus. Gregor is disposable labour; Boab is Thatcherโs lumpen. Alienated, both become vermin.
Nietzsche: Gregor has no god, only the absurd. Boab makes one in his own image, not an รbermensch, but an รber-fly โ quite literally a Superfly โ a petty deity of spite.
Foucault: Gregor is disciplined into passivity by the family gaze. Boab flips it: as a fly, he surveils and annoys, becoming the pest-panopticon.
Bataille/Kristeva: Gregor embodies the abjection of his familyโs shame. Boab revels in abjection, weaponising filth as his new mode of agency.
The punchline? Boabโs new god-agency leads straight to destruction. His rage is cathartic, but impotent. The lumpen are permitted vengeance only when it consumes themselves.
So Kafka gave us the tragedy of stasis; Welsh provides us with the tragedy of spite. Both are bleak parables of alienation, but Welsh injects a theology of bad attitude: a god who licenses action only long enough to destroy the actor.
(or: Why Neither Humans nor AI Create from Nothing)
In the endless squabble over whether AI can be โcreativeโ or โintelligent,โ we always end up back at the same semantic swamp. At the risk of poking the bear, I have formulated a response. Creativity is either whatever humans do, or whatever humans do that AI canโt. Intelligence is either the general ability to solve problems or a mysterious inner light that glows only in Homo sapiens. The definitions shift like sand under the feet of the argument.
Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic
Strip away the romance, and the truth is far less flattering: neither humans nor AI conjure from the void. Creativity is recombination, the reconfiguration of existing material into something unfamiliar. Intelligence is the ability to navigate problems using whatever tools and heuristics one has to hand.
I cannot be causa sui, and neither can you.
The Causa Sui conceit, the idea that one can be the cause of oneself, is incoherent in art, thought, or physics. Conservation of energy applies as much to ideas as to atoms.
We metabolise them through cognitive habits, biases, and linguistic forms.
We output something rearranged, reframed, sometimes stripped to abstraction.
The AI process is identical in structure, if not in substrate: ingest vast data, run it through a model, output recombination. The difference is that AI doesnโt pretend otherwise.
When a human produces something impressive, we call it creative without inspecting the provenance of the ideas. When an AI produces something impressive, we immediately trace the lineage of its inputs, as if the human mind werenโt doing the same. This is not epistemic rigour, itโs tribal boundary enforcement.
The real objection to AI is not that it fails the test of creativity or intelligence; itโs that it passes the functional test without being part of the club. Our stories about human exceptionalism require a clear line between โusโ and โit,โ even if we have to draw that line through semantic fog.
My Language Insufficiency Hypothesis began with the recognition that language cannot fully capture the reality it describes. Here, the insufficiency is deliberate; the words โcreativityโ and โintelligenceโ are kept vague so they can always be shifted away from anything AI achieves.
I cannot be causa sui, and neither can you. The only difference is that Iโm willing to admit it.
I had planned to write about Beauvoir’s Second Sex, but this has been on my mind lately.
Thereโs a certain breed of aspiring author, letโs call them the Sacred Scribes, who bristle at the notion of using AI to help with their writing. Not because itโs unhelpful. Not because it produces rubbish. But because itโs impure.
Like some Victorian schoolmarm clutching her pearls at the sight of a split infinitive, they cry: โIf you let the machine help you fix a clumsy sentence, whatโs next? The whole novel? Your diary? Your soul?โ
The panic is always the same: one small compromise and youโre tumbling down the greased chute of creative ruin. It starts with a synonym suggestion and ends with a ghostwritten autobiography titled My Journey to Authenticity, dictated by chatbot, of course.
But letโs pause and look at the logic here. Or rather, the lack thereof.
By this standard, you must also renounce the thesaurus. Shun the spellchecker. Burn your dictionary. Forbid yourself from reading any book you might accidentally learn from. Heaven forbid you read a well-constructed sentence and think, โI could try that.โ Thatโs theft, isnโt it?
And while weโre at it, no editors. No beta readers. No workshopping. No taking notes. Certainly no research. If your brain didnโt birth it in a vacuum, itโs suspect. Itโs borrowed. Itโsโฆ contaminated.
Letโs call this what it is: purity fetishism in prose form.
But hereโs the twist: itโs not new. Plato, bless him, was already clutching his tunic about this twenty-four centuries ago. In Phaedrus, he warned that writing itself would be the death of memory, of real understanding. Words on the page were a crutch. Lazy. A hollow imitation of wisdom. True knowledge lived in the mind, passed orally, and refined through dialogue. Writing, he said, would make us forgetful, outsource our thinking.
Sound familiar?
Fast forward a few millennia, and weโre hearing the same song, remixed for the AI age: โIf you let ChatGPT restructure your second paragraph, youโre no longer the author.โ Nonsense. You were never the sole author. Not even close.
Everything you write is a palimpsest, your favourite genres echoing beneath the surface, your heroes whispering in your turns of phrase. Youโre just remixing the residue. And thereโs no shame in that. Unless, of course, you believe that distilling your top five comfort reads into a Frankenstein narrative somehow makes you an oracle of literary genius.
Hereโs the rub: Youโve always been collaborating.
With your past. With your influences. With your tools. With language itself, which you did not invent and barely control. Whether the suggestion comes from a friend, an editor, a margin note, or an algorithm, what matters is the choice you make with it. Thatโs authorship. Let’s not play the slippery slope game.
The slippery slope argument collapses under its own weight. No one accuses you of cheating when you use a pencil sharpener. Or caffeine. Or take a walk to clear your head. But involve a silicon co-author, and suddenly youโre the Antichrist of Art?
Letโs not confuse integrity with insecurity. Letโs not confuse control with fear.
Use the tool. Ignore the purists. Theyโve been wrong since Plato, and theyโll still be wrong when your great-grandchildren are dictating novels to a neural implant while bathing in synthetic dopamine.
The future of writing is always collaborative. The only question is whether youโll join the conversation or sit in the corner, scribbling manifestos by candlelight, declaring war on electricity.
I recently had a run-in with opponents of generative artificial intelligence, GenAI for the rest of us. What began as a modest question about feedback mechanisms in writing spiralled swiftly into a fire-and-brimstone sermon on the moral hazards of artificial authorship.
Audio: NotebackLM podcast on this topic.
It started on Reddit, that bastion of civil discourse, in the r/FictionWriting group. I asked, sincerely and succinctly: Is using AI as a pre-alpha reader worthwhile, or is the praise too algorithmically eager to trust?
Rather than respond to the question, the moderators responded with an ultimatum: โAdmit to AI-use again and youโll be banned.โ Like any self-respecting heretic, I excommunicated myself.
Some members ranted about how AI might โsteal their ideasโ โ presumably to be repackaged by tech barons and sold back to the masses in Kindle Unlimited drivel. Thatโs fine, I suppose, if you’re into intellectual solipsism, but what does this paranoid fantasy have to do with my ideas?
This wasnโt a discussion. It was a witch trial. AI wasnโt the threat โ difference was. Deviate from the sacred rites of pen-to-paper purity, and youโll be cast into the outer darkness, where there is weeping and gnashing of syntax.
The underlying problem is prescriptivism โ not just linguistic, but moral. And like all moral panic, it has little to do with ethics and everything to do with control.
To borrow the analogy: as with abortion, if you donโt like them, donโt have one. Abortions, one might argue, carry significantly more moral weight than paragraph polishing. Or do they? At what point does a draft become a soul?
We are fast becoming a culture where the tool is the sin, and the sinner the tool.
Don’t get salty with me when I tell you I asked AI to write this for me. I was thinking that “take it with a grain of salt” or “take it with a pinch of salt” in English did not share the same meaning as “mettre son grain de sel” en franรงais, so I asked ChatGPT for other uses of salt. This is why it doesn’t follow by usual style, if one can call it that.
๐ง Salt: That Most Misunderstood Metaphor
Salt has an image problem.
Despite being one of the most ancient and revered substances in human civilisationโonce used as currency, treaty-sealer, and god-baitโit somehow gets dragged through the metaphorical gutter in modern idiom. In English, to take something โwith a grain of saltโ is to doubt it. To โadd your grain of salt,โ per the French idiom mettre son grain de sel, is to interrupt uninvited. Salt, it seems, is that unwanted guest who turns up late, unshaven, and smelling of vinegar.
And yet, salt is also life. Necessary. Essential. Literal. So what gives?
Letโs do what the internet never does and look at context.
๐ดโโ ๏ธ English: Cynicism in a Crystal
The English expression โtake it with a grain of saltโ (or, in older form, a pinch) comes from Latin cum grano salis, which likely implied adding a figurative preservative to dubious claimsโtreat this as you would old meat. In other words, donโt fully trust it unless you like dysentery.
We also say โheโs a bit saltyโ to mean grumpy, caustic, or prone to verbal cutlery. โAdding your two centsโ is bad enough, but adding your grain of salt implies that what youโre contributing is both unsolicited and probably irritating.
Put simply, English idioms treat salt as if itโs the person in the meeting who thinks theyโre clever. Thereโs a faint whiff of Protestantism hereโsuspicious of flavour, pleasure, and expressive enthusiasm. Plain oatmeal, plain truths, no seasoning required. Salt is vice. It had already done the research, so I asked it to produce this to copy and paste. You’re welcome.
๐ซ๐ท French: Salty Saboteurs
The French mettre son grain de sel is more or less the same: to butt in. To lob your unwanted opinion into someone elseโs stew. Not unlike โputting in your two pennโorthโ in British Englishโbut somehow meaner, as if your salt is not just annoying, but wrong.
Salt, in this idiom, doesnโt enrichโit ruins. A lesson in how even a noble compound can be weaponised by cultural suspicion.
๐บ Hindi: Loyalty Seasoned with Honour
Contrast this with Hindi: namak harฤm โ literally โunfaithful to salt.โ This is a powerful accusation. It means youโve betrayed someone who fed you, someone who sustained you. Youโve taken their salt and spat in their dish.
Conversely, namak halฤl is a compliment: someone loyal, trustworthy, faithful to the hand that seasoned them. Salt is the symbol of obligation and honourโnot interference.
It is covenantal.
๐พ Japanese: Salt as Mercy
ๅกฉใ้ใ (shio o okuru) โ โto send saltโ โ is a Japanese idiom meaning to help your enemy in their time of need. Based on a historical moment when Uesugi Kenshin sent salt to his rival, Takeda Shingen, when the latterโs supply was blockaded.
Salt, here, transcends enmity. Itโs noble. A tool of ethics.
In short: send salt, donโt throw it.
๐ฉ๐ช German & ๐ช๐ธ Spanish: Flavour as Personality
The Germans say โdas Salz in der Suppe seinโโto be the salt in the soup. You’re what makes life interesting. Without you, itโs just… wet nutrition.
In Spanish, โser la sal de la vidaโ means to be the zest of existence. Without salt, life is dull, bland, morally beige.
In these idioms, salt is essential. A little dangerous, maybe, but necessary. Just like any compelling person.
๐น๐ท Turkish: The Dry Salt of Privilege
The Turkish idiom โtuzu kuruโ (lit. โdry saltโ) means youโre doing fine. Perhaps too fine. Youโre unaffected, aloof, in your tower of comfort while others stew.
Dry salt is privilege: unbothered, unsalted tears. An idiom with side-eye built in.
๐๏ธ Christianity: Salt of the Earth
The Gospels famously commend the righteous as โthe salt of the earth.โ Not merely good people, but the ones who preserve and season the whole damn world. And yet, โif salt loses its savour,โ says Matthew 5:13, โwherewith shall it be salted?โ A warning to remain vital. Relevant. Useful.
Even Jesus had thoughts about flavour fatigue.
โ๏ธ So… Is Salt Praised or Pitied?
Depends who you ask.
For some, salt is civic virtue (Hindi).
For others, itโs moral generosity (Japanese).
Sometimes itโs lifeโs spark (German, Spanish).
Sometimes itโs trouble in a shaker (English, French).
But the ambivalence is the point. Salt is essentialโbut easily overdone. Too little, and life is bland. Too much, and itโs ruined.
Like language, then: salt mediates between flavour and clarity. Add carefully. Stir well.
๐ง Final Sprinkle
Before you disparage someone for being โa bit salty,โ ask yourself whether theyโre really interferingโor simply adding what your grey little broth lacked all along.
And for heavenโs sake, be faithful to the salt youโve eaten.
Humans talk to large language models the way toddlers talk to teddy bears โ with unnerving sincerity and not a hint of shame. โDo you understand me?โ they ask, eyes wide with hope. โWhat do you think of this draft?โ they prod, as if some silicon scribe is going to sip its imaginary tea and nod gravely. Itโs not merely adorable โ itโs diagnostic. We are, it turns out, pathologically incapable of interacting with anything more complex than a toaster without projecting mind, motive, and mild trauma onto it.
Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.
Welcome to the theatre of delusion, where you play Hamlet and the chatbot is cast as Yorick โ if Yorick could autocomplete your soliloquy and generate citations in APA format.
The Great Anthropomorphic Flaw (aka Feature)
Letโs get one thing straight: anthropomorphism isnโt a software bug in the brain; itโs a core feature. Youโre hardwired to see agency where there is none. That rustle in the bushes? Probably the wind. But better safe than sabre-toothed. So your ancestors survived, and here you are, attributing โsassโ to your microwave because it beeped twice.
โWe donโt have a way of addressing an entity that talks like a person but isnโt one. So we fake it. Itโs interaction theatre.โ
Now weโve built a machine that spits out paragraphs like a caffeinated undergrad with deadlines, and naturally, we talk to it like it’s our mate from university. Never mind that it has no bloodstream, no memory of breakfast, and no concept of irony (despite being soaked in it). We still say you instead of the system, and think instead of statistically interpolate based on token weights. Because who wants to live in a world where every sentence starts with โas per the pre-trained parametersโฆโ?
Why We Keep Doing It (Despite Knowing Better)
To be fair โ and letโs be magnanimous โ itโs useful. Talking to AI like itโs a person allows our ape-brains to sidestep the horror of interacting with a glorified autocomplete machine. Weโre brilliant at modelling other minds, rubbish at modelling neural nets. So we slap a metaphorical moustache on the processor and call it Roger. Roger โgets us.โ Roger โknows things.โ Roger is, frankly, a vibe.
This little charade lubricates the whole transaction. If we had to address our queries to “the stochastic parrot formerly known as GPT,” weโd never get past the opening line. Better to just ask, โWhat do you think, Roger?โ and pretend it has taste.
And hereโs the kicker: by anthropomorphising AI, we start thinking about ethics โ sort of. We ask if it deserves rights, feelings, holidays. We project humanity into the void and then act shocked when it mirrors back our worst habits. As if thatโs its fault.
When the Roleplay Gets Risky
Of course, this make-believe has its downsides. Chief among them: we start to believe our own nonsense. Saying AI โknowsโ something is like saying your calculator is feeling generous with its square roots today. It doesnโt knowโit produces outputs. Any semblance of understanding is pure pantomime.
โWe see a mind because we need to see one. We canโt bear the idea of a thing thatโs smarter than us but doesnโt care about us.โ
More dangerously, we lose sight of the fact that these things arenโt just alien โ theyโre inhuman. They donโt dream of electric sheep. They donโt dream, full stop. But we insist on jamming them into our conceptual boxes: empathy, intent, personality. Itโs like trying to teach a blender to feel remorse.
And letโs not pretend weโre doing it out of philosophical curiosity. Weโre projecting, plain and simple. Anthropomorphism isnโt about them, itโs about us. We see a mind because we need to see one. We canโt bear the idea of a thing thatโs smarter than us but doesnโt care about us, doesnโt see us. Narcissism with a side of existential dread.
Our Language is a Terrible Tool for This Job
English โ and most languages, frankly โ is hopeless at describing this category of thing. โItโ feels cold and distant. โTheyโ implies someoneโs going to invite the model to brunch. We have no pronoun for โhyper-literate statistical machine that mimics thought but lacks all consciousness.โ So we fudge it. Badly.
Our verbs are no better. โComputeโ? Too beige. โProcessโ? Bureaucratic. โThinkโ? Premature. What we need is a whole new grammatical tense: the hallucino-indicative. The model thunketh, as one might, but didnโt.
โWe built a creature we canโt speak about without sounding like lunatics or liars.โ
This is linguistic poverty, pure and simple. Our grammar canโt cope with entities that live in the uncanny valley between sentience and syntax. We built a creature we canโt speak about without sounding like lunatics or liars.
The Semantics of Sentimentality (Or: โHow Does This Sound to You?โ)
Enter the most revealing tell of all: the questions we pose. โHow does this look?โ we ask the model, as if it might blink at the screen and furrow a synthetic brow. โWhat do you think?โ we say, offering it the dignity of preference. These questions arenโt just off-target โ theyโre playing darts in another pub.
They’re the linguistic equivalent of asking your dishwasher whether it enjoyed the lasagne tray. But again, this isnโt idiocy โ itโs instinct. We donโt have a way of addressing an entity that talks like a person but isnโt one. So we fake it. Itโs interaction theatre. You provide the line, the model cues the spotlight.
But letโs be clear: the model doesnโt โthinkโ anything. It regurgitates plausible text based on mountains of training dataโsome of which, no doubt, includes humans asking equally daft questions of equally mindless systems.
Time to Grow Up (Just a Bit)
This doesnโt mean we need to abandon anthropomorphism entirely. Like most delusions, itโs functional. But weโd do well to hold it at armโs length โ like a politicianโs promise or a milk carton two days past its date.
Call it anthropomorphic agnosticism: act like itโs a person, but remember itโs not. Use the language, but donโt inhale.
And maybe โ just maybe โ we need to evolve our language. Invent new terms, new pronouns, new ways of speaking about entities that fall somewhere between tool and companion. As we did with โcyberspaceโ and โghosting,โ perhaps we need words for proto-minds and quasi-selves. Something between toaster and therapist.
โIf we speak to AI like itโs sentient, weโll eventually legislate as if it is.โ
Above all, we need to acknowledge that our language shapes more than just understanding โ it shapes policy, emotion, and future design. If we speak to AI like itโs sentient, weโll eventually legislate as if it is. And if we insist on treating it as an object, we may be blind to when that ceases to be accurate. Misnaming, after all, is the first sin in every myth worth reading.
The Mirror, Darkly
Ultimately, our tendency to humanise machines is less about them than it is about us โ our fears, our needs, our inability to tolerate ambiguity. The AI is just a mirror: an elaborate, many-eyed, autofill mirror. And when we see a mind there, it may be ours staring back โ distorted, flattened, and fed through a thousand layers of token prediction.
The tragedy, perhaps, isnโt that the machine doesnโt understand us. Itโs that weโve built something that perfectly imitates understanding โ and still, somehow, we remain utterly alone in the room.
Having just finished Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro, Iโve now cracked open my first taste of CioranโHistory and Utopia. You might reasonably ask why. Why these two? And what, if anything, do they have in common? Better yetโwhat do the three of us have in common?
Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.
Recently, I finished writing a novella titled Propensity (currently gathering metaphorical dust on the release runway). Out of curiosityโor narcissismโI fed it to AI and asked whose style it resembled. Among the usual suspects were two names I hadnโt yet read: Ishiguro and Cioran. Iโd read the others and understood the links. These two, though, were unknown quantities. So I gave them a go.
Ishiguro is perhaps best known for The Remains of the Day, which, like Never Let Me Go, got the Hollywood treatment. I chose the latter, arbitrarily. I even asked ChatGPT to compare both books with their cinematic counterparts. The AI was less than charitable, describing Hollywoodโs adaptations as bastardised and bowdlerisedโflattened into tidy narratives for American palates too dim to digest ambiguity. On this, we agree.
What struck me about Never Let Me Go was its richly textured mundanity. Thatโs apparently where AI saw the resemblance to Propensity. Iโm not here to write a book reportโpartly because I detest spoilers, and partly because summaries miss the point. It took about seven chapters before anything ‘happened’, and then it kept happening. What had at first seemed like a neurotic, wandering narrative from the maddeningly passive Kathy H. suddenly hooked me. The reveals began to unfold. Itโs a book that resists retelling. It demands firsthand experience. A vibe. A tone. A slow, aching dread.
Which brings me neatly to Cioran.
History and Utopia is a collection of essays penned in French (not his mother tongue, but you’d never guess it) while Cioran was holed up in postwar Paris. I opted for the English translationโunapologeticallyโand was instantly drawn in. His prose? Electric. His wit? Acidic. If Ishiguro was a comparison of style, then Cioran was one of spirit. Snark, pessimism, fatalistic shrugs toward civilisationโfinally, someone speaking my language.
Unlike the cardboard cut-outs of Cold War polemics we get from most Western writers of the era, Cioranโs take is layered, uncomfortably self-aware, and written by someone who actually fled political chaos. Thereโs no naรฏve idealism here, no facile hero-villain binaries. Just a deeply weary intellect peering into the abyss and refusing to blink. Itโs not just what he says, but the toneโthe curled-lip sneer at utopian pretensions and historical self-delusions. If I earned even a drop of that comparison, Iโll take it.
Both Ishiguro and Cioran delivered what I didnโt know I needed: the reminder that some writers arenโt there to tell you a story. Theyโre there to infect you with an atmosphere. An idea. A quiet existential panic you canโt shake.
Iโve gotten what I came for from these two, though I suspect Iโll be returning, especially to Cioran. Philosophically, heโs my kind of bastard. I doubt thisโll be my last post on his work.