Tag: series

The Relativity of Morality: A Penguin’s Tale

Posted in fiction, language, morality, perception, philosophy, politics, power, psychology, societyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

I recently watched The Penguin on HBO Max, a series set in DC’s Batman universe. Ordinarily, I avoid television – especially the superhero genre – but this one intrigued me. Less spandex, more mob drama. An origin story with a dash of noir. I’ll spare you spoilers, but suffice it to say that it was an enjoyable detour, even for someone like me who prefers philosophy over fistfights.

This post isn’t a review, though. It’s a springboard into a larger idea: morality’s subjectivity – or, more precisely, its relativity.

Audio: Spotify podcast related to this topic.

Morality in a Vacuum

Morality, as I see it, is a social construct. You might carry a private moral compass, but without society, it’s about as useful as a clock on a desert island. A personal code of ethics might guide you in solitary moments, but breaking your own rules – eating that forbidden biscuit after vowing to abstain, for instance – doesn’t carry the weight of a true moral transgression. It’s more akin to reneging on a New Year’s resolution. Who’s harmed? Who’s holding you accountable? The answer is: no one but yourself, and even then, only if you care.

The Social Contract

Introduce a second person, and suddenly, morality gains traction. Agreements form – explicit or tacit – about how to behave. Multiply that to the level of a community or society, and morality becomes a kind of currency, exchanged and enforced by the group. Sometimes, these codes are elevated to laws. And, ironically, the act of adhering to a law – even one devoid of moral content – can itself become the moral thing to do. Not because the act is inherently right, but because it reinforces the structure society depends upon.

But morality is neither universal nor monolithic. It is as fractured and kaleidoscopic as the societies and subcultures that create it. Which brings us back to The Penguin.

Crime’s Moral Code

The Penguin thrives in a criminal underworld where the moral compass points in a different direction. In the dominant society’s eyes, crime is immoral. Robbery, murder, racketeering – all “bad,” all forbidden. But within the subculture of organised crime, a parallel morality exists. Honour among thieves, loyalty to the family, the unspoken rules of the game – these are their ethics, and they matter deeply to those who live by them.

When one criminal praises another – “You done good” – after a successful heist or a precise hit, it’s a moral judgement within their own framework. Outside that framework, society condemns the same actions as abhorrent. Yet even dominant societies carve out their own moral exceptions. Killing, for instance, is broadly considered immoral. Murder is outlawed. But capital punishment? That’s legal, and often deemed not only acceptable but righteous. Kant argued it was a moral imperative. Nietzsche, ever the cynic, saw this duality for what it was: a power dynamic cloaked in self-righteousness.

In The Penguin, we see this dichotomy laid bare. The underworld isn’t without morals; it simply operates on a different axis. And while the larger society might disdain it, the hypocrisy of their own shifting moral codes remains unexamined.

Final Thoughts on the Series

I’ll save other philosophical musings about The Penguin for another time – spoilers would be unavoidable, after all. But here’s a quick review: the series leans into drama, eschewing flashy gimmicks for a grittier, more grounded tone. The writing is generally strong, though there are moments of inconsistency – plot holes and contrivances that mar an otherwise immersive experience. Whether these flaws stem from the writers, director, or editor is anyone’s guess, but the effect is the same: they momentarily yank the viewer out of the world they’ve built.

Still, it’s a worthwhile watch, especially if you’re a fan of mob-style crime dramas. The final episode was, in my estimation, the best of the lot – a satisfying culmination that leaves the door ajar for philosophical ruminations like these.

Have you seen it? What are your thoughts – philosophical or otherwise? Drop a comment below. Let’s discuss.

From Memes to Meaning: The Beautiful Chaos of Modern Language

Posted in language, philosophy, societyTagged , , , , , , , 2 Comments
3–5 minutes

Welcome to part 7, the last of a week-long series on the evolution and limits of language!
This article is part of a seven-day exploration into the fascinating and often flawed history of language—from its primitive roots to its tangled web of abstraction, miscommunication, and modern chaos. Each day, we uncover new layers of how language shapes (and fails to shape) our understanding of the world.

If you haven’t yet, be sure to check out the other posts in this series for a full deep dive into why words are both our greatest tool and our biggest obstacle. Follow the journey from ‘flamey thing hot’ to the whirlwind of social media and beyond!

The Present Day: Social Media and Memes – The Final Nail in the Coffin?

Just when you thought things couldn’t get any more chaotic, enter the 21st century, where language has been boiled down to 280 characters, emojis, and viral memes. If you think trying to pin down the meaning of “freedom” was hard before, try doing it in a tweet—or worse, a string of emojis. In the age of social media, language has reached new heights of ambiguity, with people using bite-sized bits of text and images to convey entire thoughts, arguments, and philosophies. And you thought interpreting Derrida was difficult.

Social media has turned language into an evolving, shape-shifting entity. Words take on new meanings overnight, hashtags rise and fall, and memes become the shorthand for complex cultural commentary. In some ways, it’s brilliant—what better way to capture the madness of modern life than with an image of a confused cat or a poorly drawn cartoon character? But in other ways, it’s the final nail in the coffin for clear communication. We’ve gone from painstakingly crafted texts, like Luther’s 95 Theses, to memes that rely entirely on shared cultural context to make sense.

The irony is that we’ve managed to make language both more accessible and more incomprehensible at the same time. Sure, anyone can fire off a tweet or share a meme, but unless you’re plugged into the same cultural references, you’re probably going to miss half the meaning. It’s like Wittgenstein’s language games on steroids—everyone’s playing, but the rules change by the second, and good luck keeping up.

And then there’s the problem of tone. Remember those philosophical debates where words were slippery? Well, now we’re trying to have those debates in text messages and social media posts, where tone and nuance are often impossible to convey. Sarcasm? Forget about it. Context? Maybe in a follow-up tweet, if you’re lucky. We’re using the most limited forms of communication to talk about the most complex ideas, and it’s no surprise that misunderstandings are at an all-time high.

And yet, here we are, in the midst of the digital age, still using the same broken tool—language—to try and make sense of the world. We’ve come a long way from “flamey thing hot,” but the basic problem remains: words are slippery, meanings shift, and no matter how advanced our technology gets, we’re still stuck in the same old game of trying to get our point across without being completely misunderstood.

Conclusion: Language – Beautiful, Broken, and All We’ve Got

And here’s where the irony kicks in. We’ve spent this entire time critiquing language—pointing out its flaws, its limitations, its inability to truly capture abstract ideas. And how have we done that? By using language. It’s like complaining about how unreliable your GPS is while using it to get to your destination. Sure, it’s broken—but it’s still the only tool we have.

In the end, language is both our greatest achievement and our biggest limitation. It’s allowed us to build civilisations, create art, write manifestos, and start revolutions. But it’s also the source of endless miscommunication, philosophical debates that never get resolved, and social media wars over what a simple tweet really meant.

So yes, language is flawed. It’s messy, it’s subjective, and it often fails us just when we need it most. But without it? We’d still be sitting around the fire, grunting at each other about the ‘toothey thing’ lurking in the shadows. For better or worse, language is the best tool we’ve got for making sense of the world. It’s beautifully broken, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.

And with that, we’ve used the very thing we’ve critiqued to make our point. The circle of irony is complete.

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Written by Bry Willis

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Jargon, Brains, and the Struggle for Meaning

Posted in language, philosophy, psychology, science, societyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 3 Comments
6–9 minutes

Welcome to Part 6 of a Week-Long Series on the Evolution and Limits of Language!
This article is part of a seven-day exploration into the fascinating and often flawed history of language—from its primitive roots to its tangled web of abstraction, miscommunication, and modern chaos. Each day, we uncover new layers of how language shapes (and fails to shape) our understanding of the world.

If you haven’t yet, be sure to check out the other posts in this series for a full deep dive into why words are both our greatest tool and our biggest obstacle. Follow the journey from ‘flamey thing hot’ to the whirlwind of social media and beyond!

Specialised Languages: Academia’s Jargon Olympics

If you thought normal language was confusing, let’s take a moment to appreciate the true champions of linguistic obscurity: academics. Welcome to the world of specialised languages, where entire fields of study have developed their own language games that make even Wittgenstein’s head spin.

Here’s how it works: Every discipline—science, law, philosophy—creates its own jargon to describe the world. At first, it seems helpful. Instead of using vague terms, you get precise definitions for complex ideas. But what started as a way to improve communication within a field quickly turned into a linguistic arms race, where the more obscure and convoluted your terms are, the smarter you sound. You’re not just a lawyer anymore—you’re someone who’s ready to throw “res ipsa loquitur” into casual conversation to leave everyone else in the room wondering if they’ve missed a memo.

The problem? If you’re not part of the club, good luck understanding what anyone is talking about. Want to read a physics paper? Prepare to learn a whole new vocabulary. Need to get through a legal document? You’ll be knee-deep in Latin phrases before you even get to the point. And don’t even try to decipher a philosophical text unless you’re ready to battle abstract nouns that have been stretched and twisted beyond recognition.

It’s not just the words themselves that are the issue—it’s the sheer density of them. Take “justice” for example. In philosophy, you’ve got theories about distributive justice, retributive justice, restorative justice, and a hundred other variations, each with its own set of terms and conditions. And that’s before we even touch on how “justice” is defined in legal circles, where it becomes an even more tangled mess of case law and precedent. Every field is playing its own version of the “justice” game, with its own rules and definitions, and none of them are interested in comparing notes.

This is the academic world in a nutshell. Each discipline has built its own linguistic fortress, and unless you’ve spent years studying, you’re not getting in. But here’s the kicker: even within these fields, people are often misunderstanding each other. Just because two scientists are using the same words doesn’t mean they’re on the same page. Sometimes, it’s more like a game of intellectual one-upmanship—who can define the most obscure term or twist a familiar word into something completely unrecognisable?

And let’s not forget the philosophers. They’ve turned linguistic acrobatics into an art form. Good luck reading Foucault or Derrida without a dictionary (or five) on hand. You might walk away thinking you understand their points, but do you really? Or have you just memorised the jargon without actually grasping the deeper meaning? Even scholars within these fields often argue over what was really meant by a certain text—Barthes, after all, famously declared the “death of the author,” so it’s not like anyone really has the final say on meaning anyway.

So here we are, knee-deep in jargon, trying to communicate with people who, technically, speak the same language but are operating within entirely different rulesets. Every academic discipline has its own secret code, and if you don’t know it, you’re lost. Even when you do know the code, you’re still at risk of miscommunication, because the words that look familiar have been stretched and shaped to fit highly specific contexts. It’s like being fluent in one dialect of English and then suddenly being asked to write a thesis in legalese. Good luck.

In the end, academia’s specialised languages don’t just make things harder—they actively create barriers. What started as a way to improve precision has turned into an obstacle course of incomprehensible terms, where the real challenge is just figuring out what anyone’s actually saying. And let’s be honest, even if you do figure it out, there’s no guarantee it’s going to mean the same thing next time you see it.

Neurolinguistics: Even Our Brains Can’t Agree

So far, we’ve seen how language is a mess of miscommunication, cultural differences, and academic jargon. But surely, at least on a biological level, our brains are all on the same page, right? Well, not exactly. Welcome to the wonderful world of neurolinguistics, where it turns out that even the very organ responsible for language can’t get its act together.

Here’s the deal: Neurolinguistics is the study of how the brain processes language, and while it’s fascinating, it’s also a bit of a buzzkill for anyone hoping for consistency. See, your brain and my brain don’t process language in the same way. Sure, we’ve got similar hardware, but the software is wildly unpredictable. There are individual differences, cultural influences, and developmental quirks that all affect how we understand and produce language. What’s simple for one brain might be completely baffling to another.

Take, for example, something as basic as syntax. Chomsky might have told us we all have a universal grammar hard-wired into our brains, but neurolinguistics has shown that how we apply that grammar can vary significantly. Some people are wired to handle complex sentence structures with ease—think of that friend who can follow 10 different clauses in a single breath. Others? Not so much. For them, even a moderately tricky sentence feels like mental gymnastics. The brain is constantly juggling words, meanings, and structures, and some brains are better at it than others.

But the real kicker is how differently we interpret words. Remember those abstract nouns we’ve been wrestling with? Well, it turns out that your brain might be interpreting ‘freedom’ or ‘justice’ completely differently from mine – not just because of culture or upbringing, but because our brains physically process those words in different ways. Neurolinguistic studies have shown that certain regions of the brain are activated differently depending on the individual’s experience with language. In other words, your personal history with a concept can literally change how your brain lights up when you hear or say it.

And don’t even get me started on bilingual brains. If you speak more than one language, your brain is constantly toggling between two (or more) linguistic systems, which means it’s running twice the risk of misinterpretation. What a word means in one language might trigger a completely different association in another, leaving bilingual speakers in a constant state of linguistic flux. It’s like trying to run two operating systems on the same computer—things are bound to get glitchy.

But here’s the real kicker: Even within the same person, the brain can’t always process language the same way all the time. Stress, fatigue, emotional state—all of these factors can influence how well we handle language on any given day. Ever tried to have a coherent conversation when you’re tired or angry? Good luck. Your brain isn’t interested in nuance or deep philosophical ideas when it’s in survival mode. It’s just trying to get through the day without short-circuiting.

So, not only do we have to deal with the external chaos of language – miscommunication, different contexts, shifting meanings – but we also have to contend with the fact that our own brains are unreliable interpreters. You can use all the right words, follow all the right grammar rules, and still end up with a garbled mess of meaning because your brain decided to take a nap halfway through the sentence.

In the end, neurolinguistics reminds us that language isn’t just a social or cultural problem – it’’’s a biological one too. Our brains are doing their best to keep up, but they’re far from perfect. The very organ that makes language possible is also responsible for making it infinitely more complicated than it needs to be. And if we can’t rely on our own brains to process language consistently, what hope do we have of ever understanding anyone else?

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Written by Bry Willis

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From Grunts to Gibberish: The Glorious Evolution of Language and Its Stunning Inadequacies

Posted in language, philosophyTagged , , , 3 Comments
4–6 minutes

Welcome to Part 1 of a Week-Long Series on the Evolution and Limits of Language!
This article is part of a seven-day exploration into the fascinating and often flawed history of language—from its primitive roots to its tangled web of abstraction, miscommunication, and modern chaos. Each day, we uncover new layers of how language shapes (and fails to shape) our understanding of the world.

If you haven’t yet, be sure to check out the other posts in this series for a full deep dive into why words are both our greatest tool and our biggest obstacle. Follow the journey from ‘flamey thing hot’ to the whirlwind of social media and beyond!

Language: humanity’s greatest tool – or perhaps just the most elaborate way to confuse each other. Once upon a time, communication was simple. If something was dangerous, you screamed. If something was delicious, you grunted approvingly. Life was easy when all you needed to do was convey, ‘flamey thing hot’ or ‘toothey thing scary’. The early humans were onto something – keep it short, sweet, and survival-oriented.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

But no. That wasn’t enough for us. Somewhere along the way, we decided it wasn’t sufficient to just think these survival gems internally. We had to tell the other guy too – who, let’s face it, was probably getting a little too close to the flamey thing for comfort. Thus, language evolved from a quiet cognitive tool to a public spectacle. Welcome to the grand tradition of miscommunication, where everything from ‘flamey thing hot’ to ‘freedom’ became a subject of debate.

This is the language insufficiency hypothesis: the notion that language, as fancy as it’s become, is inherently incapable of keeping up with our ever-expanding thoughts and abstractions. Sure, it’s allowed us to create governments, argue over philosophy, and send passive-aggressive texts – but at what cost? We still can’t agree on what ‘truth’ means, let alone ‘justice’. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s start where it all began, with some grunts, groans, and the dawn of miscommunication.

Internal Reflections: The First ‘Words’ in Our Heads

Before language became a social construct, it was something far simpler, more personal. Picture the scene: you’re an early human, fresh out of the trees and wandering through a world that’s more ‘toothey thing scary’ than ‘civilisation’. Your brain, eager to help you survive, starts talking to itself – internally, of course. ‘Flamey thing hot. Toothy thing scary. Berry thing yummy’. It wasn’t elegant, but it worked.

Back then, these thoughts didn’t need to be shared. You didn’t need to tell someone else that the “toothey thing” was going to tear their face off—they could figure that out by getting a little too close. The brain’s job was survival, and it had evolved just enough language to keep you from becoming lunch. No social niceties here. No philosophical discussions about what ‘toothey’ really meant. Just raw, unfiltered cognition, directed at keeping you alive for another day.

But eventually, survival alone wasn’t enough. Humans, being the social animals that they are, started interacting more. ‘Flamey thing hot’ became information worth sharing – especially when some genius in the group was about to stick their hand in it. And just like that, language left the internal world of the individual and became a shared resource. Thus began the long, painful journey from ‘toothey thing scary’ to “let’s discuss the moral implications of ‘freedom'”.

From Grunts to Groans: Language’s Social Debut

Now that we’ve mastered the art of internal reflection – courtesy of ‘flamey thing hot’ and ‘toothey thing scary ‘ – it’s time for language to make its grand social debut. This is where things start to go off the rails. You see, it was one thing to keep these pearls of wisdom to yourself. It’s quite another to explain them to someone else. And unfortunately, humans quickly realised that not everyone had the same instincts for not getting killed.

So, picture this: You’re sitting by the fire (because someone in your tribe finally figured out how to not touch the flamey thing), and you notice Bob – let’s call him Bob – is eyeing that red, shiny berry that you know is definitely of the “belly go bad” variety. You can’t just let Bob eat the berry and ruin everyone’s evening with his inevitable projectile vomiting. But how do you communicate this vital piece of information?

Enter language’s first public service. ‘Berry bad’, you say, but of course, Bob doesn’t get it. He thinks you mean it’s bad because you want the berry for yourself. So, being Bob, he takes a bite anyway. Cue the disaster. And just like that, language moves from personal survival tool to a shared (and often misunderstood) form of communication.

Suddenly, it wasn’t enough to know ‘flamey thing hot’ for yourself. You had to communicate it to the other guy, and that’s where things started getting complicated. Because the moment language became social, it also became messy. What was once clear and useful – ‘toothey thing scary’ – became open to interpretation. Maybe Bob thinks ‘toothey’ means ‘friendly’. Maybe he’s an optimist, or maybe he’s just the kind of person who needs to find out for himself why the toothy thing has those teeth.

And there you have it—the birth of miscommunication. Early language was about survival, but the minute you needed someone else to understand it, you were doomed. Simple, straightforward thoughts became tangled up in social dynamics. Suddenly, you’re not just saying ‘flamey thing hot’ because it’s true; you’re saying it to convince someone who might not trust your expertise on flamey things.

Language, once internal and personal, had to be shared – and in that sharing, it lost something. No longer just a way to label the world, it became a way to negotiate it, with all the misunderstanding and frustration that implies. It wasn’t long before we left behind the “berry bad” phase and moved on to even more abstract problems like “Who gets the last mammoth leg?” and “Why does Bob still not understand when I say ‘toothey thing scary’?”

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Written by Bry Willis

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