Imagine that you’re talking to a police officer about a suspicious person reported to have had a knife. You say: “The man who had the knife also had a gun.” But what if the same suspicious person, doing the same thing, was instead reported as having had a gun? You may have instead said: “The man who had the gun also had a knife.” Both facts are true from your subjective perspective. The man had both a knife and a gun. But what you say to the police officer—assuming, of course, that you want him to know both facts—depends on what you know about what he knows about.

Interestingly, though: If we take out of the analysis the speaker and the listener, along with their differing subjective perspectives (e.g., the speaker knowing X but the listener not), and we just imagine the scene itself (of the man with the knife and the gun) from an omniscient, objective perspective, then there’s no possible distinction between what we’d imagine between the original sentence and its flipped-around counterpart. Whether “the man who had the knife also had a gun,” or “the man who had the gun also had a knife”—whether the speaker is making one assumption about the listener or another—the two omnisciently, objectively imagined scenes are identical: There was a man of a certain kind. He had both a knife and a gun, both of them of a certain kind. And he was doing certain things, e.g. walking in a certain way.

Imagine that you’re at a cafe with a friend. You see three men walk in, one of them young and the other two old. Imagine also that you (believe that you) know something that (you believe that) your friend doesn’t, viz. that the young man is a famous chess player. You may point in the direction of the three men and say: “The young man is a famous chess player.” Pointing in that direction narrows down the possible referent(s) of the subject of the utterance to just those three men, and the category “young man” narrows down the possible referent(s) further: The only possible referent is now just that one man.

In saying that “the young man is a famous chess player,” first you (1) establish joint attention on the referent, in this case “the young man,” and then you (2) say something about that referent, in this case “is a famous chess player.”

But it’s also possible to flip it around. Instead of saying that “the young man is a famous chess player,” which uses the fact that he’s a young man as (perhaps) nothing more than just a way of establishing joint attention on him, you can say that “the famous chess player is a young man,” which makes the fact that he’s a young man into the point that you’re making about him.

1. Some sensory complexes bring with them positive valence, and other sensory complexes bring with them negative valence. Metaphorically speaking, we’re “pulled to move toward” the former kind and “pushed to move away from” the latter kind.
2. Some sensory complexes have more positive valence, or less negative valence, than others. (a) We prefer higher positive valence to lower and lower negative valence to higher, and (b) in making choices, we try to maximize any possible positive valence and minimize any possible negative valence—those two propositions just being tautologically true, of course. But—and here’s the important point to be made here—some sensory complexes are equal to each other in expected valence. That is: Some sensory complexes are unequal to each other in that respect, and other sensory complexes are equal to each other in that respect. We may have a preference for X over Y, but we also may instead be indifferent between X and Z. For example: Imagine that you’re at a supermarket choosing whether to buy an apple or an orange to eat as a snack. After a moment of thought, you may find yourself reaching into the tray of apples, thus revealing a preference for an apple over an orange. But which apple will you choose? In choosing, you may ignore whether the apple does, or doesn’t, have a stem; such is indifference between a “stemmed” and an “unstemmed” apple. Your hierarchy of value in the moment of choice was such that 🍎 > 🍊 but unstemmed 🍎 = stemmed 🍎.
3. Empirically speaking, we’re a mixture of preference (e.g., 🍎 > 🍊) and indifference (e.g., unstemmed 🍎 = stemmed 🍎). That proposition can be treated as a true a posteriori postulate in the science of human action and the human mind. But let’s consider the respective logical implications of the two empirically false, but nevertheless useful and interesting, contraries of that a posteriori postulate: (a) the postulate of no such mixture in the sense of all preference and no indifference and (b) the postulate of no such mixture in the reverse sense, i.e. no preference and all indifference.
4. With all preference and no indifference, what’s logically entailed is choice (i.e., action) without categorization—unless, of course, even a “category” of only one sensory complex is admitted, definitionally speaking, as a “category.”
5. With no preference and all indifference, what’s logically entailed is no choice/action because everything is put together into just one single category.
6. Logically entailed in the (empirically true) mixture of preference and indifference, then, is a system of categorization. For example: It’s in sometimes preferring apples to oranges, but sometimes being indifferent, in turn, among the different kinds of apples, that we justify the category “apple.” And it’s only because some people, at some moments, prefer to eat a Honeycrisp instead of a Fuji, or a Granny Smith instead of a Red Delicious, that we further distinguish the supercategory “apple” into the various subcategories thereof: “Honeycrisp apple,” “Fuji apple,” etc.
7. Consider next that there’s not only positive and negative valence but also neutral valence. That is, a sensory complex can be desirable, undesirable, or neither desirable nor undesirable.
8. It’s common, though, for a yet uncategorized range of sensory complexes, all of them originally neutral in valence, to all take on an equivalently positive or negative valence, and thus become categorized, because the agent comes to believe that the originally neutral range of sensory complexes X is the cause of an already positive or negative category of sensory complexes Y. That is: Something originally neither desirable nor undesirable becomes either desirable or undesirable because the agent comes to believe that it’s the cause of something else, that something else being what’s more fundamentally desirable or undesirable. The valence of the effect is imputed to the cause. For example: Let’s say that your grandfather recently passed away and you’re looking through his belongings, which he bequeathed to you. An old clock sitting in the attic of his house looks like nothing to you, just junk to get rid of. But then you find a note from your grandfather saying to be careful with the clock because it’s an antique worth $5,000. The originally neutral valence of the clock—you didn’t care about it one way or the other—suddenly takes on the already positive valence of $5,000 (assuming, of course, that you believe that your grandfather’s note is true).
9. If you desire the effect Y, and X is the cause of that effect, then Y is the end and X is the means—definitionally speaking.
10. To summarize all of the foregoing: (a) With every preference comes a distinction in category (e.g., 🍎 vs. 🍊), and with every indifference comes no distinction in category (e.g., an 🍎 is an 🍎 whether it has a stem or not). (b) Our more fundamental preferences and indifferences, which determine our more fundamental categories, bring about, in accordance with our beliefs in cause and effect, our less fundamental preferences and indifferences, which in turn determine our less fundamental categories. (c) Thus, “our” system of categorization—the micro and macro, or in other words the psychology and sociology, of “the” system of categorization, to be analyzed elsewhere—is a function of belief and value.
11. That is: Out of our beliefs in cause and effect, along with our most fundamental values, comes all of our other values, and together all of that determines how we take all of our familiar sensory complexes and put those sensory complexes into categories. The most elegant generating function possible for our system of categorization takes as its input (a) our beliefs in cause and effect—perhaps our “ultimate” beliefs of that kind, whatever that may turn out to mean—and (b) our ultimate values.

Psychologically, the rejection of tobacco could consist in imagining rotting yellow teeth, cancerous black lungs, etc. But sociologically, those negative associations may be widespread on the group level for reasons not necessarily known on the individual level, reasons related not to health but to culture.

Why did American culture turn on tobacco after the Second World War? The most accurate psychological explanation won’t necessarily match up with the most accurate sociological explanation. That is, the question of what’s happening in the mind of the individual (e.g., the vivid imagination of somebody with rotting yellow teeth smoking a cigarette) is separate from the question of why those negative mental associations are widespread in the group. The “real” reason that America culture turned on tobacco—if I may for a moment think of the sociological explanation as more “real,” which is contra to what Roger Scruton argued in his book The Soul of the World (2014)—is that tobacco’s effect on the mind is more compatible with rightism than leftism. Tobacco is the drug of the right, and the left has increasingly taken control of American culture since the Second World War.

I used to make a distinction between the phenomenalist intension and extension, on one hand, and the physicalist intension and extension, on the other hand:

1. The “phenomenalist intension” of a set distinguishes between the possible-to-imagine sensory complexes belonging to the set and the possible-to-imagine sensory complexes not belonging to the set. For example, the phenomenalist intension of the word “fish” is such that anything possible-to-imagine is taken as possible input, and it tells you, as its output, yes or no: It tells you whether any given possible-to-imagine sensory complex is, or is not, a “fish.”
2. The “phenomenalist extension” of a set generates, one by one, all of the possible-to-imagine sensory complexes belonging to the set and none of the possible-to-imagine sensory complexes not belonging to the set. For example, the phenomenalist extension of the word “fish” would generate 🐟, 🐡, etc., endlessly—for there are, presumably, an infinite number of possible-to-imagine sensory complexes belonging to that set.
3. The “physicalist intension” of a set distinguishes between the physically existing beings belonging to the set and the physically existing beings not belonging to the set. For example, the physicalist intension of the phrase “university professor” tells you whether any given person, actually existing physically (whether in the past, present, or future), is, or is not, a “university professor.”
4. The “physicalist extension” of a set is all of the physically existing beings (again, whether in the past, present, or future) belonging to the set. For example, Hayek was a university professor but Hume wasn’t.

Originally, I thought that I was just naturally falling into a phenomenalist perspective, which is the more fundamental perspective, and the mainstream was just naturally falling into the physicalist perspective—obviously the mainstream doesn’t use definitions #1 and #2. But I now understand why the mainstream defines the terms “intension” and “extension” as they do: The work that my system does elsewhere, the mainstream does here. The word “Hemingway,” as a set, has a different intension, but the same extension, as the phrase “the author of The Sun Also Rises.” Those two words/phrases, then, can be freely interchanged in a proposition without there being any way that the truth value will change: If “Hemingway committed suicide at age 61” is true, then “the author of The Sun Also Rises committed suicide at age 61″ is also true—well, assuming that Hemingway is indeed the author of that book.

Interestingly, though, interchangeability can be lost: While—as I wrote above—”Hemingway committed suicide at age 61″ implies “the author of The Sun Also Rises committed suicide at age 61,” adding the subjectivity of a phrase like “John knows” causes the interchangeability to be lost: “John knows that Hemingway committed suicide at age 61″ doesn’t imply “John knows that the author of The Sun Also Rises committed suicide at age 61.” Why? Because John may not know that Hemingway is the author of The Sun Also Rises.

1. 箸 and はし both have the power of bringing to mind 🥢. That is, when a writer intends to get a reader to think of 🥢, both 箸 and はし work for that purpose.
2. Of course ハ↓シ, which is the phonemic form of the same word, also has that power.
3. The (formal) graphemic categories 箸 and はし, and the (formal) phonemic category ハ↓シ, are all different forms of the same word, which is in turn associated with the (substantial) category 🥢.
4. Logic is the explicit study of the always-explicit, and linguistics is the explicit study of the often-implicit.
5. Intension and extension, connotation and denotation, Sinn and Bedeutung. Each pair of terms has the same stipulated definitions as the other pairs.
6. The intension of a set is the input system that can tell whether any given thing is a member of the set. The extension of a set, on the other hand, is the output system that can give you, one by one, everything that’s a member of the set—in theory that’s possible, but in practice that’s of course impossible (well unless you’re a powerful enough computer).
7. How do those logical concepts relate to linguistics? With a representative enough sample of Japanese people saying ハ↓シ (in various ways) while using 🥢 (of various kinds), you’d then understand the word and be able to use it. How does that relate to the intension of the word? To the extension? A “representative enough sample” isn’t logically exhaustive, of course, but for some reason it’s linguistically sufficient.
8. See any manifestation of 🥢 and think of some manifestation of 箸, はし, or ハ↓シ. Also, see or hear any manifestation of 箸, はし, or ハ↓シ and think of some manifestation of 🥢.
9. How do the logical concepts of intension and extension relate to the linguistic concepts of recognition and production? What about input and output?

If you happen upon a watch lying on a beach, then you’d of course assume that there was a watchmaker responsible for that watch: a designer of that watch. Even the most rational people who lived in the age of religion, before the triumph of science, found it natural to think the same about plants, animals, etc. There must be a designer of nature, for nature is too orderly to not have a designer.

Analogously, most modern people—even those very familiar with science—look at society and think that there must be a designer, here not God but the State: When society seems intelligently ordered such that good things happen systematically, then surely there’s an intelligent and benevolent individual (or group of individuals) who made that order deliberately. And when society seems intelligently ordered such that bad things happen systematically, then surely there’s the evil counterpart of the aforementioned: an intelligent and malevolent individual (or group of individuals) who made that order deliberately. But the idea of natural order makes it clear that even the most orderly system needn’t have a “watchmaker,” a designer. We don’t need to invoke God to explain nature, and we don’t need to invoke the State to explain society. The invisible hands of Darwin and Smith show how the order in nature and society actually came about, viz. via evolution.