To help people see the truth of this, I’ve devised several parables. 

The parable of The Castaways and of The Caveman and Dr. Smith make clear how languages come into being and their limitations. 

The parable of The Incarcerated Serf relates primarily to the notion that in many ways we are our own jailer.

You see, scuba divers can be taught; surfers can only be entertained. And I am a teacher, not someone whose mission in life is to amuse others, although I'm told I can be very funny at times. 

But please know that this site will do more for you in the long run than will most “cool” (in quotation marks because I haven't the foggiest notion what that word means except in the context of temperature) sites. 

In this regard, my philosophy is much like President Reagan's when he made the observation that if you feed someone by giving him or her a fish to eat, you'll have to give that someone a fish every day. But if you teach that someone how to fish, then he or she will be able to feed him or herself from then on without help from anyone. 

I can teach you how to (1) correctly analyze and digest information, (2) think clearly and innovatively using that information, and (3) effectively communicate the results of that thinking to others. If you learn these skills — and you can, believe me, if you want to — not only will you be able to feed yourself every day, but you'll be able to put on a banquet at the same time and feed others as well until they, too, learn how to “fish.” 

You have my word. 

Now to continue.

But before long, it becomes clear to both of them that gestures alone will not do the job; words will be needed for certain complex tasks. John tries to teach English to Louis. But the latter, a proud and obstinate man, refuses to learn the language. Instead, he tries to teach French to John, but with no better result for the same reason. So they decide through gestures to invent a language acceptable to both of them, using the alphabet common to both English and French. And because they were able to salvage pencils and several pads from the wreck, they agree that their new language would be both spoken and written. 

They go down to the beach and begin. John points to the sea, circling his arms as though to encompass the entire expanse. Louis nods understandingly. John makes the sound “WAM” and writes WAM on his pad, showing it to Louis. Louis repeats the sound, nods, and also writes WAM on his pad. So WAM is to be the word for what John would call “the sea” and Louis “la mer.” John now points to the sand, picks up a handful, runs it through his fingers, makes the sound “WAP,” and writes WAP on his pad, showing it to Louis. Louis again repeats the sound made by John, nods, and also writes WAP on his pad. So WAP becomes the symbol for what John would call “sand” and Louis “sable.” Then Louis points at a spring, and WAF becomes the symbol for fresh water. And so they go around the island, making up strictly neutral words, neither English nor French, for all the common objects in which they are mutually interested because of the work that there is to do. Then John invites Louis by gestures to look at him while he does a pantomime walk. RAB is agreed to as the word for walk, RAD for sitting down, and so forth. With this agreement of symbols, all duly noted on their pads, and, soon after committed to memory, their daily labors of fishing, food-getting, cooking, shelter-building, and so on are greatly aided. 

One day, John gets the idea that what happened to them was unfortunate. He decides to make that observation to Louis. But because the Frenchman knows no English and John no French, the latter must now find a word in their new language which would mean to Louis what the word unfortunate means to him. Remembering the procedure that had worked so well when they were first shipwrecked, John searches for something on the island to which he could point and then make a sound that would represent to Louis what “unfortunate” represents to him. He cannot find any. As an alternative, he gets Louis to look at him while he tries to act out what he means by “unfortunate.” But again to no avail; try as he might, he can’t get Louis to understand what he means by the word unfortunate. In desperation, he offers Louis “hapless,” “ill-fated,” “unlucky,” “unfavorable,” “untimely,” and “untoward,” hoping that perhaps one would ring a bell with his co-survivor, but all he gets from the latter in return are puzzled shrugs. With a heavy heart, he gives up, and time on the island passes peacefully for both of them. 

Several years later, a Spaniard named Carlos and a German named Hans are washed ashore on the other side of the island. Each is as proud and as obstinate as are John and Louis, as far as his native tongue is concerned. But they, too, soon realize that if they are to survive, there is hard work to be done, a good deal of it together. And so they go through what John and Louis went through—first the gestures, and then the creation of a new, neutral language; in this case, neither Spanish nor German. But now, as chance would have it, WAM is chosen as the word for walk, WAF for sea, WAP for sitting down, RAD for sand, and so on. With this agreement of symbols, both written and memorized, they are able to jointly build shelters, agree on their daily fare, and cooperate in general to make survival possible. 

One day, Carlos feels deeply homesick, and decides to tell Hans about it. But because the latter knows no Spanish and the former no German, Carlos must now come up with a word in their new language which would mean to Hans what the word nostálgico means to him. Remembering the procedure that had worked so well when they were first shipwrecked, Carlos searches for something on the island to which he could point and then make a sound that would represent to Hans what “nostálgico” represents to him. He cannot find any. As an alternative, he gets Hans to look at him while he tries to act out what he means by “nostálgico.” But to no avail; try as he might, he can’t get Hans to understand what he means by the word nostálgico. Searching his mind for a synonym, he remembers and tries “añoro,” but all he gets from Hans in return is a puzzled shrug. With a heavy heart, he gives up, and time on the island passes peacefully for both of them. 

A few months later the four accidentally meet. Each pair of castaways, surprised and pleased to learn that there are others on the island besides themselves, tries to converse with the other pair, using words that are common to both newly created languages. But they cannot, although they use exactly the same words. 

The caveman rushes home to tell his mate what he had just seen. He dashes into his cave, gesturing, and making all manner of noises by combining sputtering, hissing, clucking, cooing, and wheezing sounds that he makes with his lungs, throat, tongue, teeth, and lips, trying to describe to her what he had just witnessed. But he cannot. She just looks blankly at him. So he grabs her by the hand, and pulls her along to the scene of the kill. He points to the sabre-toothed tiger, which is now feasting on the deer’s carcass, points to the deer, points to the rock from which the tiger had sprung upon his quarry, and so on, all the while gesturing, grunting, and wheezing. She now nods her head in understanding. 

That night the caveman has a strange dream, filled with bizarre-looking things, all completely unfamiliar to him. He experiences fear, anxiety, dread, bewilderment, and a sense of hopelessness as his nocturnal adventure unfolds. The next morning he tries to communicate to his mate what it was that he had experienced during the night, what he had seen and felt. Again he gestures, and makes all manner of noises in his effort, but as before, he cannot. She looks blankly at him. He remembers the exciting event of the previous day, and how he was able to communicate to her what he had seen by taking her to where the event had taken place and by pointing to the players and to the props, so to speak. But, alas! He cannot take her to where the dream had taken place, nor is there anything to point to. He realizes sadly that he will never be able to share this adventure with his mate, or with anyone else, for that matter. 

Aeons later, Charles Smith, a retired English professor, is out shooting a round of golf. Just after he tees off, the ball strikes a bird in flight, and kills it. After the round, he rushes home, and by combining sputtering, hissing, clucking, cooing, and wheezing sounds that he makes with his lungs, throat, tongue, teeth, and lips, now called words, tells his wife what happened. She nods understandingly. 

That night Dr. Smith has a strange dream, filled with bizarre-looking things, all completely unfamiliar to him. He experiences fear, anxiety, dread, bewilderment, and a sense of hopelessness as his nocturnal adventure unfolds. The next morning he tries to communicate to his wife what it was that he had experienced during the night, what he had seen and felt. But despite his facility with words, his extensive vocabulary, and the notion that he and his wife share what they both believe to be a common language, he cannot, any more than that caveman was able to do aeons before. She looks blankly at him. He realizes sadly that he will never be able to share this adventure with his wife, or with anyone else, for that matter.

The unfortunate Albert languished in his cell for years. Each day the door would be opened, water and bread thrust inside, and then loudly closed. Finally, he decided that he couldn’t take his imprisonment any longer; he’d rather be dead. But Albert didn’t want to take his own life. So he decided that the next time the jailer brought food, he would attack him, and then the jailer would kill him. 

As Albert waited, he decided to familiarize himself with the way the door worked, so that he could carry out his plan more effectively. While he played with the handle, the door opened. He attempted to examine the locking mechanism, and found to his amazement that the door had none. 

Timorously leaving the cell, he groped his way along the corridor until he found a stairway which he climbed. At the top, he found two soldiers alongside a doorway leading to the outside.They were chatting idly. As Albert emerged from the castle, they threw a glance at him, and then returned to their conversation, completely ignoring him. 

Albert cautiously made his way across a great yard towards the castle gate, just outside of which stood an armed soldier guarding the drawbridge spanning the moat which surrounded the castle. Heart pounding, and with as much nonchalance as he could muster, he moved through the gate, all the while expecting to be stopped by the soldier and returned to his cell. But the guard just ignored him, and he crossed the drawbridge a free man. 

The parable of The Castaways demonstrates that words do not have meaning, that meaning lies within people. And the only way people can communicate is by first agreeing what specific words are intended to mean. Without such agreement, communication is not possible. 

The parable of The Caveman and Dr. Smith focuses on the impossibility of communicating thoughts or ideas about things that do not exist in the real world. And it doesn’t matter how articulate one is or how extensive his or her vocabulary may be. If one cannot point to that which a word is intended to represent or give a description of it in concrete terms or give an operational explanation of it, then he or she cannot hope to convey to another what’s on his or her mind. 

And lastly, the parable of The Incarcerated Serf serves to illustrate how you can be imprisoned by beliefs whose only relationship to the outside world is the one that you give them. Change your beliefs and the outside world will change accordingly.