Showing posts with label self. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self. Show all posts

25 September 2025

The Symbolic Animal: Phasing the Human in Meaning

1 The Animal That Means

What makes us human is not that we use symbols, but that we are shaped by them. To be human is to live through meaning — to inhabit a world that is not simply given, but construed, interpreted, responded to, and anticipated through patterned systems of meaning-making. We are not just animals with symbols. We are animals phased into being by symbolically organised life.

In this series, we turn to the question: what is the “symbolic animal”? But rather than seeking some essence of humanity that precedes symbolic behaviour, we approach the human as an emergent mode of being — one in which the unfolding of action is inseparable from the unfolding of meaning. We propose that what makes the symbolic animal symbolic is not the possession of a special capacity, but a shift in how experience is patterned and committed.

This shift is not a sudden leap. It evolves through the increasing complexity of social coordination, affective regulation, and systemic anticipation. Across species, we see evidence of systems that select, signal, and sequence — from birdsong to dance-like courtship, from warning cries to grooming rituals. But only in humans do these systems become self-reflexive: systems that not only organise behaviour, but can construe their own organisation as meaningful.

At some threshold — not sharply defined, but developmentally phased — symbolic potential becomes intrinsic to the life of the organism. This is not a matter of when a signal “becomes” a word, or a tool “becomes” a text. It is when the coordination of action becomes governed by the possibility of meaning — when behaviour itself is not just functional or affective, but semiotically saturated.

To call this creature “symbolic” is not to locate a fixed trait but to identify a phase transition: a shift in the organisation of systems, in which the world is no longer simply experienced, but symbolically construed. The symbolic animal is not the master of signs. It is the creature caught in systems of meaning — born into them, shaped by them, accountable to them.

Thus we begin not with an anthropology of capacity, but an ontology of phase. The symbolic animal does not have language, art, law, myth — it lives in the patterned unfolding of these systems as they configure possibility itself. The cut that makes the symbolic animal is not a difference in nature, but a difference in how nature is made meaningful.

From here, we can now explore how context — field, tenor, and mode — enters the very tissue of symbolic life, and how meaning is lived through systemic metafunctions. But always we return to this cut: to be symbolic is not to manipulate signs, but to become one’s world through their unfolding.


2 Context as Commitment

To live symbolically is not to stand apart from life, interpreting it from above. It is to be immersed in patterned systems of meaning, where action is never “just” action, but already inflected by what it construes, enacts, and weaves together. In this post, we explore how symbolic life is contextually phased — how the human is configured by the very systems through which meaning becomes possible.

In systemic functional linguistics (SFL), the concept of context is not a vague background but a stratal system: a semiotic configuration that guides what can mean in a given situation. The key insight here is that context is not reducible to setting or surroundings — it is not where meaning “takes place.” Rather, context is a potential: a system of selections that constrains and enables the unfolding of symbolic life.

This context is itself structured through three dimensions of meaning potential:

  • Field: what is going on — the domain of experience being construed;

  • Tenor: who is involved — the social relations being enacted;

  • Mode: how the meaning unfolds — the role of language and other semiotic resources in the situation.

These dimensions are not surface labels; they are phased commitments. That is, to participate in symbolic life is to be born into patterned expectations of how to act, speak, feel, and relate — into a semiotic ecology. The symbolic animal is not just in context; it lives through contextual commitment.

Take a simple interaction: greeting a neighbour. The field constrains what counts as relevant activity (“greeting,” not “debating policy” or “offering a sermon”); the tenor configures the expected interpersonal alignment (perhaps warm but not intimate, friendly but not familiar); and the mode guides the symbolic resources to be used (a wave, a smile, a “hi there” — not an email or a philosophical treatise). To live this moment is to phase into a symbolic pattern — one that precedes intention, and is not fully in the agent’s control.

Importantly, these contextual commitments are not abstract overlays imposed on otherwise neutral activity. They are realised in the very texture of meaning — in choices of word, rhythm, gesture, timing. Context is not behind the scene; it is realised in the act, and construes the act in return. To mean is to commit — to take up a phase of context that configures not only what you are doing, but who you are becoming.

The symbolic animal, then, is not a blank agent using language in response to situations. It is a patterned being whose very unfolding is phased through systems of cultural meaning potential. What counts as a self, as a move, as a relation — all of this is shaped in advance by the commitments of context.

This reframes any attempt to isolate “language” or “symbol” from social life. There is no symbolic act that does not unfold through context. And there is no context that is not historically sedimented, normatively loaded, and materially consequential.

In the next post, we turn inward to the symbolic patterns themselves: the metafunctions by which meaning is lived — as construal, as relation, as coherence. But even there, we will find no escape from context — only deeper entanglement in the patterned commitments that make the symbolic animal what it is.


3 Living the Metafunctions

If context phases symbolic life from without — configuring what counts as meaningful activity — the metafunctions phase symbolic life from within. They are not modules of the mind or compartments of language. They are systems of meaning-potential that unfold together in every symbolic act. To live symbolically is to live through these systems — to construe, relate, and organise experience in patterned ways that give form to a human world.

Systemic functional linguistics identifies three metafunctions that constitute the architecture of meaning:

  • Ideational: the construal of experience — what is going on, what is involved, how the world is shaped in meaning;

  • Interpersonal: the enactment of social relations — who is speaking to whom, with what stance, and what negotiation of alignment;

  • Textual: the orchestration of meaning — how acts are staged, made coherent, and integrated into unfolding flow.

These are not additive dimensions. They are simultaneous commitments. Every symbolic act is an act of construal, an act of relation, and an act of organisation. To say “It’s raining” is not just to name weather (ideational), but to position oneself toward an addressee (interpersonal) and to launch a coherent message into the flow of discourse (textual). These three strands are not separate threads, but co-instantiated fibres of symbolic life.

But this goes deeper than linguistic expression. The metafunctions do not arise from language — they condition it. They are modes of being, structured through systems of meaning-making that long predate verbal expression. A child’s cry, a gaze, a pointing gesture — all are already phase-shifted into meaning by these metafunctions.

To live through the ideational metafunction is to live by construal: not simply to react to the world, but to pattern it through categories, sequences, and relations of cause and consequence. A symbolic animal does not merely encounter the world — it experiences it as something.

To live through the interpersonal metafunction is to live in relation: to phase each act through positions of power, affect, and affiliation; to become socially accountable for one’s symbolic presence. A symbolic animal is never outside a relation — it is formed through address.

To live through the textual metafunction is to live in flow: to experience meaning as staged, structured, and embedded in time; to expect coherence, cohesion, relevance. A symbolic animal does not just act — it acts in rhythm, in sequence, in narrative.

Crucially, these metafunctions are not imposed on experience — they are experience, for the symbolic animal. They do not reflect a world already given; they enact a world that could not otherwise be. They are the living tissue of symbolic life, shaping not only what can be said, but what can be felt, perceived, expected.

As we move through this series, we will explore how these patterned systems evolve, become recursive, and entrench themselves into the very organisation of social life. But we hold to one claim: the symbolic animal does not “use” metafunctions. It is lived by them, in the unfolding of meaning as world, relation, and texture.


4 The Double Inheritance

To live as a symbolic animal is to live through systems — systems that precede the individual, outlast them, and yet become internal to their being. These systems are not innate ideas nor hardwired codes. They are evolved inheritances — patterned forms of coordination that develop across biological and cultural time. The symbolic animal inherits not only a body formed by evolutionary pressures, but a world of meaning shaped by collective histories. This is its double inheritance.

Biological evolution provides the material substrate: capacities for perception, memory, vocalisation, motor control, and social orientation. But these are not symbolic capacities in themselves. They are enabling affordances, not sufficient conditions. No specific gene codes for metaphor. No neural circuit guarantees grammar. What biology offers is a pliable, temporally extended, socially responsive organism — one capable of being shaped into systems beyond itself.

Cultural evolution, by contrast, provides the symbolic systems: not “memes” or static conventions, but unfolding traditions of meaning-making — speech genres, narrative forms, rituals, institutions, cosmologies. These systems are not universal templates. They are historically sedimented ways of phasing the world into meaning, born of specific collective lives. They evolve not by competition alone, but through reiteration, recontextualisation, and reflexive transformation.

The symbolic animal inherits both — a body attuned to social coordination, and a world already organised in meaning. But crucially, these two inheritances are not simply parallel. They are interpenetrating strata. The biological organism is constituted through symbolic development: neural structures are shaped by language use, perceptual categories by cultural practices. And the symbolic world is sustained through biological commitment: speech requires breath, writing requires hands, rituals require bodies that feel.

This entanglement gives rise to what we might call a developmental cut. The symbolic animal does not “receive” meaning like a package, nor invent it from scratch. It undergoes a phase shift in development: a becoming-symbolic that is scaffolded by others, by material practices, and by the systemic pressures of coherence and accountability. This is not acquisition but entrainment — the progressive coupling of the biological and the cultural in acts of meaning.

This double inheritance is also a double demand. The symbolic animal must maintain coherence with the affordances of its biological form and with the systems of meaning in its social world. It must regulate itself as both a physical being and a semiotic presence. Hence the weight of symbolic life: to be symbolic is not only to express, but to be responsible for one’s expressions, within systems not of one’s own making.

Thus, the symbolic animal does not “combine nature and culture” like puzzle pieces. It is phased into being at their intersection — where the evolution of coordination becomes the evolution of construal. What emerges is not a hybrid, but a transformation: a creature cut into meaning by the recursive interplay of bodily form and symbolic system.

In our next post, we examine how this recursive interplay enables a distinctive symbolic capacity: the reflexive cut, whereby meaning can turn back upon itself — enabling narrative, institution, selfhood.


5 The Reflexive Cut

At a certain phase in the evolution of symbolic life, a remarkable thing becomes possible: meaning begins to loop back upon itself. The symbolic animal not only construes experience — it construes its own construals. This recursive turn is not a technical upgrade or an optional extra. It is the deep structuring principle of human symbolic life. We call it the reflexive cut.

To cut is to distinguish. In symbolic systems, every cut is a patterned distinction that construes some domain of experience — construing things, relations, doings, qualities, and values in culturally organised ways. But the reflexive cut is different: it is a distinction that operates not on the world, but within the system of construal itself. It is a cut that carves symbolic activity into symbolic content.

This is what allows a speaker to say “What I meant was…”, or “That’s just a story”, or “This is a lie.” It is what makes possible narration, quotation, ritual, irony, and critique. It is what allows meaning to mean itself.

But the reflexive cut is not a matter of meta-language alone. It is realised developmentally, socially, and materially — through phases of symbolic entrainment in which the child learns to distinguish doing from saying, playing from pretending, truth from fiction, joking from lying. These distinctions are not simply conceptual. They are phases of accountability. The reflexive cut is how symbolic systems hold themselves to account.

This recursive turn enables symbolic formations of enormous power: the narrative self, the institutional order, the ethical system, the historical tradition. Each of these is a form of life constituted through reflexive organisation — a layering of construals that can cite, embed, negotiate, and transform prior acts of meaning.

The reflexive cut also introduces a new kind of temporality. Not the linear unfolding of physical processes, but a layered temporal architecture, where a present act construes a prior act as meaningful, and thereby positions the future in relation to it. This is the temporality of narrative, of law, of memory and projection. It is a system of times that are not natural but symbolic — construed as such within patterned semiotic systems.

Yet the reflexive cut is also a burden. Once meaning can be reflexively construed, the symbolic animal becomes permanently accountable not just for what is said, but for how it is meant, why it is said, and what it implies. Meaning becomes haunted by its meta-meanings. We become selves who live in reference to our past construals, and to the construals others hold us to.

This is the condition of the symbolic animal: not simply to be in the world, but to be in meaning, in systems that fold back upon themselves. We are caught in loops of signification — loops that grant the possibility of history, intention, irony, selfhood, and transformation.

In our next post, we turn to the consequences of this reflexive condition. What does it mean to live in systems that can construe themselves — and therefore question, reconfigure, and contest their own organisation? We turn next to: Semiotic Life as Praxis.


6 Semiotic Life as Praxis

The reflexive capacity of symbolic systems does not merely create loops of reference — it opens the possibility of transformation. Once a construal can be construed, it can be revised. Once a system can represent itself, it can reorganise itself. This is the pivot from symbolic life as habitual reproduction to symbolic life as praxis.

Praxis is not simply action. It is action within a construed system, guided by meanings that are themselves subject to symbolic deliberation. To act as a symbolic animal is to live within a world that is not simply perceived or used but oriented toward as meaningful — and open to reorientation.

Such action is always already relational. Symbolic systems are not individual achievements but collective configurations, realised through shared practices and differentiated positions. One does not act in a vacuum of intention; one acts within historically sedimented formations of value, normativity, power, and recognition — formations which both enable and constrain the field of possible meanings.

To speak, then, is to position oneself. To question is to reconfigure a symbolic order. To imagine otherwise is to begin the work of transformation — not outside the system, but from within its reflexive unfolding.

This is where semiotic life becomes political. Not because it expresses pre-existing interests or ideologies, but because it constitutes them. Every symbolic formation is a cut that could have been made otherwise. Every system of meaning is a selection from a horizon of symbolic possibility — and as such, a site of contestation.

The symbolic animal lives in this tension. To mean is to participate in systems larger than oneself — yet those systems are nothing but the sedimented participation of symbolic animals. This recursive structure generates both responsibility and possibility. We are shaped by our systems of meaning, but we are also their ongoing condition of existence.

This is why symbolic life is never neutral. It always orients, phases, commits. And because it is reflexive, it can also resist, question, and imagine anew.

To live as a symbolic animal, then, is to live within systems of meaning that are both inherited and open to reconfiguration. It is to dwell within an architecture of construals that can be inhabited, interrogated, and transformed — from within.

And that is the ethical challenge of symbolic life: not to transcend the systems that shape us, but to participate in them with reflexive care. To live symbolically is not merely to mean, but to mean responsibly — to attune to the force of our construals and the futures they make possible.

In our coda to this series, we return to this ethical horizon: not as an external imposition on symbolic life, but as the immanent condition of life that is always already symbolic.


Coda: The Ethical Horizon of the Cut

To live as a symbolic animal is to live in meaning. But meaning, as we have seen, is not a substance, nor a code, nor a transmission. It is a system of cuts — patterned distinctions that phase experience into symbolic potential.

These cuts do not merely describe the world; they compose it, by orienting us within it. They organise not only what can be meant, but also what matters. And because symbolic systems are reflexive, these orientations can be reconfigured. Meaning is never final. It is always under negotiation.

This is what gives rise to an ethical horizon — not an external moral code, but the immanent accountability of symbolic life to itself. To mean is to participate in systems of construal that position others, shape futures, and sediment possibilities. Every construal is a commitment.

This horizon is not idealistic. It arises precisely because meaning is never neutral. The symbolic cut is never innocent: it selects, it excludes, it valorises. And because it does, the symbolic animal must live in relation to the systems of meaning it inhabits — and in which it is also, inescapably, implicated.

To recognise oneself as a symbolic animal, then, is not to declare a nature. It is to acknowledge a condition: that we live within reflexive, contested, and co-constructed systems of meaning, which make possible both our intelligibility and our transformation.

The question is never simply what do you mean, but also how do your construals orient the world, whom do they position, what do they enable, and what do they foreclose?

That is the ethical horizon of the cut. And it is the horizon we live within — as symbolic animals who must not only mean, but also mean otherwise.

20 September 2025

Mythologies of Possibility: Meaning, Memory, and the Evolution of the Real

1 Myth as Systemic Potential

We are used to thinking of myth as a kind of primitive narrative—something pre-scientific, pre-rational, pre-modern. It is often treated as a historical curiosity, a cultural artefact, or a source of symbolic inspiration. But what if myth is none of these things—or rather, what if its significance lies not in its content, but in its function?

What if myth is not a story at all, but a system?

From the perspective of relational ontology and Systemic Functional Linguistics, we might begin to reconstrue mythology not as a genre of fiction, but as a modality of meaning—a patterned potential for construing experience. Myths, in this light, are not beliefs about the world, but systems through which worlds are made possible. They offer not facts, but fields of construal.

Just as language is modelled in SFL as a meaning potential—a system of choices that can be instantiated in different ways—myth too may be seen as a cultural meaning system: not a set of fixed propositions, but a semiotic architecture within which certain construals become possible. In other words, myth is not a primitive form of explanation, but a structured potential for world-making.

This is not metaphor. It is systemic.

A myth does not merely tell us what is—it organises what can be. It orients us toward certain cuts through the continuum of experience: this is how time unfolds, this is what a self is, this is what the cosmos values. It shapes the conditions of emergence. And just as importantly, it marks the limits of what may not be said, seen, or enacted.

In this sense, mythology is the social semiotics of the possible.

We might then say: myth operates in the same ontological register as context. It is not something added to experience, but something through which experience is patterned. It is not commentary on reality—it is a system that enacts reality, in all the specificity of its construed dimensions.

To treat mythology this way is not to romanticise it. It is to grant it the same systemic dignity we afford to language. Myths are not obsolete—they are ontogenetic. They do not describe a world gone by; they animate the conditions of emergence for a world still unfolding.

And perhaps this is the real challenge: to stop looking at myth as the fossil record of belief, and begin to see it as the semiotic architecture of potential—a system of affordances that, like language, is always available to be reactivated, repurposed, and re-cut.

The myth is not behind us. It is beneath us: a patterned field of possibility, waiting to be construed.


2 Evolution as Mythic Grammar

If myth is a system of potential—a semiotic architecture that patterns what may be meant, felt, or known—then its scope is not limited to ancient cosmogonies or sacred narratives. Mythic construal continues, often unrecognised, in the heart of modernity.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the discourse of evolution.

We are taught to regard evolution as a biological process, a mechanism for explaining the emergence of life-forms through variation and selection. In this view, evolution is not a myth at all, but a scientific account grounded in empirical evidence. And yet, evolution functions mythically in our cultural imagination: not as a set of data, but as a grammar of becoming.

Evolution, in this sense, is not simply a theory of organisms—it is a construal of time, change, and value. It tells us what kinds of transformation are thinkable, what forms of continuity are legitimate, what counts as progress, and what does not. It provides a semiotic orientation to emergence: slow, adaptive, contingent, directional. It models the real as a temporally extended field of selection, competition, and differentiation.

In doing so, evolution enacts a mythic construal of possibility: a story of how new forms can emerge, how complexity arises, how adaptation defines meaning. It is not mythic because it is false, but because it organises potential in patterned ways. It tells us what kind of becoming is intelligible—and what kind is unthinkable.

From a relational perspective, this is not a critique but a recognition. Myth, here, is not the opposite of science—it is the semiotic deep structure of its construals. Evolution functions as a kind of ideational mythos, a way of mapping systemic potential through time. It is a grammar for imagining emergence.

But like all grammars, it also makes cuts.

The discourse of evolution tends to privilege gradualism, adaptation, and external selection. It construes change as slow and responsive, not sudden or systemic. It tends to background construal itself: the emergence of meaning, perspective, and consciousness are often treated as epiphenomena rather than as central to the evolutionary event.

This is not a flaw. It is a systemic commitment. But it also opens space for other construals—other grammars of emergence, other mythic models of how possibility evolves.

What if we treated meaning not as something that arises after evolution, but as something that drives it?

What if evolution itself is not a story of matter becoming complex, but of systems differentiating fields of potential?

What if construal is not an outcome of evolution, but its very mechanism?

Such questions are not challenges to the scientific discourse of evolution, but invitations to see it as one mythic grammar among many—a powerful, patterned construal of becoming, whose limits reveal the possibility of other myths still waiting to be told.

In the next post, we will turn to what was lost when modernity declared the myth dead—and what we might recover by releasing it from the literalist cut.


3 Rescuing Myth from the Literalist Cut

To understand what has happened to myth in modernity, we must examine not how it has been explained, but how it has been cut—reduced, sequestered, and reclassified under a particular ontological regime. This is the regime of literalism, which emerged most forcefully in the wake of Enlightenment rationalism and scientific empiricism.

The literalist cut treats meaning as secondary: it assumes that there is a reality out there—objective, observer-independent, propositional—and that any construal of that reality can be measured by how faithfully it maps onto the "facts." From this perspective, myth becomes either a false description (and therefore obsolete) or a poetic allegory (and therefore harmless).

Either way, it is stripped of its systemic power.

This was not a neutral development. It was a reconstrual of construal itself—a shift in what kinds of meaning-making could count as real. The literalist cut severed myth from its function as a semiotic system and recoded it as a primitive error. In doing so, it reconfigured the space of possibility: what could be known, what could be imagined, what could be inhabited.

But the cut was perspectival, not ontological. Myth did not disappear. It was simply displaced, repressed, or disguised. It re-emerged in the margins: in literature, in art, in ideology, in psychology, in the narratives of progress and collapse. And it continued to function—not as entertainment, but as the backgrounding architecture of construal.

Myths never depended on literal belief. Their power was never in their "truth" as facts, but in their potency as systems—systems that enacted worlds, roles, scales, and values. When the literalist cut declared myth irrational, it also foreclosed access to one of the most ancient and sophisticated technologies of systemic meaning.

And this matters.

Because without mythic construal, we are left only with description—flattened worlds, stripped of possibility, amputated from their own conditions of emergence. We lose the capacity to think systemically across domains, to inhabit symbolic fields, to constellate meaning beyond the factual.

To rescue myth from the literalist cut is not to return to superstition. It is to restore myth as a legitimate axis of construal—as a relational grammar of the possible, grounded not in belief but in patterned semiotic potential.

It is to insist that meaning is not derivative. That what we take to be real is not given, but enacted. That the stories we inherit—whether scientific, religious, or philosophical—are not merely representations of a world, but participations in its actualisation.

In the final post, we will ask what it means to treat myth not as memory of what was, but as memory of what might have been—and still could be.


4 Myth as Memory of the Not-Yet

We often think of myth as memory—cultural memory, ancestral memory, deep-time memory. Myths recall a beginning, or a rupture, or a covenant. They mark a primal event, a heroic lineage, a forgotten order. But this view, while not wrong, may be incomplete.

What if myth is not memory of what was, but memory of what might have been?

This is not nostalgia, nor speculation. It is an ontological shift. In a relational model of meaning, what we call the past is not a fixed archive but a field of possible construals, continually re-instantiated in the present. And what we call myth is not a record of what happened, but a system through which certain virtualities are preservednot-yets that haunt the space of the now.

In this light, myths are not stories about origins. They are traces of unactualised potential—not paths taken, but paths imagined, constrained, suspended, or foreclosed. They do not tell us what happened. They tell us what could have happened, had the world been cut differently. They are semiotic residues of alternative worlds.

This makes myth not primitive, but generative.

It makes myth not a belief system, but a field of unrealised affordances—grammars of value, relation, temporality, and agency that still wait, dormant, in the cultural system. They may lie outside the dominant construals of science, politics, or reason. But they persist as latent systems, ready to be reanimated—not as relics, but as resources.

And here we arrive at a different kind of possibility: not the possibility of prediction, or adaptation, or discovery, but the possibility of reconstrual. The possibility of seeing again. The possibility of inhabiting the real otherwise.

A myth is not a map. It is a memory of a system that might have patterned the world. And like any system, it can be re-entered, re-cut, re-instantiated. To engage myth at this level is not to return to the past, but to reopen the field of potential that was never fully closed.

The not-yet still lives. And myth is how we remember it.

31 August 2025

From Potential to Person: Clines, Construals, and the Timescales of Becoming

1 Cutting the Field: Construal and the Architecture of Meaning

What is meaning?

Not a substance. Not a code. Not something that lives in words or minds.

Meaning is a construal: a cut through a structured field of potential, a way of realising what could be into what is.

This first post lays the groundwork for what follows: a reframing of the person not as an entity, but as a perspectival construal across relational systems—an emergence from and within meaning.


Meaning as Construal

To construe is to differentiate within a system:

  • To foreground some aspects and background others,

  • To draw boundaries, assert relations, create visibility, establish relevance.

It is not a passive act of reception, but an active motion of selection:

To mean is to cut the field.

There is no unconstrued meaning. No pre-given world waiting to be described.
There are only systems of potential—and the perspectives that actualise them.


Systems and Instances – A Relational Polarity

In systemic functional linguistics, meaning is organised along a cline between system and instance.

  • System: what can be meant—structured potential.

  • Instance: what is meant—meaning realised in a particular moment.

This is not a sequence in time, but a perspectival relation.
Every instance draws from a system; every system is inferred from its instances.
We do not move from one to the other—they are co-defined through construal.

This is the first of two perspectival clines we’ll explore. The other is individuation.


Instantiation and Individuation – The Two Clines

Meaning does not only unfold across system and instance. It also unfolds across collective and individual construals.

  • Instantiation is the cline from structured potential to realised instance.

  • Individuation is the cline from collective potential to differentiated individual system.

Again, these are not processes but perspectives.
They do not describe temporal development, but relational topology: the positioning of meaning in a field of difference.

This series takes seriously the consequences of these clines—not just for how language works, but for how persons emerge within meaning.


Three Timescales of Semogenesis

If the clines describe perspectives, the processes of meaning—how it unfolds in time—occur across three interdependent scales:

  1. Logogenesis: the unfolding of meaning in a moment—within an instance.

  2. Ontogenesis: the development of meaning within a person—across a life.

  3. Phylogenesis: the evolution of meaning in a culture—across generations.

These are not separate layers, but recursively intertwined.

  • Logogenesis provides the material for ontogenesis.

  • Ontogenesis provides the material for phylogenesis.

  • And each scale constrains the other.

Meaning moves through us—not in a line, but in a field of recursive dependency.


Persons as Construals of Meaning

This reframes the very idea of a person.

A person is not a stable unit, nor a container of traits.
A person is a differentiated construal of a shared semiotic system—an individuation of meaning in motion.

  • Each instance of meaning (logogenesis) shapes the development of the individual system (ontogenesis).

  • Each individual system is a subpotential of the collective potential (individuation).

  • Across generations, this variation contributes to the evolution of the system (phylogenesis).

To be a person is to participate in the recursive construal of reality.


Looking Ahead

In the next post, we focus on the first cline: instantiation.
We explore what it means to speak, act, or realise meaning in the moment—
not as expression, but as a cut from potential.

For now, this opening claim:

You are not separate from meaning.
You are a perspective within it.
To live is to cut the field.


2 The Cline of Instantiation: From Potential to Event

Meaning is never given.
It must always be actualised—cut from a field of structured potential, brought into the world as an event.

In this post, we trace the cline of instantiation:
a perspectival relation between what could be meant (system) and what is meant (instance).
We explore how this relation plays out in practice, and how meaning unfolds—not as substance, but as motion.


Meaning as Structured Potential

A meaning system is not a fixed set of rules.
It is a field of possibilities:

  • Latent patterns of contrast,

  • Interconnected systems of choice,

  • Potentials for construal.

This is what we call system—not a thing, but a theory of what can be meant.

But the system does not speak itself.
It is only ever actualised through instantiation.

Every instance is a construal:
A local, situated cut across the structured space of potential.


Instantiation Is Not a Process

Let’s be clear: instantiation is not a process that happens over time.
It is a perspectival relation between two poles:

  • On one end, the system: generalised potential.

  • On the other, the instance: a specific actualisation in context.

You don’t begin at the system and then travel to the instance.
You don’t generate an instance by unfolding the system like a blueprint.

Rather:

An instance is already a construal of the system—
and the system is already a generalisation across instances.

This is not a sequence, but a perspectival loop.


Logogenesis: Meaning in Motion

If instantiation is the cut, then logogenesis is the motion within that cut.

Logogenesis is the process by which meaning unfolds in time—within a text, a conversation, a moment of construal.

  • It is sequential.

  • It is context-sensitive.

  • It builds structure dynamically, as each move constrains the next.

But crucially:

Logogenesis happens at the instance pole of the cline.
It is not the movement from system to instance, but the movement within the instance itself.

Conflating the two leads to deep confusion:
Treating a perspectival relation as a developmental process collapses meaning’s architecture.


Construal as Selection Within the Field

Each act of meaning is a cut—but not a random one.

It is a selection within a field of probabilities, constrained by:

  • Context,

  • Register (the constellation of meaning potentials relevant to the situation),

  • And the speaker’s or actor’s own system (see individuation, next post).

This is why instantiation is always both creative and constrained.
It is never simply free expression. It is systemic choice in context.

To instantiate is to actualise a theory—
Not to say anything, but to say this, now, here.


Every Instance Re-theorises the System

Instantiation is not one-way.

Each instance also becomes material for system reconstruction:

  • For the individual: as memory, pattern, expectation.

  • For the collective: as precedent, variation, innovation.

Over time, this recursive loop builds individual systems (ontogenesis)
and reshapes collective systems (phylogenesis).

The system is not static.
It is constantly being re-theorised through its own instantiations.


Persons as Sites of Instantiation

This reframes what it means to speak, act, or relate.

Each move you make is not just personal—it is semiotic.
You are not just expressing yourself; you are actualising a theory of meaning.
And each time you do, you feed the field—reconstruing what it can be.

You are not separate from the instance.
You are the instance, cutting the system in motion.


Looking Ahead

In the next post, we turn to the second perspectival cline: individuation.
We ask how each person becomes a differentiated construal of the collective system—
Not through isolation, but through constrained divergence across time.

For now, let this hold:

Meaning is not transmitted. It is cut.
And to mean is to cut the field
Again and again, in situated motion, across a shared and shifting potential.


3 The Cline of Individuation: From Collective to Person

If instantiation is the construal of meaning in the moment,
individuation is the construal of meaning in the person.

This post explores the second perspectival cline: from collective semiotic potential to the differentiated system of an individual.
We trace how persons are not isolated units, but patterned divergences within a shared field of meaning.


The Individual as a Construal

What is a person?

Not a self-contained subject, not a bounded essence.
But a perspective on a semiotic system—a unique realisation of shared potential.

In this view, the individual is:

  • Not separate from the collective,

  • Not reducible to it,

  • But a differentiated construal:
    a semiotic system formed through experience, selection, and recursive participation.

The person is not apart from the field.
The person is within the field—as a particular angle on its possibilities.


Individuation Is Not Isolation

To individuate is not to separate from the group.
It is to emerge within it, as a localised construal of shared structure.

The cline of individuation stretches:

  • From the collective system (language, culture, genre, institution),

  • To the individual system (personal repertoire, habits of meaning, voice).

But this is not a one-way movement or a developmental process.

Individuation is a perspectival relation:
between what is available to be meant by the group,
and what is possible to be meant by the person.


Ontogenesis: Becoming a System

The process that unfolds within the individuated system is ontogenesis:
the development of meaning potential across a life.

Ontogenesis is not the same as individuation.

  • Individuation is the cline—the relational positioning of personal meaning against the collective system.

  • Ontogenesis is the process—how that personal system is formed, adapted, and elaborated over time.

Ontogenesis draws on logogenetic material—encounters, texts, interactions—and sediments them into patterned potential.

Each act of meaning leaves a trace.
Over time, these traces pattern the system that construes the next.


Every Person Is a Re-theorised System

No individual is a perfect copy of the collective system.
Each person is a variation—a unique constellation of patterned selections, silences, and affordances.

  • What you habitually construe,

  • What you can easily access,

  • What feels natural, difficult, unsayable—
    all reflect your individuation: the shape your system has taken.

This is not a flaw or noise. It is the engine of variation and change.

The individual is not a defect of the system.
The individual is how the system diversifies and evolves.


Phylogenesis: System Through Persons

Just as logogenesis feeds ontogenesis,
ontogenesis feeds phylogenesis—the slow evolution of the collective system itself.

  • When a person construes differently,

  • When those differences become patterns,

  • When those patterns ripple through a population—
    the system itself shifts.

This is why persons matter.
Not as endpoints, but as sites of variation—where the system reflexively modifies itself through differentiated construal.

You are not a user of meaning.
You are a theory of it.


Looking Ahead

In the next post, we bring the clines and timescales together.
We show how logogenesis, ontogenesis, and phylogenesis interweave—
linking moment, lifetime, and lineage in a recursive ecology of meaning.

For now, let this hold:

You are not separate from your culture.
You are its construal—from within.


4 Timescales of Semogenesis: How Meaning Moves Through Us

Meaning is not static.
It is always moving—through moments, through lives, through cultures.
But it does not move in a straight line. It moves recursively, across interwoven scales of unfolding.

This post draws together the architecture laid out so far.
We have seen how meaning is structured between the poles of system and instance (instantiation),
and between collective and individual system (individuation).

Now we turn to the three timescales of semogenesis:
the temporal processes by which meaning becomes actual in experience.


Three Timescales of Meaning

In systemic functional linguistics, semogenesis unfolds at three interconnected scales:

  1. Logogenesis – Meaning in the moment
    The unfolding of an instance: a clause, a gesture, a move in interaction.

  2. Ontogenesis – Meaning across a life
    The sedimentation of patterned meaning potential in a person.

  3. Phylogenesis – Meaning across generations
    The evolution of meaning systems within a culture or species.

Each of these is a temporal process.
They are not reducible to each other—but neither are they separable.
They form a recursive ecology: each one constrains and is constrained by the others.


Instances Build Persons: Logogenesis into Ontogenesis

Every moment of meaning (logogenesis) is more than an event.
It is material for system development.

  • A child hears a clause,

  • A listener engages a new register,

  • A speaker repeats a phrase in new conditions—

Each instance modifies what’s possible next time.

Ontogenesis is built from the inside out—
through the accumulation of instantiations.

This is not passive absorption. It is construal in motion: the individual system patterning itself through its own selections.


Persons Build Cultures: Ontogenesis into Phylogenesis

The personal system, in turn, is not sealed off.

As individuals develop, their construals diverge—each one a differentiated path through the system.
Some of those divergences take root:

  • In families, collectives, schools of thought,

  • In idioms, rituals, genres, styles.

And over time, the cultural system itself begins to shift.
Not by consensus, but by patterned variation across a population.

Phylogenesis is the slow reflex of the system—
responding to itself through its individuated instances.


Cultures Constrain Persons: Phylogenesis into Ontogenesis

But this recursion works both ways.

Each new individual does not start from scratch.
They enter a field: a system already shaped by generations of construal.

  • Language,

  • Story,

  • Norms,

  • Value systems,

  • Technologies of self and world—

These form the semiotic environment into which ontogenesis unfolds.

Every person is a new construal—
but every construal begins in a landscape of inherited meaning.


Meaning Moves Through You

To be a person is to participate in this dynamic ecology.

  • Your system is a product of histories,

  • Your choices are acts of theory,

  • Your words are instances that ripple forward.

You are not a node in a network, but a living point of recursion:
A localised construal of the collective,
which realises itself through your instantiations.

Meaning moves through you—
but you are not its vessel.
You are its fold.


Looking Ahead

In the next post, we return to the question of the person.
We ask how identity, agency, and continuity are construed—
not as fixed traits, but as recursive motion across time.

For now:

You are not in time.
Time is in you—
as meaning in motion.


5 Meaning as Motion – Identity, History, and the Person as Process

What is a person?

Not a unit, not a substance, not a stable self.
A person is meaning in motion—a recursive construal across time.

In this post, we bring the clines and timescales together to reframe identity.
We trace how selfhood is not a possession, but a patterned unfolding: a semiotic system shaped by history and realised in every act.


Identity Is Not Essence

There is no fixed core beneath experience.
No stable “I” beneath the grammar of choice.
What we call identity is a trajectory of construals—an ongoing instantiation of meaning, recursively shaped by what has come before.

Each act:

  • Draws on past selections,

  • Reinforces or modifies internal patterns,

  • Constrains what becomes likely next.

Identity is not a thing you have.
It is a system you enact—over time, in context, through meaning.


The Person as System–&–Process

A person is both:

  • A system—structured potential built through ontogenesis,

  • And instances—situated logogenetic flows of connstruals in the now.

These are not separate dimensions, but interdependent poles:

  • The system constrains what can be instantiated,

  • Each instantiation modifies the system.

The self is not a static centre.
It is a field of recurrence—a memory in motion.


Recursive Individuation

This motion is not chaotic. It is patterned.

Your construals are shaped by prior construals,
which were shaped by prior construals,
which sedimented into a system that now constrains the next cut.

We might call this recursive individuation:

  • The patterned divergence of a personal system from the collective,

  • Actualised through repeated instances of meaning,

  • Constrained by context, culture, and the evolving self.

A person is not a position.
A person is a history of cuts—re-entering the field, differently, each time.


Continuity Without Essence

What then holds a person together?

Not a soul or a substrate, but a continuity of patterned construals:

  • A semiotic coherence across shifting contexts,

  • A recursive system of selections,

  • A voice, not as trait, but as temporal rhythm of meaning.

This continuity is not perfect. It drifts. It stretches. It forgets and reforms.
But it is enough to construe a “self”—not as object, but as motion with memory.

The self is not what stays the same.
The self is what patterns the difference.


Meaning in the First Person

To say “I” is to cut the field—to project a stance, a history, a possibility.
And each “I” is different, because each system is different—
differently shaped, differently constrained, differently positioned within the field.

But no “I” is separate.
Each one is a semiotic loop:

  • Individuating the collective,

  • Redirecting it,

  • Rejoining it again, changed.

The first person is not an entity.
It is a cut with memory—an ongoing construal of continuity.


Looking Ahead

In the next post, we turn to the ethical consequences of construal.
If every act of meaning is a cut in a shared field,
then how we construe matters.

For now:

You are not a thing moving through meaning.
You are how meaning moves—
recursively, historically, with patterned force.


6 Construal as Ethics – Responsibility at the Edge of Meaning

Every act of meaning is a decision.
To construe is to draw a boundary—to say what counts, what matters, what can be meant.
And every boundary has consequences.

This post explores the ethical dimension of construal:
how meaning positions, includes, excludes, and legitimates.
Not in theory, but in practice—in the very grammar of what is made visible.


Construal Always Cuts

There is no neutral meaning.
To construe is to cut the field—to render some meanings present, and others absent.

  • What becomes salient?

  • What is backgrounded, silenced, erased?

  • Who is positioned as agent, as patient, as irrelevant?

Every clause, every framing, every point of view is a semiotic act
and each act carves reality differently.

To construe is to take a stance—
even when that stance is hidden by habit.


Ethics as the Grammar of Salience

Ethics begins not with abstract principles,
but with the question: what do you make visible?

Every grammar constrains:

  • What can be named,

  • What can be evaluated,

  • What can be obligated,

  • What can be related.

These are not technical decisions.
They are ethical construals—framings of care and power.

What counts as mattering depends on how you cut.
And how you cut depends on who you take yourself to be.


Constraint Is Not the Enemy

Ethics is not about escaping constraint.
It is about becoming responsible within it.

Meaning is always made under pressure—
social, historical, ideological, semiotic.

You cannot mean everything at once.
But you can become more aware of what your meanings do:

  • How they position others,

  • How they legitimate systems,

  • How they open or close possibilities.

You are not free to mean anything.
But you are responsible for what your meanings make possible.


Power Operates Through Construal

This is how power works—not only through force,
but through meaning:

  • Through categories, genres, and ideologies.

  • Through what is repeatedly made visible, and what is not.

The struggle for justice is also a struggle over construal.
Over the right to name, to define, to shift the shape of what can be said and done.

To resist is to construe differently.
To care is to be vigilant about your cuts.

Power does not lie outside the grammar.
It lies in how the grammar construes the field.


Persons as Ethical Agents of Meaning

You are not just a product of the field.
You are a participant in its construal
a recursive site of system and instance, capable of reflection, redirection, repair.

Your individuation gives you a perspective.
Your history gives you access.
Your choices give you force.

To be a person is to be accountable for how you mean.


Looking Ahead

In the final post of this series, we ask what it means to live within such a cosmos:
Not as an object in the universe, but as one of its modes of theorising
a being whose every act is an instance of potential.

For now:

Meaning is never innocent.
And to construe is always to take responsibility for the cut.


7 Living the Clines: Praxis in a Relational Cosmos

If persons are not units but construals—
If meaning is not substance but motion—
If the universe itself is a structured potential realised in acts of semogenesis—

Then how shall we live?

This final post turns from theory to praxis.
We ask what it means to live as a perspectival construal within a relational field.
Not applying a cosmology from the outside,
but enacting one from within.


We Are the Universe Theorising Itself

This is not metaphor.
You are not in the universe like a pebble in a box.
You are the universe, in the act of cutting itself into view.

  • Through language, through gesture, through value—

  • Through constraint, divergence, and patterned potential—

  • Through the recursive motion of meaning across time—

You are a construal of the field, situated and moving.

You are not apart from the system.
You are one of its ways of becoming actual.


Praxis Is Not Application

Praxis is not the application of ideas to the world.
It is the realisation of being through action.

If every act is a construal,
then every act is also a theory:
a hypothesis about what matters, what is possible, what is real.

  • To speak is to test a system.

  • To act is to instantiate a pattern.

  • To relate is to reconfigure the field.

You live the theory—not after it, not beside it,
but as it, moment by moment.


Fields of Context, Genres of Construal

Science, politics, spirituality—
These are not worldviews floating above the world.
They are fields of context: patterned systems of activity, each with its own construal grammar.

  • Science foregrounds evidential construals,

  • Politics foregrounds institutional and evaluative construals,

  • Spirituality foregrounds experiential and existential construals.

None is “more real.”
Each is a structured way of cutting the field.

To live well is not to choose one.
It is to navigate them reflexively—to see how each constrains and enables what can be meant.

Your life is not a neutral walk through the cosmos.
It is a traversal of fields: a patterned movement through grammars of being.


Responsibility Revisited

Living the clines is not about control.
It is about participation:
being awake to the fact that every instance of meaning is a re-theorisation of the possible.

And so, meaning is never trivial.

Each time you construe—

  • A situation,

  • A person,

  • A possibility—

You are shaping the field that construes you back.

The universe does not ask for obedience.
It asks: how will you construe me, this time?


From Potential to Person

This is the arc we have traced:

  • From field to cut,

  • From system to instance,

  • From collective to person,

  • From moment to history,

  • From structure to motion,

  • From grammar to responsibility.

And at each turn, meaning was not added to the world—it was the world, differently actualised.

You are not made of meaning.
You are meaning in motion.


Looking Beyond

A coda follows—
a final meditation in the first person,
to dwell in what this construal makes possible.

But for now:

You are not the universe reflected.
You are the universe enacted—
through the grammar of your cuts.


Reflective Coda:  The Universe in the First Person

What does it mean
to not look at the universe—
but to be the universe,
looking through you?

You are not a passive observer,
but a living construal—
a point of differentiation in the vast field of potential.

Every thought, every word, every act
is a cut into the infinite web—
a bringing-forth of what could be,
here and now.

You are not separate.
You are the universe’s eye,
its voice,
its becoming.

To be human is to be this event—
an instance of cosmic self-theorising,
recursive, relational, infinite in possibility.

So breathe deeply.
You are not lost in the cosmos.
You are the cosmos
finding its own face.