Meaning is a concept that seems simple on the surface, but when examined closely, reveals profound complexity. Words, narratives, and language all appear to convey meaning seamlessly, yet this meaning is not fixed, nor is it always fully contained in the words themselves. Rather, meaning is something constructed by both the author and the reader—a dynamic interaction shaped by context, intention, perception, and interpretation. This article explores the nuanced nature of meaning and the limits of language, questioning whether all meanings can truly be expressed through narrative alone.
At a basic level, words appear to mean something. When I write these words, I use my faculties to arrange them in a way that conveys a narrative to you, the reader. This narrative, when interpreted, delivers meaning—a process that will be slightly different for each reader due to differences in perspective, context, and environment. A lecture delivered to an audience will be experienced differently by each person based on their vantage point, attention, and interpretation. Similarly, a written text is subject to the settings in which it is read—the physical context, emotional state, and background knowledge of each reader.
Despite these variations, there is often a shared belief that there is a “base” meaning within a narrative—a meaning tied to the author’s intention and presumed to be understood by the reader. This notion of base meaning is anchored in the idea that the narrative refers to something in the world that both the author and reader share. We often treat this shared meaning as an objective truth, assuming that the words used are sufficient to express that truth accurately. But the reality is more complicated.
While narratives may be correct or incorrect in describing external conditions, this correctness is not the sole measure of meaning. Communication is frequently about more than simply stating facts. It might be intended to elicit action, convey an emotion, or inspire a change in thought or behavior. The narrative might be an invitation, an expression of love, or a plea for help. Words are not just vessels of fact; they are tools of connection, persuasion, and emotion—tools that may carry meaning beyond what can be neatly articulated.
Meaning, therefore, is not only about correspondence with the world but also about effectiveness in achieving an outcome. An author may write with the desire to persuade, to inspire, or to provoke. The meaning of the narrative can therefore be considered “effective” if it incites the intended action or emotional response in the reader, even if the narrative itself is factually incorrect. Therein lies the tension: the author’s desire to influence versus the accuracy of the narrative.
Consider the different purposes of communication: debates, teaching, advertising, storytelling. In these contexts, the truth of the words may be less important than their impact. Meaning is also generated internally—an individual’s inner dialogue can evoke narratives that are entirely personal, shaped by internal experiences and emotions that may have little to do with an external reality.
Writing, in this sense, is a form of talking to oneself. The intended audience is absent, and the written word must bridge that distance, capturing the author’s thoughts and presenting them in a way that anticipates the reader’s reaction. The meaning of the words, therefore, is as much about what they achieve in the reader as it is about their factual correctness. Words are not simply containers of meaning, but tools that can be used to influence and shape perception, both within oneself and others.
Words do not inherently contain meaning as a container holds water. Rather, they are pointers to meaning—markers that rely on the shared context between the author and the reader. The meaning of any given narrative depends not only on what the author knows about the world but also on what they wish to elicit from the audience. A narrative might be designed to inform, but it might also be designed to manipulate, to comfort, or to inspire action.
The reader, in turn, does not passively absorb meaning from the text. Each reader brings their own perspective, experiences, and biases to the reading process, interpreting the words in a way that is deeply personal. The author may have chosen specific words with particular meanings in mind, but the containers of meaning are ultimately formed within the reader’s context. The interaction between the author, the reader, and the social, political, or cultural context in which the reading takes place shapes the final interpretation of the narrative.
This relational nature of meaning highlights why words can never fully capture all aspects of reality. The meaning is not static or universal—it evolves, reshapes, and adapts as it moves between different minds, contexts, and interpretations. It is a living process rather than a fixed product.
Despite the richness of language, there is reason to believe that some of the most fundamental human experiences are beyond words. Meaning is implied, felt, and understood in ways that cannot always be translated into narrative form. The assumption that everything meaningful can be put into words is itself a limitation. Language operates within a closed field of intellectual thought, a system that we often take for granted as being sufficient to express all facets of reality.
Yet, language inevitably falls short in expressing the inexpressible—the core aspects of being human that transcend intellectual articulation. Moments of profound beauty, deep grief, or ineffable love often resist the constraints of language. No narrative, however carefully crafted, can fully encapsulate the depth of such experiences. Instead, these meanings are felt and known internally, beyond the reach of words.
Even the most carefully constructed narratives are understood differently by each reader, as they encounter the text within their own unique context. The multiplicity of interpretations is not a flaw of language but a testament to its dynamic nature. Words are, in a sense, tools that point toward shared experiences, but they do not and cannot fully contain the entirety of those experiences.
If we accept that not all meanings can be captured in language, we must also accept that the foundation of our understanding is built on more than words alone. There is a realm of meaning that lies beyond the narrative, rooted in direct experience and subjective awareness. These meanings form the foundation of our sense of self, our emotional lives, and our understanding of the world. They are not fully communicable, but they are fundamental to who we are.
The true challenge lies in recognizing the limits of language while continuing to use it to connect, share, and explore. Words can bridge the gap between individuals, pointing to shared experiences, but they cannot fully eliminate the uniqueness of each individual’s perspective. In acknowledging the limitations of language, we can better appreciate the value of silence, presence, and direct experience as essential aspects of meaning that go beyond what can be spoken or written.
Meaning is a complex phenomenon that cannot be fully contained within words. It is not made of words, it is rather what our life evokes from words in this moment. It is constructed in the dynamic interplay between author and reader, shaped by intention, perception, and context. Narratives can be correct or incorrect, effective or ineffective, but they are always limited by the boundaries of language. The deeper aspects of human experience—the very essence of being—often elude articulation, reminding us that the richness of life is not fully captured by what can be said.
By understanding the limits of language, we open ourselves to other forms of knowing and being. Meaning is not just about words; it is about connection, experience, and the shared reality that lies beyond the narrative. It is in the unspoken, the ineffable, and the lived experience that we find the deepest and most profound meanings of all.
In considering meaning beyond narrative, we must also recognize the mathematical relationships that exist between words and the unknowable events that originally evoked the subjective act of writing. The corporeal trace left by the writing agent is an expression of subjective meaning, manifested in the physical world. While the exact event that inspired the writing may remain unknowable, it is still possible to deconstruct the trace by examining the steps that must have been taken to produce it.
The subjective moment of meaning is situated within a “bubble of emptiness” that expands to include a little of the past (retention, memory, and models built from experience) and a little of the future (protention, expectations, hopes, fears, and models of the field of agency). The present, the state of “now,” is a net timeless, net spaceless region—a wave of some volume and duration, which persists for some time, allowing the being to remember an idea of what has happened. This experience is akin to the collapse of a wave function but is felt as a continuity of successive moments, each culminating in a similar intention and recollection.
The inner state of subjective being is, in a sense, “trans-quantum.” The in-between times—those moments that cannot be isolated to a single, absolute place—are beyond quantum description. It is only after the resolution of the “quanta of now” that an agent may learn a lesson, identify a new entity, or note a change in the field of agency. The Perception-Integration-Action (PIA) cycle represents the derivative of these changes, occurring simultaneously at different degrees and in different ways across the complex substrates that constitute the bubble of the moment. Beyond the horizon of this bubble, quantum statistics provide a limited perspective on the outcomes of the moment as a whole.
To articulate meaning through language is, at best, an approximation. The process of capturing meaning in words can be likened to describing the first derivative of an experience, while repeating it in an objective serial narrative is akin to expressing its second derivative. As such, for a sentence to have meaning, it must be recontextualized in the space and time of the reader. The basis for meaning is ever-changing, shaped by the reader’s personal history, context, and relationship to the text.
An author’s intended audience may possess an expected basis for understanding, cultivated through shared discourse over time. However, once an objective serial narrative is shared, it can be understood and further translated into unknown forms by countless other readers. Regardless of these transformations, the fundamental process remains the same: the narrative must be reestablished within the context of each individual reader to convey meaning effectively.
