Twentieth-century French philosopher Jacques Derrida famously argued that there is slippage in language, resulting from the break between the signifier and the signified. A signifier is the word we see – on a piece of paper, a billboard, a computer or smartphone screen, wherever – and the signified is what that word points to in order to give it meaning. We see the word “cat,” for example – a signifier – and the signified would be the image we conjure up or the reality before us: a whiskered creature with soft fur, a long tail, paws, and the ability to make a sound, meow. Or we see the word “candle” -- again, the signifier – and we envision a cylindrical object with a wick in the center of one of its flat sides that can be lit to give off light and ambiance. This is the signified. We have the word – the signifier – and we have what that word denotes. What might be obvious already, dear listeners, is that while I might see the word “dog” and immediately think of my beloved and incredibly needy canine companion, Arrow, someone else may see their dog or the memory of a dog or the neighbor’s dog who might not be particularly friendly. Slippage. The signifier and the signified are not always if rarely aligned. One person’s cat is a cuddly, rainy-day friend. Another person’s cat is a quick trip to the pharmacy to buy allergy medication. Where I would like to direct our collective attention is on the peculiar return of modern hieroglyphics to public discourse, if we even want to call it that. Of course, I am talking about emojis – those cartoon-like pictures we inject into written correspondence. Emails. Texts. Reviews. Threads in discussions. They have become an extension of our alphabet. Different letters, if you will, that shape the tone of what we are trying to convey. It is, I would argue, a fascinating return to what our distant ancestors did on the walls in caves and pyramids. Pictures to capture content. Images to communicate reality. All very rudimentary. A regression to how we first tried to understand ourselves and the world around us. This could mean a couple of things. One possibility might be that the emoji phenomenon is an indication that Derrida’s so-called slippage has reached its limits. For a species to survive, there must be common ground. That requires shared meaning, pure and simple. Perhaps we have reverted to the use of images to communicate precisely because they are basic. We are starting afresh. We are returning to the fundamentals.
The other possibility is that the signifier/signified slippage has been so great that reconciliation is impossible and that the emoji phenomenon points directly to the absurdity that our species is poised to eliminate itself, not by some terrible war or disease, but by remaining alone and isolated. We do not have the language to get along anymore, in other words. We just have cute images, and we are happy to defer what they mean, what our intent in using them might be in order to avoid both conflict and, importantly, contact. Birthrates in the Western world are already plummeting with many individuals in their childbearing years choosing to forego parenthood and instead adopt a dog. Or a cat. And what sort? Whatever they can imagine. They prefer the cave. The cave is safe. The cave provides shelter. But now it is not the fire that illuminates their faces but the screen. Always now the screen with its many hieroglyphs.
As for which possibility is more predominant, dear listeners, I will leave it to you to decide. Understand, though, that Jacques Derrida was very much correct in how he linked language to the health of a society. Words have meaning, and how we use them matters. A cat emoji might be harmless. And so, too, a dog emoji and a smiley face. But we have all seen the smiling poop emoji. What will be written about us in centuries to come? Would any of it even be recognizable to the concerned literate of today?
