A century ago the general study of language was a humanities discipline. The preparation needed was some experience in Latin and Greek, or modern languages and literatures, and analytical ability. Perhaps a little philosophy. Things are different today. Around my home department in the last week the characteristically diverse talks about language presupposed chunks of algebra, automata theory, biology, computation, ethology, information theory, lexicography, logic, philosophy, psychology, and statistics. The fusion of the cognitive and linguistic sciences is proceeding at an exhilarating rate.
A talk on Monday by Marcin Zajenkowski of the University of Warsaw reported psychological work on whether people really do have more cognitive trouble processing simple first-order quantifiers like all and some than more complex higher-order ones like most. They do, though not always exactly where you would think. But what reflects language processing and how much is just arithmetical ability? Zajenkowski has tried to tease these apart with evidence from clinical studies as well as real-time processing.
On Tuesday a language evolution lab meeting featured a presentation by PhD student James Thomas arguing that a kind of self-domestication played a key role in laying the biological foundations for the eventual emergence of culture and language among humans.
At lunch on Tuesday, my friend Bob Ladd (fully recovered from the disgrace of my revealing his secret shame on Lingua Franca) mulled over some ideas about the theory of phonetics and phonology (I dimly realized that ideas I had heard in a metaphysics lecture by the philosopher Hugh Mellor last Friday were highly relevant). Ladd planned to discuss his ideas later in the week with András Kornai, an applied mathematician at the Hungarian Academic of Sciences who works on language-related topics.
Kornai flew in from Budapest Tuesday night, and talked at length with Ladd on Wednesday about applications of continuous and discrete mathematics in phonetics and phonology. But his talk on Thursday dealt with word meanings. With an information-theoretic argument he showed that 85 to 95 percent of the information content of any text must reside in word meanings rather than grammatical structure. He went on to outline a theory of lexical meanings, occasionally presupposing knowledge of topics in traditional dictionary-making, automata theory, logic, philosophy of language, and algebra. On Friday he gave another talk, in the School of Informatics, about machine analysis of Hungarian, and the design of tools for text analysis and rapid parsing.
In the space of one week as a linguist at Edinburgh I have been called upon to understand at least something about quantification, regression models, phonetic features, bit rates, finite state machines, group theory, programming, and a significant number of other topics, just trying to keep up with the ferment that is the modern language sciences. (It was depressing to see the most influential scholar in linguistics giving a talk last year dissing it all, rejecting the whole modern synthesis, clinging to the 1960s. I wrote about that sad experience here.)
Do I know enough to process all of this ferment? Nowhere even close. My head spins. I am under-equipped in the necessary disciplines and often out of my depth. It is fabulous: If I could understand everything I hear from colleagues and visitors, if I never experienced moments of panic about not being able to keep up, I would be working in the wrong place.
The joy of working in a university, for me, has nothing to do with wearing gowns or drinking sherry in the faculty club or standing at oak-paneled podia in steeply banked lecture theaters imparting vapid maxims to the young the way professors in movies do. It’s about being in the company of people who are smarter than I am.
My foes, grabbing with glee at the low-hanging fruit of this straight-line, will say, “That shouldn’t be difficult to arrange!” Go ahead, mock. But I’m serious. I don’t want to be the smartest guy in the room. I don’t want to rank any higher than about tenth. Being in the company of people who outshine me intellectually doesn’t just challenge and improve me, it gives me pleasure.
I wish more students saw things this way. I was very pleased to encounter an undergraduate who had attended Kornai’s talks and had not fully understood them. Excellent! Just how it should be. Befuddlement is nature’s way of telling you that you are learning. You ought to find your university buzzing with ideas that seem intriguing but not (yet) quite within your grasp. If you have all necessary prerequisites and understand everything you hear each week, you cheated yourself. You didn’t pick a good enough college.

