It has been said that primitives are innate ideas of a Platonic nature, but not even Plato succeeded in satisfactorily deciding how many or of what kind were the universally innate ideas (either there is an idea for every natural genus, like equinity, in which case the list is an open one, or there are a few far more abstract ideas, like the One, the Many, the Good, or mathematical concepts, which are insufficient to distinguish the meaning of lexical terms).
It has been said that primitives are elements of a whole that, by virtue of the systematic relationship between its terms, cannot be anything but finite: but this would be a simplified Porphyrian tree or a tree of genera and species good only for the purposes of classification.
It is hard to define primitiveness by distinguishing between analytical and synthetic properties, a distinction severely criticized by Quine (1953a), in part because the notion of analyticalness is completely circular (if a property contained in the definition of a term is analytic it cannot be a criterion for establishing the appropriateness of a dictionary definition).
The possibility of positing a difference between necessary and contingent properties must also be excluded, because if it were necessary for a cat to be mammiferous and contingent for it to meow, then all “necessary” would mean is “analytic.”
It has been proposed that finiteness is a requirement for a packet of primitives (primitives ought to be limited in number, considering that it would be anti-economical to have as many primitives as there are lemmata to define), but it is precisely the cataloguing of this finite number of semantic atoms that has turned out so far to be problematic.
It has been suggested that primitives are simple concepts, but it is difficult to define a simple concept (the concept of mouse seems more simple and immediate than that of mammifer, and it is easier to define concepts like emphyteusis than verbs like to do).
It has been suggested that they depend on our experience of the world, or that there are (as Russell 1905 suggested) “object-words” whose meaning we learn directly by ostension, and “dictionary-words” that can be defined by other dictionary-words—but Russell was the first to recognize that pentagram is a dictionary-word for most speakers, but would be an object-word for a child who grew up in a room in which the wallpaper was decorated with pentagrams.
The requirement of adequacy has been proposed (primitives should serve to define all words), but, if we consider as primitives sufficient to define the concept of “bachelor” features like HUMAN MALE ADULT UNMARRIED, why does it seem inadequate to call a Benedictine monk a bachelor? We would have to add other constrictions (for example, a bachelor is an adult human unmarried male who has not taken a vow of chastity), and with that we have introduced encyclopedic elements into our dictionary.
The requirements of independence (primitives should not depend for their definition on other primitives) and absence of further interpretability have been proposed, but not even HUMAN seems without further interpretability if we consider the whole debate over abortion and cloning that is taking place today precisely on the subject of what it means to be human. In reality, in any lexicon any term is potentially interpretable by means of other terms in the same lexicon, or other semantic devices, according to the criteria of interpretance and unlimited semiosis established by Peirce.
Lastly, if primitives are rooted in our way of thinking, the principle of universality suggests itself. It is assuredly possible that certain experiences related to our bodies are universal, such as above/below, eat/sleep, be born/die, but in the first instance it is unthinkable that we can define all the objects and events in the universe in terms of these ideas, and, secondly, universal does not mean primitive, given that a universally understood concept such as dying needs to be further defined, as is demonstrated by the debates on end-of-life decisions and the harvesting of organs.
In the face of these criticisms, since the middle of the twentieth century, the conviction has made more and more headway, especially among the theorists of cognitivist semantics, that linguistic competence is always encyclopedic, and that in semantic representation no distinction can be made (except on a provisional basis and for the purpose of specific analyses) between linguistic knowledge and knowledge of the world.
But at this point we must abandon the vicissitudes of the dictionary to trace the historical evolution of the encyclopedia.
1.3. The Encyclopedias
The role of the encyclopedia has fluctuated over the centuries.13 The word “encyclopedia” comes from enkyklios paideia, which signified a complete education in the Greek tradition.14 The term “encyclopedia,” however, makes its first appearance in the sixteenth century, first in a different form in Fleming Joachim Stergk’s Lucubrationes vel potius absolutissima kuklopaideia (1529), and then in The Boke Named The Governor (1531) by Sir Thomas Elyot, who, in chapter XIII, on some reasons for the decline of education among English gentlemen, cites the encyclopedia as the sum total of knowledge, or the “world of science,” or “the circle of doctrine.” This same sum total of knowledge as a complete education is recommended by Gargantua to his son in book II, chapter 8 of Rabelais’s Gargantua and Pantagruel (1532):
That is why, my son, I urge you to employ your youth in making good progress in study [and virtue]. You are in Paris; Epistemon your tutor is with you; both can teach you: one directly and orally, the other by laudable examples.
I intend and will that you acquire a perfect command of languages—first Greek (as Quintilian wishes), secondly Latin, and then Hebrew for the Holy Scriptures, as well as Chaldaean and Arabic likewise—and that, for your Greek, you mould your style by imitating Plato, and for your Latin, Cicero.
Let there be no history which you do not hold ready in memory: to help you, you have the cosmographies of those who have written on the subject.
When you were still very young—about five or six—I gave you a foretaste of geometry, arithmetic and music among the liberal arts. Follow that up with the other arts. Know all the canons of astronomy, but leave judicial astrology and the Art of Lullius alone as abuses and vanities.
I want you to learn all of the beautiful texts of Civil Law by heart and compare them to moral philosophy.
And as for the knowledge of natural phenomena, I want you to apply yourself to it with curiosity: let there be no sea, river or stream the fishes of which you do not know. Know all the birds of the air, all the trees, bushes and shrubs of the forests, all the herbs in the soil, all the metals hidden deep in the womb of the Earth, the precious stones of all the Orient and the South: let none remain unknown to you.
Then frequent the books of the ancient medical writers, Greek, Arabic and Latin, without despising the Talmudists or the Cabbalists; and by frequent dissections acquire a perfect knowledge of that other world which is Man.
And for a few hours every day start to study the Sacred Writings: first the Gospels and Epistles of the Apostles in Greek, then the Old Testament in Hebrew. In short, let me see you an abyss of erudition.15
In book II, chapter 20, Thaumastes praises the young Pantagruel’s culture, saying: “I swear he discovered, for my benefit, the true source, well and abyss of the encyclopedia of learning.”