A word is a sign - a symbol that represents a concept. The symbol is called the signifier, and the concept is the signified.

Take a tree, for instance. The signifier is the little shapes - tree - or, if we're speaking, the sound [tri:]. The signified is a concept, the idea of a "tree", rather than an actual tree. (The tree itself, if we happened to be talking about a particular tree, would be called the referent.) The two together make up a linguistic sign.

Saussure proposed the terms signified and signifier in his Course in General Linguistics (1916).

The relationship between the symbol (signifier) and its meaning (signified) is arbitrary, and is only a convention.

There's nothing inherently treeish about the word tree; the word ping would do just as well. The French say arbre, the Afrikaans say boom. The little shapes tree or the sound [tri:] don't magically contain the meaning of "tree". This seems obvious, but it's easy to forget when the word and its meaning are so closely connected in our heads.

What about words like nothing which can be broken down into no + thing? The word nothing has a relationship with the words no and thing. It doesn't have an inherent relationship with the idea of nothingness, or the French would be at a considerable disadvantage having to use the word rien.

	"Principle I: The Arbitrary Nature of the Sign The bond between the signifier and the signified is arbitrary… The idea of "sister" is not linked by any inner relationship to the succession of sounds s-ö-r which serves as its signifier in French; that it could be represented equally by just any other sequence is proved by differences among languages and by the very existence of different languages: the signified "ox" has as its signifier b-ö-f on one side of the border and o-k-s (Ochs) on the other. No-one disputes the principle of the arbitrary nature of the sign, but it is often easier to discover a truth than to assign to it its proper place. Principle I dominates all the linguistics of language; its consequences are numberless. It is true that not all of them are equally obvious at first glance; only after many detours does one discover them, and with them the primordial importance of the principle." (Saussure: 67-8)
	"The word arbitrary also calls for comment. The term should not imply that the choice of signifier is left entirely to the speaker (we shall see below that the individual does not have the power to change a sign in any way once it has become established in the linguistic community); I mean that it is unmotivated, i.e. arbitrary in that it actually has no natural connection with the signified." (Saussure: 68-9)

Words don't just label the world, they carve it up into categories. The more different words we have, the more categories of meaning we have. The categories exist because the words exist, and not the other way around.

For instance, chair, stool, and armchair divide up "things to sit on". Because we have these three terms, the differences between chairs, stools, and armchairs seem obvious to us, and the three categories seem inevitable. Within the category of chairs, there are also enormous differences, but we gloss over those differences as irrelevant - after all, it's still a chair.

The division of meaning seems inevitable and natural; our different words feel like a reflection of actual differences in the world. Actually, it is the words that decide which differences matter, and which are irrelevant. And another language can make different divisions.

In English, we differentiate between river, stream, and brook. In French, they differentiate between fleuve, rivière, and ruisseau. A ruisseau, however, is both a "stream" and a "brook"; fleuve and rivière both translate as "river", but have two distinct meanings in French.

The categories we use are not inherent in the world, but in the words we use. Because we have different words for things - chair, stool, and armchair, or river, stream, and brook - we have different categories. Words don't label pre-existing meanings: they create meaning.

The neat pairing of signifier + signified looks very different now: the signifier is creating its signified. The signifieds exist because the signifiers exist, and not the other way around.

	"If words stood for pre-existing concepts, they would all have exact equivalents in meaning from one language to the next; but this is not true." (Saussure: 116)
	"Within the same language, all words used to express related ideas limit each other reciprocally: synonyms like French redouter 'dread,' craindre 'fear,' and avoir peur 'be afraid' have value only through their opposition: if redouter did not exist, all its content would go to its competitors. Converesely, some words are enriched through contact with others: e.g. the new element introduced in décrépit (un veillard décrépit, see p.83) results from the co-existence of décrépi (un mur décrépi). The value of just any term is accordingly determined by its environment; it is impossible to fix even the value of the word signifying "sun" without first considering its surroundings: in some languages, it is not possible to say "sit in the sun." (Saussure: 116)

"The Slavic languages regularly single out two aspects of the verb: the perfective represents action as a point, complete in its totality; the imperfective represents it as taking place, and on the line of time. The categories are difficult for a Frenchman to understand, for they are unknown in French; if they were pre-determined, this would not be true. Instead of pre-existing ideas then, we find in all the foregoing examples values emanating from the system. When they are said to correspond to concepts, it is understood that the concepts are purely differential and defined not by their positive content but negatively by their relations with the other terms of the system. Their most precise characteristic is in being what the others are not." (Saussure: 117)

If meaning is a product of language, then it is only through language that we can think.

The earlier distinction between signified and referent is crucial. The signified is the concept, the mental category. The referent is an individual material item that fits into that category. If we don't separate the idea of something, the signified, from an individual material item, the referent, we fall into the trap of thinking that neat equivalence is possible, a matching-up of words and things.

For instance, I like trees. I can think that, because I have this broad category of trees available to me. If I didn't have that category, if I didn't have any categories, what would I be able to like? (Put aside, for a moment, the problem of the category 'like'; the can of worms that is the category 'I' will be opened later.) A maple grows in my garden: I like it. A weeping willow grows next to the bridge: I like it. They look thoroughly different: different colours, different shapes, different sizes… I can't even say I like green things, if I don't have the category 'green' for these two distinct colours. In this chaos of differences, differences everywhere, my liking for the the maple and my liking for the weeping willow means that I like the maple, and I like the weeping willow. It doesn't mean I like trees. All I am left with is things that mean exactly themselves, because I can't categorise, generalise, compare, extrapolate.

"Psychologically our thought - apart from its expression in words - is only a shapeless and indistinct mass. Philosophers and linguists have always agreed that without the help of signs we would be unable to make a clear-cut, consistent distinction between two ideas. Without language, thought is a vague, uncharted nebula. There are no pre-existing ideas, and nothing is distinct before the appearance of language." (Saussure: 111-2)

The relationship between the signifier and the signified is arbitrary, and is a convention within a community of speakers. Language changes, but cannot be changed by a formal decision or an individual's initiative.

Attempts are often made to steer language. The French government, for instance, tries to prevent French being influenced by foreign languages and even tried to pass a law preventing companies being given English names. Nevertheless, the French people speak of "le weekend" and "le parking", and the government is powerless to prevent it. Lewis Carroll invented many new words in Alice In Wonderland, including "mimsy", "chortle", and "slithy" - chortleentered the English language, others didn't. Anyone can invent new words, but no-one can force people to use them.

Language is something over which the whole community has power, and not a single individual has power. And language is how we think. To what extent, then, are our thoughts our own?

	"…for the realization of language, a community of speakers [masse parlante] is necessary. Contrary to all appearances, language never exists apart from the social fact, for it is a semiological phenomenon. Its social nature is one of its inner characteristics." (Saussure: 77)
	"…the individual does not have the power to change a sign in any way once it has become established in the linguistic community..." (Saussure: 69)
	"Mutability [language changes] is so inescapable that it even holds true for artificial languages. Whoever creates a language controls it only so long as it is not in circulation; from the moment when it fulfils its mission and becomes the property of everyone, control is lost." (Saussure: 76)
	"Language - and this consideration surpasses all the others - is at every moment everybody's concern; spread throughout society and manipulated by it, language is something used daily by all. Here we are unable to set up any comparision between it and other institutions. The prescriptions of codes, religious rites, nautical signals, etc., involve only a certain number of individuals simultaneously and then only during a limited period of time; in language, on the contrary, everyone participates at all times, and that is why it is constantly being influenced by all. This capital fact suffices to show the impossibility of revolution. Of all social institutions, language is the least amenable to initiative. It blends with the life of society, and the latter, inert by nature, is a prime conservative force." (Saussure: 73-4)