Sax Taxson’s Chomsky Defense Meets Ockham’s Razor

NOTE - This section of American Project contains adult language and content and is therefore not suitable for minors.

Episode 18

The trooper closed the door to the Crown Vic and walked up to the side of Chomsky, the old maroon ’77 Chevy Malibu.

Sax Taxson, elbow out the window, his long sleeve button down rolled up to just below the triceps, smiled his wide jagged smile up at the trooper.

“Mr. Taxson,” the trooper said to Sax. The trooper stopped, and walked around the gravel embankment to the front of Chomsky. There was some fur in the right front fender, and a small smear of blood.

“Mr. Taxson,” the trooper repeated. “You must have hit that dog.” He said, “There’s blood and fur on the fender, and I could have it taken down to the lab right now and prove that it did indeed come from a Hungarian Viszla.”

Sax Taxson, the sly old fox, called the trooper’s bluff. There was no way, in a week’s time that a state trooper, running out of an ‘80’s Crown Vic, could instigate a lab make up of some dog tissue. Besides, Sax had the Noam Chomsky defense.

Sax started right in on the trooper.

“Listen,” he said. “The word: ‘dog’ in no way relates to any object: ‘dog’, the relation is a mental one.” Sax said: “it’s a subjective mental construct.”

Sax eased back in the maroon pleather bench seat. He had him now, that dumb old trooper. He couldn’t possibly even know who Noam Chomsky was, let alone his philosophical arguments.

“Excuse me,” the trooper said. His mirrored lenses reflected Sax’s smile.
“I said,” Sax said, “the word dog doesn’t point to any object dog.”
The trooper laughed. He slapped his thighs, and spat.
“William of Ockham!” The trooper screamed. He pointed at Sax. “Right?”
“Uh no, I’m pretty sure that was Noam Chomsky.” Sax knew he was right. Who was this clown, this trooper?

“Ockham’s Razor,” the trooper said. He took off his shades. His pale blue eyes seared through Sax Taxson. “I used to be a philosophy professor at a Jesuit University,” the trooper said.

Who the hell was William of Ockham, thought Sax?

***

—

Photograph by Nythan James.