The Eiffel Tower is NOT in Paris!

June 1, 2025 | 3,200 words | 16min read

In Defense of the Statement “The Eiffel Tower Is in Paris” Being Subjective

A few days ago, I had an argument with fellow students about whether the statement “The Eiffel Tower is in Paris” is subjective or not. Most of them said it was an objective sentence, while I argued that it has subjective characteristics. Unfortunately, I wasn’t really able to convince them—partly because my argument was rather unstructured, even though I still believe it holds.

I want to take the opportunity in this article to explain why this statement—and other statements that at first glance appear entirely objective—actually contain elements of subjectivity. More broadly, the central thesis of this article is:

Dasein, i.e., human existence—this special form of subjectivity—is a necessary condition for all meaning and purpose. Meaning and purpose do not make sense in a context devoid of Dasein; Dasein precedes them.

Before I begin the actual argument, I want to clarify that I do not think the statement “The Eiffel Tower is in Paris” is purely subjective. On the contrary, I would say that it is mostly objective. What I’m arguing is simply that it is not purely objective, and that there is some inherent subjectivity embedded in it. Even if you already agree with that point, I believe the broader argument I make here is still interesting and worth considering.

One more note: Throughout this text, I use terms like meaning, purpose, function, and goal somewhat interchangeably. I’m aware that these words have important distinctions, but I conflate them here for didactic purposes.

Dasein or Human Existence as a Requirement for Meaning

I want to begin with a simple example that most people would likely agree with, and then work my way toward the main argument.

When we look at a knife and ask ourselves what its function is, most people would say that its function is to cut things. We use knives to cut bread, tomatoes, and much more—and this is indeed their typical function. But we can also use a knife to open a beer by levering off the cap. We might even (though unwisely) use it as a hammer to drive a nail into the wall, or as a wedge to stabilize a wobbly chair. Still, these use cases are clearly suboptimal and not the true function of a knife. Why?

Because if we had wanted a tool to open beer bottles, we would have created a bottle opener. If we had wanted to hammer nails, we would have designed a hammer. And if we wanted something to stabilize a chair, we definitely wouldn’t have made it sharp and dangerous.

In other words, the knife’s function is determined by human design. Humans wanted a tool for cutting, so we made knives. The purpose or function of a knife is thus contingent on human existence—on what Heidegger calls Dasein. Therefore, Dasein precedes the meaning of the knife. Without human existence (besides the fact that knives likely wouldn’t exist), the knife has no meaning. We give it meaning.

I think most people are open to this kind of argument and would agree that other human-made objects—like forks, houses, streets, cars, instruments, and phones—can be viewed the same way. These objects were designed with specific purposes in mind and thus derive their meaning from Dasein. Their functions can’t be understood independently of it.

We can see this more clearly if we imagine a future in which humanity is extinct and a new intelligent alien species—very different from us—has evolved on Earth. If they were to conduct archaeology and find a knife, isolated from all context, and ask themselves what it was for, it’s unlikely they’d deduce its exact purpose without reference to human existence.

They might think humans were 20 meters tall and used knives as toothpicks. They could believe it was a musical instrument or even an idol used in rituals. A very clever alien archaeologist might guess that it was used for cutting—but they would never know, independently of Dasein, exactly what we cut with it, or the full scope of its meaning and cultural significance. For instance, they wouldn’t know we used it in the “knife game,” where one places the palm on the table and rapidly stabs between the fingers (and how would they, if they don’t even know we had fingers?).

This is because a knife’s function isn’t simply what it was designed for in isolation—it includes its associations and uses within the broader context of human life. As Wittgenstein puts it:

For a large class of cases—though not for all—in which we employ the word ‘meaning’ it can be defined thus: the meaning of a word is its use in the language.

~ Philosophical Investigations, Aphorism 43

But this argument can be extended beyond man-made objects. Take consciousness, for example. One definition of consciousness we might work with is: a thing is conscious if and only if it has a subjective experience of what it means to be.

This is a lot to unpack, and we need to clarify a few terms, especially subjective and objective.

I won’t give strict definitions, but I’ll offer some useful associations. Subjectivity often refers to situations where multiple different, possibly contradictory views can all be valid. For instance, one person might say, “The Eiffel Tower shines so bright and is so tall—it’s beautiful!” while another says, “It’s just a bunch of steel rods arranged in an awkward way. How ugly.” These views contradict each other, yet we wouldn’t call either person wrong. Most people agree that aesthetics—what we call “beauty”—is highly subjective (unless you’re an aesthetic objectivist).

Subjectivity also involves perspective. Two people may live through the same day; one might call it a good day, the other a bad one. When we talk about something being subjective, we are seeing it through the lens of a subject—that is, a conscious being who experiences the world.

Heidegger uses the term Dasein instead of “subject,” and his concept is broader—it includes not only the individual’s subjective experience but also their being-in-the-world, their context, history, and possibilities.

So what does it mean to look at something objectively? The word “objective” comes from “object”—to look at something as an object is to strip away all subjectivity, all experiential content, and look only at its properties and characteristics as if from a third-person, detached view.

But this leads us to a problem: if consciousness is subjective experience, and we try to investigate it objectively (i.e., by removing the very subjectivity that defines it), then we strip away exactly what we set out to understand. In treating consciousness like an object, we remove the subjectivity that makes it what it is. The more we try to push it into the realm of objectivity, the more we lose the essence of what we’re investigating.

We can think of subjectivity and objectivity not as binary categories but as points on a spectrum. The further we move toward objectivity, the more we risk losing the subjective essence of certain things.

So just as we cannot understand the meaning or function of a knife apart from Dasein, we also cannot understand the meaning or purpose of consciousness if we abstract it from its foundation: human existence.

This leads to a profound implication: If we investigate the world and our lives purely through the subject-object lens, we will not find meaning or purpose. Only through Dasein—through subjective, lived experience, embedded in culture, language, and context—does meaning emerge.

Which leads us to the conclusion:

The purpose and meaning of something depends on Dasein.

Why Language Presupposes Human Existence

How does all of this relate back to our simple sentence, “The Eiffel Tower is in Paris”? If what I have argued so far is true, then language itself is also given meaning through human existence. Human existence (Dasein) precedes language and defines its purpose.

That Dasein comes before language should be fairly uncontroversial. Language did not appear as a unified, top-down system. Rather, it emerged organically from individuals attempting to communicate in diverse cultural contexts. As a result, we have many different languages, shaped by the needs, values, and historical trajectories of different communities. These differences reflect how deeply language is tied to lived experience and subjective interpretation.

Take, for example, the English word home and the German word Heimat. While home can refer to a physical house or a personal feeling of comfort, Heimat evokes a deeper sense of cultural belonging and historical rootedness. It is less individualistic and more collective, reflecting a shared identity.

This difference can partly be traced back to historical context. During the Romantic period, England was already a unified nation, while Germany remained fragmented into many small principalities. Romantic thinkers and poets in Germany—concerned with cultural unification—emphasized Heimat as a shared concept. This was later amplified by German Idealist philosophers like Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel, who stressed the importance of a shared Geist (spirit) in cultural life.

This example shows clearly how the meaning of language arises from the subjective and historical context of its speakers.

The influence of Dasein on language is also evident in more recent developments. Words like “internet” or “computer” only came into use because the corresponding technologies were invented. Interestingly, the word “computer” originally referred to any device capable of computation—including calculators. Today, we reserve the term for desktops or laptops, and calling a simple calculator a “computer” feels outdated or strange. What defines a word’s meaning is its use—and that use is shaped by people, by Dasein.

That language is deeply subjective is also evident in poetry. Some people love certain poets, while others find their work dull or inaccessible. We can analyze a poem through an objective-subjective lens—examining literary devices, meter, symbolism, and cultural references. For example, trochaic meter is often associated with ominous or serious tones due to its falling rhythm, while anapestic meter feels more playful because of its rising rhythm.

Yet no amount of objective analysis can fully explain what it feels like to hear or read a particular poem. We might judge a poem as technically poor—full of clichés, awkward phrasing, or misused devices—yet it can still move someone profoundly. Conversely, a technically brilliant poem might leave a reader cold. Why?

Because pure objectivity strips the poem of its subjective resonance. It ignores how the poem is experienced. Only by considering both the technical structure and the reader’s response—by embracing the subjectivity of experience—can we explain why a “bad” poem can be loved, and a “good” one disliked.

Let us now return to our original sentence: “The Eiffel Tower is in Paris.”

Even this seemingly objective sentence is deeply shaped by subjectivity. Consider the following:

• What do we mean by “Paris”? Do we mean the administrative city? A broader metropolitan area? A symbolic idea?
• Why choose this phrasing? We could have said: “The Eiffel Tower is located in Paris,” or “The Eiffel Tower can be found in France.” Each variation shades meaning slightly differently.
• What is the context of the statement? Without additional information, one person might interpret it as a factual assertion, while another might hear it as an invitation to visit Paris.

The subjectivity here operates in at least two ways:

1. Choice in how the statement is expressed—The speaker could have chosen other words or constructions to communicate the same basic idea.
2. Interpretation by the listener—Different people may understand or respond to the statement differently, depending on context.

And both these layers—the expression and the interpretation—are deeply rooted in Dasein, in lived human experience.

Criticism: “Aren’t You Overcomplicating Things?”

One might object that this whole discussion is needlessly complicated. Why not simply accept that the statement “The Eiffel Tower is in Paris” means exactly what it says? It’s a clear, factual statement that any sane person would agree with. Why drag subjectivity into it?

I want to address this objection in two ways.

Complexity Is Not Inherently a Flaw

To argue that a theory is wrong simply because it is “too complicated” is not, by itself, a valid criticism. Nature is often far more complex than our intuitions would prefer. Take, for example, gravity: Newton’s model is simple and elegant, but ultimately incomplete. Einstein’s general theory of relativity, although far more complex, involving curved space-time and complex calculus, offers a deeper and more accurate explanation. Complexity, in itself, does not falsify a theory; sometimes, complexity is required to reflect how things actually are.

Parsimony vs. Explanatory Power

If we take the objection more seriously, it likely appeals to the principle of parsimony (also known as Occam’s Razor), which suggests that, all else being equal, the simpler theory is preferable. This is a reasonable heuristic, but only when all else is truly equal.

In this case, the more complex, subjectivist account offers greater explanatory power. That is, it explains phenomena that a purely objective model cannot — especially the ambiguity, flexibility, and context-dependence inherent in how we use language.

Recall the earlier example of poetry: If language were purely objective, we would be unable to explain why a technically well-crafted poem can be experienced as dull, while a structurally “weaker” poem can move someone deeply. This discrepancy is only understandable when we acknowledge the subjective component of linguistic meaning. The same logic applies, albeit to a lesser extent, even to factual-seeming sentences like “The Eiffel Tower is in Paris.” As I argued earlier, the formulation, interpretation, and context of such a sentence involve human choices and human experience — i.e., Dasein.

The Fregean Distinction: Sense and Reference

Another important objection invokes the distinction from Frege’s classic essay On Sense and Reference. According to Frege, we can distinguish between:

• The sense (Sinn) of a sentence — how the sentence presents its meaning, and
• The reference (Bedeutung) — the actual object or fact the sentence is about.

In the case of “The Eiffel Tower is in Paris,” the sense can vary: we could say “The Eiffel Tower is located in France” or “The Eiffel Tower stands in the 7th arrondissement,” each emphasizing a different framing or nuance. These variations are clearly influenced by context, perspective, and intention — i.e., subjective elements.

But what about the reference? The referential object — the actual physical situation — seems, at first glance, to be purely objective: the Eiffel Tower either is or is not in Paris. This appears to leave no room for subjectivity.

And yet, I argue that even this reference level is not free from subject-dependence.

Why “Space” Is Not Objective

Our fundamental question now is: Is the matter of fact (not the sentence) “The Eiffel Tower is in Paris” dependent on Dasein—on human existence?

To that, I would answer: yes. Concepts like “Eiffel Tower,” “Paris,” “is in,” and even “location” all presuppose a world in which places, landmarks, and spatial relations already make sense. But this world is not simply “out there”—it is disclosed to us by Dasein. That is, it appears meaningfully only through the lived experience of human beings.

When we say “is in,” we are not describing a neutral, mathematical spatial relation. The phrase carries pragmatic, embodied, and lived meanings: how we name things, how we orient ourselves in space, and most importantly, how we navigate and inhabit space.

Now imagine an alien species radically different from us—not only in appearance, but in sensory apparatus, internal structure, and existential mode. Perhaps they perceive the world through smell, magnetic fields, or air pressure gradients. Maybe they’re not even three-dimensional, or exist as distributed cosmic networks—a kind of non-localized, fluid presence that doesn’t recognize “here” and “there” in any meaningful way.

For such beings, the very concept of “Paris” might not exist. Nor would “Eiffel Tower.” Even the relation “is in” might be meaningless. Perhaps their entire spatial logic is topological, or vibrational—totally alien to us.

If a member of this species were to say, “The Eiffel Tower is not in Paris,” while we say, “It is,” we wouldn’t necessarily say one of us is wrong. Rather, we would recognize that their mode of being—their Dasein—discloses a different world. The meaning of “is in” depends on the existential structure of the being using it. Space, then, is not an absolute container, but something interpreted and understood from within a particular mode of existence.

What matters here is not whether such aliens actually exist, but that we can imagine them coherently. This shows that there are multiple reasonable ways in which the concept “The Eiffel Tower is in Paris” might be valid or not. If a concept can be viewed from multiple intelligible perspectives, then it cannot be purely objective—it must have a subjective dimension.

To bring this closer to home, consider the idea of reason.

Imagine trying to explain human-style reasoning to a single ant. Would it understand “reasoning” as we do? Unlikely. Ants operate within swarm intelligence. What we define as reason—autonomous deliberation, self-reflection, logical inference—is not part of the ant’s world. Its “rationality” is embedded in pheromone trails, local responsiveness, and collective behavior. Its “goals” are inseparable from the structure of the colony.

But this does not make the ant wrong and us right—it simply reveals a different mode of being. Trying to teach an ant about Maths or deductive logic would be like teaching a dog to use a knife and fork for eating. Reason, then, like space, is not a universal standard. It is shaped by the kind of being that is doing the reasoning.

So just as reason is grounded in Dasein, so too are spatial relations. There is no neutral, God’s-eye view from which to assess what space “really” is. No disembodied place from which to say definitively whether a tower is “in” a city.

Thus, even the matter of fact—“The Eiffel Tower is in Paris”—is dependent on our human mode of being, on our way of perceiving, naming, navigating, and disclosing the world. There are no facts outside of a world, and there is no world that is not already for a whom—a being for whom things appear meaningfully.

Conclusion

To put it simply: “The Eiffel Tower is in Paris” seems objective, but it only makes sense within a world in which landmarks, places, and spatial relations show up as meaningful. That world is disclosed through Dasein—through human existence.

Different kinds of beings—aliens, ants—disclose different worlds, in which even concepts like “location” or “fact” may not appear at all. And if what counts as a “fact” depends on the kind of being, then there are no pure matters of fact. There is only meaning, grounded in the structures of the respective being.

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