...searching an explanation and a guide for our life.
That might be the problem. Why not just stick with religion or philosophy or politics and call it a day. Trying to wrap up all your anxieties about life into a festering ball of obfuscation, and then trying to pretend it explains anything at all about science, just makes you look like a crank.
We humans divide up the electromagnetic spectrum into ranges in other ways, too. The Wikipedia article on the electromagnetic spectrum divides the spectrum into 19 ranges in the table at the top, and then further on they present another way of dividing the spectrum into 9 ranges. And there are other ways to divide the spectrum. Some birds can see in the ultraviolet, which merges ultraviolet into the visible part of the spectrum, leaving you only six divisions. Some animals can detect the infra-red, putting that also in the visible portion and leaving you only five divisions.
This goes to the actual problem. He doesn't understand what language is. His words map no reality. He takes symbols that only roughly (or arbitrarily, as you illustrate above) approximate reality and shuffles them around, and lays them end to end, and stacks them in neat piles and all the time imagines that reality is somehow following along behind his rearrangement of the words.
Throw in a liberal dash of equivocation on words like I mentioned earlier:
Reproduction Process Evolutionary Generated System Formula
If I might be forgiven one more post, since I am killing time waiting for the ferry back to the Island, this thread puts me in mind of Mark Twain's character Mr. Ballou, from "Roughing It".
"We could really have accomplished the journey in ten days if we had towed the horses behind the wagon, but we did not think of that until it was too late, and so went on shoving the horses and the wagon too when we might have saved half the labor. Parties who met us, occasionally, advised us to put the horses in the wagon, but Mr. Ballou, through whose iron-clad earnestness no sarcasm could pierce, said that that would not do, because the provisions were exposed and would suffer, the horses being "bituminous from long deprivation." The reader will excuse me from translating. What Mr. Ballou customarily meant, when he used a long word, was a secret between himself and his Maker. He was one of the best and kindest hearted men that ever graced a humble sphere of life. He was gentleness and simplicity itself--and unselfishness, too. Although he was more than twice as old as the eldest of us, he never gave himself any airs, privileges, or exemptions on that account. He did a young man's share of the work; and did his share of conversing and entertaining from the general stand-point of any age--not from the arrogant, overawing summit-height of sixty years. His one striking peculiarity was his Partingtonian fashion of loving and using big words for their own sakes, and independent of any bearing they might have upon the thought he was purposing to convey. He always let his ponderous syllables fall with an easy unconsciousness that left them wholly without offensiveness. In truth his air was so natural and so simple that one was always catching himself accepting his stately sentences as meaning something, when they really meant nothing in the world. If a word was long and grand and resonant, that was sufficient to win the old man's love, and he would drop that word into the most out-of-the-way place in a sentence or a subject, and be as pleased with it as if it were perfectly luminous with meaning.
We four always spread our common stock of blankets together on the frozen ground, and slept side by side; and finding that our foolish, long-legged hound pup had a deal of animal heat in him, Oliphant got to admitting him to the bed, between himself and Mr. Ballou, hugging the dog's warm back to his breast and finding great comfort in it. But in the night the pup would get stretchy and brace his feet against the old man's back and shove, grunting complacently the while; and now and then, being warm and snug, grateful and happy, he would paw the old man's back simply in excess of comfort; and at yet other times he would dream of the chase and in his sleep tug at the old man's back hair and bark in his ear. The old gentleman complained mildly about these familiarities, at last, and when he got through with his statement he said that such a dog as that was not a proper animal to admit to bed with tired men, because he was "so meretricious in his movements and so organic in his emotions." We turned the dog out. "
I fear a childhood addiction to reading and rereading every bit of Mark Twain I could get my hands on has left me overly familiar with a certain type of character before I even meet him.