Actually, Nietzsche thought it this in the 1800s...
"What is a word? The copy of a nerve stimulus in sounds. To go on to infer from the nerve stimulus to a cause outside of us, however, is already the result of a false and unjustified application of the principle of sufficient reason (kant). If truth alone had been decisive in the genesis of language, and the standpoint of certainty in the genesis of the designations of things, how would we be entitled to say, "The stone is hard," as if hard we're something otherwise known to us and not a wholly subjective impression? We divide things according to genders: we call the tree (der Baum) masculine and the plant (die Pflanze) feminine--whag arbitrary transferences! How far-flung beyond the canon of certainty! We speak of a snake: the designation pertains only to it's slithering movement and so could as easily apply to a worm. What arbitrary demarcations, what one-sided preferences for now this, now that property of a thing! All the different languages, set along side one another, show that when it comes to words, truth--full and adequate expression--is never what matters; otherwise there wouldn't be so many languages. The "thing in itself" (which would be, precisely, pure truth without consequences) is utterly unintelligible, even for the creator of a language, and certainly nothing to strive for, for he designates only the relations of things to human beings and helps himself to the boldest metaphors. First, to transfer a nerve stimulus into an image--first metaphor! The image again copied into a sound--second metaphor! And each time a complete leap out of one sphere into an entirely new and different one. . . We think we know something about the things themselves when we speak of trees, colors, snow and flowers, yet we possess only metaphors of the things, which in no way correspond to the original essences. . . In any case, the emergence of language did not come about logically, and the very material in which and with which the man of truth--the scientist, the philosopher--later works and builds derives, if not from Cloud Cuckoo Land, then at least not from the essence of things either.
Let us contemplate in a particular the formation of concepts: every word becomes a concept, not just when it is meant to serve as a kind of reminder of the single, absolutely individualized original experience to which it owes its emergence, but when it has to fit countless more or less similar--that is, strictly speaking, never equal, hence blatantly unequal--cases. Every concept arises by means of the equating of the unequal. Just as certain as it is that no one leaf is exactly the same as any other, so, too, it is certain that the concept LEAF is formed by arbitrarily ignoring these individual differences, by forgetting what distinguishes one from the other, thus giving rise to the notion that there is in nature something other than leaves, something like "The Leaf," a kind of prototype according to which all leaves we're woven, drawn, delineated, colored, crimped, painted, but by unskilled hands, so that no specimen turned out correctly or reliably as a true copy of the prototype. We call a man honest. We ask, "Why did he act so honestly today?" Our answer is, usually, "Because of his honesty." Honesty! Which is again like saying, "Leaf is the cause of leaves." We really have no knowledge at all of an essential quality called Honesty, but we do know countless individualized, hence unequal, actions, which we equate by leaving aside the unequal and henceforth designate as honest actions; finally, from them we formulate a qualitas occulta with the name Honesty.
Overlooking the individual and the actual yields concepts, just as it yields forms, whereas nature knows neither forms nor concepts, hence no species, but only what remains for us an inaccessible and indefinable X. For even the distinction we draw between the individual and the species is anthropomorphic and does not stem from the essence of things, though neither can we say that it does not correspond to the essence of things, for that would be a dogmatic assertion and as such just as indemonstrable as it its counterpart.
What, then, is truth? A mobile army of metaphors, metonymies, anthropomorphisms--in short, a sum of human relations that have been poetically and rhetorically intensified, translated, and embellished, and that after long use strike people as fixed, canonical, and binding: truths are illusions of which one has forgotten that they are illusions, metaphors that have become worn-out and deprived of their sensuous force, coins that have lost their imprint and are now no longer seen as coins but as metal. . .
As a rational being he now submits his actions to the rule of abstractions: no longer does he let himself be swept away by sudden impression, by intuitions, he first generalizes all these impressions into paler, cooler concepts in order to hitch the wagon of his life and his action to them. Everything that distinguishes man from beast hinges on this capacity to dispel intuitive metaphors in a schema, hence to dissolve an image into a concept. For in the realm of those schemata something becomes possible that could never be achieved by intuitive first impressions, namely, the construction of a pyrimidal order of castes and degrees, creating a new world of laws privileges, subordination, and boundary demarcations, which now stands over against the other intuitive world of first impressions as the more fixed, more universal, more familiar, more human, hence something regatory and imperative. Whereas every metaphor of intuition is individual and without equal and so always knows how to escape all classification, the great edifice of concepts exhibits the rigid regularity of a Roman columbarium and in logic exhales the severity and coolness proper to mathematics. Whoever has felt that breath will scarcely believe that concepts, too, as bony and eight cornered as dice, and just as moveable, are but the lingering RESIDUES OF METAPHORS, and that the illusion of the artistic rendering of a nerve stimulus into images is, if not the mother, then at least the grandmother of every concept."
Friedrich Nietzsche - On Truth and Lie in a Nonmoral Sense (1873)
And then he goes on and on to destroy knowledge.
@Pattern-chaser @SteveKlinko