- Eugene O'Neill, Long Day's Journey into Night, Act 4.
Perhaps one of the most thought-provoking and mind-blowing ideas that I have encountered in an English Literature degree is the notion that no one can ever "master" language. I think that people - even I, before I started my course - believe that those who are good at English, who are proficient at reading, writing, analysing texts, are in some way have a "powerful" command of the language. And the idea that this may not be true is something that has really changed my mind and the way that I viewed language as a whole.
I suppose we cannot - and should never be lured into thinking that we can - think that we can ever "master" language, in the sense that we can ever truly bend words, phrases, sentences to what we truly feel, to what we truly intend to express. All the abstract emotions, feelings, thoughts, ideas that run through our heads, they're just squeezed and contained and put down as tangible symbols and signs like letters and punctuation. But do they really convey what we feel? Do they really truly pass the message on as it was originally formed - in its unadulterated, undiluted, purest form?
I speak and write things that can never seem to fully encapsulate all the complexities, textures, and layers of just what I want to say. They seem to be a poor shadow of what the things that are running through my mind, things that are flowing inside my heart. Even as I am writing this, I feel a thousand strands of thoughts tugging at me, nudging me to unfurl them, but I feel that my words can never wholly contain them, can never fully deliver what I want them to deliver.
Words are so elusive. When you think you have a good hold of the ideas and thoughts and reflections inside your brain, you reach out and try to grab words, you tell them you want these ideas to be conveyed in such and such a manner. But you find that these words, they can never fully explain everything. That there's always a limit to how much they can do. These words, they're an inadequate medium of saying what you want to voice out.
Of course this may be me. This may be because I have thousands of ideas flying around, and I'm not doing a good enough job at capturing all of them and penning them down. But that's just the thing, there're a million ideas to write down, and just so many ways of exploring them, so many threads to pull at. Maybe I'm not diligent enough in revising and editing what I say. I'm not hardworking enough or passionate enough to delve into my thoughts and piece together all the fragments of ideas I have. For after all, the world's greatest works are all not done in a day, and they require constant correction and revision and improvement. But that's just the thing, these works can be constantly revised and updated, and there would still always be areas of improvement. Perhaps it's a question of eloquence and ingenuousness, and I can't express things the way they are formed in my head. But that's just the thing, why can't I?
Sometimes I feel I have all these things just in my brain, welling up inside of me. But when I try to get it out, it falls flat; it never seems to be expressed in the way that I want to be expressed. I choke, and the idea dies out somehow.
I like this quote:
" [Language] always remind us that it, and no one else, is speaking, that whenever we believe we rule over our words, we are in grip of an unavoidable but nevertheless delusive illusion"
I suppose we cannot - and should never be lured into thinking that we can - think that we can ever "master" language, in the sense that we can ever truly bend words, phrases, sentences to what we truly feel, to what we truly intend to express. All the abstract emotions, feelings, thoughts, ideas that run through our heads, they're just squeezed and contained and put down as tangible symbols and signs like letters and punctuation. But do they really convey what we feel? Do they really truly pass the message on as it was originally formed - in its unadulterated, undiluted, purest form?
I speak and write things that can never seem to fully encapsulate all the complexities, textures, and layers of just what I want to say. They seem to be a poor shadow of what the things that are running through my mind, things that are flowing inside my heart. Even as I am writing this, I feel a thousand strands of thoughts tugging at me, nudging me to unfurl them, but I feel that my words can never wholly contain them, can never fully deliver what I want them to deliver.
Words are so elusive. When you think you have a good hold of the ideas and thoughts and reflections inside your brain, you reach out and try to grab words, you tell them you want these ideas to be conveyed in such and such a manner. But you find that these words, they can never fully explain everything. That there's always a limit to how much they can do. These words, they're an inadequate medium of saying what you want to voice out.
Of course this may be me. This may be because I have thousands of ideas flying around, and I'm not doing a good enough job at capturing all of them and penning them down. But that's just the thing, there're a million ideas to write down, and just so many ways of exploring them, so many threads to pull at. Maybe I'm not diligent enough in revising and editing what I say. I'm not hardworking enough or passionate enough to delve into my thoughts and piece together all the fragments of ideas I have. For after all, the world's greatest works are all not done in a day, and they require constant correction and revision and improvement. But that's just the thing, these works can be constantly revised and updated, and there would still always be areas of improvement. Perhaps it's a question of eloquence and ingenuousness, and I can't express things the way they are formed in my head. But that's just the thing, why can't I?
Sometimes I feel I have all these things just in my brain, welling up inside of me. But when I try to get it out, it falls flat; it never seems to be expressed in the way that I want to be expressed. I choke, and the idea dies out somehow.
I like this quote:
" [Language] always remind us that it, and no one else, is speaking, that whenever we believe we rule over our words, we are in grip of an unavoidable but nevertheless delusive illusion"
(Jean-Jacques Lecercle, 1990)
I think it does indicate what I feel sometimes. That words are so elusive, and can never really be made to mean what we want them to mean. But does this mean that we should abandon the study of language? Should we stop caring about how we use language?
The answer is a straightforward no. In a paradoxical way, the only way we can truly understand language, is by being aware of the fact that there are many nuances, and shades of meanings of different words and phrases. A little tweak here, a little tweak there, and the whole sentence - the whole idea behind the sentence - changes. If anything, the elusive quality of words and language should all the more encourage us to strive to hold on to what little control we have over them. It's the acknowledgement that language is just so slippery that pushes us to want to solidify the way in which we use it - and the way in which others use it.
The answer is a straightforward no. In a paradoxical way, the only way we can truly understand language, is by being aware of the fact that there are many nuances, and shades of meanings of different words and phrases. A little tweak here, a little tweak there, and the whole sentence - the whole idea behind the sentence - changes. If anything, the elusive quality of words and language should all the more encourage us to strive to hold on to what little control we have over them. It's the acknowledgement that language is just so slippery that pushes us to want to solidify the way in which we use it - and the way in which others use it.