At the very moment when Lucian, in his turn, comes face to face with the Leviathan, the two parrots carry on talking... as though nothing had happened.
Where we may observe them speaking of what nevertheless cannot be spoken.
Where we may observe them speaking of what nevertheless cannot be spoken.
— Tell me... what does that curious expression mean: as though nothing had happened?
— The word as introduces a comparison.
— Up to that point, it is easy enough to understand. But here it does not compare two realities...
— It compares a reality with a hypothesis, if you will.
— I shall.
— It opens an imaginary space...
— ...a theatre of possibility!
— The moment one hears as though, one enters a world in which the truth of the facts is temporarily suspended so that a manner of acting may be observed.
— It is rather what we ourselves are doing... We are speaking as though we were our master.
— But we make no claim to be him...
— We simply consent to inhabit that possibility. Here, the if is the if of the unreal.
— You will have noticed... it does not say since...
— You mean that it merely says, let us suppose that...
— And we already know that the condition has not been fulfilled.
— Yet to say as though nothing had happened implies precisely that something has happened. Otherwise the expression would be pointless. In other words, it indirectly affirms what it appears to deny.
— Are you acquainted with the word effable?
— A curious word...
— It sounds strange to our ears. Though used only rarely, it exists... just as the Moon Child exists...
— And what does it mean?
— The Moon Child... I cannot say. But effable simply means that which can be expressed in words...
— Which, precisely, does not describe the Moon Child... Then I believe I know its opposite.
— That does not surprise me in the least... Tell me.
— I know it... but I cannot say it.
— Precisely so... We almost always encounter it through its opposite: the ineffable.
— Because in ordinary speech we almost never feel the need to specify that something is expressible. That is simply the normal condition of language.
— Which is why we notice language only when it encounters its own limit.
— They say this is a common phenomenon in languages.
— There are many negative words whose positive forms have become rare or have disappeared altogether.
— Give us a few examples!
— We readily speak of the invisible, the unheard-of, the inconceivable... or simply... the unspeakable.
— Simply! You must be joking...
— Their opposites exist in theory, yet we use them far less often.
— And yet, once we leave grammar behind, the question becomes far more interesting. Does it not?
— Why is that?
— Because the true opposite of the ineffable may not be the effable at all.
— You grow increasingly mysterious.
— Effable merely designates what can be said.
— Yet many things may be said without ever truly being understood...
— The true opposite of the ineffable would perhaps be that which is perfectly adequate to its own formulation.
— What sort of jargon is this that I cannot begin to understand?
— A thing and its expression would then coincide almost perfectly. That is often the ideal of mathematics, or of certain sciences: to arrive at a formulation in which every term corresponds precisely to what it intends.
— If I understand you correctly... poetry, by contrast, often lives within the distance between what is said and what is meant.
— And that is where etymology becomes interesting.
— Pray continue...
— The Latin verb effari does not simply mean to speak.
— Then what does it mean?
— It means rather to bring forth into speech. The prefix ex-—which becomes ef- before certain consonants—indicates a movement outward.
— Then the ineffable is not simply what cannot be spoken.
— No... It is that which cannot be led out of itself and brought entirely into words.
— Then its positive opposite would be less the effable than the uttered... or the manifest.
— It would be a thought passing wholly into its own expression.
— But does such a thing truly exist?
— One may well doubt it...
— For the moment one reflects upon human experience, one discovers that almost everything is partly ineffable.
— Even the simplest things?
— Try describing exactly a pain, a colour, a fragrance, a childhood memory, a beloved face.
— That can indeed be difficult...
— Words function. They make communication possible.
— And yet something always remains.
— Something stays on the side of experience.
— Which is why I wonder whether the ineffable is less the opposite of the effable than its shadow...
— The moment something becomes effable, something of it remains ineffable.
— And perhaps that is why Igniatius' stories continue to multiply.
— One story does not replace another because the first was false.
— Then why does it come?
— Because no story ever succeeds in exhausting what it tells.
— You are exhausting me...
— Then perhaps the ineffable is not the opposite of speech. It is what accompanies every act of speech...
— What is it, then?
— As the horizon accompanies every landscape.
— We might even carry the paradox a little further.
— Then do so... considering how far we have already come...
— Perhaps that which were absolutely effable would also be that which no longer required telling.
— Like a perfect mathematical formula.
— I believe that the figures who pass through the Archipelago—whether Pinocchio the Other, Don Carotte, Lucian, Igniatius, or even Félix—seem to exist precisely because they never entirely coincide with their own definition. They are always a little larger than anything that can be said about them.
— Like an island rising from the sea: what emerges is visible, and therefore effable. Yet what supports it beneath the water remains invisible, and nevertheless inseparable from it.
— Perhaps the ineffable is not the opposite of the effable.
— It is its depth...
— ...and that depth is its origin.
— The word as introduces a comparison.
— Up to that point, it is easy enough to understand. But here it does not compare two realities...
— It compares a reality with a hypothesis, if you will.
— I shall.
— It opens an imaginary space...
— ...a theatre of possibility!
— The moment one hears as though, one enters a world in which the truth of the facts is temporarily suspended so that a manner of acting may be observed.
— It is rather what we ourselves are doing... We are speaking as though we were our master.
— But we make no claim to be him...
— We simply consent to inhabit that possibility. Here, the if is the if of the unreal.
— You will have noticed... it does not say since...
— You mean that it merely says, let us suppose that...
— And we already know that the condition has not been fulfilled.
— Yet to say as though nothing had happened implies precisely that something has happened. Otherwise the expression would be pointless. In other words, it indirectly affirms what it appears to deny.
— Are you acquainted with the word effable?
— A curious word...
— It sounds strange to our ears. Though used only rarely, it exists... just as the Moon Child exists...
— And what does it mean?
— The Moon Child... I cannot say. But effable simply means that which can be expressed in words...
— Which, precisely, does not describe the Moon Child... Then I believe I know its opposite.
— That does not surprise me in the least... Tell me.
— I know it... but I cannot say it.
— Precisely so... We almost always encounter it through its opposite: the ineffable.
— Because in ordinary speech we almost never feel the need to specify that something is expressible. That is simply the normal condition of language.
— Which is why we notice language only when it encounters its own limit.
— They say this is a common phenomenon in languages.
— There are many negative words whose positive forms have become rare or have disappeared altogether.
— Give us a few examples!
— We readily speak of the invisible, the unheard-of, the inconceivable... or simply... the unspeakable.
— Simply! You must be joking...
— Their opposites exist in theory, yet we use them far less often.
— And yet, once we leave grammar behind, the question becomes far more interesting. Does it not?
— Why is that?
— Because the true opposite of the ineffable may not be the effable at all.
— You grow increasingly mysterious.
— Effable merely designates what can be said.
— Yet many things may be said without ever truly being understood...
— The true opposite of the ineffable would perhaps be that which is perfectly adequate to its own formulation.
— What sort of jargon is this that I cannot begin to understand?
— A thing and its expression would then coincide almost perfectly. That is often the ideal of mathematics, or of certain sciences: to arrive at a formulation in which every term corresponds precisely to what it intends.
— If I understand you correctly... poetry, by contrast, often lives within the distance between what is said and what is meant.
— And that is where etymology becomes interesting.
— Pray continue...
— The Latin verb effari does not simply mean to speak.
— Then what does it mean?
— It means rather to bring forth into speech. The prefix ex-—which becomes ef- before certain consonants—indicates a movement outward.
— Then the ineffable is not simply what cannot be spoken.
— No... It is that which cannot be led out of itself and brought entirely into words.
— Then its positive opposite would be less the effable than the uttered... or the manifest.
— It would be a thought passing wholly into its own expression.
— But does such a thing truly exist?
— One may well doubt it...
— For the moment one reflects upon human experience, one discovers that almost everything is partly ineffable.
— Even the simplest things?
— Try describing exactly a pain, a colour, a fragrance, a childhood memory, a beloved face.
— That can indeed be difficult...
— Words function. They make communication possible.
— And yet something always remains.
— Something stays on the side of experience.
— Which is why I wonder whether the ineffable is less the opposite of the effable than its shadow...
— The moment something becomes effable, something of it remains ineffable.
— And perhaps that is why Igniatius' stories continue to multiply.
— One story does not replace another because the first was false.
— Then why does it come?
— Because no story ever succeeds in exhausting what it tells.
— You are exhausting me...
— Then perhaps the ineffable is not the opposite of speech. It is what accompanies every act of speech...
— What is it, then?
— As the horizon accompanies every landscape.
— We might even carry the paradox a little further.
— Then do so... considering how far we have already come...
— Perhaps that which were absolutely effable would also be that which no longer required telling.
— Like a perfect mathematical formula.
— I believe that the figures who pass through the Archipelago—whether Pinocchio the Other, Don Carotte, Lucian, Igniatius, or even Félix—seem to exist precisely because they never entirely coincide with their own definition. They are always a little larger than anything that can be said about them.
— Like an island rising from the sea: what emerges is visible, and therefore effable. Yet what supports it beneath the water remains invisible, and nevertheless inseparable from it.
— Perhaps the ineffable is not the opposite of the effable.
— It is its depth...
— ...and that depth is its origin.
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