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Axiom: words are one of the primal forces of creation.
This isn't an uncommon axiom. ("And God said: let there be light.") The idea of sacred names, secret names, the names of things being linked to their essence and thus power over them, and the like crops up all over the place. It's also one of the truths I stumble across as a writer, that with the words I have I can create worlds -- universes even -- populate them, observe their history. And it's a truth of a witch, knowing how to shape the world with words of power.
(I recognise three primal forces of creation, religiously speaking; words, sex, and shaping-with-the-hands. This is about words.)
I think this is something that's hard to grasp in its entirety, the way that words make the world, the way that language is this primal force. It's too deep, too ingrained, too far under the way things are. Words are subtle; the things they shape most directly are thought, and it's hard to look at thoughts, they're such squidgy, hard to pin down things. Some people think that thoughts themselves are made out of words, but I know they're wrong, because my thoughts are jagged Tetris-chunks of cognition, some of which are word-coloured, but not all of them.
But I take those chunks of cognition, and I alchemise them into words, and I put these words down, and there is a magic that happens: you know what is in my head. I have performed a transformation with my word magic.
That is the basic word magic, the fundamental one, the one that so many people know so thoroughly that they don't see the magic anymore. But there are more advanced magics, too -- I am not merely talking about poetry, but poetry is advanced word magic too.
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ozarque has written occasionally about finding the right language to say what she means, the right metaphors and structures of language. Some forms of language are inimical to some forms of thought -- the axioms contained within the phrases sabotage certain meanings. Using those terms to talk about what one means recasts the meaning, it's not effective word magic.
My favorite example: there is this phrase out there. The phrase is "gay marriage". This is not a useful phrase for me; it is specifically creating a marked case. There is "marriage", normal marriage, unremarked and unremarkable, and then there is the special thing, the different thing, the thing that's distinguished enough to require a special adjective. This is not what I am talking about; using the language that divides marriages into categories depending on genitalia distributions sabotages my word magic. I use the words that talk about what I mean, words like "marriage equality", "marriage rights", "marriage access"; I don't support the pernicious notion that the marriages themselves are different and sabotage my own word magic with badly chosen language.
Back toozarque, and the right word magic -- talking about metaphors for government. She occasionally complains about "Government as a Nurturant Parent" as a metaphor, because it's godawful. It has no euphony; that's bad word magic to start out with. It's psychobabble, replacing meaningful words with unnecessary polysyllables. And translated it is far too likely to come across as "smothering mother", something which is not a positive association in the first place. Sometimes she starts threads looking for better word magic, words that say what she wants to mean (and what a fair fraction of her audience wants to mean).
That's one sort of advanced word magic, that counterspelling effect, the getting the right words out there to say what one means.
I have a tangent on the self-sabotage thing, word magic and self-sabotage. There is a Feri adage about never submitting your life force to another; I have word magic to look at this. There is language out there; it can be threatening, it attempts to define people.
People try to defend themselves against this by being not-the-language. Pagans who are not-Satanists. Polyfolks who are not-swingers. Quirky folks who are not-mainstream (and oh boy, was I one of these when I was a kid). But this is letting the word -- not even when it's used, often, but the possibility of the word -- that demands this defense. And it's not a shape of being what one is, but cringing away from what one is not. And it gets very, very strange with the word magic, assimilating the not-being rather than making the existence stronger and realer and truer and letting the not-whateverage slide off as obviously stupid and irrelevant.
"Who's to be master, you or the word?"
Another level of it, and I think this is beyond the simple shaping to say what is meant rather than using axioms that blunt or undo meaning, is using the language to define the meanings other people can take in response to it. Putting in certain weights, or juxtapositions, or the like.
The art of this is that if it's done well it's hard to see the hijack, the shape -- if someone is really very good at defensive word magic and saying what they mean they can tread water on it, but one really needs to have the active shaping to hand to get back.
ozarque writes about linguistic patterns. There was a whole series of discussions on things that began with phrases like, "If you loved me you'd . . ." The thing is, I look at that and I see a fairly inelegant attempt to hijack all possible responses to demand a proof of love. (ozarque suggests, if I remember right, responding to this sort of thing with a neutrally balanced question. This can be tricky.)
Trolls try to do this; some of them are very good at it. The best will start with something like whatoneironaut called "inherently hostile to rationality", but where the breaks are down under the immediate layer where people will tend to respond. It takes backing up and looking at the word magic and seeing where the effects are being created -- is this a legitimate comparison? Is this trying to invoke not-magic and bring about submitting to a third party's word-magic (and thus suborning the life force)? What are the axioms underlying the question, where are the meanings and biases in the implications? Where is the trick?
Emotional and verbal abuse is one of the forms of this, too. It constrains its target into the shape defined by the abuse, breaks the parts that go outside. It's a slow, subtle process in its way, and it takes time, but it builds something that lasts. The voices in the head that sound like the tormentors, or even the inability to imagine oneself as a being of worth enough to be spoken to by those spectres. There are ways of becoming near-immune to this sort of word magic, but they require being strong of one's own words, able to define the space shaped by words in ways that, again, render those outside words silly, useless, insignificant, meaningless, as appropriate; that, or absorbing them into the greater whole and swallowing them up. (This latter is the sort of word magic of word-reclaiming; rather than be beaten down by the insult, to take it in, to use its power to supplement one's own.)
Most of the examples I have of this are negative; this is because I find those the easiest ones to point out. The positive ones are less visible; if they work, they change the world a little, but not in ways that hit warnings. Look for them in great speeches from truly articulate speakers -- this is a good study for this sort of word magic. Find the shapes, the way the words are defining the vision.
Find it in fiction, the words that make worlds real, too. Find it in poetry, the words that bring out the secret places behind language and make them touchable. Find it all kinds of places; these are the ones I know.
There are people out there working their word magic all the time. Some of them will be doing so effectually; some not so much. Some will be doing so in one's aid, some . . . not so much. Instinct can only go so far with any kind of magic; word magic is no exception. It takes looking at, and practicing, and learning which ones work. It's a fascinating art, the word magic; I don't think of myself as being consistently good at it, but it's a study and a calling.
That was even more jagged-Tetris-piece than usual; it will require more than the typical amount of rotation, jiggering about, and assembly.
This isn't an uncommon axiom. ("And God said: let there be light.") The idea of sacred names, secret names, the names of things being linked to their essence and thus power over them, and the like crops up all over the place. It's also one of the truths I stumble across as a writer, that with the words I have I can create worlds -- universes even -- populate them, observe their history. And it's a truth of a witch, knowing how to shape the world with words of power.
(I recognise three primal forces of creation, religiously speaking; words, sex, and shaping-with-the-hands. This is about words.)
I think this is something that's hard to grasp in its entirety, the way that words make the world, the way that language is this primal force. It's too deep, too ingrained, too far under the way things are. Words are subtle; the things they shape most directly are thought, and it's hard to look at thoughts, they're such squidgy, hard to pin down things. Some people think that thoughts themselves are made out of words, but I know they're wrong, because my thoughts are jagged Tetris-chunks of cognition, some of which are word-coloured, but not all of them.
But I take those chunks of cognition, and I alchemise them into words, and I put these words down, and there is a magic that happens: you know what is in my head. I have performed a transformation with my word magic.
That is the basic word magic, the fundamental one, the one that so many people know so thoroughly that they don't see the magic anymore. But there are more advanced magics, too -- I am not merely talking about poetry, but poetry is advanced word magic too.
ozarque has written occasionally about finding the right language to say what she means, the right metaphors and structures of language. Some forms of language are inimical to some forms of thought -- the axioms contained within the phrases sabotage certain meanings. Using those terms to talk about what one means recasts the meaning, it's not effective word magic.My favorite example: there is this phrase out there. The phrase is "gay marriage". This is not a useful phrase for me; it is specifically creating a marked case. There is "marriage", normal marriage, unremarked and unremarkable, and then there is the special thing, the different thing, the thing that's distinguished enough to require a special adjective. This is not what I am talking about; using the language that divides marriages into categories depending on genitalia distributions sabotages my word magic. I use the words that talk about what I mean, words like "marriage equality", "marriage rights", "marriage access"; I don't support the pernicious notion that the marriages themselves are different and sabotage my own word magic with badly chosen language.
Back to
ozarque, and the right word magic -- talking about metaphors for government. She occasionally complains about "Government as a Nurturant Parent" as a metaphor, because it's godawful. It has no euphony; that's bad word magic to start out with. It's psychobabble, replacing meaningful words with unnecessary polysyllables. And translated it is far too likely to come across as "smothering mother", something which is not a positive association in the first place. Sometimes she starts threads looking for better word magic, words that say what she wants to mean (and what a fair fraction of her audience wants to mean).That's one sort of advanced word magic, that counterspelling effect, the getting the right words out there to say what one means.
I have a tangent on the self-sabotage thing, word magic and self-sabotage. There is a Feri adage about never submitting your life force to another; I have word magic to look at this. There is language out there; it can be threatening, it attempts to define people.
People try to defend themselves against this by being not-the-language. Pagans who are not-Satanists. Polyfolks who are not-swingers. Quirky folks who are not-mainstream (and oh boy, was I one of these when I was a kid). But this is letting the word -- not even when it's used, often, but the possibility of the word -- that demands this defense. And it's not a shape of being what one is, but cringing away from what one is not. And it gets very, very strange with the word magic, assimilating the not-being rather than making the existence stronger and realer and truer and letting the not-whateverage slide off as obviously stupid and irrelevant.
"Who's to be master, you or the word?"
Another level of it, and I think this is beyond the simple shaping to say what is meant rather than using axioms that blunt or undo meaning, is using the language to define the meanings other people can take in response to it. Putting in certain weights, or juxtapositions, or the like.
The art of this is that if it's done well it's hard to see the hijack, the shape -- if someone is really very good at defensive word magic and saying what they mean they can tread water on it, but one really needs to have the active shaping to hand to get back.
ozarque writes about linguistic patterns. There was a whole series of discussions on things that began with phrases like, "If you loved me you'd . . ." The thing is, I look at that and I see a fairly inelegant attempt to hijack all possible responses to demand a proof of love. (ozarque suggests, if I remember right, responding to this sort of thing with a neutrally balanced question. This can be tricky.)Trolls try to do this; some of them are very good at it. The best will start with something like what
oneironaut called "inherently hostile to rationality", but where the breaks are down under the immediate layer where people will tend to respond. It takes backing up and looking at the word magic and seeing where the effects are being created -- is this a legitimate comparison? Is this trying to invoke not-magic and bring about submitting to a third party's word-magic (and thus suborning the life force)? What are the axioms underlying the question, where are the meanings and biases in the implications? Where is the trick?Emotional and verbal abuse is one of the forms of this, too. It constrains its target into the shape defined by the abuse, breaks the parts that go outside. It's a slow, subtle process in its way, and it takes time, but it builds something that lasts. The voices in the head that sound like the tormentors, or even the inability to imagine oneself as a being of worth enough to be spoken to by those spectres. There are ways of becoming near-immune to this sort of word magic, but they require being strong of one's own words, able to define the space shaped by words in ways that, again, render those outside words silly, useless, insignificant, meaningless, as appropriate; that, or absorbing them into the greater whole and swallowing them up. (This latter is the sort of word magic of word-reclaiming; rather than be beaten down by the insult, to take it in, to use its power to supplement one's own.)
Most of the examples I have of this are negative; this is because I find those the easiest ones to point out. The positive ones are less visible; if they work, they change the world a little, but not in ways that hit warnings. Look for them in great speeches from truly articulate speakers -- this is a good study for this sort of word magic. Find the shapes, the way the words are defining the vision.
Find it in fiction, the words that make worlds real, too. Find it in poetry, the words that bring out the secret places behind language and make them touchable. Find it all kinds of places; these are the ones I know.
There are people out there working their word magic all the time. Some of them will be doing so effectually; some not so much. Some will be doing so in one's aid, some . . . not so much. Instinct can only go so far with any kind of magic; word magic is no exception. It takes looking at, and practicing, and learning which ones work. It's a fascinating art, the word magic; I don't think of myself as being consistently good at it, but it's a study and a calling.
That was even more jagged-Tetris-piece than usual; it will require more than the typical amount of rotation, jiggering about, and assembly.