They slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe

Though I came to enjoy The Garden Party, I’m still, first and foremost, a fan of Havel’s essays.  Returning to familiar ground in A Word About Words was a nice mini-vacation from the concentrated intensity of the play.  What was even better was Havel once again addressing a unique characteristic of humanity - words and language.

Havel doesn’t leave anything to doubt when he says words are the very essence of humanity.  While such a statement would probably fly in the face of science, from a more philosophical standpoint words are the most basic building blocks of human social identity.

For the fact is that if they [words] were not a means of communication between two or more human “I”s, then words would probably not exist at all.

If words did not exist, would human society really exist?  Words bridge the gap between the intangible essence of another person’s human identity and our own interpretation of their existence or personality.  It is mainly through words - conversations, emails, published articles, voicemails - that we develop this awareness of the identity of other people.  We also translate our own nature into words by how we think of ourselves, which labels we choose to affix like bumper stickers to our external image.

Science might explain our genetic identity, our ancestral lineage.  But can science explain my disposition to like the writing of Haruki Murakami over that of Daniel Defoe, can it formulate what about Murakami’s facility with a tool - words - strikes a rich chord within me while Defoe’s ministrations leave me cold?

My guess is that science cannot, which must imply that words are something like magic, able to conjure up emotions, thoughts, electrical stimulation of the brain from thin air.  Nor can science likely explain why the electrical stimulation I receive from Murakami’s writing is substantially different than that of my fiancée, my best friend, or my sister.

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One other brief item I need to comment on from A Word About Words:

I found Andre Glucksmann’s statement somewhat strange.  He said that intellectuals needed to emulate Cassandra, meaning they must speak up when they perceive a imminent threat to society.  If I’m not mistaken, in Agamemnon Cassandra pledges herself to Apollo, but then backs out of her promise.  I don’t know they play well enough to say if she lied to Apollo, but it seems to be a curious comparison.  Of course, it’s because she rejects him that Apollo curses her with prescience that no one will heed, and this makes Glucksmann’s statement all the more interesting.