Our language is less emotional than its rudimentary forms. There would not have been an initial difference between the act of speaking and the act of singing.... The initial form of language, therefore, would have been a kind of song. Men would have sung their feelings before communicating their thought. Just as writing was at first painting, language at first would have been song.... It is through the exercise of this song that men would have tried out their power of expression. Merleau-Ponty, Consciousness and the Acquisitior of Language I Could this story that Merleau-Ponty recounts possibly be true? It is, for me at least, an appealing story. It is tempting to accept it. But how could its truth ever be established, since it speaks of a time before words, before language as we know it? One must note that the narrative is rendered in the grammar of speculation, phantasy: it is an account only of what would or could have been. Is it then nothing but romantic fable? If it be mere fable, what explains its enduring appeal, not only across many centuries, but also across many different cultures? Could the story convey a certain phenomenological truth-content, in spite of the fact that nothing in empirical history and nothing in the science of linguistics can give it any credibility? If there be a phenomenological truth, what could it be? Could the conception of the be reconfigured as a term of art for a hermeneutical process, a process neither simply a matter of discovery nor merely a matter of invention ex nihilo, a process engaged in eliciting or producing out of our natural linguistic endowment what can only be thought as a virtuality between the facticity of the simply real and the ideality of the purely imaginary? Could the ancient question of the of language be rehabilitated by phenomenology as an experience with languagc an experience of languaging as a bodily felt process? Could the that figures in the narrative be, then, a hermeneutical trope for the reflexive experience, a way of articulating the process of speaking in terms of its deeply felt, bodily felt sense? It would then be a question, perhaps, of making explicit, and thereby retrieving, a bodily felt sense of the languaging process that was once lived-in, but without awareness, and later sublated in subsequent stages of linguistic development: a bodily felt sense that would otherwise have remained forever latent or virtual, buried in an irretrievable past beneath the conventional experience of language. Could the hermeneutical retrieval of this sense of the in and by one's way of speaking make a profound difference in one's speaking-a difference such as to suggest the desirability of hearing the narrative as an allegory for our selfrealization as beings who understand ourselves to be essentially defined by our ability to use language? Before we work with these questions, it is essential that the matter for thought be clearly conceived. What I am proposing involves a certain transposition or displacement of the centuriesold question of the of language. For it is not to be a question of the historical origin, but rather of an origin possible at any moment: an origin that depends, first of all, on contacting one's bodily felt sense of language-the language one is using and the process of bringing experience into language, or rather, the process of letting one's experiencing and languaging articulate their interaction-and then, secondly, letting the attunement, the singing, that is inherent in that sense resonate and reverberate through what comes to language. II Beginning in a time immemorial, it was customary among the Eskimos of East Greenland to settle conflicts within the tribe by contests in singing. According to Adamson Hoebel, Song duels are used to work off grudges and disputes of all orders, save murder ... Singing skill among these Eskimos equals or outranks gross physical prowess. …
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