Turning Words and Words that Turn- Chapin

 

Here is one last joust at trying to approach language through Dōgen. I am going to play with words a bit here: on the one hand, we have the idea of ‘turning words’, and on the other, ‘words that turn’. It seems that they are intimately connected, but their function, at least for me here, is different, where they highlight different processes of language and words in human life. 

Let’s first address ‘turn’ and ‘turning’. In both cases, we are dealing with a verb, that is an action, so it is something that ones does, is doing or has done. It seems important to notice the spatial sense of this term, where turning seems to require that someone is some-‘where’, and that they are oriented towards something or things, and therefore also, not oriented towards others. Orientation is necessarily a process of both concealment and revelation, and it is in the process of turning (or being turned) that one becomes re-oriented, perhaps ad infinitum. In other words, despite the fact that we are dealing with words and language, which are often thought to reside in an abstract domain, the emphasis of turning words and words that turn is that this process is not merely intellectual or theoretical, but is rather simultaneously embodied. Here then, we are drawing a very close connection between language (or words) and the lived experience of bodies, specifically human bodies, in the world. (Yes, I am making assumptions that there is a difference between bodies and the world, and that there are in fact bodies, but just go with me here for a moment.) 

 

So, what about turning words? There are two ways to think about this that come to mind for me. The first is that we could read this idea as the process whereby one intentionally misinterprets a word, phrase or idea in such a way that manifests an entirely different meaning than was originally intended. Here is an example that David Loy provides in one of his article’s that can be found on the Zen Site. Citing another scholar, he provides the following: “A simple example is Dogen's discussion of to-higan ... ("reaching the other shore") in the Bukkyo ... fascicle, which transposes the two characters into higanto ..., "the other shore's arrival" or "the other shore has arrived." The original meaning of higan ("the other shore," i.e., nirvana) dualizes between a future event and one's present practice aimed at attaining that event. The transcribed term no longer refers to a future event but emphasizes the event of realization right here and now.” Here we see Dōgen intentionally misinterpreting the original sense of a word or words, that is to say, ‘turning words’ in such a way that a new meaning arises. Turning words in this sense reconfigures and reorganizes words, that is, it re-orients them within a domain or space of meaning. This is only one example in Dõgen of this idea, and I am sure there are many others one might snuff out with a keen eye and a patient mind. But the main thrust here is that ‘turning words’ in this sense is utterly a process of re-interpretation and re-orientation. 

 

Now the second sense of ‘turning words’ that I want to address is the more embodied angle, where we emphasizes how ‘turning words’ turn our bodies too, and turn spaces and places, which is to say, they re-orient our bodies, sometimes radically. Here is one example. Imagine a monogamous couple, where one of the partners was unfaithful: they cheated, and they feel an unbearable amount of regret and shame for their infidelity. They have to tell their partner, otherwise the shame and guilt will consume them, but they know that in telling their partner, things will never be the same. ‘I cheated’, is an example of turning words, where both parties are radically turned, i.e. re-oriented in the words’ utterance. The one who is cheated on, after hearing these words, may recoil, withdrawing or contracting their bodies, literally turning away from their supposed beloved. Moreover, if the partners were dwelling together, sharing a space of residency, uttering, ‘I cheated’, might also turn those bodies in the sense that one or the other can no longer physically bear the idea of residing in the same physical space as their partner. The space in which they lived together is itself also turned, simultaneously reminding the one who was cheated on about the life and love they had together, but also their partner’s infidelity. As such, they are re-oriented to the space and the space is re-oriented toward them, it becomes untenably vexed, and they turn away from pictures of their vacation, or the couch where they spent so many evenings together watching movies and eating popcorn. Instead, they might only be able to muster the strength to turn for their closet, seek out their luggage, and finally turn toward the door. (Finally has two senses here: on the one hand, it could be a temporal sequence, where one has to gather their belongs before finally heading for the door. But the second sense is more important here, as the ‘turning towards the door’ does not mean the same thing it has in the past, as say, turning towards the door to go to work or the store. No, ‘finally’ here means the final turn, the last time one is on that side of the door, oriented in such a way, moving their body thorough that space and out of that particular opening. It is obviously also symbolic for the finality of the relationship, the final time they will occupy that space as such, and be oriented in such a manner.) The one who was cheated on may have no choice but to turn away from that space in total, removing their body from its confusing and painful reminders of a time before such an event occurred, before such turning words were uttered. So they go to their friend’s house, or their parent’s, turning away from those previous particular sets of places and spaces, and towards others. All of these bodily movements, the re-orientations and turnings of space and place are precipitated by the turning words, ‘I cheated’, and once they are uttered, both parties, as well as the spaces and places they inhabit or dwell in, are irrevocably ‘turned’ in different ways. 

 

There are a few other examples I can think of, so I am just going to rattle a few off so we get the sense I am aiming at. When a doctor tells a patient in a hospital bed, ‘I have bad news, you have terminal cancer’, these are turning words. When one utters these same words, reformulated, to a family member, say a parent or child, ‘I have cancer,’ these words too turn those parties. In the same way, getting a knock on the door or a phone call at 2am, where the recipient hears, “I am so sorry, but there has been an accident, X or Y person has died”, these are turning words. In the courtroom, ‘we the jury find the defendant guilty’, are turning words. ‘You’re fired’, are also turning words, the same as, ‘it’s over’, when uttered by a beloved. A more complex example is that of Althusser’s interpolation, where one is ‘hailed’ by a state sanctioned actor, perhaps a police officer, when they shout, ‘Hey you, stop!’ These too are turning words, turning us towards an entire governmental apparatus that is presumed to have the authority to decree and circumscribe our bodily actions at any given moment through the use of such 'turning words'. 

 

All of these, as well as many more, are examples of turning words, and highlight the way in which words are inherently tied to our being-in-the-world. This precise Heiddegarin phrase is meant to overcome or perhaps rather burrow below the distinction between subject and object. It is not a mere synthesis of the two, as a synthesis would reinforce that the original distinction was true in some sense, but only needed to be fused together. No, this phrase is not a synthesis, but rather a completely new concept that does not rely on and presuppose the primacy of the supposed original split between self and other, inside and outside, subject and object, etc. The word will not allow for such distinctions to even begin. One potential implication of this is that ‘the objective world’ can no longer be postulated as fixed or stable, or that it might have some kind of independent existence of its own whether we are ‘there’ or not. ‘Reality’, ‘the Universe’, ‘Being’, blah blah blah, is always and already ‘turning’ and ‘being turned’ too. Our being is not isolated or individual, cut off from ‘out there’, but is rather always and already turning and being turned by everything around it, and everything around it is also in the process of turning and being turned. I emphasized the bodily dimension here, but turning words don't just turn bodies, they more importantly turn one’s entire being, and therefore also can be said to ‘turn’ ‘Reality’, ‘the Universe’, ‘Being’, blah blah blah simultaneously. In the examples I gave, these ‘turning words’ are decisive moments in one’s life, from the Latin ‘decis’, meaning to cut off, where one is turning and is turned in radically new ways, towards different ideas, objects, sensations, spaces and places so on and so on, and the ‘turn’ is irrevocably away from previous orientations. They have been turned, are still turning, and cannot re-turn to before those turning words ‘turned’. 

 

I intentionally chose, as you might have gathered, ‘turning words’ that turn us in ways that we don’t always like, in ways that we actually dread: the ‘dark’ places, the ‘low’ places, the places and spaces that are agonizing and crippling. To be sure, there are ‘turning words’ that turn us in ways that we prefer, indeed ways that we strive towards. “You’re hired!” “You got the promotion!” “The cancer is gone.” “You are going to be a parent.”  “I do” in a marriage proposal; all of these too are ‘turning words’ as far as I can tell. But I draw attention to the undesired, the feared and loathsome in order to refrain from romanticizing the highs, the peaks and the precipices, elation, joy and happiness. To be sure, these are great, obviously, but we cannot be myopic when it comes to our perceptions and desires. In all of those spaces and place, where words turn one in ways we resent, Dōgen might stress that, yes, even there, maybe even especially there, nirvana is samsara. ‘Enlightenment’, ‘Realization’ or ‘Actualization’ is ‘there’, the ‘present’ ‘is’ ‘there’ as well, all of ‘it’ ‘is’ ‘there’. Seeing this, we might not fight those turning words so much, despise them and wish them ill omens, but we might, as it were, re-orient to our re-orientation. We might turn in our being turned, or turn again by turning and being turned. How this happens is beyond me, for I have failed, by my estimation, to realize that there is nothing to realize in reading those things that are supposed to ‘realize’ me. But as a theoretical point, I would maintain, thinking of the two darts or arrows, that our turning and being turned is inevitable, but we may also consciously and deliberately turn in response, and this is where we want to focus. 

 

I cannot stress this enough, and this was a key insight for me with regard to language in Dōgen: ‘turning words’ do not just apply to our conventional notion of ‘words’. Indeed, he even suggests, on p. 708, that mountains, rivers and the great earth also ‘turn words’. Now this is a tricky bit of work for me, as there are a few different ways we might take it. We could think that the mountain, river and great earth ‘turn words’ by being actively involved in the process of our use of language. Don’t our words, at least a lot of the time, have something to do with things like mountains, rivers and the great earth? Of course they do, you are reading the words that reference ‘mountains’, ‘rivers’ and the ‘great earth’. Indeed, we might even be said to take our cue of what to call something by first observing it, seeing, hearing, tasting or more generally experiencing it. This is not to say that there is an inherent relationship between ‘words’ and ‘things’, but only to highlight that the process is galvanized, at least in part, through our experience of ‘things’: we see a ‘tree’ and are compelled to call it something, to name it, so we say, ‘tree’.  As such, those ‘things’ ‘turn words’ in being a necessary feature of their manifestation and utility, but we might also say that in their turning words, they are also turned as well, as the words also turn them. 

 

Moreover, in saying that things like mountains, rivers and the great earth can utter turning words, Dōgen may even be thought to be ‘turning words’ in the first sense I mentioned. Our conventional thought is that words apply to language, specifically, human language, and that to apply them to things like mountains, rivers and the great earth is a category mistake: those things, in principle, do not ‘speak words’. But in turning words, that is, turning ‘word’, the space for enunciation is opened up into new and different territories. I am not sure what this looks like specifically, but it is an interesting line to consider. Maybe the idea is that the functionality is the same in both instances, where turning words in the sense outlined above functions in the same way that mountains rivers and the great earth also function: they are instances, experiences or moments in which one turns their being, and in turning as such, they are turned in turn. Turning words do no just refer to literal enunciations of sounds and syllables, then, but rather might apply to the general hum and buzz of the universe when one is in the throws of a mountain, river or the great earth. The cacophonous drone is then not mere background noise, but rather functions as turning words if we were to pay close attention. They can and do re-organize us, re-configure us, re-orient us, but in this case, it is not in the deployment of ‘words’ in the conventional sense. 

 

Now we are going to get a bit more abstract in the idea of ‘words turning’. I am thinking here of the kinds of words that I mentioned in my last post: beautiful and ugly, good and bad, true and false, etc. In all of these words, there is a necessity, at least as I would argue, that those words turn towards their opposites, or perhaps are already turned towards and by their opposites in a mutually reciprocal dance. At the same time too, though, those words are turned and turning in relation to an entire symbolic network of meaning, and it is precisely in turning and being turned in such a way that their respective meaning (re-)manifests. The turn is not, however, always and already ‘turned’, solidified and stable, but rather seems to be in a perpetual process of turning, oscillating here and there, constantly re-positioning and re-turning given an incalculable number of other variables at play. Take, for example, the idea of sexuality, which was not historically something someone said of themselves, that is, it was not an identity category that one used in articulating what kind of subject they were. Crudely, one just performed sexual acts with this person or that, and it was not thought to reveal anything substantial about ‘who they are’. But words turn, and in this specific case, sexuality arises as specific words turn. The process of engaging in a given set of sexual acts with a given body or bodies becomes an internalized expression of ‘who one is’ by the word ‘sexuality’ being turned toward personal identity and or subjectivity, as well as ethical prescriptions and interdictions. Another example is the word goodness and or ethical responsibility not historically being turned towards non-human animals, and only after Peter Singer’s book, Animal Liberation, was the process of these words turning towards non-human animals engendered. Now we hear things like ‘animal rights’, for example, which is an effect of the word ‘animal’ being turned toward a specific modern political ideology that speaks of things like ‘rights’ as good and desirable things that we must, at all costs, protect. One more example: for much of human history, at least in the West, it seems that some kind of authoritarianism (whether that be a theocracy or monarchy, an aristocracy or empire) was linked with ‘goodness’. Which is to say that authoritarianism, as a general catch all term, was turned toward the idea of goodness and justice. To be sure, not all authoritarianism is given the same weight, and there are better and worse ways of it manifesting, but in general, it was the preferred method of governing for many years (at least for the dominant and hegemonic classes, the ones we hear about in ‘history’). It has since turned in a different manner, towards the word ‘bad’ or ‘unjust’. Is this not one of the main motivating forces of all the Western interventions in the Middle East, i.e. that anything that is not democracy is turned toward ‘evil’ or ‘injustice’, and therefore we are told we have an ethical responsibility to fix such issues, to re-orient those governmental institutions towards democracy? Words turn, and in doing so, turn us and turn themselves. The upshot here is that one might look at our entire linguistic domain as some kind of ongoing organic process, and therefore not at all fixed or static in any real sense. Indeed, the various discourses are turning and are being turned, vacillating and vibrating depending on any number of different historical, material and other variables or conditions. 

 

Words that turn are important in so far as they highlight the utter contingency of certain relations of words to other words, and the relation to a wider discourse. In recognizing this, we might become more hesitant to naturalize certain things or ideas that actually only manifest given that words turn in various ways, sometimes new sometimes old, and therefore are not at all natural, but rather the effect of words turning (and re-turning) in a contingent historical environment. The emphasis on contingency is important, as it reveals not only that certain situations or relationships could have been different, but also were in fact different at another time, therefore loosening the grip of some kind of pure fatalism or determinism. Perhaps this is a point about impermanence, where we might go further and ask if impermanence is not itself a kind of determinacy… Who knows here? Not me. 

 

The overall idea here is this: in observing and investigating turning words and words that turn, it becomes obvious that our deployment of language cannot be over stressed. Although Dōgen does tell us to practice Zazen, I don't think he would say that we should always refrain from speaking or using words. No, words are incredibly important in the process of human life, as I said, they turn us, and are turned by us, whether we like it or not. More generally, it seems like a point about communication in total, for even if one were not to use words, the same point of turning and being turned remains if there is communication. This, to my mind, is precisely what communication is meant to do: turn us, and we use it to turn others. So we are not dealing with any kind of isolationism or a retraction from the world and all our connections to others therein. No, we are urged to go into it more fully, more aware, more observant and patient. We are dependently arisen, like everything else, and therefore always and already communicating, always and already turning and being turned. So it seems to me that Dōgen’s point is that this is ‘just how it is’, and therefore we have to be diligent and keen in paying attention to how communication manifests, in what forms and domains it operates, how we think it is functioning, so on and so on. In other words, we have to pay close attention to turning words and words that turn, as this is not an indifferent enterprise, but one that utterly implicates and saturates us from start to finish. At bottom, turning words turn our being, and in doing so, turn ‘the world’ too, but at the same time, we are turned by words, and turned by ‘the world’, and this overall process of turning and being turned might give us an insight into the various specific ways in which we are turning and being turned, and how we might re-turn in our turning and being turned.