This is the last chapter of The Final Product, you may want to go back to Chapter 2 or start at the beginning.

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I believe that now is the appropriate time to make some observations on the mysterious phenomenon the Martians called language. If I have heretofore avoided this, perhaps most captivating aspect of their culture, it is because it is also the most misunderstood.

But first, one word with respect to its bodily effects—for upon all that has been hitherto teeped on the subject of language, whether by travelers to Earth (who plead the privilege of gross ignorance as an old, immemorial right), or by archaeologists teeping without ever having opened their mouth to speak or used their ears to listen, I have but one emphatic criticism to pronounce: Nonsense!¹ For, it should be recollected that I speak from the ground of a large and profound personal experience, whereas most of the unscientific Aliens who have at all treated of language and even most of the celebrities who have claimed expertise on it, make it evident by the horror and disgust they express of it, that their experimental knowledge of language is none at all.² No one can hope to understand a thing if they hate it. Therefore, allow me to provide some knowledge of language and its import.

Strange as it may seem, the Martians at this time universally relied on their tongues and fingers in order to effect communication. They used these fleshy appendages to translate their thoughts and feelings into physical representations, which they called language, with the necessary result that the whole manifold of experience was divided into parts that were made to stand out in semi-fictitious isolation.³ Each Martian society had its own language and performed this artificial chopping up of the continuous spread and flow of existence in a different way.⁴ In addition, these physical representations worked in reverse upon their minds, acting as molds that shaped the course of their thought. Biological counter-adaptation had occurred.⁵

It is difficult to express—even in one of these languages of theirs—the Martian understanding of the nature of meaning and thought. It seems as though their reliance on languages encouraged the sensation that each of them was entirely alone in their existence. There is even evidence that, at times, they doubted the existence of everything beyond their own consciousness. Teeping dismantled all these archaic edifices.

Not surprisingly, this led to a great deal of bloodshed, but the Martians were entirely bewitched by their languages.⁶

There are a great many differences between language and teeping, but the main distinction lies in this—that whereas language disorders the mental faculties, teeping, on the contrary (if used in the proper manner), introduces amongst them the most exquisite order, legislation, and harmony.⁷ Language robs the speaker of his self-possession, teeping sustains and reinforces it. Language unsettles the judgment, and gives a preturnatural brightness and vivid exaltation to the emotions, to the loves and hatreds, of the speaker. Teeping, on the contrary, communicates serenity and equipoise to all the faculties, active or passive, and with respect to the temper and moral feelings in general, it gives simply that sort of vital warmth which is approved by the judgment.

A user of language is, and feels that they are, in a condition which calls up into supremacy the merely animal, too often the brutal, part of their nature, but the teeper (I speak of teeping simply as such, and assume a normal state of health) feels that the more intellectual part of their nature is paramount—this is, the moral affections are in a state of cloudless serenity, and high over all the great light of the majestic intellect.⁸

Chapter 4 tomorrow, same time, same place.

And, first, one word with respect to its bodily effects, for upon all that has been hitherto written on the subject of opium, whether by travelers in Turkey (who may plead their privilege of lying as an old immemorial right), or by professors of medicine writing ex cathedra, I have but one emphatic criticism to pronounce—Nonsense! Thomas De Quincey, Confessions of an English Opium-Eater 1821 ↩
But then it is recollected that I speak from the ground of a large and profound personal experience, whereas most of the unscientific authors who have at all treated of opium, and even of those who have written professionally on the materia medua, make it evident, by the horror they express of it, that their experimental knowledge of its action is none at all. Thomas De Quincey, Confessions of an English Opium-Eater 1821 ↩
the process of "lexation" or of giving words (names) to parts of the whole manifold of experience, parts which are thereby made to stand out in a semifictitious isolation. Benjamin Whorf, Language, Mind, and Reality 1941 ↩
Each language performs this artificial chopping up of the continuous spread and flow of existence in a different way. Benjamin Whorf, Language, Mind, and Reality 1941 ↩
Biological counter-adaptation has occurred, and in a sense forever. Philip K Dick, A Scanner Darkly 1977 ↩
Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of language. Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations 1953 ↩
But the main distinction lies in this--that whereas wine disorders the mental faculties, opium, on the contrary (if taken in the proper manner), introduces amongst them the most exquisite order, legislation, and harmony. Thomas De Quincey, The Confessions of an English Opium-Eater 1821 ↩
A man who is inebriated, or tending to inebriation, is, and feels that he is, in a condition which calls up into supremacy the merely human, too often the brutal, part of his nature, but the opium-eater (I speak of him simply as such, and assume that he is in a normal state of health) feels that the diviner part of his nature is paramount--this is, the moral affections are in a state of cloudless serenity, and high over all the great light of the majestic intellect. Thomas De Quincey, The Confessions of an English Opium-Eater 1821 ↩

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Footnotes