who know the trick â power over those who donât. It is an alphabetic way of whispering behind someoneâs back: they can hear or see that youâre talking but canât make out what youâre saying.
Ciphers reveal some important things about the alphabet. Making an alphabetic cipher (substituting one letter for another) drains the letter you are looking at from the purpose for which it was invented, which is to invite you to make a particular sound. The only things that matter in cipher-making, though, are the relationship between one letter and another in the ârealâ alphabet and then the relationship between the letters in the ârealâ alphabet and the alphabet being used to make the cipher. These relationships are mathematical â to do with sequences. In this sense, this reminds us that the alphabet Iâm using now, when viewed as a sequence, is random, more random than counting from one to twenty-six, where the sequence of numbers corresponds to the principle of increasing a quantity by one ata time. Nothing is added when you say the alphabet from âAâ to âZâ and nothing is taken away when you say it âZâ to âAâ. Itâs not even arranged according to any principle of how the letters are used when we speak or write.
Thereâs a reminder here of what the alphabet does beyond the matter of representing sounds. In âA is for Alphabetâ and âB is for Battledoreâ, Iâve shown a rather limited and elemental view of the alphabet. When we embed the alphabet in its real and actual use, we can see that it is a necessary part of a chain which goes far further than ârepresenting soundsâ. So, apart from when simply writing out the alphabet or playing with the letters as objects in themselves, we do not use the letters randomly. In use when writing, we group them according to what we want them to do when making words (and, on occasions, exclamations and interjections, and, with onomatopoeia, an imitation of sounds we hear).
Moreover, we donât make words randomly either. We put words into sequences or âstringsâ, governed by the grammars we invent. And we invent grammars in order to make sense. So while the alphabet is random, and while we say âletters represent soundsâ, in fact, the full picture is: âletters are there for us to make senseâ.
To give an obvious example: the letters âdâ and âeâ exist side by side in the alphabet. No one knows why they do. Saying âside by sideâ is in its own way a bit of maths or geometry. In fact, all the letters are equidistant from the ones next to them. The âDâ is like âEâ in the way âAâ is like âBâ or the way âUâ is like âVâ: they are side by side. As a result, one way in which letters in the alphabet relate is that they are related to each other by similar or different distances. So, we might say, âBâ is like âLâ because they are both five letters away from âGâ (one forwards, one back, but the distance is the same). This kind of thing iswhat Caesar, Alberti, Scherbius and the rest were able to see and use.
However, back with âDâ and âEâ: when we use them in language, we call on them to do a job based on linguistic principles, not mathematical ones. We do this frequently in English when saying â and therefore writing â âI walked from the bus stop to the station.â This is the â-edâ ending we invented in order to indicate that something happened earlier or âin the pastâ. In that sense, no matter what sound or sounds they make, âEâ and âDâ help us position events in relation to where we are now. Letters in context are doing a job in helping us make sense. This way of making sense is through âmorphologyâ â that is, the making and changing