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Friday, April 30, 2004


ETHICS - WEEK 5

Words and Ethics

Polonius: "What do you read, my Lord?"
Hamlet: "Words, words, words."
Pol: "What is the matter, my Lord?"
Haml: "Between who?"
Pol: "I mean the matter that you read, my Lord."

Hamlet, II.ii

I love words. Y'all may have noticed this by my frequent use of them. But it is true, I do love words. I love what they mean and might mean. I love what they do and what they do not do, what they can say and what they can say without saying it. Trevor's reference to a book called How to Do Things with Words and AKMA's revisiting the subject of his "Economy of Signification" today have caused me to want to write about words for this posting. I put up the quote from Hamlet, not only because it's one of my favorite quotes from the play, but also to demonstrate a master at work. (By so doing, I mean to say that in this quote you can understand the context of the question, 'Does mean mean mean?') It is said by the people who study these things that Shakespeare had a working vocabulary of about 6,000 words. People with genius IQ ratings today are said to have a working vocabulary of only about 4,000. That is quite a difference! (Working vocabulary does not mean all the words which you can successfully define, but those words which you are able to employ without hesitation or error. Once, I tried counting for myself, but that was a project that quickly became not only silly, but tiresome.) So, words.

Sticks and stones...
Yeah, yeah, yeah. We all know the saying, and we all know just how untrue it is. Sticks and stones may break your bones but words will pierce your heart. That, though a bit cliched itself, is more along the lines of truth. There is a power in words that can be harnessed to both effect and affect great things, to forever bind together and to forevermore tear asunder. It can safely be said, then, that those of us who use words must do so with extreme caution. With such magic on the tips of our tongues, we ought to at least understand that of which we are capable. Good poets know this and know as well the lasting effects of words. I am thinking here, by way of example, of Edmund Spenser's famous
sonnet. Philosophers, too, know well the powderkeg potential of wordsmithery, such as described aptly by Umberto Eco when he said in his novel The Island of the Day Before: "...the philosopher is like the poet. The latter composes ideal letters for an ideal nymph, only to plumb with his words the depths of passion. The philosopher tests the coldness of his gaze, to see how far he can undermine the fortress of bigotry." However, I'll leave it to Siobhan and Michelle to provide a better example here, as my knowledge of philosophers is woefully inadequate. Finally, Jesus also knew the binding and loosing power of the Word.

"I just wanted to sing you a song..."

As I'm supposed to make this post personal, I add here a brief personal story. In early December of 2001 I was (though I didn't know it at the time) going through a long, drawn out, and somewhat unpleasant break-up with a young lady of my acquaintance. Now, not out of any great desire to protect her identity, but for common courtesy's sake, I'll change her name to Gina. Gina was an odd cookie and I think that was what first drew me too her. There was an innocence about her that seemed not to fit in the realm of college life. In any event, it was final's week, and the past few weeks of the relationship had been particularly strenuous. I really liked Gina, and wanted things to work out, but it just didn't look like it was going too. She had made some personal choices that didn't jive well with me and our continued relationship. At the end of this week, I could go home and get away from it all. However, before that, Gina calls me up and says she has a Christmas present for me, but that I need to come over to her room to get it. So I go, somewhat hesitantly. When I get over there she tells me she wants to sing me a song on the guitar. Now, given my absolute scarcity of musical talent, for someone to tell me their gift to me is a song is one of the most meaningful things I can imagine. I thought, perhaps, she had rethought some things and maybe it would work out. Then, she announces that we have to go to this guy's (we'll call him Andy) room down the hall, because he is also going to play the guitar. Remember those personal choices she had made that I mentioned? Andy was the guy with whom those decisions were put into action. So now, I am feeling awful. Her gift to me has gone from being beautiful, to being something I have to endure. The song she chose to sing for me, with Andy on the guitar, was "Leavin' on a jet plane". Somewhere in there it talks about how times have been rough and now someone is leaving (akin to us leaving for Christmas break) but that when we all get back, "I'll wear your wedding ring." I left the room about as fast as I could. In a phone call over the break, I expressed my anger over what she had done with the song. I explained to her that lyrics, words, carry a powerful message and are highly effectual. Her response, "I didn't think about that, I just wanted to sing you a song..." Needless to say, we did not remain together. But, that just illustrated to me so powerfully what words, sung or said, can do. And if words can do that in a vacuous context like this, what can they do in the Eucharist?

Words, words, words...


-R

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