By means of certain noises, such as hisses and grunts, producing in
combination various sounds, created by manipulations of the muscles of
mouth, jaws, lips, throat, and tongue, thoughts are communicated among
mankind. Before language was well developed there must have occurred
many oddities of expression. Doubtless numerous misunderstandings
resulted by reason of different words being used for names of one
and the same object. But as the tailless varieties of bipeds adopted
lingual methods of communication, certain sound-tags have at last
come to stand for definite material objects, thoughts, and feelings.
Thus words have meaning. Vocal labels which express whole ideas are
not easily misunderstood. When I use the word potato, I make a mental
image of a succulent tuber, white inside, and with a surface of brown,
red, or gray; a most convenient adjunct to roast beef. I convey to the
listener a conception in all respects similar to my own, he knowing
that I refer to a certain food product which grows underground. Thus,
without further description, a potato is known as a potato.
Acts are likewise named. We speak of a robber, a thief, a genius, and
a prostitute, and a whole idea is conveyed by each of these terms,
and quite a definite one. But the irregular tags which we attach to
many things--tags which convey an uncertain, double, or shifting
meaning--are most puzzling, and therefore remain quite outside of my
comprehension. The brain-fagging puzzle is the irregular label which
stands for effect, and carries an equivocal meaning with it;--own
cousin to the vessel that has a false bottom.
When I use the word thief I do not have in mind a general term which
applies to all persons that secretly appropriate property belonging
to another, for if one steals an overcoat and people know that he has
an overcoat at home and so has no need of another (and also that he
has the price to get himself an overcoat if he wishes), he cannot then
be called a thief; he is a kleptomaniac, which is a joke on stealing.
The word thief is used and applied only to the person who steals an
overcoat because he is sorely in need of one, or he needs the money
which the overcoat would bring him in the pawnshop. This man is a thief!
The term “thief,” besides explaining the act, carries with it also
a certain reproach. On the other hand, when I say “he made a good
bargain,” I mean that, while the fellow took the property of another
like the thief did, his act is deserving of praise; and a thief is
not a thief. When I call a man a robber, I am thinking of one who
takes property by brute force--a term which carries with it an odor
of ill-repute; a man to be avoided. But when I speak of some robbers
I call them soldiers. They are patriots who save the country--whose
career is one of conquest; and robbers are not robbers. The term
murder signifies the taking of the life of one human being by another
or others, and there is conveyed an idea of violence, cruelty, and
disgrace. But the infliction of capital punishment, which is also
taking the life of another may elicit my approval; and thus murder is
not murder.
The term prostitution implies a temporary, loveless, but pecuniary
relationship between man and woman, and it has disgraceful
implications; but I justify the pride of a woman who has made a good
catch; her act is like the other, but meets with my approval; and a
prostitute is not a prostitute. A fight is looked upon as an unmanly
and disgraceful proceeding, and one who will strike another with his
fists is described as being low; but let a thousand men fight with
another thousand, the act is called war, and I justify and praise it;
for a fight is no longer a fight. When a stronger person hits a weaker
we call it a cowardly act, and it is condemned; still a judge on the
bench said that should a man whip his wife, a mother her daughter, a
teacher her pupil, it is called discipline. Thus it is easy to be seen
that a potato is not always a potato after all, no matter how clearly
the word potato signifies the staying powers of the Irish stomach; no
matter how plainly the word calls to mind the irregular-shaped and
various-sized murphies which the farmer digs, sacks, and takes to
market.
Being what I am, I do not pretend to know when a potato is not a
potato, but I do know when a potato is a potato, and I know that I
know it. As an ignoramus then, I should like to be informed why it
is that an untruth is sometimes in plain English called a lie, and
at other times a piece of diplomacy; why should scandal passing from
mouth to mouth be called harmful gossip, and immediately it appears in
a daily paper is dignified by the name of news; why playing upon green
cloth is called gambling, while playing upon the susceptibilities of
financial lambs, who bleat on the floor of a chamber of commerce, is
called speculation. I am waiting for a man to arise who can explain
to me the difference between a libertine and a devil; who can tell
me why a beer-soaked laborer is described as being drunk, and a
champagne-saturated baron is spoken of as being exhilarated. Again,
who can make as plain as day the difference between hypocrisy and the
keeping up of appearances; or between a stuck-up woman and one having
a proud, haughty bearing. The latter I am sure could make clear to
me when a potato is not a potato. It is a fool’s privilege to ask
questions, and the wise may answer them in terms the scoffer cannot
understand.
Mary goes into symbolical gustatory raptures over beef steak and green
onions, while she does not care a single kitchen whiff for the names
with which these solid dainties have been labeled. The real joy lies in
the juicy steak and the succulent green onions which she masticates
so vigorously. Had our ape-like progenitors of the long ago named the
juicy steak and green onions loneliness and barrenness respectively,
Mary would have gone into raptures just as readily. She would have
ruminated the loneliness and barrenness of it all, while “darning” all
thoughts of steak and onions!
If “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” is there any
explanation to be had of the case in hand? Though if a rose, called
a skunk-cabbage, would smell as sweet, would a skunk-cabbage,
though called a rose, cease to present its pungent challenge to our
olfactories? If we were all skunk-cabbages would we delight in enjoying
our own odors? Of one thing only am I sure in this connection, that a
potato is a potato--sometimes.