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“What’s
in a name? For, a rose by any other name smells just as sweet” (Shakespeare).
How
sentimental. But is this, one of the most well known lines from Shakespeare’s
tragedy Romeo and Juliet, accurate?
If, in fact, any other name would suffice just as well, let’s try it another
way, shall we?
What’s
in a thing? For, a thing by any other thing would smell just as sweet.
What
does that even mean? We took away every specificity there was in that line and
sloppily slapped in possibly one of the laziest words ever, as fillers for the
gaps–basically for the purpose of sapping away commitment.
“Thing.”
Ah, what a creation of a word. What a euphemism, what a cop-out! We say that we
like “things”. We do “things”. We possess “things”. We engage in “things”. Sometimes,
we even call ourselves “things”. So what are these things?
My
friend always derisively sneers out the word that is so often used to dub high
school relationships to express her malcontent and contempt for the thoroughly
wimpy descriptor. Seriously, what’s in a thing? For, a “thing” by any other
name would in fact be preferable.
The
word is so overused that the diction is…typical.
That behavior, that shying away from specificity, is absolutely
run-of-the-mill nowadays. For, our inability to articulate delves deeper to our
mental and emotional selves.
Think
of 500 Days of Summer. Remember that
girl no audience member really likes? She never wanted to put a name to her
relationship with Tom Hansen; she called it “labeling”. By doing so, though, she
made basically the whole…thing… well,
just that: a thing. It was a
facsimile of a sham, nebulous and confusing and frustrating to everyone
involved (except maybe her). She showcased some serious commitment issues while
in that scam of a relationship (and then goes on to actually get married to different guy!). Remember the frustration we all felt toward her lackeying,
her vacillating?
The
word “thing” is a safety blanket. We hide behind it, throwing it in front of us
hastily like Harry Potter’s Peruvian
Instant Darkness Powder to try and disguise our indecision. The word is
intentionally vague, and even complacent. It allows us to dodge making a real
commitment and putting any actual meaning into our activities, our persons, our
relationships–whatever we are replacing with the word–like the girl from 500 Days of Summer.
I
used to throw the word around equally casually, even in my writing; it was not
until I began working on college essays that I recognized the intolerably
cloudy and blank nature of the word. In college essays, one must be specific
and clear. No “things” could possibly be allowed. Despite the fact that I knew
my potential major and what I wanted to do following undergraduate education, I
found myself still clinging to this safety blanket, ducking behind maybe-sos
and half-baked back-up plans. But, there comes a time when we must grow up and
define ourselves, the same way growing children must discard their blankies or
teddies or thumb-sucking habits.
After
all, could we possibly be content to say that something cannot be known, and thus, just let it be? Say that we can’t
make up our minds, and so that’s that, nothing else to it? Can we leave our
decisions ambiguous and dwell contentedly in our muffled, nebulous cocoons? In
Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five,
the main character, Billy Pilgrim, lives in a self-induced state of complacency
and ignorance. His wife dies? “So it goes.” Billy passes by a homeless man
frozen to death? “So it goes.” He cannot expend additional effort trying to define
his feelings, trying to feel in the
first place, painful it would be, and so he stops and leaves it at “So it goes”
(Vonnegut). He is content to let these occurrences pass him by, to sit on the
sidelines. He never seeks; he merely watches and shrugs in blasé abandonment.
Bertrand
Russell discussed a similar type of person with the “practical man” in a
chapter entitled “The Value of Philosophy” from his book The Problems of Philosophy; the practical man is one who does not
seek to expand his mind through the pondering of apparently impossible
universal questions (of appearance and reality, infinity, the existence of
God), simply because the questions appear
impossible. The effort is not worth expending because nothing definite
would be gained, such a person might claim. He/she completely disregards the
fact that such endeavors are embarked upon so we can strive for better and
expand our minds–explore the “Not-Self” (Russell).
We
must attempt to know ourselves, then set out on forays toward the unknown, and,
above all, never stop seeking.
The
unformed sludge that happens to be liquid concrete is unstable and often
unidentifiable. It is quite unpleasant to passersby, being the oozing mire that
it is. Fully formed, though, concrete is the foundation of American roads and
gives us a level surface on which to keep moving smoothly forward without
stumbling.
We
must keep our words, and lives, concrete.
P.S. I want to write a "What am I thankful for" post, but I haven't had the time! Hopefully, that will be up soon. Also, I am quite the hypocrite because I say "thing" all the time. :(
