Words are Weeds

The Silvae Rhetoricae, the "Forest of Rhetoric," is a Web site I've turned to many times as a reference source for purposes of invention.
One of my favorite resources there is the list of tropes and figures derived from Greek and Roman rhetorics. From time to time I turn to this extensive list of tropes and figures because it's fun for browsing and exploring.

But also, this list--a particular act of naming--invites self-reflexivity about the use of language. In the Forest of Rhetoric, tropes and figures are classified under the heading "Flowers," in a taxonomy that is explicitly metaphoric. The category "Flowers" (which, as the site explains is derived from the Latin phrase sometimes used for tropes and figures, flores rhetoricae) suggests variety, beauty and ornamentation. In terms of variety, the garden of tropes and figures has much to offer, as Greek and Roman rhetoricians named hundreds. Now, some regard style as mere ornamentation, as that final touch one adds to make prose more beautiful or compelling. But perusing the list of hundreds, it becomes clear that style is not just about beauty or the force of language: even the most ordinary expressions have a style. (For example, see the entry on anesis.) Roman rhetorics reinforce this point with three general kinds of style, plain, middle and grand.

And as many have pointed out, style is not mere ornamentation, but in a turn of phrase condense complex persuasive processes. The figure anamnesis, "calling to memory past matters," is said to establish ethos, or the character of the speaker. A figure may encompass social rituals, as in the case of accismus, "a feigned refusal of that which is earnestly desired."

In short, one cannot not have a rhetorical style. The extensive list of tropes and schemes calls attention to the use of language as an art, or artifice. But in rhetoric, style is subjected to classification in a taxonomy with three levels of style, two broad categories of language, a short list of tropes (sometimes four master tropes, sometimes two, sometimes one). It's a very orderly garden.

Now, I am a terrible gardener, admittedly because I am lazy. For that and many other reasons I am grateful my neighborhood does not have a Neighborhood Association, a kind of governing body I regard as a threat to democracy. But to be less hard on myself, perhaps it's not so much laziness as that the weeds that appear on my lot don't bother me that much, and in fact I like the bluebells and the other plants that I can't name with the pretty white flowers that appear just around the beginning of summer. I only now pay attention to the little tree seedlings that pop up in my yard because I learned they are called "volunteers" and I found that kind of charming.

What I have is not exactly not a garden, because it's about minimal cultivation and I still have aesthetic preferences. With a little more effort I could create an oxymoronic "wild garden." So it's not a clear-cut choice between cultivating a garden or reverting to nature. And if I put more effort into my garden, I'd probably learn the names of all the plants that establish themselves in my yard, and pay closer attention to their cultivation--I'd be more active and involved.

Is the difference between a weed and a flower that one is left to grow under its own volition while the other is cultured? What kind of control do we have over words, and what kinds of wild turns might they take on their own?

"Words are weeds--pioneers, opportunists and survivors. Words are irreducibly 'tropes' or figures. For many commonly used words, we forget the figural qualities; these words are silent or dead, metaphorically speaking. But the tropic quality of any word can resurrect or erupt to spoil--or enliven--things for even the most literal-minded among us. In Greek, tropos means a turning, treipen to swerve, to not get directly at something. Words (not to mention sentences) trip us, make us swerve, turn us around; and we have no other options."

Donna Haraway, enlightenment@science_wars.com: A Personal Reflection on Love and War, Social Text, 50 (Spring 1997): 123-129.