My books have always been good friends. For decades they peacefully sat side by side in my crammed, modest library. Their proximity allowed them to engage in philosophical discussions, organize intellectual debates, and express different viewpoints and air opinions on a variety of issues. Never in the past had their intellectual activities resulted in a fall out or given rise to a conflict.
Last week, however, I overheard a fierce argument between my British dictionary and its American friend over the definition of words that we use in our everyday language. I also noticed, with deep concern, a widening generation gap between the wise, aged dictionaries and their robust, young descendants.
The old, infirm American and English dictionaries insisted that “gay” was an adjective, which meant “cheerful”, “merry” or “happy”. Their argumentative young descendants insisted that the word was no longer used in that sense and pointed out that years ago the wayward word deserted its family of “adjectives”, shed its old skin, acquired a new meaning and was adopted by the liberal family of “nouns”.
The conservative, aged dictionaries were keen on saving the reckless word from what they considered a fate worse than death. They turned to Paul Johnson for help. He was willing and ready to assist.
Johnson argued that there was no historical case for homosexual ownership of “gay” and pleaded with the straying word to return to its biological parents. “Gay” refused to take advice from someone it considered representative of an old, narrow-minded, backward, fundamentalist, extremist generation, out of touch with the facts on the ground. Johnson’s endeavors were all in vain.
The broken-hearted, old dictionaries are, at present, being comforted by a language critic, who complains that it has become ambiguous to call a cheerful person or thing “gay” or to wish someone “a gay journey”. He argues that the “special-interest” use of gay undermines the correct use of a legitimate and needed English word. And as if the above trouble was not enough.
For a long time my Arabic dictionary lived in peace and harmony next to its American and British neighbors. They shared a friendship based on mutual respect and mutual understanding and never had an argument. Lately they have quarreled, like cats and dogs. They have totally failed to agree on a definition for the word “democracy” that they would both accept.
My aged, well-respected Greek dictionary had been watching the unfolding drama with mounting anger and great consternation. It finally decided to take proper action to protect its cultural heritage and to defend its legal borders. The infirm dictionary was badly, but not fatefully, injured in the attempt. It submitted an appeal to the wise history book, complaining that the fighting parties were trespassing on Greek territory and explaining that many of the words used today — monarchy, aristocracy, tyranny, and oligarchy and of course democracy — would not have existed had it not been for the ancient Greek civilization and the wisdom of the Greek people. It lamented the fact that succeeding generation of “think tanks” have tampered with the word “demokratia”, changed it into “democracy” and put it into bad use. It expressed strong objection to the adoption of modern definitions for words of Greek origin. It asked the sage book to pass a resolution that guarantees cessation of all unlawful activities, namely the use of ancient Greek concepts as instruments of cultural cloning and pretexts for suppression, oppression or the illegal annexation of land.
After paying homage to ancient Greece and expressing regret for the injury inflicted on the well-respected Greek dictionary, the history book said it was sorry that an enlightened discussion had developed into a vicious conflict. It expressed concern that if unresolved, the conflict could turn into a bloody war.
The sage book proceeded to blame the parties for fighting over a word that they did not understand and a term whose development and origin they intentionally or unintentionally ignored. It indicated that there had never been and could never be a single definition for the word “democracy”. It explained that the Greek word “demokratia” was itself ambiguous and pointed out that, while the word literally meant “people power”, it was never clear who those people to whom the power belonged were. Were they “all the people”, “the aristocrats” or “the masses”? It stressed that “demos” could mean any of these three and consequently “demokratia” could mean either the rule of the mobs or the rule and the dictatorship of the proletariat.
The well-informed history book brought to the attention of all the parties a theory, which claimed that “demokratia” was coined by members of the aristocratic elites, who could not accept being outvoted by the common people and were, therefore, the real enemies of democracy.
It went on to explain that Greece was a collection of about a thousand and a half “poleis”, or cities, scattered around the Mediterranean and Black Sea like “frogs around a pond”, as Plato described them. By the time Aristotle appeared on the scene (4th century BC) there were hundreds of democracies, of which Athens was the most long-lived and the most radical.
The erudite book lamented the ignorance of the quarrelling parties and advised them to read “Demokratia for Dummies” — a book that should be taught in every political science course and that should enrich every library.
