Mysterical-E

The Hell You Say

WORD-MAGIC vs. THE MAGIC OF WORDS

For a modest introduction to “The Magic of Words,” look at The Arabian Nights, with its many fancy plots and wild verbal pictures that enrich the lives of its readers so that even though the story is told in plain old words, the overall effect seems magical.

The world is full of examples of the magic of words, and we readers spend a lot of time enjoying them. The writers who write these marvelous works don’t say, “I think I’ll take advantage of the magic of words.” What they are trying to do may well be called honest communication. And it doesn’t matter whether it’s a story, a poem, or something far removed from that, such as a scientific treatise: the wonderful effects well-chosen words can have may justifiably be called magical.

Among the tales in The Arabian Nights we find that of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. In it, we also see an example of a not-quite-closely related phenomenon, often called “word-magic.” To open or close the treasure cave the thieves -- and Ali himself -- must use so-called “magic words,” in this case, respectively “open sesame” and “close sesame.” When the wrong words are used, nothing happens. Everything depends on using word-magic -- with correct magic words.

At the moment we in the US are deep in the political season, and attempts to use word-magic are all about us. “Open sesame” seems like pretty mild stuff beside the modern plethora of attempts at word-magic today.
Let’s begin with a couple of fairly neutral ones. How many times can we endure being told that such and such a proposition (one the speaker favors, of course) is the third leg of a three-legged stool, needed to support something or other that everybody agrees is good? We know that when actual stools, say wooden ones, are being considered, a stool that has three can probably stand without further support, but that the same is not true if the number of legs is fewer than three. A coarser meaning of “stool” may come to mind, however, since few important matters share any real features with wooden stools. But the hoped-for magic of the expression “three-legged stool” never dies. If somehow it can be fancied that three supporting arguments or activities can be construed as relevant, the expression is bound to be raise its silly head, and the listeners are supposed to see from its use that the speaker’s position absolutely must be sound. It’s magic. Well -- it’s meant to be.

A bit less neutrally, consider the recently omnipresent “slippery slope.” Though it could be used by both of the main brands of American partisans, it is actually common among those who call themselves Conservatives, since they find it so delightfully alliterative in the phrase, “slippery slope to socialism.” Like the three-legged stool, we have here a figure of speech used to upstage disagreements, becoming, really, nothing but an attempted magical incantation. If we refer to some proposal as being on a slippery slope to some sort of axiomatic catastrophe, we need say nothing more: the magical words are intended to close the argument just as nicely as Ali Baba’s “close sesame” closed the mouth of his treasure cave.

Not that this sort of thing is entirely recent. Early in the history of the USA, proposals were made for Congress to authorize creation of various routes for transportation (then pretty much a matter of roads and canals) and although some were accepted and even created, others were rejected on the ground that they were “internal improvements,” and that “internal improvements” are not explicitly provided for in the Constitution, although others favored the projects so described. The point may have been that unless a project benefits one’s own state, it doesn’t matter whether it benefits the nation as a whole. Some sensible proposals were crushed under the weight of the magical expression “internal improvements.” At least one important highway bill, the Maysville Road bill, which did make it through Congress, was vetoed by then President Jackson, partly on the ground that it involved “internal improvements,” (though Jackson actually favored some such projects) and was therefore unconstitutional. (I haven’t looked up whether that was before the Supreme Court more or less took over final say on Constitutional questions.) The magic words “internal improvements,” often blocked Federal road-building all the way into the twentieth century, and, at first, kept not only the Federal, but also some state governments out of the way when the Yellowstone Road and the Lincoln Highway were proposed and constructed. Railroads, after they were invented, similarly couldn’t be Federally owned, though various subsidies to private investors were permitted (often in the form of huge grants of land). The Great Depression brought about a partial change of heart in the highway matter, and we owe our Interstate Highway system partly to President (and General) Eisenhower’s clever use of the magic word “military” in proposing it. Both national highway systems were careful to include all the states, however, so “internal improvement” may still carry some magical effect.

The phenomenon is by no means confined to these few examples. You can find others everywhere. As an example of a rather different form of word-magic, consider the way the specific word “apologize” has been forced into situations where it adds nothing tangible to whatever is under discussion. That is, no matter how much atonement is expressed for an error (or outright wickedness) perpetrated, often, by somebody else, or by one’s ancestors or even by the ancestors of somebody else, the word “apologize” must be uttered. Often all possible effort has been directed to amelioration of the evil, but unless the magic word is used, it just doesn’t count. It was “open sesame,” not “open barley” that got Ali Baba into the cave, and it’s the word “apologize,” not any other form of regret that enables one to avoid being tarred with a brush not necessarily truly appropriate for the person who doesn’t use the exactly right magic word.

But goodness, you should be able to spot attempts at word-magic for yourself! Here’s a start: whenever a figure of speech is used as if it were a definitive argument, you will discover that the words are being used as mere incantations, either trying to require us to believe in the user’s position with no valid reason for doing so or trying to discredit somebody else’s position without facing up to the necessity of proving it wrong.
How about us writers? Can we use word-magic to create more compelling scenarios? Well, maybe, but I think we shouldn’t. Writers will certainly continue to use words in wonderful ways, but that’s the magic of words, not word-magic. I see word-magic as cheating, and if I catch you trying to use it on me, it will piss me off, and I won’t read any more of your stuff! That’s also why I ignore talk radio, where it’s the stock in trade.

I do think word-magic must cast a spell on plenty of people, because otherwise politicians wouldn’t continue trying to employ it. You know, in such forms as “knee-jerk liberal,” or “greedy Republican,” or “tax and spend Democrat,” or, of course, plain old “three-legged stool,” and “slippery-slope.” You’re welcome to trust those stinking rats if you can manage it (i.e. if you don’t throw up easily). I decline to do so.