Orwell is our go-to guy for the political perversion of language, but I discover that Ralph Waldo Emerson was on a similar track a century earlier. Corruption of character leads to “the corruption of language,” he wrote in “Nature.” “In due time, the fraud is manifest, and words lose all power to stimulate the understanding or affections.” Hoo-yeah!
Anticipating the Progressives who formed the national parks in the face of rapacious despoilers by almost half a century, Thoreau thought we should save our wild lands “for inspiration and true recreation. Or shall we, like villains, grub them all up, poaching on our national domains?” Well, the Republicans in the House have an answer to that: grub ’em up, sell ’em off, privatize ’em, turn ’em over to their cronies in the states to do as they see fit to line their pockets.
“True recreation.” Recreation in English originally meant refreshing oneself by taking in food, nourishment. Then it turned metaphoric: a nourishment of mental or spiritual consolation. Finally, more broadly to an activity for pleasure–a broader definition, yes, but one that seems to have constricted, like the word itself sometimes, as in “rec center.”
Yet rarely do our words reveal themselves so well as “re-creation.” And what a metaphor of the physical processes of life itself, constantly recreated, new cells replacing old. Much of your body is under ten years old. (But not all, and there, as they say, is the rub, if you’re inhuman enough to want to live forever.)
But there’s living right now to be done. I’m leading a Brooklyn Brainery walk at Croton Point Park to look for Bald Eagles on the 11th. We will ride up on MetroNorth and enjoy the extra scopes set up the good people of the Teatown Hudson River Eagle Fest.