delara, interrupted

“There are seasons, in human affairs, of inward and outward revolutions, when new depths seem to be broken up in the soul, when new wants are unfolded in multitudes, and a new and undefined good is thirsted for. There are periods when to dare, is the highest wisdom.” (William Ellery Channing)

I have a list of words. I know, that sounds odd. What’s new? It’s a list of words I love: words that sound good to hear, that feel good to say, and that have “kind of cool” definitions, as StrongBad might say. It’s a very long list. It includes words like revolution, thirst and synecdoche. I admit that I’m a nerd and a logophile. What can I say? (Lots, actually. Haha.) I am fascinated by language and how we use it. It ought not to be a surprise to anyone to know that the out-of-print English Review Grammar by Walter Kay Smart is among my top five favorite books. Ever. I have two copies of it. No, really I do.

Recently, I have been reflecting quite a bit on the word synecdoche. Kind of sounds like the city in New York. And now begins our English lesson for the week…

For background, metonymy describes a figurative expression in which we use one word or expression in replacement of another with an associated meaning. It is a replacive relationship. So, for example, in the metonymic phrase “the pen is mightier than the sword,” (all you SNL “Jeopardy” sketch fans, hold your laughter,) the words “pen” and “sword” replace the broader concepts of publishing/writing and military force. Another example of metonymy is, “that car rear-ended me,” where me = my car. We say this stuff all the time, yo.

Synecdoche is a specific kind of metonymy in which a part is used to signify the whole or vice versa. So, an example of synecdoche is “lend me your ears” where ears signify the greater concept of hearing, or “all hands on deck” where hands (being parts of the body) represent the crew members on a ship.

While I love to just say the word synecdoche because it’s fun, the concept of using a part to replace the whole intrigues me. It resonates very strongly for me when I reflect upon the last six+ years of my life—at least up to the point at which I had both an “inward and outward revolution,” as Channing so eloquently put it.

It occurs to me that we often use synecdoche in reference to people in our lives. I may introduce Lacey as a newlywed, for example. Or I may say Andrew is an artist. And while I know these are simply ways of identifying aspects of personality, identity or interests of people, it is so easy for us to allow these parts of people to signify the whole in general. So easy, and so dangerous at times.

For a long time, I resisted the concept of being called someone’s “wife.” To be perfectly honest, the word creeped me out. For real. This is insanely ironic when you consider the fact that from the age of 15 or so I had dreamed of getting married and being a wife. But when it came right down to it, I didn’t like the idea of being someone’s wife. And I really didn’t like the word. Nor did I like the title “Mrs.” so I refused to use it. That stems more from the fact that I understood it to be a contraction for “Mister’s,” indicating possession by marriage. (It’s really short for Mistress, but still…)

To me, being someone’s wife was a kind of synecdoche—I held onto the concept as though it represented the whole of me. I took it very seriously and invested HEAPS of energy, time and focus into being what I defined as a good wife, primarily because marriage and family were vitally important to me (and still are) on a principle level. I defined myself as though being a wife was the same thing as being me, giving it a complex set of sub-categories like lover, confidante, helpmate, spiritual companion, friend, and so on. But all those mini-roles added up to being someone’s wife. And on some deeper level, I had a problem with that.

There is a quote about marriage I read once a long time ago that has always moved me conceptually and spiritually. It refers to the way in which the union between a man and woman creates a “third and subtle entity” that must needs be continually nurtured and developed. (Of course, for the life of me I can’t find the reference to that specific quote now! So, if you’ve got it, pass it on.) I love the idea that the coming together of two individuals—rather than creating a fused amalgam in which neither is easily identifiable—creates a third entity, almost like a lovechild, that doesn’t take away from or diminish either individual. David Schnarch describes a process called differentiation that involves a balance between two basic life forces: the drive for individuality and the drive for togetherness. Through the creation of a third entity, this balance is, perhaps, more elegantly supported and maintained. When we fuse completely with another person, however, the balance is upset. And then we don’t like the idea of being someone’s wife.

It is much easier to succumb to this kind of emotional fusion when we don’t know ourselves very well or when we haven’t really learned how to stand on our own two feet and really be OK with ourselves. And I mean OK in a way that is unshakable, in a way that honors and recognizes our innate nobility as God’s creation, in a way that acknowledges we were meant to be perfectly imperfect by design. When we don’t know ourselves, we are apt to meander off the path onto avenues that do not serve us very well, even though they look so pretty at first glance. When we don’t know ourselves, we are likely to replace the whole with a part, for a short period of time or for a lifetime. And although literary synecdoche is viable and even clever at times, human synecdoche misses the mark and denies our elegant complexity, keeping us apart from the whole of what we know to be true in our heart.