I’ve been getting into a gentle tizz over at Botany Photo of the Day and The Human Flower Project on the subject of names. Latin names. OK, go ahead and mock; most people do. But the fact is that, pace Wittgenstein, names do have meaning inasmuch as they allow us, in the absence of the thing itself, potentially to agree on what that thing is.
Over at the Human Flower Project, Julie is merely perplexed by trying to work out the literal meaning of some Latin names. That’s easy to understand. It is a different language, and one has to learn how it works. Echinocereus could, at a stretch, be a hedgehog carrying a candle, but it is much more likely to be a candle bearing spines. At least Julie is trying (and I’m glad she wasn’t growing Mammillaria longimamma).
But when Daniel at BPOTD refers to a plant as giant rhubarb or Chilean rhubarb, I get a little upset because the plant he shows is not a rhubarb, or even closely related to rhubarb (and to be fair, he was contrite about using the common name). If you were hungry, came across it, knew it as a rhubarb and also knew enough to cook rhubarb first, it still might not do you any good. The common name also begs the question of just what plant is in the photo. Originally identified as Gunnera manicata (the name on its label) it has since been re-identified as Gunnera tinctoria. Why? Among other reasons, because G. tinctoria is smaller than G. manicata which, as it happens, is also known as giant rhubarb; I am not happy with there being something bigger than a giant, among gunneras or anything else.
In other words, giant rhubarb does nothing to identify the plant species in question. Gunnera tinctoria does. (So does G. manicata, of course, but wrongly.)
Another visitor to BPOTD, however, disagrees: “Once seemingly inappropriate common names are in use that use is a part of reality. Leaving them out of an account is an omission of facts about the plant in question.â€
As I said there, that simply is not true. Which of these flowers is black-eyed Susan?
Both, obviously, or I wouldn’t be bothering.
It isn’t as if the tyranny of the majority operates either. The world didn’t vote on what the name of either of those plants should be (in English). And even if it had, who would enforce the decision? But we could agree that, in order to discuss them, we could call one Rudbeckia hirta and the other Thunbergia alata. Botanical taxonomists would still discuss whether some names were correct and proper, but that would be a specialized discussion for the good of all, and the number of cases in dispute is actually tiny.
I like Latin names because once you have cracked the code, they are descriptive. They give an indication of relationships too, which can be handy. I’ve never understood, for example, how the same plant can be both a chick pea and a garbanzo bean. Is it a pea or a bean? Is a sweet pea sweet? Is it even edible? And back with the rhubarbs, false rhubarb is a real rhubarb (Rheum rhaponticum), but I’d sooner eat garden rhubarb (Rheum rhabarbarum).
In the end, names matter because they aid accurate communication. Latin names happen to make that communication easiest.
Mammillaria longimamma photo from Hobby Fotografie. Rudbeckia hirta photo from Shooting Star Native Seeds. (Slightly mislabelled) Thunbergia alata photo from petrichor on flickr.
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All true enough, but seriously dude, you need to get out more.
Seconded. Perhaps getting out you might meet a real black-eyed Susan.
It’s easy enough for you guys to mock — and didn’t I give you permission to do so? But scribbling this sort of stuff does me more good than getting out more. And Andy, I doubt The Squeeze would be too happy with your suggestion. Writing for myself, and people who care to read it, keeps me sane, and it is pure coincidence that I happened yesterday to be writing about names.
Also, using misleading common names invites the ignorant to be obnoxious, i.e., “no no, I know what a Black-eyed Susan looks like, and that isn’t it!”. Consider: the five-petaled orange flower, presumably R. hirta, is unfamiliar to me. I grew up calling the daisy-like T. alata by that name, and until five minutes ago I didn’t even know there *was* another namesake.
David, thanks for your insights. And you’re right about unfamiliar common names inviting obnoxiousness. But I shouldn’t have played games with you either; I should have labelled the photos properly. The five-petaled flower is T. alata, which is a climbing vine. R. hirta is the daisy-like one. The Rudbeckias are all those wonderful late-blooming prairie coneflowers.
Perhaps I am now vulnerable for a comment from Luigi, but thought you’d be interested to hear that the five-pettled T. alata in my area (tropical montane forests) is a horrendous invasive that eats up forests. It’s quite beautiful to see a blanket of those flowers, but it’s a serious pest. The Spanish common name for it is Susanita (remarkable internationality in common names) but also Ojo de Poeta, literally meaning Poet’s Eye. Needless to say, Poet’s Eyes is the name of a number of other species, for example http://wholesale.thompson-morgan.com/us/es/product/6960/1.
Perhaps Jeremy could become an expert in the flower six degrees of seperation game? Perhaps the Baobab is just 3 names away from the black-eyed Susan? We could call it the Black-Eyed Susan game. If Jeremy were to become an expert, no doubt Luigi would have something to say about it.
See Andy, I’m a forgive and forget kind of guy, so welcome aboard the good ship Latin Names Help Us Communicate, with your realisation that if you had referred merely to Poet’s Eye few would have realized what you were going on about.
Actually, there is a version of 6 degrees of separation in “proper” names that I’ve toyed with for a long time. I could call it the Limnanthes game, in honour of Poached Eggs (no bacon). But I’m not absolutely sure where to start, or end. Am I being too mysterious? I’ll see if I can come up soon with a meaningful post to get the ball rolling.
Look dudes, I think Latin names are absolutely essential, but it is undeniable that they put people off. Fuck ‘em, you’ll say, and I’m tempted to agree, but that would be an admission of defeat. There’s got to be a way of making nomenclature interesting. Having said that, local names (and their history) also have a fascination – and ethnobotanical importance – of their own. CAn’t we all just get along?
Hey, Luigi, I admire your public-spirited attitude, but I have met countless individuals who aren’t worth educating:
they aren’t happy with knowledge unless it’s easily acquired; they don’t even care if it’s accurate — “easy” is the charm. No, we can’t all just get along. Sometimes
one’s sanity needs cordial distance.
J.D.; does it count as edumacation if it is easy? Part of me thinks not.