30 March 2017
Going With The Flow
Dealing with rivers.
By Chin Chin
And about time too, if I may say so. At long last the principle that a river is a person is beginning to be officially recognised. The Whanganui River in New Zealand has been made a person by Act of Parliament so that a board can make decisions for its protection. Much more significantly, however, the Ganges and Yamuna rivers in India have been recognised by the Uttarakhand High Court as individuals, albeit as minors. As courts declare rather than make the law, that means that they have always been individuals but that now a lot of money has been spent on lawyers in proving it. What an absurd waste. I could have told them for free if only they had asked me.
The clue of course is in the Latin. “Flumen” meaning “river” is a neuter noun of the third declension and if you paid any attention at all in your Latin lessons you will have learned that the vocative singular is also “flumen”. That’s right, the vocative. “Flumen” is the word you use when you address a river and there would have been precious little point in including it in the Latin language if it was never going to be used. There you are. The Romans knew. Paul Robeson knew or he would not have sung “Old Man River”. Everyone who is worth listening to knew. It has just taken the authorities a very long time to catch up.
Now one of the difficulties with rivers is that they are not very good at writing letters. You can stand on the bank throwing in bottles with messages for as long as you like but most rivers will never send you a reply. They are children in matters of correspondence and that is how the Indian judge spotted that they are in fact minors (what adolescent ever willingly wrote a ‘thank you’ letter?) and require parents to act on their behalf. Still, there is nothing odd about that. There are lots of legal persons who only act through human representatives. Companies, for example, can do nothing unless it is done by their directors or employees. Bishops have an even more complicated problem.
We all have our own image of what a bishop should be. For some it is a godly man, spare and ascetic. For others a prince of the Church, living a comfortable life in style, at least if you like purple. But some things are accepted by all. A bishop wears a mitre and is a figure of substance. The latter point is hardly surprising when you bear in mind that a bishop isn’t just one person but two.
In his private dealings a bishop is a man or woman much like you or me; however, in his official life he is also a one-man corporation – known as a corporation sole (there seems to be something fishy afoot here, surely it should be “corporation soul”, but anyway it isn’t). This duality means that when he signs a document, its effect will depend on which capacity he is acting in. Presumably it also means that from time to time he will write letters to himself in his other capacity and, like Pooh Bah in the Mikado, may have to reject his own proposals. As man he might ask for a holiday, but as Bishop it could be his duty to refuse the request.
One of the interesting questions is how he addresses himself when he writes a letter. “Dear I” does not sound right at all and “dear me” sounds as if he has just dropped the milk. Crockfords will tell you that a bishop is formally addressed as “My Lord” but, whether that or the more colloquial “Bishop” is used, any lengthy correspondence is going to become confusing.
The Romans with their fine collection of vocatives would have known just how to address a river or any other inanimate person for the matter of that. Every schoolboy learned that “mensa” can mean “O table”, but somehow addressing tables has become less common over the years. The last time I saw it was a few years ago when there was a fashion for genteel refined people to use writing-paper headed “From the desk of….” A distinguished lawyer of my acquaintance received something in this vein and began his reply “Unaccustomed as I am to corresponding with pieces of furniture…” As far as I recall he preceded it with “Dear Sir”.
Well, we’re going to have to brush up on modes of address when in New Zealand or in India if we are to address their rivers correctly.
Unfortunately, however, etiquette does not end there. There is the question of how you should seat a river if you ask it to dinner. It is unlikely to come in person, of course, but will send its parents or representatives. Still, they have to be seated and although the books of form will tell you whether an earl outranks an ambassador, you will look in vain for guidance on whether a river takes precedence over a member of the Privy Council. Perhaps then the best thing is to avoid formal invitations for the time being and just to ask rivers to more casual affairs. That will be easy enough in New Zealand with its emphasis on informal dining. In India, it may mean a relaxation of etiquette. But, after all, these things change from time to time in any event and the best rule is probably just to go with the flow.
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