The Common Names of Plants

The common names of plants used by different nations and languages were not coined by chance alone. If we examine the origin of these names, we find they are based on ancient legend and that the manner of applying these names sheds light on the intellectual process of an uneducated person.

Usually in common names we find profound symbolism as well as a kind of poetic elegance. Hence, these names are loved by simple people and embedded in their memories. However, these common names have their own plantlore, generally based on the folklore of the nation and its language. If one wishes to innovate such [Hebrew] names for them—provided the necessity for such innovation can be demonstrated beyond a doubt—one must first know the plantlore of different nations and languages and determine which of the common names will be best received in our language, both according to the spirit of the language and the spirit of the nation.

I do not think it necessary to innovate hundreds and thousands of common names all at once, especially within the halls of an academy, and it seems to me that for the time being, using the scientific names of plants is inevitable; time should be given, especially for the younger generation, to develop its own type of plantlore, that is, to naturally invent common names according to necessity and obligation.

This is the only way that names will be created for us, names which will be both beautiful and accepted. And let us not follow the path dictated to us by the honorable [Hebrew] Language Committee in its list of plants, in Volume 3 of Minutes of the Language Committee [Zikhronot va‘ad ha-lashon].

But before I criticize some of those names, I will allow myself to mention some rules and principles upon which most of the common names of plants among other nations are grounded.

Study of plantlore shows us the arrogance of early man, who decided that not only was he created in God’s image but that the entire world was created for him and for his needs alone. From this opinion was born the doctrine of signatures [signatura]: a system by which one could deduce which disease a plant could cure only through its external appearance and whether it somewhat resembles a disease or an affected member that it was supposed to remedy. They found a plant on the seashore, whose seeds are white and as hard as stones—they called it Lithospermum (stone seed, zerah-kaifah), and decided that it has the qualities to cure kidney stones. They found another plant that grows in clefts of rock, and called it Saxifraga (rock breaker, boke‘a-sla‘im), and decided that it certainly could break up and dissolve bladder stones. They found a plant whose stems are full of lumps like the neck of someone with scrofula, so they called the plant Scrophularia and decided that it could cure scrofula.

We can learn about the importance of certain plants among the ancients, not only because they served as food, medicine, or decoration, but also because many people and families, as a mark of virtue or a mark of pedigree, named themselves after a particularly important plant. The Romans, for example, in their courts and assemblies would voice their opinions by placing [beans in an urn]: a white bean to affirm and a black bean to negate. For this reason we find that one of their most honorable families was called the Fabiani, after the fava bean (faba). Likewise, the renowned Cicero was named after the chickpea (ḥumtzah), the Leutucini family after lettuce, and the honorable Coepiones after . . . the onion.

The original names of plants were often corrupted, and it is sometimes impossible to discover the meaning of a common name except by hypothesis or interpretation. For example, it is hard to determine the origin of the word borago, the name of a certain herb. Indeed, some want to derive it from the Arabic abu-[al-]‘arq, because the herb is used to induce sweating, or from late-Latin and Italian, borra, that is, hair, because the plant is hairy. But it is apparently more likely that the “c” was replaced by a “b,” so the original name was not borago, but cor-ago, that is, in Latin, “I bring heart,” because according to tradition, this plant was attributed the quality of strengthening and invigorating one who drinks water in which it was soaked.

Legends and moral lessons are connected to certain plants among almost every nation, and they may force a certain nation to use the common name. For example, the Brahmins habitually admire the benevolence of the oak, which shades the lumberjack even as he fells it, or the sandalwood (Santalum), which perfumes the air with every ax blow inflicted upon it; they use these images to teach that a saintly man should love and do good even to his enemies.

We have mentioned the vanity of ancient man, who thought that all plants were created for him alone—for his needs and his benefit. But even in our day one can still find legends that point to a nation’s wish to connect certain people to the world of flora. According to such legends, the futures of nations, cities, and kings are bound up with the fates of certain trees. Especially in this hour of crisis [i.e., before the outbreak of World War] one should note the legend entrenched in the hearts of the German people, that the fate of the Kaiser is connected to a particular giant, old pear-tree in the Unsterberg. If that tree withers, the power of the emperor will be depleted as well. For when the German Kingdom [Holy Roman Empire] was dissolved in 1806, that tree stopped flowering; but in 1871 it suddenly came to life again, bearing flowers and fruit [when Germany was united].