In being also ignorant of itself, this wide ignorance of English
partakes of all that is most hopeless in ignorance. Except among a few
writers and critics, there is little sense of defect in this matter.
The common man does not know that his limited vocabulary limits his
thoughts. He knows that there are "long words" and rare words in the
tongue, but he does not know that this implies the existence of
definite meanings beyond his mental range. His poor collection of
everyday words, worn-out phrases and battered tropes, constitute what
he calls "plain English," and speech beyond these limits he seriously
believes to be no more than the back-slang of the educated class, a
mere elaboration and darkening of intercourse to secure privacy and
distinction. No doubt there is justification enough for his suspicion
in the exploits of pretentious and garrulous souls. But it is the
superficial justification of a profound and disastrous error. A gap in
a man's vocabulary is a hole and tatter in his mind; words he has may
indeed be weakly connected or wrongly connected--one may find the whole
keyboard jerry-built, for example, in the English-speaking Baboo--but
words he has not signify ideas that he has no means of clearly
apprehending, they are patches of imperfect mental existence, factors
in the total amount of his personal failure to live.

This world-wide ignorance of English, this darkest cloud almost upon
the fair future of our confederated peoples, is something more than a
passive ignorance. It is active, it is aggressive. In England at any
rate, if one talks beyond the range of white-nigger English, one
commits a social breach. There are countless "book words" well-bred
people never use. A writer with any tenderness for half-forgotten
phrases, any disposition to sublimate the mingling of unaccustomed
words, runs as grave a risk of organized disregard as if he tampered