Adventitious Carols 6: Jing Le Belles

jing le belles
jing le belles
jing le all the way
o what fun it is to pun
bilingually today-eh!

da sheng through the snow
on a one-horse ou pen sleigh
o'er the fields we go
mandarin all the wei..

's Wordplay

I live in a fantasy realm, as do all of you; for the medium of communication does not exist except in our minds — without mind, there is no meaning to language. Hence each word we engrave or recite or thoughtfully deploy — that word is a fantastic creature, whose meaning arises only in imagination and the life of the neural net.

And so in my head, Raymond Chandler is a person whose name is associated with both wisdom and wickedness (Raymond = 'counsel-guardian', Chandler = 'candlemaker'). And also some of the most beautiful crime novels ever written in American.

When I see the name of Alistair Cooke, I think of letters from America, and also of intestinal fortitude (Alistair = 'defender of men', Cooke = well, 'cook').

And here I sit and look at the bookshelf in front of me, and I think of Jacob the deceiver (he who ensnares another's foot) and Robert Frost as a cold hard brilliant intensity (Robert = 'fame-bright', Frost = 'frozen-ness'). There is no end to it, nor do I desire such interminably. I am content. And so is my blog.

Making the World go Round

The sweet scent of sanctimony. Antimony. And other monies.

Or is that sanctinomy, antinomy, and other nomies?

Painting

When I think of 'paint', I think of it as a past tense of 'pain'. But that would make 'faint' the past tense of 'fain', which it clearly isn't.

Yet there is something about painting that is cathartic in a way that fainting is not.

Femfic

Recently, a friend of mine used the term 'femfic' to describe a subgenre of literature written by women and/or for women, and often for women whose orientation is towards other women. I suppose it is similar to 'fanfic', a subgenre of literature written by fans of someone else's work and/or for fans of that work.

Then I realised how far you could take this. You could have 'malefic' as a male counterpart, or 'prolific' for the masses; physical dread could be 'horrific' and psychological dread 'terrific'. Sadly, this might cause some misunderstanding because such words already have reasonably broad exposure. Sigh... back to the drawing-board.

Misinterpretation

The science of analysis of language is dying. Over the last few weeks, what I write has been misinterpreted by otherwise intelligent people not a few times. That seems to be because they interpolate and extrapolate without sufficient justification.

I do try very hard to be careful with my words. However, in the past this has led to accusations of deviousness.

This is how it happens: I say or write something. Somebody else interprets it wrongly, looks stupid. Blames me for what I didn't say. Is shocked when I defend myself and then accuses me of being devious by laying a trap in my words for people to fall into...

Sigh. There is almost always a very good reason for putting my thoughts in such a form — I deliberately avoid saying things I don't mean or which I cannot verify; I use phrases like 'seems to be' or 'might imply that' when the degree of certainty is not as firm as I would prefer it to be.

Word of the Day: Myawn

Man, this is Mr Cat, said the cat. And having finally caught the man's attention, he opened his mouth wide and yawned, meowing.

Thus was the myawn created, and the cat felt that it was good.

Insensible, Insensitive

In these days of sociopolitical correctness, the horse comes before Descartes. This is never so evident as on the Internet, where people expect everyone to do their research before making noise.

However, while some kinds of research are obvious and should be expected, some are less so. Supposing you use the word 'git' or 'twit' in a descriptive (and mildly pejorative) sense. Then someone points out that it makes light of a large and much-abused group of people. Are you to blame?

On one hand, you should know it is pejorative. It might be a humorous term, a colloquial piece of micro-abuse in your circles, but it is meant to be insulting to some extent. See also 'lame', 'cripple', 'dumb' and other terms of endearment-abuse.

On the other hand, how would you know about other people's sensibilities and sensitivities? I would certainly be mortified to be cracking jokes about 'lame jokes' only to discover that my anonymous interlocutor was short a lower limb. But in most discourse, to call a joke 'lame' or to say 'this hardware is crippled' is not an attempt to make fun of the limb-disadvantaged.

As words take on new life, the mutability of semantic burden and historical burden affects their impact. Old Anglo-Saxon words once used as commonplace lexical items went through a period of stern, stiff censorship before becoming what they are now — almost-unweighted particles of expletive speech.

Just today, I was metaphorically hauled up by my collar and bastinadoed for lacking empathy when discussing why a certain term was insensitive when used about cemeteries and nature. I had some idea, which is why I've never myself used the word in my own communications (except those discussing the word itself as a subject). But I was stunned to see how vitriolic the 'you should have known' attacks were.

In a way, the attempts to keep discourse civilised are becoming as barbaric or tribalistic in their own way as what they are avoiding. People won't scruple at using expletives you might be sensitive to, in order to make their point about words they think others are sensitive to. And they will justify themselves by intensity of emotional response, and vilify you for attempting reason.

I have no issue, however, with people politely telling me why they think I shouldn't use certain words and where I shouldn't use them. That's what style guides and etiquette guides are for. Some words will offend pretty obviously, and a one should indeed avoid those.

Sistren

Yes, I've known for some time that the word 'sistren' existed; how could I not, considering my family's religious position? And yet, it has more or less been discarded by the remorseless advance of lexicographic history.

It is a pity that the -en suffix indicating plurality isn't used more often in English. Ah, the children, the children...

In the Beginning was the Word

I have dreamt about this line before. But it is no falsifying dream that is expressed in this phrase; rather, it is truth of a specific kind. It is Greek truth. En arche en ho logos, as they say.

And here I must make a key digression. In Latin, truth is veritas. The flavour of truth thus described is one involving 'verity' — truth that can be verified by faith or by epistemology. In Greek, truth is aletheia — 'that which is not lost', or 'that which is not forgotten'. It is a Holmesian kind of truth. [1]

The main thing is that truth is established by words. The use of words fixes structure, logos. The use of words creates a kind of baseline from which the degree of truth can be measured because the datum (Latin: 'that which is given') remains fixed. It is the reason why this blog is pretty sparse on graphics, pictures, videos — I think that they are less assessable for truth than words are.

Of course, that's a debatable idea. But again, the fact of debatability establishes the primacy of the word. You can debate in words, you can argue in words — it is harder (though not impossible) to argue with graphics, pictures and other visual material. Even in sign language, the signs stand for words.

=====

Note: [1] — in Arthur Conan Doyle's The Sign of the Four, Sherlock Holmes says, "Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth." He says five chapters later, "How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" This kind of truth is thus truth by elimination — aletheia.

Dictionary, Lexicon, Encyclopaedia

Sometimes, I am asked on what authority it is that I give definitions for terms. Why should my definition of 'science', or 'humanities', or 'education' (etc., etc.) be used instead of that found in the venerable Oxford or Merriam-Webster or whatever dictionary tome is the flavour of the decade?

The answer is a simple one.

A dictionary is a compilation of diction — that is, the uses to which words have been put. Most dictionaries are alphabetized lexicons — that is, they are lists of words in alphabetical order, with notes on their usual meaning and usage attached.

Some are encyclopaedic, which is to say they are meant to be both descriptive and prescriptive — they provide enkyklios paideia, as the Greeks would put it, an 'all-encompassing education' (literally, 'a (full) circle of child-rearing').

All definitions are provided by lexicographers who examine the typical diction (in the sense of usage) of a given word and from this describe the uses to which it is put. They do not tell you that you must use a word that way; they only tell you what it would probably mean if you used it in a given context. You are at liberty to essay a new meaning, and if that becomes a common usage, the next generation of lexicographers may include your meaning in a dictionary.

What I do is simple. I define words the way I use them, while keeping an eye on their pedigree and the uses to which other people put them. When I define a word, it is usually in historical and functional context, for the purpose of some practical use (for example, writing an essay on a given topic). Anybody can do this, but the test of validity is whether the reader will accept the word as you use it.

So I suggest this: anyone who reads this blog and disagrees with any definition I give should educate me more fully by counter-defining or re-defining the term. You should explain the amendment you wish to make, and I will certainly agree with you if it is a reasonable one that makes the definition more useful in its context of use.

I don't mean that sarcastically, ironically, or in any other perverse sense. I'm being honest here. The point about teaching is trying to nurture better outcomes, and you can't get better outcomes if you refuse to improve your word-hoard, stock-in-trade, or other parts of your armamentarium. So, teach me, and I will learn. Thanks!

Hymn to Speech

The concept of the logos is not a new one, and not even as newly ancient as most believe. Here is a hymn from the Rig Veda, originally in the Sanskrit:

When, O Lord of the Universe, the Wise established
Name-giving, the first principle of language,
That which was excellent in them, that which was pure,
Hidden deep within, through love was brought to light...

Many a man who sees does not see the Word,
And many a man who hears does not hear It.
Yet for another it reveals itself,
Like a radiant bride yielding to her husband.

Sometimes, there is an unlooked-for beauty in the earliest roots of things. Those who dig around in the Greek and Aramaic, the Latin and the Hebrew of the Book should also look elsewhere.

Squeeze

Thirty million words into three hundred thousand into eighty thousand. It is a reverse pyramid of words, and oh, how much pain can the brain endure?

Mucus

Mucus is what lines your mucous membranes, just as phosphorus is the element which makes compounds phosphorous. It is a simple rule — the -us ending is normally a noun; the -ous ending is normally an adjective. A person who uses the word 'humerous' is referring to something about, of, or related to the humerus.

That said, I was mulling over the colours of mucus. I am quite sure it would make a perfect artistic medium if it wasn't normally full of the plagues of humanity.

Clear, colourless mucus is the norm. I've seen yellowish mucus, which indicates contaminants, perhaps infection; brown mucus, the darker variant, almost certainly means infection. Green mucus, the greyish-green iron(II)-coloured variety, is pretty serious. Mucus with red streaks is often the product of coughing or sneezing too violently; if you have dark red clots in it, this is probably either life-threatening or indicative of some sort of nosebleed.

I've seen brown mucus from heavy coffee-drinkers which simply meant that they hadn't washed out their mouths after drinking. I've also seen wine-coloured sputum from other drinkers.

Why did I think of all this? Why am I writing about it? It's a long story.

I was actually thinking about my students' writing skills and how irked I was with their inability to spell phlegm or phosphorus correctly. Bad pH readings, I suppose.

Enablers

A thing that enables is an enabler. Enabling is a key piece of jargon in the literature of today. But it means nothing, because you also have to say what it is that has been enabled. Or is it that if you have been enabled, you are relatively no longer disabled? Enabling must imply 'ability'.

It is like empowerment. To be empowered means that you have had power put in you. But what is this power? Is is general power? Power to do what? What kind of power? You have to be empowered to do something — then it is a power that has been given to you, and not just 'power'.

Ability, power — these words used to mean something. But as they became synonyms for stuff some people had and other people didn't have, they became weak things, statistics for some sort of role-playing game, chips in a casino.

Writing a TOK Essay (Part III): Definitions

Quite often, students ask me how terms ought to be defined. Most of them will just take a whack at a dictionary and pick one of the definitions therein. That approach is fine, but it doesn't show evidence of thought other than that required to crack open a dictionary and search it alphabetically.

There are several ways to define a term without simply copying its definition from a dictionary. Here are a few.

1. Etymological approach: Going to a website like the Online Etymology Dictionary will give you an insight as to what a word has meant in the past. This comes from its roots — its 'genealogy' if you like. The OEtD shows how the word came to be the way it is, and thus what its original sense used to be and still is. Careful use allows you to differentiate between generally synonymous words like 'fault' and 'blame', which in many other dictionaries come up looking the same. See, for example, this post and any with the 'Etymology' tag.

2. Historical approach: This is like the etymological approach, except that you look at past usages of a word, and also other words or phrases used in its place. For example, the word 'science' has been used to denote technical skill, technology, engineering and other applications of a rigorous methodology. Its antecedents include terms like 'natural history' (that is, the observation and analysis of material phenomena) and 'natural philosophy' (that is, the consideration of abstract reasoning based on actual events). All this gives you a rough idea of what science really is.

3. Contextual/metaphorical approach: This is a look at the cultural context, often combined with some ability to handle a term metaphorically. Sometimes, words are defined counter-intuitively and the solid technical approaches of (1) and (2) above won't quite work. This is true for terms like 'social sciences', of which some professor I know once said, "They are neither social, nor sciences." (It's true for terms like 'independent schools' in the Atlantean context too — somebody once said, "They are neither independent nor schools." I thought that was a little bit much though.) Of course, it all depends on what you mean by 'independent' and 'school' — and that is where the contextual approach is required: you look into the usage within the context and ask, "In what sense is economics (for example) 'social', and in what sense is it a 'science'?" You can do fantastic things with questions like, "In what ways is a cauliflower a flower?"

I'll stop here. But the basic principles of defining terms, and then a whole question, rely on the student using the brain to identify the key words that need definitions first, and then applying a few common-sense principles (like those above) to seek definitions favourable to the forthcoming argument/discussion.

Poverty

"They were born in poverty, but they should stay in school." I saw this line in one of those little Facebook ads that pops up at the side while you're thinking of something else.

I wondered what if you swapped the nouns. "They were born in school, but they should stay in poverty."

Or what if you changed the verbs around. "They were staying in school, but they should have been born in poverty."

Of course, what if staying in school IS being in poverty? No no, can't think that way, we're all taught that people with more education earn more. The statistics seem to shown that. Then again, maybe rich people go to school more.

Urgh. I must learn not to think so hard about advertisements.

Seven Centuries, Badly Edited

I have in my hands a volume which should have been a very good book. This tome is a 700-year history of Atlantis, from its days as an early pirate colony mercantile stopover (see appropriate etymology here) to its days as a global city and light of the south.

The choice of material is excellent. The layout is fine. The format is accessible. The whole enterprise is digestible. But the one big problem is the editing. Whoever edited this book was not very concerned about typos and grammar; was not very concerned about style and vigor of expression.

For example:

"We hope that this long-sighted view of the Atlantean past will provide a corrective perspective to the myopic view of what is Atlantis after 1965."

Dire, dire, bad, bad, stuff. Attempted joke, major fail. And 'post-1965 Atlantis' would sound so much better than the clunky 'what is Atlantis after 1965.' It's like that all over the place; this quote was taken from the preface.

I very much wanted to like this book. I am afraid that I can't.

Factoidism

One of the hardest things to do is establish the truth. Somebody a few days ago told me, "The truth is whatever corresponds to the facts." This is of course a venerable approach to determining (and I use this word precisely) the truth. But what is it that makes a fact actually a fact?

You can't say that a fact is what is known to be true if you're defining truth as what corresponds to the facts. That's circular reasoning. It's like mathematics; you know what is true in mathematics because a statement that is mathematically true follows all the laws that develop out of the axioms. But you cannot say that axioms are true because everything that they determine turns out to be true.

A lot of 'truth' these days is taken for granted. That is, it is seen as if something a person describes as a fact is indeed a fact. But very few people actually realise that the word 'fact' comes from the Latin facere ('to do') and means 'something that is done'. In some contexts, it has come to mean 'something that is made'. For example, what do you think a 'factory' does? What is a 'factor of production'? And 'manufacture' means 'to make something by hand (manually)'.

Many of the 'facts' that students present to me are actually constructs of varying degrees of verifiability. The word 'verify' itself, coming from Latin verus ('true') and facere ('to make', in this context), means 'to make true'. It doesn't mean 'to determine if it is true or not'; it means 'to make it such that it is true'. If I ask you to verify something, I am asking you to prove that it is true, and not tell me if it isn't.

Some of them are downright amusing. The '100 Eskimo words for snow' meme in particular is rather durable and entertaining. It started with 7 (in 1911), became 50 (in 1978), and turned to 100 (in 1984). The fewer the native speakers of Eskimo tongues (of which there are several), the more the words for snow, it seems.

It turned out that someone was having too much fun. Eskimo words can be compound polysynthetics; that is, they can be made of many little units strung together like a polymer chain. In that respect, they're a bit like some Welsh and German words. So if you said, "Snow that looks like the fine dust of my skin when I scratch and let it fall on the dark floor," that could be one word in Eskimo, and yet another one for the lexicon.

I read an essay in which the 'fact' of there being 100 words for snow in Eskimo was presented as evidence for the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. That's a bit like saying that English is obsessed with blue because there are more than 100 words for 'blue' in English. I shall leave that 'fact' as an exercise for the student, noting that in some sense it is more true than the Eskimo 'snow' meme.

Gnomic Utterances (Redux)

The Gnome, as you may have gathered by now, is my first cousin twice removed. That is, he is my grandfather's first cousin and hence two generations away from me. I have always watched his words very carefully; the Gnome has always been intellectually precise and never obfuscatory about what he means.

This, for example, was his statement concerning the Atlantean post-colonial era: "It might have been politically tempting to rid ourselves of institutions and practices that bore, or seemed to bear, the taint of colonial association. Had we done so, we would have thrown away a priceless advantage for the sake of empty rhetoric."

Look at the power in those lines, but look also at the sheer economy and cleverness of word choice. He interweaves (as Sir Ernest Gowers might have put it) the Latinate and the Germanic to good effect. Simple short English words ('might', 'rid', 'ourselves', 'bear', 'taint', 'thrown', 'sake') are mixed with the longer Greek or Roman ('politically', 'tempting', 'institutions', 'practices', 'colonial', 'association', 'advantage', 'rhetoric'). He even throws in the word 'priceless', which is Latin via Middle English and Old French.

This was not that rare a skill in the Court of the Thunderer. The Gnome's colleague, Black Diamond, had been heard to use diplomatic understatement in his address to the Great Assembly: "...though we are a small country not endowed with ample natural resources and though we cannot be counted among the advanced nations of the world, we are nevertheless a highly urbanised community that has acquired experience and knowledge, which we are prepared to share with others in... regional co-operation schemes..."

Note the difference in balance. Black Diamond's words are on the average far longer, and the astute reader (or hearer) would immediately ask, "What exactly is he trying to say about his country, which we all know is the most advanced in the region?"

Sometimes, watching the masters of the ancient world duel and feint and strike with the movement of words and phrases is almost like watching a sabre dance or some stylised martial arts display. The styles may differ, but the impact is undoubted.

Forty years later, the seeds sown in those paragraphs have all borne fruit. The power of Atlantis stands reasonably secure despite the depredations of pirates and other barbarians. But what will Atlantis do, now that the genius of the past is exhausted or defunct?