“You’re My Father”

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Folks: when you’re managing two blogs, the question of whether or not to repost might not even occur to you…it could be the only way to stay ahead of the curve. But building traffic & interest aside, this post is one of the most affecting my mother has produced so far in the telling of her childhood. In re-reading this–and other posts–it occurs to me that one thing my mother is is a frustrated novelist. Imagine having Edith Wharton in your family all this time and not knowing it. The curve ball life throws us…    RT (reposting from Mood Indigo).

“You’re My Father”.

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Image: True Confessions; Mood Indigo, CC 3.0 Unported.

An eye on my world (6)

Folks: Heaven & Hell down under… RT

An eye on my world (6).

A Holy Tradition of Working

A Holy Tradition of Working, a compilation of writings by the sculptor, artist, and thinker Eric Gill, is one of those books I keep coming back to. Gill, most famous for his design of the Gill Sans typeface (the lettering used on the London Underground), was (among other artistic achievements) a successful sculptor who, after a long intellectual quest, converted to Catholicism as an adult; his thinking was much influenced by Catholic views on art and labor, and Tradition collects his insights, scattered throughout his writings, on these subjects.

What attracts me most is the introduction’s fine summary of dissenting thought on industrialism, stretching back to Blake and Carlyle, and Gill’s plain, acerbic style. Though he can sound a bit like a schoolmaster, there is no denying that accounting a society’s worth only by its material production leaves out something profound. I agree with his claim that only when people are fully committed to their work, both intellectually and emotionally, are they capable of producing superior results. In this regard, I think of the quality of William Morris’s textiles (and not just their gorgeous patterns), workmanship that must have originated at least partly in their weavers’ delight in producing something genuinely beautiful. Where the heart is at home, the hand will follow…

We must all seek out and find that work which is most meaningful and satisfying to us.    RT

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Photo: The North Wind by Eric Gill; WikiCmns; CC 2.0 Generic; Photographer: Andrew Dunn.

Eggs & Bacon

Francis Bacon (1561-1626) was one of the great intellectual lights of Elizabethan and Jacobean England and the father of the essay in English. Though his essays are famous for their wisdom and elegance, he is best known for his establishment of the Baconian Method, a way of scientifically deducing the cause of a phenomenon. His Idols of the Mind listed common causes of error in human reasoning.

Bacon was born into an aristocratic family and attended Cambridge University, where he impressed Queen Elizabeth with his wit. After studying in France, he practiced law and then served in Parliament. Subsequently, he served as both Attorney General and Lord Chancellor before resigning in disgrace (merited or not) in 1621. The rest of his life was devoted to study and writing.

Here is one of Bacon’s most famous essays, “Of Studies”:

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OF STUDIES

 
STUDIES serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief use for delight, is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment, and disposition of business. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs, come best, from those that are learned. To spend too much time in studies is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar. They perfect nature, and are perfected by experience: for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need proyning, by study; and studies themselves, do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for they teach not their own use; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that would be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books, else distilled books are like common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit: and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know, that he doth not. Histories make men wise; poets witty; the mathematics subtile; natural philosophy deep; moral grave; logic and rhetoric able to contend. Abeunt studia in mores (that is, Any activity practiced with diligence becomes a habit.). Nay, there is no stond or impediment in the wit, but may be wrought out by fit studies; like as diseases of the body, may have appropriate exercises. Bowling is good for the stone and reins; shooting for the lungs and breast; gentle walking for the stomach; riding for the head; and the like. So if a man’s wit be wandering, let him study the mathematics; for in demonstrations, if his wit be called away never so little, he must begin again. If his wit be not apt to distinguish or find differences, let him study the Schoolmen; for they are cymini sectores. If he be not apt to beat over matters, and to call up one thing to prove and illustrate another, let him study the lawyers’ cases. So every defect of the mind, may have a special receipt.

(1597, enlarged 1625)

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Photo:  Dejeuner, Boite Gourmande; WikiCmns; Author: Justin Quintal; License: CC3.0 Unported.

 

How to Eat an Essay

The Rag Tree has spent a fair amount of its time offering examples of poetry & discussing the art that makes a poem. But so far, prose has been off limits. In fact, one could do worse when answering the question, What makes a poem a poem?, by saying, “Whatever else it is, it’s not an essay!”

Poetry is a state of mind, and so if it were to appear on a menu, I might compare it to a kick-in-the-rear-of-the-pants cup of coffee, a dollop of superb ice-cream, or caviar on buttered toast–it’s in the moment and it had better be fresh and satisfying. But prose challenges our digestion more than it does our need for novelty or taste, and we expect long-term sustenance from it. Not that it shouldn’t taste like something (especially if it aspires to the status of a fine steak or wild-caught salmon), but it had better keep the animal spirit in us alive and kicking, rejuvenate our plans and hopes, and send us out into the world with a keener purpose and an ability to reach the next milestone.

Everything is grist for the mill. Roast goose, calves’ feet jelly, pigeons, blancmange (not to mention such modern challenges as Ox-tail soup–a delicacy that the author has had occasion to sample), so our digestions require instruction and fortification. I think it best to approach this topic, then, with a sample essay presented as a menu, divided into appetizer, first and second courses, dessert, and digestif (for the sake of simplicity ).

Without further ado, then, I invite you to a supper of essay fare and techniques, an inspiration for the next time you dig through words, however well prepared they may be:

1) The Appetizer. Beginning (or tired) essayists invariably offer an undercooked and somewhat troublesome item called the introduction. This is the moment when the essay is most likely to remind us that its very name comes from a French word meaning “an attempt.” If well done, the introduction bears some other name (hopefully savoring of the main body’s interests and idiosyncracies); points out the main attractions to be encountered further along–for instance, an unusual interpretation of the causes of the French Revolution; explains why the topic is important; and offers a sample of the author’s style and wit. From the culinary perspective, introductions can vary from teeth-cracking breadsticks to fiery buffalo wings to perfect dumplings to wilted iceburg lettuce. Get it right and people will start shouting and snapping their fingers for the entree…

2) The First Course. Readers of course look for rib-sticking, belly-filling material here, but the secret to satisfying them lies elsewhere–in an odd item known as the Thesis Statement. The TS is the heart of the essay, what the author has to say boiled down into a brief and compelling sentence or two. Or, if you prefer, you can think of the TS as the chef’s secret ingredient–the ultra-fresh lobster or outstanding, family-recipe chutney–that sets his or her cooking apart from the mediocre. This is what the gourmand/jaded reader comes looking for. For instance, our TS might be: “In contrast to the many, overly familiar explanations for the French Revolution–the desperation of the poor, the corruption of the monarchy and aristocracy, the stifling of scholarship and scientific research–this essay proposes a simpler reason behind the collapse of the Old Regime: namely, the need for better instruction in language skills.” (with pardons to RT’s readers–you are welcome to suggest a more plausible cause, such as “the political radicalization of the Intelligentsia” or ”a lack of innovation on the part of chefs across the nation“).

Once the TS has been sampled, the reader expects arguments and evidence in its support. Brief, eloquent, or witty language is also part of the experience–the spicing of the meal, in other words. No style, no fun, no spice, and people will stop eating.

For instance, we could include the following argument in support of our TS: “The lack of an effective educational system, the overweening power of France’s political institutions, and the refusal to recognize the great strides being made in the practical arts and sciences elsewhere all discouraged the pursuit of new methods and applications in France.” Or again, “The clear lack of inspiration in food choices among the elite, the use of high-cholesterol and other unhealthy ingredients, and the preference for large meals all lead to the stultification of original thought among the aristocracy and educated class.” Needless to say, some arguments are tougher to make than others, so beware! You don’t want to overstuff your patrons.

3) The Second Course. This is where the exceptional essayist pulls away from the pack. A good essay will provide an unexpected, persuasive TS and argument; an excellent essay will go farther afield, offering connections to developments and theories that might not immediately suggest themselves. Once again pursuing the French revolution, we might write: “The American Revolution, inspired in part by the constitution of the Iroquois Confederation in New York State, made the revolution in Paris inevitable. In particular, we should consider the effect of native American polities on the constitutional deliberations in Philadelphia and thus on the development of political theory in Europe.” Or, on a saucier note, “The descent into a flat and uninspired cuisine on the part of those charged with the feeding of the most acute French minds, and especially the overemphasis on serving truffles and spun-sugar wedding cakes, is a principle culprit in the decline that lead to the revolution.” Examine your ingredients closely, all you aspiring essayists out there!

4) Dessert. And you thought we were never going to get to the best part! Any essayist worth his sugar knows that without the extra oomph of a little sweet and the yumminess of lemon, or orange, or chocolate at the end of his thoughts, he has left his readers dangling. And in fact, there is no reason why dessert should only be offered at the end–some unexpected flashes of genius and taste, perhaps even a digression into a seemingly irrelevant topic, can build suspense and a grander finale at the close of the meal. For the French Revolution, consider the following: “And in fact, the political and fashion contribution of Marie Antoinette to her husband’s style and decisions (just think of those hairdos!) is often overlooked.” Or, for the chefs out there, “I can state unequivocally that the lack of proper training of truffle-snuffling pigs lead to the revolution.” There’s more in a pig’s snout than you might think.

5) The digestif. I prefer pear liqueur myself–but never overlook the importance of foot and endnotes. Footnote style isn’t that important–but offering unexpected readings and overlooked authors adds tremendously to any word meal! Scholarship (or a good farmer’s market) is after all the heart of the enterprise.

So there it is folks, a meal that should help you tackle all manner of surprising and odd essays and arguments–and enjoy yourself in the process.   RT

* P.S. & thank you to the chef who inspired this post!

* P.P.S. & of course, Margo: we would miss many a feast without your blog, Wordgathering. 

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Image: Menu for Dinner in Honor of General Lafayette, 1824; WikiCmns; Public Domain.

Extinctions

The thought of language extinction can bring frightening images to mind: whole populations defeated, oppressed, and eventually destroyed or driven into exile, taking their words with them. But not all language extinctions happen in such a violent way, and some languages survive and reappear again in everyday speech despite intense persecution (e.g., Hebrew). What seems to be most important to language survival is the degree to which a language is necessary to conducting daily business. Next most important is whether the power elite speaks it. Finally, the use of a language in liturgy can preserve it–once again, Hebrew is an example, as are Latin, Old Church Slavonic, and Sanskrit.

When a language does disappear in speech, its written record can preserve important stories, and, above all, the history of the language’s community. 

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Here are some extinct languages you may not have heard of (I hadn’t–and note that all are European), accompanied by stories and history:

1) Shaudit. A Romance language spoken by Jewish people living in southern France from at least the 10th century A.D. It is unclear whether Shaudit developed from Judeo-Latin, evolved independently after Julius Caesar’s conquest of Gaul, or owes it origins to the Jewish exegetical school at Narbonne. Shaudit declined rapidly during the Inquisition, and the last known speaker, Arman Lunel, died in 1977.

2) Sicel. Spoken by the Sicels, one of the three pre-Latin and -Punic tribes of Sicily. The language is of Indo-European origin, and scholars think that they arrived in Sicily after 1000 B.C. and introduced the use of iron to the island. The Odyssey mentions them, and Thucydides notes that they may originally have inhabited central Italy. After the arrival of Greek colonists in Sicily, the Sicel tribe began to decline, and sometime after 400 B.C. the language died out.

3) Cumbric. A Celtic language spoken in Hen Ogleth, the Old North of England and southern Scotland. Associated with the Kingdom of Strathclyde, Cumbric died out in the 12th century A.D. By the way, speakers of Cumbric were P-Celts.

4) Norn. A north German language spoken in the Shetland Islands and Caithness. After the Shetlands were transferred from Norway to Scotland in the 14th century, the language began to die out. Walter Sutherland, from Shaw in Unst, was possibly Norn’s last speaker. He died in 1850.

5) Auregnais. A dialect of Norman spoken on Alderney, one of the English Channel Islands. By 1880, the local children has stopped speaking it among themselves. Population movement and official neglect have been cited as reasons for the language’s extinction.

6) Tartessian. A language spoken in the southwestern Iberian peninsula (Spain) before the Romans secured the peninsula and Latin became its common language. Tartessian, which was spoken from about the 7th century B.C. to the 1st century A.D., is an unclassified language and one of the paleohispanic languages.

7) Meyra. Merya was spoken be the Merya tribe, an important pre-Slavic community centered around Lake Nero near Yaroslavl in northwest Russia. Merya was a Uralic language, related to Finnish, Estonian, and Hungarian, and Meryan religious sites, such as sacred stones and groves, continued in use for feasts much longer than other such sites in the region. It is believed that the Slavs peacefully assimilated the Merya about 1000 A.D., and Yaroslav the Wise founded Yaroslavl on the site of a Meryan shrine where a sacred bear was kept.

8) Galindan. A little known language, spoken in Poland until the 14th century, Galindan was a member of the Baltic language group,  and thus related to Lithuanian, Latvian, and the extinct language Old Prussian. The Galindans were known to Ptolemy, and medieval Russians have left a written reference to them. No inscriptions in Galindan are known. Possibly, like their neighbors, the Old Prussians, the Galindans were warlike and very difficult to convert.

9) Messapian. Few inscriptions written in Messapian have survived, making its study and classification difficult. What is known is that this language was spoken in southeastern Italy (Apulia) and died out about the 1st century B.C. If this language belongs to the Illyrian language group, as some scholars believe, its inscriptions would be the only writing found so far for this language group. Some Greek mythographers noted that the ancestor of the Messapian-speaking tribes was the son of Dedalus.

10) Anglo-Norman. The variety of Old Norman spoken by the English court after William the Conqueror deposed the House of Wessex. This language, one of the northern French dialects (or langues d’oil), is the missing link between continental French and the many words that found their way into English after the Norman Conquest. For instance, chou-caboge-cabbage. And the AN “captain” retained the /k/ sound not found in French. So it turns out that the educated English elite were trilingual in medieval times, speaking AN, Latin, and English. After English replaced AN as the language of law and in sessions of Parliament in the mid-14th century, the use of Anglo-Norman dwindled away–English (in its radically altered Middle English form) had remained the language of commerce and the common people. But the most colloquial of the many AN dialects contributed to the development of early Modern English (in general use by 1500) to such an extent that it might be truer to say that they were absorbed into everyday English usage. Readers should nevertheless note: modern English remains a Germanic language.

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Photo: Etruscan Gold Pendant, WikiCmns, Public Domain