Pants on Fire

Offer it up for your sins I was told or for the unbaptized baby souls in limbo waiting to get into heaven.  Sister Jerome didn’t like me grousing about the getting the worst assignments as an altar boy.  I suspected she was selecting me for Saturday service because I seemed ungrateful for having been admitted to Catholic school at all. I was the “parish child” which meant I was the poor kid whose family could never afford the tuition.  Saving my soul from having been born into a Jewish household with a mezuzah on the door frame was no doubt the intent of the scholarship. 

This was not the usual 7 a.m. mass every weekday. This was Saturday, a twelve-year-old boy’s freedom day or ought to be. And it was a lengthy ceremony, longer than serving at a funeral or a Holy Week ceremony. In fact, this was a wedding, the wedding ceremony of a dozen nuns.

Now the reason a wedding for nuns sounds bizarre is because it truly is strange.  The novice nuns make three vows and are married to Christ. They receive a veil and a gold ring and the works. The vows are to “poverty, chastity, and obedience,” although coming from a poor family myself I could never see how poverty was something to embrace.  Or chastity for that matter. 

This all took place at a girls’ school run by a convent of fully-fledged nuns and aspiring novices, the brides. A monsignor presided over the ceremony along with two altar boys, incense, flowers, candles, a choir and the whole shebang. Very male upfront and the flock of nuns and schoolgirls behind the altar rail. Timmy, the other altar boy, and I had the job of swinging the incense censer, handing off water and wine, and mumbling our Latin. It was not only strange but exceedingly boring.  And it was interminable. 

At one point while Timmy was parading that censer around with the smoky incense choking us all, I felt like maybe it was not only boring but also getting kind of hot. A gasp arose from the congregation like from an audience watching a high-wire performance. But I was the object of wonder. A low candle behind my behind had ignited my cassock and it was going up fast in flames. Timmy cried “Oh shit! You’re on fire.”  I hadn’t the sense to drop and roll but Timmy ran to me, slapped out the flames and ripped off my cassock. I was unharmed but the fire had melted through my polyester pants.

And there I stood nearly bare-assed in front of God and everybody, and everybody consisted of a flock of nuns and schoolgirls. The mother superior whisked me off into the sacristy and found another cassock to cover my disgraceful display. This kindly lady called my mom to bring me a new pair of trousers for which the convent paid. While I waited, she served me a nice lunch of shit-on-a-shingle. 

Now sixty years later my Catholicism has been left for a memory and I understand that young nuns no longer get the wedding ceremony.  The Latin mass is gone.  No more fish on Fridays.  Even St. Christopher has been de-sainted. There is no more place like limbo for the unbaptized innocents. I just wonder what happened to all those baby souls. I hope they made it in.

Garden, the word

It is still too cold to set out anything in the garden here where I live near Denver.  On cold days, I spent some time in the garden of words, the Oxford English Dictionary. The book A Child’s Garden of Verses reminds me that “garden” is a collection of things even words.  In ancient times especially in the warm Middle East, a garden was a place of pleasure and peace. In the Hebrew Bible there was in Genesis the Gan Eden, a place of beginnings and of peace and delight.  In English, the 16th century Coverdale Bible has this phrase: “The Lorde God also planted a garden of pleasure in Eden [gardē in text].”

The word “garden” as we use it now primarily for a place for plants and trees comes into Middle English from the Old French jardin which is the same in Modern French. But there was a Germanic word for a garden as an enclosed space which was geard in Old English. In Old Frisian, which was the father tongue of Old English, the word was garda and in Gothic it was gards. Old English geard, an enclosure became our modern yard.  One of my favorite words from Old English is middangeard that is, “middle-earth” which meant simply the earth or the world. It must have been a favorite of Tolkien as well. No one knows why “middle”, but some assume it meant that we all (including Hobbits) live between the heavens and the underworld.

So from biblical times a garden is a place of beauty and pleasure. Henry the Eighth referred to the city of Kent, England as “the Garden of England” apparently for its beautiful scenery.  Shakespeare, in The Taming of the Shrew, refers to Lombardy as “The pleasant garden of great Italy.”  New Jersey calls itself “the Garden State” but I imagine that anyone driving the New Jersey Turnpike wonders why.  Near our home in Colorado is the Garden of the Gods, a remarkable landscape of unworldly rock formations sculpted out of sandstone during eons of geological upheavals and harsh weather. Colorado also has a Shakespeare Garden Festival in Boulder.  The Shakespeare Garden features plants mentioned in the Bard’s plays and poems.  There are dozens of Shakespeare Gardens in the English speaking world as well as books devoted to the delightful references to gardens in the works of Shakespeare.

There seems to be a positive connation to almost any use of the word “garden”.  On the other hand, there is phrase “wicked garden” a most certainly misogynist reference to female sexuality.  The OED does document the slang use of the “garden” as metaphor for the lady parts.  I never knew that, but what teenage boy hasn’t heard of the same as a “bush” and I suppose that is close enough.  With a more obvious meaning, there is also the “lady garden.” The OED notes the first use of “garden” in this way was in a 1640 line written by the Elizabethan poet Thomas Carew in a particularly indecent love poem.  Another poet in 1941, long before he could avail himself of Viagra, wrote “I’ve been sadly let down By the tool of a fool in a garden.”  And then there is the Garden of Earthly Delights, a triptych by Hieronymus Bosch. In Bosch fashion, this painting displays a bizarre collection of fantastical creatures, biblical and animal and imaginary. And humans, all naked as jays, seeking pleasure.

The biblical garden at the beginning of all earthly things was supposed to be a literal place of verdant growth, flowers, trees and at least one fruit.  Ever since, the garden has served in all manner of figurative  senses.  An early figurative garden was a 14th century reference to the “gardin of þe herte”.  There is also a garden of the soul and a garden of the mind.  For Shakespeare, our bodies are gardens and our wills are the gardeners.  Plato taught in a garden named for a Greek hero Akademos, and now that garden is in English the “Academy.”  Epicurus also taught in a garden and sometimes Epicuren philosophy is called, simply, “the Garden.”

Sometimes a baseball field is called a garden.  In fact, early baseball might have been played in an apple orchard, and sportswriters who are forever seeking synonyms may refer to a baseball diamond as an apple garden or apple orchard.  Sports arenas and events locations of all kinds are called (capitalized) Gardens and Madison Square Garden is not the only one, London has one too.  Also Michigan and Las Vegas have events locations called a Garden.

To artfully deceive is “leading one up the garden path.”  One of my favorite quotes is the concluding remarks in Voltaire’s Candide: “All that is very well, answered Candid, but let us take care of our garden.”  After all the calamities of the world, it is best to care for the simple things, the living things that are closest to us and closest to the earth itself.  The OED writes that the Candide quote is the source of the phrase “to cultivate one’s one garden” that is, to attend to your own affairs. 

So I will.  In the cold weather I have set up some shelves with grow lamps and started flower and herb seeds called “gardening under lights.”  After the date of the average last frost for Denver, I’ll set out my little ones.  In the garden.

The Enchiridion

Like the philosophic dialogues of Socrates, we must look to the students of Epictetus for a written record of his thoughts.  The former slave Epictetus became a leading teacher of Stoicism in the first and second centuries C.E. His student Arrian recorded his teachings in Discourses and from the Discourses Arrian compiled a handbook the Enchiridion.  This brief book became a standard of philosophical guidance among Western thinkers through the centuries and has even seen a revival among readers of the novel A Man in Full by Tom Wolfe. The Wolfe novel also led some contemporary philosophers to a contemporary Stoicism resurgence. In a blog entry back in February I wrote about how William Irvine, a professor of philosophy at Wright State University, turned from the study of Zen to Stoicism by reading A Man in Full.

The Enchiridion is a kind of life guidance book that would fit nicely on a modern bookstore shelf of lifestyle books.  It is not about philosophy in the sense of metaphysics or epistemology but is rather a toolbox on how to reach eudemonia or how to live the good life of reason and peaceful equanimity.  It is a book of applied philosophy, how to make reason guide your life. 

Epictetus advises us to know our limits, to always distinguish what we can control and what is beyond us. Strive to foster the good within our control and a placidly accept that which is beyond our powers.

“There are things within our power, and there are things beyond our power. Within our power are our opinion, aim, desire, dislikes, and, in summary, whatever is our own. Beyond our power is property, reputation, duties, and, in summary, whatever is not ours.”  In another of the short passages, Epictetus says “If then, you decide to avoid the things you dislike which you can control, you will never suffer any grief from anything in your power to avoid; but if you try to avoid sickness, or death, or poverty, you will run the risk of being unhappy.”

Stoicism always reminds me of Buddhist thought, especially the Buddhist concern with the calm control of the mind which in turn controls our actions. Or Shakespeare’s “there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.” This is what Epictetus says “Men aren’t disturbed by reality, but by the view which they take of it. Death is nothing terrible, otherwise it would have appeared to be to Socrates. But terror consists in our idea of death, the idea that death is terrible.”

Epictetus advises the strengthening of character, of taking life’s blows with endurance and equanimity.  Several passages caution us to use our own inner strength to rise about what others think of us.  Here is one: “Remember it’s not the person who gives abuse or blows, who insults, but the view we take of these things as insulting. When, therefore, anyone provokes you, be assured that it is your own opinion which provokes you.” And another “Don’t consider what he does, but what you should do to keep your own will in a state conformable to nature, because another cannot hurt you unless you let them. You will only be hurt when you allow yourself to be hurt.”

So look to your thoughts because your thoughts are what your are. “You must cultivate either your own reason or else what the external gives you. You must apply yourself either to think inside you or outside you—that is, either be a philosopher or one of the crowd.”

Don’t worry, be happy.

Magpie Murders and Moonflower Murders

Magpie Murders and its sequel Moonflower Murders are both whodunits-within-whodunits by the clever mystery writer, Anthony Horowitz. Horowitz is probably best known for his work as a screenwriter for the Midsomer Murders, Foyle’s War, and the very best version of Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot stories starring David Suchet. The Poirot series was a favorite Masterpiece Theater production and soon Magpie Murders will be a Fall 2022 Masterpiece feature. 

These mysteries feature an unlikeable fictional mystery writer, Alan Conway who writes nine mysteries led by his likeable detective Atticus Pünd. Like one of Horowitz’ favorite sleuths Hercule Poirot, Pünd is a cerebral immigrant detective with a sidekick who works the English village and manor house murders and keeps his own counsel. The Pünd story, Magpie Murders, is nested within the mystery of the death of its author Conway, whose editor, Susan Ryland becomes a reluctant sleuth herself. There are murders galore, red herrings, miscues and all the features of the English village murder mystery. The sequel, Moonflower Murders, follows Susan Ryland to Greece and then back to England to discover a clue she knows must be hidden in Conway’s story. Moonflower Murders again is a nested mystery with the detective Pünd story in another English village manor house murder. This story is told enveloped within Susan Ryland’s search for yet another murderer.

What is particularly appealing in both novels is the rumination of Susan Ryland as she tries to discover the perpetrator by exploring how mystery stories are written. There are references to famous whodunits and even Horowitz’ own work. These intriguing stories are detective stories for the lovers of detective stories. I loved reading them.

Surviving

In today’s New York Times (3Mar2022) the ever-literary Maureen Dowd took note of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky’s speech in which the heroic president quoted Hamlet’s speech. To be or not to be. The answer said Zelensky is to be.  He was choosing identity, courage, and survival.  He was choosing to be a singular nation that would preserve a unique and ancient culture. It is worth fighting and perhaps dying for the endurance of a proud people that have survived oppressive occupations time after time. 

Earlier in this terrible unfolding tragedy, Zelensky spoke to the assembled British Parliament.  He echoed Winston Churchill’s courageous speech “On the Beaches.”  Zelensky said to the House of Commons: “We will not give up, we will not lose…We will fight till the end at sea and in the air.  We will fight in the forests, in the fields, on the shores, in the streets.”

Like in this moment for Ukraine, England at the time of Churchill’s speech was facing the possibility of a terrifying invasion from the continent that would destroy the distinct heritage of the British people.  In 1066, England fell to the conquering French.  Over the centuries, by grit and determination the English people and the English language itself overwhelmed the French occupiers and incorporated their language and culture into a new and distinctive culture and language.  Churchill delivered his speech using the bold and basic words of English descended not from the French invaders but from the ancient Anglo-Saxon word-horde: “We shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills, we shall never surrender!” Melvin Bragg (2003 The Adventure of English) pointed out that each of the words in that memorable sentence is an Old English word. Only the last word is from the French: “surrender.”

England was choosing to be.

The Stoic Life

A neighbor of mine retired and moved to a new subdivision bordering a golf course. Why?  He said “well, every day I just open up the garage and roll onto the links in my golf cart for a couple of rounds.  I am livin’ the good life!”  I hope he is still happy.  Most of us do not know exactly how to achieve such a blissful state.  The ancient Greek philosophers sought the answer and, later, the Roman Stoics thought they found it, although they didn’t have golf courses.

William B. Irvine, a professor at Wright State University looked to Zen Buddhism to help him in a personal quest for flourishing life. In A Guide to the Good Life:  The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy he writes that the path of Zen was not enough, but he found his way through Stoicism.  And his conversion came about by reading A Man in Full.  Tom Wolfe’s novel features a man who suffers one defeat after another but finds comfort and personal satisfaction through the works of the Stoic philosopher Epictetus.  When I read the novel some years ago, I did find I came to appreciate Stoicism.  Irvine relates how Wolfe’s novel led him from his embrace of Western style Buddhism to the Greek and Roman philosophy of Stoicism.

There is a growing interest in Stoicism. A recent New York Times article was somewhat critical of the new, trendy Stoicism Lite (Opinion | What Pop Stoicism Misses About Ancient Philosophy – The New York Times (nytimes.com))  Stoicism for the ancients sought a meaningful life through the cultivation of virtue.  To the Greek and Roman philosophers, virtue wasn’t personal goodness. Their concept of virtue includes a rational understanding of just what is goodness, and the cultivation of wisdom, courage, self-control, and justice.  Moreover, virtue was a social good, a measure of one’s relationships with others. The NYT opinion writer quotes the Stoic Seneca as writing: “Let us cultivate our humanity.” 

Irvine’s book does not really feature ethics, but rather the book’s purpose is to guide the reader toward a fulfilling life of tranquility and a calm acceptance.  In modern terms, this interest in developing a fulfilling, happy life fits well with the interest in meditation, “living in the moment” and the new “Positive Psychology” of Martin Seligman as well as popular college courses about happiness. Irvine stresses the self-help aspects of Stoicism as the road to tranquility and seems to have very little interest in the ethical goals of the Roman form of Stoicism.  He shows the reader how to control anger and reduce anxiety. To prevent worry, the apprentice Stoic should learn to go ahead and imagine the worst-case scenario and see how unlikely it is and to understand the futility of worry. 

In order to learn satisfaction in life, the author recommends “negative visualization” or imagining how it would be to lack some of the things and relationships we have.  Consider how valuable is our life now.  Get off the hedonic treadmill, the yearning for better things or riches or fame only to find out that when we have more things we are not happy. We keep striving for more and more.

Like the Buddhists, the Stoics were careful to point out that one must distinguish what one can have from what is achievable.  Buddhists emphasize that everyone’s life comes with sorrow and misfortune. However, desires, especially unreasonable desires are the root cause of suffering.  Stoics and Buddhists are clear about the understanding that distress is within the self and there are methods to deal with personal suffering.  One of the new websites devoted to Stoicism, “The Stoic Sage,” explores the similarities between the Western Stoicism and Eastern Buddhism. The entry is on Buddhism and Stoicism is here: http://thestoicsage.com/stoicism-and-buddhism/.

The New York Times book critic Molly Young tells of her own initiation into Stoicism https://www.nytimes.com/2021/12/28/books/stoicism-books.html. The article gives several resources for modern Stoicism including Ryan Holiday’s popular book and website. I do listen to Holiday’s podcast “The Daily Stoic.” But after all, the best reading is from some of the original Stoics like Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. I keep the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius handy for reading the short entries like Marcus wrote it day by day. It’s the original Daily Stoic. Amazing that Marcus, the Emperor of Rome, could write with such humility, graciousness, and wisdom.

Florida Night

It was the tail end of the decade. It was the Sixties, of course.  Several of us who had just enrolled in a university in Florida were lucky to be able to rent an apartment right on the beach in a nearby coastal town.  Mornings were glorious and I could wake and walk down the deck stairs to the sand and water with the sunrise just coming up to greet me.  Days were sweltering with no air conditioning in this old vacation joint in the summer before our lease ran out in late fall.  Nights were crazy.

There were six or seven of us sharing the rent at the beach place (who was actually a tenant seemed to change from day to day). One of the boys called for a party to celebrate whatever. It didn’t matter what. This gave me the chance to invite a girl in one of my classes that I didn’t know well but wanted to.

When she showed up that evening few others had arrived, so I thought this was going to be a quiet evening of love. By eleven or so there were at least two maybe three hundred wild college kids at the place. Outside the beach was filling up and getting loud. While we could still hear each other my sweet girl told me she was happy to have a bit of a free night because she lived at home with here dad.  And her dad was the college dean.  She opened her purse and pulled out a hash pipe and a hefty chunk of hashish to go with it. Holy Shit, the dean’s daughter!

More people kept arriving and one guy who was sitting by the door lit up a flower bud and was waving around the pot smoke like an incense censer. In came two local cops who looked down at the pot guy, looked around, looked amazed, shrugged and left. 

We weren’t sure if the cops were going for reinforcements so my date and several of us thought it was our cue to exit. One of the dozen or so that headed for the cars expressed doubt that the police would come back.  But another, who was no less than my Instructor of Introductory Spanish, Beverly G., said that she could predict an arrest is imminent because her father was the sergeant of the police in a nearby town.  She said let’s all go to my place, wait it out, and cool off.  She lived with her dad in a nice Florida style house with a beautiful pool.  Dad was at work on the night shift. And just as we all got in the pool, naked as jays, we heard the siren headed our way.  Instructor Beverly started screaming everybody out! Out now! Run! God knows we ran. 

So much for my romantic night with the dean’s daughter.  I got an A in Spanish but I hadn’t really done very well in the class. I guess the grade was a little gift, a suggestion to just let’s-not-mention-it. But I still wonder if Beverly hadn’t set it up.

The Word is Murder

Anthony Horowitz is a clever and often humorous writer about murder.  And who doesn’t love a clever murder…mystery.  Horowitz worked with David Suchet and wrote many of the scripts for my favorite mystery series, Agatha Christie’s Poirot.  He discusses some of his television work in the mystery novel The Word is Murder because Horowitz becomes not only the first-person narrator of the novel but a character in it.  Horowitz portrays himself as a less than competent sleuth who works with a less than likeable detective, Hawthorne.  Apparently, the dyspeptic Hawthorne is to become a figure in a new series of who-dun-its.  Hawthorne hires Horowitz to write about Hawthorne himself and it turns out that he writes about Horowitz himself as well.  An interesting scene is an incident when Horowitz is meeting with Steven Spielberg and Peter Jackson, an actual meeting—interrupted by the fictional Hawthorne. When the Horowitz character tries to out-detective the detective he almost gets himself killed.  After the incident, he writes that it is a pity deciding to write in first person because the reader can’t possibly think the writer will die at least until he finishes the book.  It a strange twist to the unreliable narrator technique, in this case possibly reliable, where the reader can’t quite tell what is fiction and what is not.  Like the long-running series Midsomer Murders for which Horowitz was also a writer, the story involves multiple murders, revenge, suicide, and various deceptive clues that the Horowitz character doesn’t catch but his character Hawthorne does.  Ingenious, witty, and entertaining.

Moonwalking With Einstein

Have I already written about Joshua Foer’s book, Moonwalking with Einstein? I can’t remember. But then again, I don’t need to remember because this blog site remembers for me. Foer’s fascinating book is subtitled The Art and Science of Remembering Everything. Foer, a journalist, is well equipped to write such a book because in his reporting of the unusual world of memory athletes, he not only learns the techniques of championship memory challenges but wins the USA Memory Championship. 

Memory Championship? Really? Yes, you could look it up on the Google memory machine. Practitioners of the ancient art of memory gather annually and compete in several areas of memory challenges. This is safe to try at home. Shuffle of deck of cards, display them one by one and give yourself five minutes to memorize them and then name them in order. Give yourself twenty minutes to memorize hundreds of random numbers and then write them out. In order. Give yourself fifteen minutes to memorize one hundred names and place them with the correct faces. And what is said to be the hardest and most dread challenge, take fifteen minutes to memorize a long poem of several pages that has never been seen by anyone and repeat it exactly as written. 

Probably you can’t remember your brother’s cellphone number and certainly could not give the address and phone number of your physician. Nobody needs to anymore; we all have cellphones who do the memory challenges for us. Cellphones are the world champion mnemonists. The ancient arts of memorizing that were taught by Greek and Roman scholars are largely forgotten, not by the advent of cellphones but by literacy itself. If you can read the Odyssey, why should anyone memorize it?

Homer’s Odyssey and Iliad were recorded and served as a kind of foundational text by the time of Pericles’ Golden Age of Greek thought and learning. Some scholars maintain that the work of Homer shows such consistency, brilliance, and creativity that must have been put into writing by one exceptional man. However, there is no doubt that the poems have all the hallmarks of an oral tradition. That is, they were memorized and performed before an audience. In the early part of the 20th century, literacy was not prevalent in some parts of Europe. Milman Parry and Albert Lord of Harvard traveled to Bosnia and recorded and transcribed the oral stories and poetry recited by local bards. The work of Parry and Lord helped to define the techniques of oral epic poetry. The poetry of Homer and other epic poems are characterized by a formulaic structure. Standardized phrases such as “the wine-dark sea” and “rosy-fingered dawn” help to carry the poem along in a recitation. Formulaic phrases along with other conventions including meter, alliteration, episodic structure and other standardized techniques aid the performer’s memory. These same techniques are evident in Beowulf and other ancient heroic poetry.

And now there is an 11 hour long DVD of a man reciting—from memory—the over 10,000 lines of John Milton’s Paradise Lost. Why John Basinger would do such a thing I just don’t know. When I went for some long walks, I listened to an audio of Paradise Lost but apparently, I didn’t walk nearly enough to get too far into the epic or too high up Pinnacle Rock. According to Prof. John Seamon of Wesleyan (in an online course I took on Coursera) Basinger would memorize parts of Milton’s work while on his exercise machines. It took him nine years and he got it exactly right and probably is in very good physical condition. According to Seamon, the memorization done by actors is not done by rote repetition. Actors say that they try to mentally enter the person of the character they portray and look for meaning of the lines, not just the words of the lines. Actors “encode” their parts by understanding the meaning of their part, committing themselves to the emotion and forming a deep empathy with the character.  Seamon interviewed Basinger who told him “During the incessant repetition of Milton’s words, I really began to listen to them, and every now and then as the whole poem began to take shape in my mind, an insight would come, an understanding, a delicious possibility.”

It is safe to try this technique at home as well. With some difficulty I am able to memorize poems of a few stanzas, certainly not poetry of epic length. The technique of recall by meaning does work but not as well as the ancient method of the Memory Palace.

The Memory Palace, or Method of Loci, is a technique useful in memorizing list of things. Physicians who examine Medicare (elderly!) patients are encouraged to give a simple test of cognitive ability in order to detect the possibility of incipient dementia in the patient. The recent defeated president made a claim of high “mental stamina” by having successfully repeated five words. Person, woman, man, camera, TV. Truthfully, anyone can remember much longer lists of words by simply taking a walk, that is, taking a mental walk through a “memory palace.”

In ancient Greek and Roman times and in the Middle Ages memorization was highly valued and taught to students as a fundamental skill for learning and speaking.  Scholars studied the techniques of memory by consulting works on this skill by the Romans Cicero, Quintilian, and Giordano Bruno. Thomas Aquinas wrote a treatise on memory. Foer writes that memory champions still study Rhetorica ad Herrennium.  This guide to memorization and rhetoric was written by an anonymous author in the first century BCE.   Herrennium records the techniques of Simonides. According to Cicero, Simonides of Creos invented the Memory Palace after a tragedy. Simonides was a Greek poet and rhetorician who taught in the 5th century BCE. The story goes that Simonides was invited to a dinner party to give a recitation.  After he recited his poetry he stepped outside to talk to friends.  A terrible earthquake struck and destroyed the building burying the dinner party guests. He helped families to recover and identify their crushed loved ones by pointing out where each participant was seated at the table.  Simonides reconstructed in his mind the room and its table and where each person sat. He could identify each body by recalling the loci, each location or place in the Memory Palace. 

Psychologists who study memory say that familiar places are very easy to remember by forming a picture in the mind especially of a familiar place. At each of the loci, an item to be recalled is placed, and then one takes a walk through “palace” and observing each item. Here is how it works:  Perhaps you have a shopping list. You think of your own home trying to imagine each room as you walk through.  The front door is opened by a farmer in big boots holding a gallon of milk. As you enter you see on a small table in a carton of a dozen eggs. At the stairway stands the Frankenstein monster holding a package of AA batteries shooting electricity. The people are not as important as the places but it helps to have highly memorable persons in the rooms to help form memorable pictures. Joshua Foer likes to imagine a naked woman; that one is not forgettable. Or try a person, perhaps Einstein doing the moonwalk (thus the unforgettable title of Foer’s book). The Memory Palace is a sure-fire method to easily remember a list of items. Master the Method of Loci and you will easily pass the five-item dementia test your family physician will give when you reach Medicare age. In that way you can delay the time an assisted living facility will serve as your memory palace. Personally, I always decline to take the test. Because who knows?

The use of imaginative and striking images is also the way Foer learned to remember the names of people he meets. Everyone I know has trouble remembering names, but of course we all have cellphones to remember for us. Foer explains that part of the difficulty with names is explained by the Baker/baker Paradox. A psychologist shows two people the same photograph of a face. To one subject she says the name of the person is Baker. To the other, she says the person is a baker. Sometime later the person who associates the face with the occupation baker is much more likely to remember it than the person who tries to recall the name Baker. It takes a long time and many encounters to associate a name with the person, but a shortcut is to create a memorable image based on the name. One of Foer’s mentors said he could imagine Joshua Foer “joshing me…and I’d imagine my self breaking into four pieces…”

This useful and, well, memorable book is about Joshua Foer’s adventure into memory contests and his remarkable development of a world class memory. Foer does not much dwell on what is most important about memory itself, the real meaning of Memory itself, its fundamental importance, its telos, its true value. Foer’s book does have interesting information about some of the strange characteristics of long-term memory. Many severe types of forgetfulness include the loss of only short-term memory while the distant past may be able to be recalled. The passage of time, the processes of sleep, even light and day have dramatic effects on memory and sometimes what is recalled about the past can change and shape-shift over time. However, the book generally deals with memory improvement, memory tricks of the trade, and Joshua Foer’s remarkable improvement in memory.

Nonetheless, Joshua Foer is aware of the centrality of memory to everyone and to our basic humanity and he makes clear that memory and its improvement is no game show. Philosophers recognize that it is memory that creates and shapes selfhood. What are we without our memories, the things we have learned and the experiences that have shaped us? The philosopher Peter Singer, who has defined “personhood” to include humans and all manner of sentient animals, places memory at the center of selfhood, along with the cognizance of self, the avoidance of pain and death, and the desire for a future.  We are built of our memories. Foer mentions a man known to science as EP who has completely lost his memory and thus cannot “place himself in time or space, or relative to other people.” Another man, Gordon Bell, is digitizing everything about himself and everything he hears and does into a computer bank in order to externalize memory. But this is a vain escape from the fundamental meaning of memory and selfhood. Foer thinks that we should cultivate memory because human action depends on memory. “Our memories make us who we are. They are the seat of our values and source of our character.” He says that his journey into the world of memory challenges is not about party tricks but “it’s about nurturing something profoundly and essentially human.” And there is this from the writer Haruki Murakami: “People’s memories are maybe the fuel they burn to stay alive.”

Traveling with the Posh Crowd

Sister Anne, my eight grade English instructor, was no language reactionary.  She insisted that the word “ain’t” certainly was in the dictionary and was perfectly acceptable in informal settings.  She also allowed the use of “don’t give a tinker’s dam” because she said it is a “dam”, not a “damn.”

Only it isn’t. The fanciful explanation is that the industrious tinkers would mend a hole in a kettle or some such by building a circular dam around the hole to keep in place molten metal for the repair.  It’s a folk etymology, one that I have always liked.  Actually, tinkers must have been a rough bunch and had the reputation for robust swearing, hence “tinker’s damn”.  Of course, the folk version is just more fun.

I suppose there has always been a first class in travel, if for no other reason than desire of the wealthy to distinguish themselves from the riff-raff.  First class travel is more comfortable and just snooty.  However, you might stop believing the nonsense about “posh”.  There were no Port-Out Starboard-Home cabins for the British aristocrats in their travels to colonial India. This is not etymology but it is a nice folk etymology, a fanciful and often interesting fable about word origins.  This folk etymology is particularly absurd.  A steamer on its way from India to England would travel for the most part south then north around Africa.  The hot sun would beat down on both sides of the ship during daylight hours.   No doubt the nicer cabins would cost a great deal more than steerage and a poor guy like Leonard DiCaprio couldn’t travel in comfort.  If the clever nonsense about posh were true there would be ticket stubs and manifests stating such a class. But there are no such tickets or manifests.  The trouble with demonstrating that the posh tale is wrong is that no one knows how “posh” came to be.

Folk etymologies are often clever.  I like the one about “minding your p’s and q’s”.  No, not the flapdoodle about the bar-keep.  Everybody please stop saying pub tenders would tell a half-soused patron to mind your p’s and q’s, that is, keep your own tab of your pints and quarts and tell me what to charge you after you are truly hammered.  Really?  Not even close.  The one I like is that the phrase originated from early printing where the master printer would tell the apprentice to mind his p’s and q’s.  In early, but not too distant times, a printer would set type by hand, letter by letter to form a word and then a page.  The flat of words was inked then pressed onto the paper.  So individual type face letters were mirror-image and p’s and q’s would be hard to distinguish unless you could read and write like Leonardo da Vinci.  Unfortunately, this is an ingenious folk etymology but just not true.  The OED records documents using the phrase, particularly by school teachers, long before movable type came to England in the 15th century.  Perhaps there was in the beginning a reference to handwriting, but all written records seem to carry the simple meaning of a caution to behave.

A folk etymology that fooled me and probably most everybody is “sophomore” the wise fool.  This is folk etymology linking Gr. sophos  (wise) with moron.  Actually, the word sophomore is derived from a British school term sophister (from sophumer) or “arguer” a somewhat disparaging reference to second year students, that is, that their arguments are sophistry.

And I am sure everybody, and that includes me, thought that the word “female” is some kind of male dominant language term for a gender that is less than “male.” A sort of diminutive male. Or perhaps descended from the word “male” maybe taken from Adam’s rib.  But no.  Female is simply derived from L. femella, a young woman from L. femina, a woman.  As for the word “woman” itself, well maybe that is part of male oriented English.  In Old English wif was simply “woman” (but later a married woman) and then came wifman, the usual OE term for woman.  The latter is a conjoining of wif to man which in OE meant not a male but simply “human”.  So once again it seems the word for woman was a person somewhat derived from a human.  And just as a final note for those who didn’t study Old English in college, the OE word for “man” was wer as in Modern English “werewolf” a really male dominant term.  All men turn into animals at night or day.