Amizade

I rillly rilly wish I could go see my friend play...

Exactly!

What’s in a Word?

Language may shape our thoughts.

When the Viaduct de Millau opened in the south of France in 2004, this tallest bridge in the world won worldwide accolades. German newspapers described how it "floated above the clouds" with "elegance and lightness" and "breathtaking" beauty. In France, papers praised the "immense" "concrete giant." Was it mere coincidence that the Germans saw beauty where the French saw heft and power? Lera Boroditsky thinks not.

A psychologist at Stanford University, she has long been intrigued by an age-old question whose modern form dates to 1956, when linguist Benjamin Lee Whorf asked whether the language we speak shapes the way we think and see the world. If so, then language is not merely a means of expressing thought, but a constraint on it, too. Although philosophers, anthropologists, and others have weighed in, with most concluding that language does not shape thought in any significant way, the field has been notable for a distressing lack of empiricism—as in testable hypotheses and actual data.

That's where Boroditsky comes in. In a series of clever experiments guided by pointed questions, she is amassing evidence that, yes, language shapes thought. The effect is powerful enough, she says, that "the private mental lives of speakers of different languages may differ dramatically," not only when they are thinking in order to speak, "but in all manner of cognitive tasks," including basic sensory perception. "Even a small fluke of grammar"—the gender of nouns—"can have an effect on how people think about things in the world," she says.

As in that bridge. In German, the noun for bridge, Brücke, is feminine. In French, pontis masculine. German speakers saw prototypically female features; French speakers, masculine ones. Similarly, Germans describe keys (Schlüssel) with words such as hard, heavy, jagged, and metal, while to Spaniards keys (llaves) are golden, intricate, little, and lovely. Guess which language construes key as masculine and which as feminine? Grammatical gender also shapes how we construe abstractions. In 85 percent of artistic depictions of death and victory, for instance, the idea is represented by a man if the noun is masculine and a woman if it is feminine, says Boroditsky. Germans tend to paint death as male, and Russians tend to paint it as female.

Language even shapes what we see. People have a better memory for colors if different shades have distinct names—not English's light blue and dark blue, for instance, but Russian'sgoluboy and sinly. Skeptics of the language-shapes-thought claim have argued that that's a trivial finding, showing only that people remember what they saw in both a visual form and a verbal one, but not proving that they actually see the hues differently. In an ingenious experiment, however, Boroditsky and colleagues showed volunteers three color swatches and asked them which of the bottom two was the same as the top one. Native Russian speakers were faster than English speakers when the colors had distinct names, suggesting that having a name for something allows you to perceive it more sharply. Similarly, Korean uses one word for "in" when one object is in another snugly (a letter in an envelope), and a different one when an object is in something loosely (an apple in a bowl). Sure enough, Korean adults are better than English speakers at distinguishing tight fit from loose fit.

In Australia, the Aboriginal Kuuk Thaayorre use compass directions for every spatial cue rather than right or left, leading to locutions such as "there is an ant on your southeast leg." The Kuuk Thaayorre are also much more skillful than English speakers at dead reckoning, even in unfamiliar surroundings or strange buildings. Their language "equips them to perform navigational feats once thought beyond human capabilities," Boroditsky wrote on Edge.org.

Science has only scratched the surface of how language affects thought. In Russian, verb forms indicate whether the action was completed or not—as in "she ate [and finished] the pizza." In Turkish, verbs indicate whether the action was observed or merely rumored. Boroditsky would love to run an experiment testing whether native Russian speakers are better than others at noticing if an action is completed, and if Turks have a heightened sensitivity to fact versus hearsay. Similarly, while English says "she broke the bowl" even if it smashed accidentally (she dropped something on it, say), Spanish and Japanese describe the same event more like "the bowl broke itself." "When we show people video of the same event," says Boroditsky, "English speakers remember who was to blame even in an accident, but Spanish and Japanese speakers remember it less well than they do intentional actions. It raises questions about whether language affects even something as basic as how we construct our ideas of causality."

Sharon Begley

http://www.newsweek.com/2009/07/08/what-s-in-a-word.html

Ogden Nash

The Oyster

"The oyster's a confusing suitor

It's masc., and fem., and even neuter.

But whether husband, pal or wife

It leads a painless sort of life.

I'd like to be an oyster, say,

In August, June, July or May"

According to experts, the oyster

In its shell - or crustacean cloister -

May frequently be

Either he or a she

Or both, if it should be its choice ter.

Berton Braley

Anaphora

is the repetition of the same word or words at the beginning of successive phrases, clauses, or sentences, commonly in conjunction with climax and with parallelism:

• To think on death it is a misery,/ To think on life it is a vanity;/ To think on the world verily it is,/ To think that here man hath no perfect bliss. --Peacham

• In books I find the dead as if they were alive; in books I foresee things to come; in books warlike affairs are set forth; from books come forth the laws of peace. --Richard de Bury

• Finally, we must consider what pleasantness of teaching there is in books, how easy, how secret! How safely we lay bare the poverty of human ignorance to books without feeling any shame! --Ibid.

• The wish of the genuine painter must be more extensive: instead of endeavoring to amuse mankind with the minute neatness of his imitations, he must endeavor to improve them by the grandeur of his ideas; instead of seeking praise, by deceiving the superficial sense of the spectator, he must strive for fame by captivating the imagination. --Sir Joshua Reynolds

• Slowly and grimly they advanced, not knowing what lay ahead, not knowing what they would find at the top of the hill, not knowing that they were so near to Disneyland.

• They are the entertainment of minds unfurnished with ideas, and therefore easily susceptible of impressions; not fixed by principles, and therefore easily following the current of fancy; not informed by experience, and consequently open to every false suggestion and partial account. --Samuel Johnson

Epistrophe

(also called antistrophe)

forms the counterpart to anaphora, because the repetition of the same word or words comes at the end of successive phrases, clauses, or sentences:

• Where affections bear rule, there reason is subdued, honesty is subdued, good will is subdued, and all things else that withstand evil, for ever are subdued. --Wilson

• And all the night he did nothing but weep Philoclea, sigh Philoclea, and cry out Philoclea. --Philip Sidney

• You will find washing beakers helpful in passing this course, using the gas chromatograph desirable for passing this course, and studying hours on end essential to passing this course.

Epistrophe is an extremely emphatic device because of the emphasis placed on the last word in a phrase or sentence. If you have a concept you wish to stress heavily, then epistrophe might be a good construction to use. The danger as usual lies in this device's tendency to become too rhetorical. Consider whether these are successful and effective or hollow and bombastic:

• The cars do not sell because the engineering is inferior, the quality of materials is inferior, and the workmanship is inferior.

• The energies of mankind are often exerted in pursuit, consolidation, and enjoyment; which is to say, many men spend their lives pursuing power, consolidating power, and enjoying power.

• If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, looks like a duck, it may be a gooseberry. --Me

Third Chances

We hear about “turning the other cheek” and “pearls before pigs” and “judge not lest ye also be judged”. What we do not hear is what the whole quote says.

Indeed, Matthew records (7:1):

1

Judge not, that ye be not judged.

2

For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.

3

And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?

4

Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?

5

Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.

6

Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.

… but somehow the whole quote is seldom uttered in the same breath (outside of Church…)

Good, then, that I had the opportunity to experience this exact sentiment this week, during Lent, both in my private life (which I shall not inflict upon anyone who might be reading this), and while watching a film (though this might also count as ‘private’ but can be discussed on a forum without running the risk of being invited to the JerrySpringShow or any of its poorer imitations…)

The film in question is by Pasolini, a director I’d almost dismissed entirely after having watched two of his films in the past year or so, namely, Teorema and Medea, and finding I had to fast-forward the benighted artistic endeavors, lest my death come & go without my noticing the last rites approaching, so bored was I staring into the unforgivingly black&white screen which also lacked any kind of special effects or wildly mechanical and soulless music, which would have otherwise distracted my senses into believing I was watching something that could have passed for mindless entertainment. Not even the pathetic excuses for sex scenes found buried deep, so to speak, in Teorema, gave me hope of being suddenly aroused out of soporific tedium.

Nevertheless, saintly as I am known to be in some parts, I turned the other cheek, judged not (too harshly), and decided to watch yet another Pasolini film yesterday.

Good!

It was worth it.

I don’t know if I’m being fully lucid when I say it was good. It was not bad. But that’s a start.

Yes, it is Lent. Yes, I am religious (in a way -- I’m a bad Catholic, which makes me a Good Catholic). And yes, it is a film which depicts the life of Jesus Christ according to Saint Matthew.

But it is remarkably faithful, as it were, to the gospels according to Saint Matthew. And its black&whiteness added to the authentic feel one expects to find when watching the life of anyone who lived there 2,000--and 11-- yrs ago. And the lack of special effects and huge Hollywoodian production, for once, added to, rather than removed from, the ambiance I expect to see portrayed in a film exploring this story.

The music was surprising.

I couldn’t spot anything in the script that isn’t in the gospel.

It was under 2 ½ hrs long.

The plot is easy to follow.

But: no surprises in the end.

The best thing of all for me though was to have Someone I Dislike (no… not Jesus and not Saint Matthew, but Pasolini, or, rather, his films) give me something I like.

That’s Fresh.

That’s what turning the other cheek and not judging too harshly … all these things ppl repeat all the time…

I think that might be what they’re about. As well.

Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto the Third, 1816

{…}

XXXII.

   They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, mourn:
   The tree will wither long before it fall:
   The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn;
   The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall
   In massy hoariness; the ruined wall
   Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone;
   The bars survive the captive they enthral;
   The day drags through though storms keep out the sun;
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on:
XXXIII.
   E'en as a broken mirror, which the glass
   In every fragment multiplies; and makes
   A thousand images of one that was,
   The same, and still the more, the more it breaks;
   And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,
   Living in shattered guise, and still, and cold,
   And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches,
   Yet withers on till all without is old,
Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold.
XXXIV.
   There is a very life in our despair,
   Vitality of poison,--a quick root
   Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were
   As nothing did we die; but life will suit
   Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit,
   Like to the apples on the Dead Sea shore,
   All ashes to the taste:  Did man compute
   Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er
Such hours 'gainst years of life,--say, would he name threescore?

{…}

Frida Kahlo, Broken Column

Conception of Art

As the painter sees visible objects with quite different eyes from those of the common person -- so too the poet experiences the events of the outer and the inner world very differently from the ordinary person. But nowhere is it more striking than in music -- that it is only the spirit that poeticizes the objects and the changes of the material, and that the beautiful, the subject of art, is not given to us nor can it be found ready in phenomena. All sounds produced by nature are rough -- and empty of spirit -- only the musical soul often finds the rustling of the forest -- the whistling of the wind, the song of the nightingale, the babbling of the brook melodious and meaningful. The musician takes the essence of his art from within himself -- not even the slightest suspicion of imitation can apply to him. To the painter, visible nature seems everywhere to be doing his preliminary work -- to be entirely his unattainable model. But really the painter's art has arisen just as independently, quite as a priori, as the musician's. Only the painter uses an infinitely more difficult symbolic language than the musician -- the painter really paints with his eye -- his art is the art of seeing with order and beauty. Here seeing is quite active - entirely a formative activity. His image is only his secret sign - his expression - his reproducing tool.

Suppose we compare the written musical note with this artificial sign. The musician might rather counter the painter's image with the diverse movements of the fingers, the feet and the mouth. Really the musician too hears actively -- he distinguishes by hearing. For most people this reversed use of the senses is certainly a mystery, but every artist will be more or less clearly aware of it. Almost every person is to a limited degree already an artist. In fact he sees actively and not passively - he feels actively and not passively.

The main difference is this: the artist has vivified the germ of self-formative life in his sense organs - he has raised the excitability of these for the spirit and is thereby able to allow ideas to flow out of them at will - without external prompting - to use them as tools for such modifications of the real world as he will.

On the other hand for the nonartist they speak only through the intervention of external prompting, and the spirit, like inert matter, seems to be governed by or to submit to the constraint of the basic laws of mechanics, namely that all changes presuppose an external cause and that effect an countereffect must equal each other at all times. At least it is some consolation to know that this mechanical behavior is unnatural to the spirit and is transient, like all that is spiritually unnatural.

Yet even with the most humble person the spirit does not wholly obey the law of mechanics -- and hence it would be possible for everyone to develop this higher propensity and skill of the organ.

Novalis, Logological Fragments II, 17

The term 'logological' is a coinage by Novalis. In Greek, the term logos means both (a) word and (b) principle (as in all the English words which end in -logy, meaning principles of whatever it happens to be). In this neologism, Novalis is trading on both these meanings. Logology is a discourse about principles, or perhaps first principles. Certainly, the content sets out Novalis's convictions about the root or basic ideas underlying Romanticism as he understood it, the philosophy of Romanticism as we might now say. (Lavin & Donnachie)

Blake, Hecate or the Three Fates

Voyeurism

OK. Big topic.

Here I just want to say I never ever in my wildest dreams thought I'd have the sensation of being a voyeur in a museum! And yet this is exactly what happened yesterday.

Zooming through the MOMA of the city of Paris I was looking at a painting (which I completely forgot now!) and I had the feeling someone or something was directly to my right shoulder, a shadow... a person? I don't know. A presence. I didn't look at first, just in case it was actually a person. But the sensation persisted and I could no longer contain my curiosity. I looked over my right shoulder and saw a dark blotch-- all the walls in this museum are v v white, so the contrast was enhanced. I couldn't, however, tell exactly what it was.

So I went on "nonchalant mode"... this involves turning in the opposite direction, taking two steps, and then looking back at where my interest lies.

How surprising, then, when I saw... nothing. Just white wall. Could it be? Could Batman have appearedisappeared in those 10seconds? Hardly likely, alas.

So I went back to where I was and looked to my right.

In an alcove, there it was. A sculpture someone forgot to put away in the storage room. No title, no name. No sculptor, no date. Hidden by accident. "Living". The philosophical "tree in the woods". I was there though, I "heard" it fall. I "heard" it breathe.

I loved looking at it. And no one saw me doing it, not even It.