Doomsday

Doomsday (pronounced doomz-dey)

(1) In Christian eschatology, the day of the Last Judgment, at the end of the world (sometimes capital letter); the end of days; the end of times.

(2) Any day of judgment or sentence (sometimes initial capital).

(3) In casual use, the destruction of the world, since the 1950s, by means of nuclear weapons.

(4) As doomsday weapon(s), the device(s) causing the destruction of the world; anything capable of causing widespread or total destruction.

(5) Given to or marked by forebodings or predictions of impending calamity; especially concerned with or predicting future universal destruction.

(6) As Doomsday Clock, a symbolic warning device indicating how close humanity is to destroying the world, run since 1947 as a private venture by the members of the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists.

Pre 1000: A compound from the Middle English domes + dai from the Old English construct dom (judgment) + dæg (day), dōmesdæg (sometimes dōmes dæg) (Judgment Day) and related to the Old Norse domsdagr.  Dome was borrowed from the Middle French dome & domme (which survives in Modern French as dôme), from the Italian duomo, from the Latin domus (ecclesiae) (literally “house (of the church)”), a calque of the Ancient Greek οἶκος τῆς ἐκκλησίας (oîkos tês ekklēsías); doublet of domus.  Dom was from the Proto-West Germanic dōm and was cognate with the Old Frisian dōm, the Old Saxon dōm, the Old High German tuom, the Old Norse dómr and the Gothic dōms.  The Germanic source was from a stem verb originally meaning “to place, to set”, a sense-development also found in the Latin statutum and the Ancient Greek θέμις (thémis).  Dai had the alternative forms deg, deag & dœg all from the Proto-West Germanic dag; it was cognate with the Old Frisian dei, the Old Saxon dag, the Old Dutch dag, the Old High German tag, the Old Norse dagr and the Gothic dags.

In medieval England, doomsday was expected when the world's age had reached 6,000 years from the creation, thought to have been in 5200 BC and English Benedictine monk, the Venerable Bede (circa 672-735) complained of being pestered by rustici (the "uneducated and coarse-mannered, rough of speech"), asking him "how many years till the sixth millennium be endeth?"  However, despite the assertions (circa 1999) of the Y2K doomsday preppers, there is no evidence to support the story of a general panic in Christian Europe in the days approaching the years 800 or 1000 AD.  The use to describe a hypothetical nuclear bomb powerful enough to wipe out human life (or all life) on earth is from 1960 but the speculation was the work of others than physicists and the general trend since the 1960s has been towards smaller devices although paradoxically, this has been to maximize the destructive potential through an avoidance of the "surplus ballistic effect" (ie the realization by military planners that blasting rubble into to smaller-sized rocks was "wasted effort and bad economics").

The Domesday Book

Domesday is a proper noun that is used to describe the documents known collectively as the Domesday Book, at the time an enormous survey (a kind of early census) ordered by William I (circa 1028-1087; styled usually as William the Conqueror, King of England 1066-1087) in 1085.  The survey enumerated all the wealth in England and determined ownership in order to assess taxes.  Domesday was the Middle English spelling of doomsday, and is pronounced as doomsday.

Original Domesday book, UK National Archives, London.

The name Domesday Book (which was Doomsday in earlier spellings) was first recorded almost a century after 1086.  An addition to the manuscript was made probably circa 1114-1119 when it was known as the Book of Winchester and between then and 1179, it acquired the name by which it has since been known.  Just to clarify its status, the Treasurer of England himself announced “This book is called by the native English Domesday, that is Day of Judgement” (Dialogus de scaccario), adding that, like the Biblical Last Judgment, the decisions of Domesday Book were unalterable because “… as from the Last Judgment, there is no further appeal.”  This point was reinforced by a clause in the Dialogue of the Exchequer (1179) which noted “just as the sentence of that strict and terrible Last Judgement cannot be evaded by any art or subterfuge, so, when a dispute arises in this realm concerning facts which are written down, and an appeal is made to the book itself, the evidence it gives cannot be set at nought or evaded with impunity.”  It was from this point that began in England the idea of the centralised written record taking precedence over local oral traditions, the same concept which would evolve as the common law.

The Doomsday Book described in remarkable detail the landholdings and resources of late eleventh century England and is illustrative of both the power of the government machine by the late medieval period and its deep thirst for information.  Nothing on the scale of the survey had been undertaken in contemporary Europe, and was not matched in comprehensiveness until the population censuses of the nineteenth century although, Doomsday is not a full population census, the names appearing almost wholly restricted to landowners who could thus be taxed.  It was for centuries used for administrative and legal purposes and remains often the starting point for many purposes for historians but of late has been subject to an increasingly detailed textual analysis and it’s certainly not error-free.

The Doomsday Clock

The Doomsday Clock is a symbol that represents the likelihood of a man-made global catastrophe.  Maintained since 1947 by the members of the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists (BOTAS), the clock was created as a metaphor for threat to humanity posed by nuclear weapons.  On the clock, a hypothetical global catastrophe is represented as the stroke of midnight and BOTAS’s view of the closeness to that hour being reached by the number of minutes or seconds to midnight.  Every January, BOTAS’s Science and Security Board committee meets to decide where the second-hand of the clock should point and in recent years, other risk factors have been considered, including disease and climate change, the committee monitoring developments in science and technology that could inflict catastrophic damage.

Lindsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December 2011.

These concerns do have a long history in philosophy and theology but the use in 1945 of nuclear fission to create atomic weapons focused the minds of many more on the possibilities, the concerns growing in the second half of the twentieth century as the bombs got bigger and proliferated extraordinarily to the point where, if all were detonated in the right place at the right time, almost everyone on Earth would have been killed several times over.  At least on paper, the threat was real and even before Hiroshima made the world suddenly aware of the matter, there had been some in apocalyptic mood: Winston Churchill's (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) “finest hour” speech in 1940 warning of the risk civilization might “…sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science”.  It had been a growing theme in liberal interwar politics since the implications of technology and the industrialisation of warfare had been writ large by the World War I (1914-1918).

HG Wells’ (1866–1946) last book was Mind at the End of its Tether (1945), a slim volume, best remembered for the fragment “…everything was driving anyhow to anywhere at a steadily increasing velocity”, seemingly describing a world which had become more complicated, chaotic and terrifying than anything he had prophesized in his fiction. In this it’s often contrasted with the spirit of cheerful optimism and forward-looking stoicism of the book he published a few months earlier, The Happy Turning (1945), but that may be a misreading.  Mind at the End of its Tether is a curious text, easy to read yet difficult to reduce to a theme; in his review, George Orwell (1903-1950) called it “disjointed” and it does have a quality of vagueness, some chapters hinting at despair for all humanity, others suggesting hope for the future.  It’s perhaps the publication date that tints the opinions of some.  Although released some three months after the first use of atomic bombs in August 1945, publishing has lead-times and Wells hadn’t heard of the A-bomb at the time of writing although, he had in 1914 predicted such a device in The World Set Free.  In writing Mind at the End of its Tether, Wells, the great seer of science, wasn’t in dark despair at news of science’s greatest achievement, nuclear fission, but instead a dying man disappointed about the terrible twentieth century which, at the end of the nineteenth, had offered such promise.

In 1947, though the USSR had still not even tested an atomic bomb and the US enjoyed exclusive possession of the weapon, BOTAS was well aware it was only a matter of time and the clock was set at seven minutes to midnight.  Adjustments have been made a couple of dozen times since, the most optimistic days being in 1991 with the end of the Cold War when it was seventeen minutes to midnight and the most ominous right now, BOTAS in 2023 choosing 90 seconds, ten seconds worse than the 100 settled on in 2020.

The committee each year issues an explanatory note and in 2021 noted the influences on their decision.  The COVID-19 pandemic was a factor, not because it threatened to obliterate civilization but because it “…revealed just how unprepared and unwilling countries and the international system are to handle global emergencies properly. In this time of genuine crisis, governments too often abdicated responsibility, ignored scientific advice, did not cooperate or communicate effectively, and consequently failed to protect the health and welfare of their citizens.  As a result, many hundreds of thousands of human beings died needlessly”.  COVID-19 they noted, will eventually recede but the pandemic, as it unfolded, was “a vivid illustration that national governments and international organizations are unprepared to manage nuclear weapons and climate change, which currently pose existential threats to humanity, or the other dangers—including more virulent pandemics and next-generation warfare—that could threaten civilization in the near future”.  In 2023, the adjustment was attributed mostly to (1) the increased risk of the use of nuclear weapons after the Russian invasion of Ukraine, (2) climate change, (3) biological threats such as COVID-19 and (4) the spread of disinformation through disruptive technology such as generative AI (artificial intelligence).

The acceleration of nuclear weapons programs by many countries was thought to have increased instability, especially in conjunction with the simultaneous development of delivery systems increasingly adaptable to the use of conventional or nuclear warheads.  The concern was expressed this “may raise the probability of miscalculation in times of tension”.  Governments were considered to have “…failed sufficiently to address climate change” and that while “fossil fuel use needs to decline precipitously if the worst effects of climate change are to be avoided”, instead “…fossil fuel development and production are projected to increase”.  Political factors were also mentioned including the corrosive effects of “false and misleading information disseminated over the internet…, a wanton disregard for science and the large-scale embrace” of conspiracy theories often “driven by political figures”.  They did offer a glimmer of hope, notably the change of administration in the US to one with a more aggressive approach to climate change policy and a renewed commitment to nuclear arms control agreements but it wasn’t enough to convince them to move the hands of the clock.  It remains a hundred seconds to midnight.

The clock is not without critics, even the Wall Street Journal (WSJ) expressing disapproval since falling under the control of Rupert Murdoch (b 1931).  There is the argument that after seventy years, its usefulness has diminished because over those decades it has become "the boy who cried wolf": a depiction of humanity on the precipice of the abyss yet life went on.  Questions have also been raised about the narrowness of the committee and whether a body which historically has had a narrow focus on atomic weapons and security is adequately qualified to assess the range of issues which should be considered.  Mission creep too is seen as a problem.  The clock began as a means of expressing the imminence of nuclear war.  Is it appropriate to use the same mechanism to warn of impending climate change which has anyway already begun and is likely accelerating?  Global thermo-nuclear war can cause a catastrophic loss of life and societal disruption within hours, whereas the climate catastrophe is projected to unfolds over decades and centuries.  Would a companion calendar be a more helpful metaphor?  The criticism may miss the point, the clock not being a track of climate change but of political will to do something to limit and ameliorate the effects (everyone having realised it can’t be stopped).

Understate

Understate (pronounced uhn-der-steyt)

(1) In speech or writing, a statement ostensibly less in strength than the author actually intends to convey.

(2) In design (architecture, fashion etc), a kind of shorthand for stark minimalism, the pared down look with which elegance is most easily attained.

1799: The construct was under + state.  The related “understated” used to discuss matter of style, appears not to have been used before 1957.  Under is pre-900 Middle English, from the Old English.  It was cognate with the Dutch onder, the German unter, the Sanskrit अधर (ádhara), the Old Norse undir & the Latin inferus.  The sense of under in the Latin inferus is fun.  It’s from the Proto-Italic enðeros, from the primitive Indo-European hindher and meant (1) in the masculine plural “the souls of the dead” and (2) in the neuter plural “the netherworld; the underworld; Hell”.  Its other linkage is to the modern “inferior”, another sense of “under”.  Under was productive as a prefix in Old English, as were the similar forms in German and Scandinavian, sued often to form words modeled on Latin.  The notion of "inferior in rank, position etc" existed as well as the spatial in Old English, reference to standards (less than this, that and the other) dates from the late fourteenth century.  State as the verb referring to speech dates from the 1590s in the sense of "to set in a position" and is derived from the earlier noun use.  The idea of "declaring in words" was first attested in the 1640s, from the notion of "placing" something on the record.

Emperor Hirohito of Japan, 1933.

The English upper classes have a long tradition of understatement; it was never unexpected to hear some grandee refer to his forty-room country house as “the cottage” but for sheer scale, few can match Emperor Hirohito (1901-1989; Emperor (昭和天皇 (Shōwa-tennō) of Japan 1926-1989).   Having endured hearing a long succession of bad news about the state of Japanese military affairs, he learned of the defeat of his axis partner, Nazi Germany and then, the dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  Unlike some of the generals, admirals and politicians advising him, the emperor accepted the inevitable and on 14 August 1945, delivered a speech effectively accepting the terms of the Potsdam Declaration, the Allies' demand of unconditional surrender.  It had taken two A-Bombs to summon the most memorable understatement of World War II:  “…the war situation has developed not necessarily to Japan's advantage...”

Lindsay Lohan at The White Party, Linz, Austria, July 2014, the Grecian inspired gown with spaghetti straps by Calvin Klein, the shoes, Christian Louboutin Aurora Boreale platforms.  This was the best angle for the photographer to choose; viewed from a more oblique angle, the sense of restraint faded.  

In fashion, to achieve a look of understated elegance, the most obvious path to follow is one of stark minimalism.  As in architecture it’s not impossible to achieve the look with decorative flourishes but it’s harder.  Designers suggest neutral colors such as beige, grey, khaki, camel, oatmeal, tan, sand, biscuit, cream, ivory, ecru and mushroom with simple cuts, tailored to avoid anything too close-fitting, paired with either few accessories or, if it’s big, just one; less is more.

Xanadau

Xanadu (pronounced zan-a-du)

Also known as Shangdu, Xanadu was the capital of Kublai Khan's (1215-1294) Yuan dynasty (1271-1368) in China, before he decided to move his throne to the Jin dynasty (1115-1234) capital of Zhōngdū (middle capital), which he renamed Khanbaliq, later known in the West as Peking and of late, Beijing.  Xanadu then became his summer capital.  Xanadu was visited by the Venetian merchant Marco Polo (circa 1254–1324) in about 1275, and was destroyed in 1369 by the Ming army under Zhu Yuanzhang (1328-1398).

Relic site of Xanadu.  Xanadu was located in what is now called Inner Mongolia, 220 miles (350 km) north of what is no the city of Beijing (Peking).  Today, only ruins remain, surrounded by a grassy mound that was once the city walls. Since 2002, restoration work has been undertaken and in June 2012, Shangdu was made a World Heritage Site.

Kubla Khan (1797) by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced;
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves:
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 't would win me
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

By his own account, Samuel Taylor Coleridge was reading about Shangdu while taking laudanum, an opium based medicine.  It led to an opium-induced dream, during which he composed some three-hundred lines of verse.  As soon as he awoke, he wrote down the first fifty but unfortunately, was then interrupted by “a man on business from (the local Somerset village of) Porlock.”   Once the business was concluded, Coleridge found the distraction had driven from his mind the rest of the poem.  All find Coleridge’s story charming but scholars doubt it’s true, the poet having used a similar excuse years before.  Most think it a case of writer’s block.

Lindsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December 2011. 

Tumult

Tumult (pronounced too-muhlt or tyoo-muhlt)

(1) Violent and noisy commotion or disturbance of a crowd or mob; uproar.

(2) A general outbreak, riot, uprising, or other disorder.

(3) Highly distressing agitation of mind or feeling; turbulent mental or emotional disturbance.

1375–1425: From the late Middle English tumult(e), from the twelfth century Old French tumult from the Latin tumultus (an uproar; commotion; bustle; uproar; disorder; disturbance), akin to tumēre to (to be excited; to swell), ultimately from the primitive Indo-European root teuə - (& teu) (to swell).  Teuə- was a productive root, forming all or part of: butter; contumely; creosote; intumescence; intumescent; protuberance; protuberant; psychosomatic; -some; soteriology; thigh; thimble; thousand; thole; thumb; tumescent; tumid; tumor; truffle; tuber; tuberculosis; tumult & tyrosine.  It’s the hypothetical source of (and certainly evidence for its existence is provided by): the Avestan tuma (fat), the Ancient Greek tylos (callus, lump); the Latin tumere (to swell), tumidus (swollen) & tumor (a swelling); the Lithuanian tukti (to become fat), the Old Church Slavonic & Russian tuku (fat of animals) and the Old Irish ton (rump).  Tumult is a noun & verb, tumultuate, tumultuating & tumultuated are verbs tumultuously is an adverb and tumultuous is an adjective; the noun plural is tumults.  

Nothing good ever came from the DLP:  One of tumult’s few linguistic niches is the phrase “the tumult & the shouting”, clearly a favorite of publishers given the number of books enjoying the title.  One was the 1977 political memoir of Frank McManus (1905–1983), an Australian senator who was briefly leader of the Democratic Labor Party (DLP) in the dying days of its first and longest incarnation.  While of no great literary merit, it’s an amusing mix of apologia and vicious character assassination, capturing vividly the hatreds which for a generation or more poisoned the Victorian Labor Party following the 1955 split.

Tumult is an example of a word in English where the root has become rare but a derived form remains in common use, the adjective tumultuous more frequently seen (tumultuous noted first in English in the 1540s).  It’s was a borrowing from the Middle French tumultuous (tumultueux in Modern French), from the Latin tumultuosus (full of bustle or confusion, disorderly, turbulent), from tumultus which also provided tumult. Like tumult, the adverb tumultuously and the noun tumultuousness are less common.

Headline writers, whether in print or on-line, famously are fond of alliterations and puns, preferably combined.  It's also one of the few aspects of journalism in which clichés seem to be tolerated and even celebrated.  The breed also has favorite words and one is "tumultuous".  While there are many words which (depending on context), can convey much the same meaning including boisterous, hectic, raucous, histrionic, riotous, stormy, turbulent, violent, agitated, clamorous, disorderly, disorder, disturbed, excited, noisy, obstreperous, passionate, rambunctious, restless, rowdy, turmoil, maelstrom, upheaval, riot, agitation, commotion, pandemonium, strife, rumbustious, termagant, unruly, uproarious, vociferous affray, racket, revolt, revolution, mutiny, unrest, disturbance, hassle, fracas, ferment, turbulence, outcry, convulsion, quarrel & perturbation & vicissitudinous, none work quite as well to encapsulate feeling the and some are not words as widely understood.

For some lives, the only adequate adjective is tumultuous (although "stormy" must have been tempting for some of those writing of Mr Trump.

Doom

Doom (pronounced doom)

(1) Fate or destiny, especially adverse fate; unavoidable ill fortune.

(2) Ruin; death.

(3) A judgment, decision, or sentence, especially an unfavorable one.

(4) In Christian eschatology, the Last Judgment, at the end of days.

Pre 900: From the Middle English dome & doome from the Old English dōm (a law, statute, decree; administration of justice, judgment; justice, equity, righteousness; condemnation) from the Proto-Germanic domaz (source also of the Old Saxon and Old Frisian dom, the Old Norse domr, the Old High German tuom (judgment, decree), the Gothic doms (discernment, distinction), possibly from the primitive Indo-European root dhe- (to set, place, put, do), (source also of the Sanskrit dhā́man (custom or law), the Greek themis (law) and the Lithuanian domė (attention)).  It was with the Old Norse dōmr (judgement), the Old High German tuom (condition) and the Gothic dōms (sentence).  A book of laws in Old English was a dombec.

Lidsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December 2011. 

In all its original forms, it seems to have been used in a neutral sense but sometimes also "a decision determining fate or fortune, irrevocable destiny."  The Modern adverse sense of "fate, ruin, destruction" began in the early fourteenth century and evolved into its general sense after circa 1600, influenced by doomsday and the finality of the Christian Judgment. The "crack of doom" is the last trump, the signal for the dissolution of all things and the finality of the Christian Judgment Day, is most memorably evoked in the Old Testament, in Ezekiel 7:7-8.

(7) Doom has come upon you, upon you who dwell in the land. The time has come! The day is near! There is panic, not joy, on the mountains.

(8) I am about to pour out my wrath on you and spend my anger against you. I will judge you according to your conduct and repay you for all your detestable practices.

Doom Paintings

Doom paintings are the vivid depictions of the Last Judgment, that moment in Christian eschatology when Christ judges souls and send them either to Heaven or Hell.  They became popular in medieval English churches as a form of graphical advertising to an often illiterate congregation, dramatizing the difference between rapture of heaven and the agonies of hell, consequences of a life of virtue or wickedness.  During the English Reformation, many doom paintings were destroyed, thought by the new order rather too lavishly Romish.

Weltgericht (Last Judgement) (circa 1435)); Tempera on oak triptych by German artist Stefan Lochner (c1410–1451).

Vanity

Vanity (pronounced van-i-tee)

(1) An excessive pride in one's appearance, qualities, abilities, achievements, etc; character or quality of being vain; conceit.

(2) An instance or display of this quality or feeling.

(3) Something about which one is vain or excessively proud.

(4) Lack of real value; hollowness; worthlessness.

(5) Something worthless, trivial, or pointless.

(6) A small case, usually used for make-up items.

(7) A usually small dressing table used to apply makeup, preen, and coif hair. Normally quite low and similar to a desk, with drawers and one or more mirrors on top.  Often paired with a bench or stool to sit upon.

(8) A type of bathroom fitting, usually a permanently-fixed storage unit including one or more washbasins.

(9) An alternative name for a portfolio maintained as a showcase for one's own talents, especially as a writer, actor, singer, composer or model.

(10) Any idea, theory or statement entirely without foundation (UK only, now obsolete).

1200-1250: From Middle English vanite, borrowed from Old French vanité (self-conceit; futility; lack of resolve) derived from the Classical Latin vānitās (emptiness, aimlessness; falsity (and when used figuratively "vainglory, foolish pride”), root of which was vānus (empty, void (and when used figuratively "idle, fruitless”).  A more precise equivalent in Latin was probably vanitatem (emptiness, foolish pride).  Root was the primitive Indo-European wano-, the suffixed form of the root eue- (to leave, abandon, give out).  English also absorbed many synonyms and related words: egotism, complacency, vainglory, ostentation, pride, emptiness, sham, unreality, folly, triviality, futility.  Except in religious texts, the old meaning (that which is vain, futile, or worthless) faded from general use, the modern meaning (self-conceited), which endures to this day, is attested from the mid-fourteenth century.  The first reference to furniture was the vanity table, dating from 1936, a use adopted by manufacturers of bathroom fittings in the later post-war period.  The first vanity table seem to have been advertised in 1936.

The Old Testament

Vanity of vanities, said the preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity. (Ecclesiastes 1:2)

The word translated as vanity appears 37 times in Ecclesiastes, more than in the entirety of the rest of the Old Testament so is clearly a theme of the text.  The meaning of vanity is used here in its original form of something that is transitory and quickly passes away.  In that it’s a literal translation of the Hebrew hebel, best understood in this context as meaning breath of wind, something which, whatever its immediate effects, is soon gone.  Unfortunately for nihilists, emos and other depressives trawling texts for anything confirming the pointlessness of life, biblical scholars agree the phrase is not an assertion that life is meaningless or that our labors in this fallen world are ultimately useless.  Instead, it’s a saying to help people put their lives in the proper perspective.  Ecclesiastes is not saying all our efforts are worthless, just observing that all we do in our three score and ten years upon this earth is but a brief prelude to our eternal existence and much of life escapes our understanding, for we cannot comprehend how everything fits into the grand story of creation.

All very poetic but, perhaps sadly, improbable.  It’s more likely the universe is a violent, doomed, swirl of matter and energy, life is pointless, right or wrong are just variable constructs, everything is meaningless and all any can hope for is a fleetingly brief false consciousness which might make us feel happy.

Vanity Fair

Published in 1678, John Bunyan’s (1628–1688) The Pilgrim's Progress is an allegory of the Christian’s spiritual journey through the sins and temptations of earthly existence to the salvation of the Kingdom of Heaven; a symbolic vision of an English worthy’s pilgrimage through life.  In the village of Vanity is a perpetual fair, selling all things to satisfy all desires and Vanity Fair represents the sin of man’s attachment to and lust for transient worldly goods, a critique echoed later in secular criticisms of materialism.  Novelist William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–1863), although making no mention of Bunyan or his work when he published Vanity Fair in 1848, could rely on his readers being well acquainted with the symbolism of the earlier allegory.  By the mid-nineteenth century when Thackeray’s portrait of British society was published, the term had become laden too with secular and class-conscious meanings, suggesting the imagery both of self-indulgent playground and the sense of that stratum of society where the only habitué are the idle and undeserving rich.  Thackeray explored both.

Lindsay Lohan. Vanity Fair Italia, August 2011

Over the years, on both sides of the Atlantic, a number of periodicals have used the masthead Vanity Fair.  The current one has its roots in Condé Nast’s purchase in 1913 of a men's fashion journal called Dress, and Vanity Fair, a magazine devoted to performing arts with an emphasis on theatre.  After a brief, unsatisfactory foray as the combined title Dress and Vanity Fair, in 1914 he re-launched as Vanity Fair and success was immediate, continuing even until well into the depression years of the 1930s.  Curiously different to the vicissitudes of the digital age, although revenue from advertising had collapsed, by the time Condé Nast in 1936 folded Vanity Fair into his companion title Vogue, circulation had reached an all-time high.  The problem was the cover price of an issue wasn’t sufficient profitably to cover production and distribution costs; advertising was essential.  In a situation familiar to newspaper publishers in their halcyon days, it wasn’t advantageous to achieve higher sales.

Condé Nast Publications revived the title, February 1983 the first issue.  Like most print publications, its advertising revenue has declined but, critically in this market, so have newsstand sales.  Its subscriber base is said to be stable but Condé Nast doesn’t release data indicating the breakdown mix and it’s thus unknown how much of this is made up from less lucrative bundled packages.  Newsstand sales of single-issue copies are a vital metric in this market, editors judged by monthly sales, a school of analysis now devoted to deconstructing the relationship between the photograph on an issue’s cover and copies sold; editorial content, while not ignored, seems less relevant.

The magazine’s future is thus uncertain as are the options were it not to continue as a distinct, stand-alone entity with a print version.  It’s a different environment from 1936 when it was absorbed into Vogue and different even to the turn of the century when Mirabella, a similar publication facing similar problems, closed.  The now well-practiced path of ceasing print production and going wholly digital may become attractive if circulation continues to suffer.  While it true Condé Nast already has digital titles which would seem to overlap with Vanity Fair, that’s less of a concern than cannibalization in print where the relationship of production and distribution costs to individual sales is different; both are marginal in gaining additional digital subscriptions.

Vanity Cases

The vanity case is an ancient accessory, one, three-thousand years old, made from inlaid cedar containing ointment, face-paint, perfume and a mirror of polished metal, was discovered during one of Howard Carter’s (1874–1939) archaeological digs.  Well known in something recognizably modern from the fourteenth century in France and Italy, they became fashionable in England only during the 1700s and then for men, as a small box called a “dressing case”, designed to fit into larger “dressing case”.

Enamel vanity case by Gérard Sandoz, Paris, circa 1927 (left) and cigarette case by Cartier, Paris, circa 1925 (right).  During the 1920s, the modern styles evolved.  Most exquisite were the art-deco creations designed as companion pieces to the cigarette cases newly fashionable with women as the social acceptability of young ladies smoking became prevalent.

Decimate

Decimate (pronounced des-uh-meyt)

(1) To destroy a great number or proportion of; to devastate, to reduce or destroy significantly but not completely (modern use).

(2) To select by lot and kill every tenth person (obsolete except for historic references).

(3) To take a tenth of or from (obsolete except for historic references).

(4) In computer graphics processing, to replace something rendered in high-resolution with something of lower but still acceptable quality.

(5) To exact a tithe or other 10% tax (almost archaic except in the internal rules of some religions).

1590–1600: From the Latin decimātus (tithing area; tithing rights), past participle of decimāre (to punish every tenth man chosen by lot) a verbal derivative of decimus (tenth), a derivative of decem (ten) and decimo (take a tenth), from the primitive Indo-European root dekm (ten).  The related nouns are decimation & decimator, the verbs (used with object) are decimated & decimating.  The most commonly used synonyms now are: wipe out, obliterate, annihilate, slaughter, exterminate, execute, massacre, butcher, stamp out & kill off

Decimate is interesting as an example of two linguistic phenomena.

(1) It’s a foreign word (Latin) which has become part of the English language.  This happens a lot (eg fuselage) because English is a vacuum-cleaner language which sucks in whatever is needed but it’s not universal and there’s no precise rule which decides what become assimilated and what, however frequently used, remains foreign: zeitgeist (spirit of the age) although now common in English, remains German.

(2) It’s a contranym, a word which in modern use, now means the opposite of its classical origins.  In Roman times, it meant to reduce by 10%; now it’s probably understood to reduce to, if not 10% then a least by a large portion.  This is a genuine meaning shift and, except in precise historic references (and then probably foot-noted), the new meaning is now correct.  Decimate thus differs from a word like enormity; if used (as it sometimes is) to mean enormous that’s not an error because by virtue of use, that meaning has been absorbed into the language as a concurrent use with the original.  By contrast, decimate has suffered a meaning shift.

The killing of one in ten, chosen by lots, from a rebellious city or a mutinous army was a punishment sometimes used by the Romans and there have been many instances of it (expressed usually as collective punishment) since, Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) explicitly referring to the Roman tradition when in 1934 explaining why there had been so many (retrospectively authorized) executions during the suppression of the so-called "Röhm putsch" (the Führer's actions now sometimes (generously) described as a pre-emptive or preventative strike).  The word has been (loosely and un-etymologically) used since as early as the 1660s to mean "destroy a large but indefinite number of."  This is one of those things which really annoys pedants but given it’s been happening since the seventeenth century, it may be time for them to admit defeat.  Were the word now to be used to convey its original meaning, the result would probably be only confusion.  One point in use which is important is that one should speak of the whole of something being decimated, not a part (eg a plague decimated the population, not disease decimated most of the population).  Decimate remains well-known because is well known because it’s lived on in Modern English, albeit with quite some mission-creep in meaning but the Romans had many other expressions defining the precise proportionality of a reduction by single aliquot part including: tertiate (⅓), quintate (⅕), sextate (⅙), septimate (⅐), duodecimate (¹⁄₁₂) and centesimate (¹⁄₁₀₀).

Smaller but not decimated: Lindsay Lohan full-sized (left), reduced by 10% (centre) & reduced by 90% (right).

However, although most probably now understood what is meant by decimate even if they're unaware of the word's origin, it should still be use with some care.  Sir Ernest Gowers (1880–1966) in his revision (1965) of Henry Fowler's  (1858–1933) A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) objected to the "virtual extermination" of rabbits by the agent of the myxomatosis virus being described as a decimation because, with a reported death rate of 99.8%, it was something notably more severe than modern understanding of the word let alone that of a Roman.  In the way of such things the rabbits anyway staged a revival as natural selection did its thing.  Fowler's guide also cautioned that any use "expressly inconsistent with the proper sense... must be avoided", citing "A single frost night decimated the currants by as much as 80%".  The point is taken but that sentence does seem helpfully informative.  Nor are all acts of reduction of necessity instances of decimation; there has to be something destructive about the process.  A photograph can be reduced in size by a Roman 10% or a modern 90% but one wouldn't suggest it has been decimated; it has just be rendered smaller.

Rune

Rune (pronounced roon)

(1) Any of the characters of certain ancient Germanic alphabets (derived from the Roman alphabet), as of a script used for writing the Germanic languages, especially of Scandinavia and Britain, circa 200-1200 AD, or a script used for inscriptions in a Turkic language between the sixth and eighth centuries from the area near the Orkhon River in Mongolia.  Each character was ascribed some magical significance.

(2) Something written or inscribed in such characters.

(3) An aphorism, poem, or saying with mystical meaning or for use in casting a spell; any obscure piece of writing using mysterious symbols; a spell or incantation.

(4) In literary use, a poem, song, or verse.

(5) A Finnish or Scandinavian epic poem, or a division of one, especially a division of the Kalevala.

(6) A roun (secret or mystery) (obsolete).

(7) In computing, in the Go programming language, a Unicode code point.

1675–1685: From the Old Norse rūn & rún (a secret, writing, runic character), cognate with the Old English rūn, the Middle English rune, the obsolete English roun and the Finnish runo (poem, canto).  All were related to the Old Saxon, Old High German and Gothic runa which, like the Old Norse rūn & rún is from the Proto-Germanic rūnō (letter, literature, secret), which is borrowed from either the Proto-Celtic rūnā or from the same source as it.

Of the Runic

Runologists squabble over details of the historical origins of runic writing but there’s a general consensus runes were derived from one of the many Old Italic alphabets in use among the Mediterranean peoples of the first century AD, those who lived to the south of the Germanic tribes.  Earlier Germanic sacred symbols, such as those preserved in northern European rock carvings, also may have influenced the development of the script.  The transmission of writing from southern to northern Europe appears to have been spread by Germanic military formations which would have encountered Italic writing during campaigns amongst their southerly neighbours.  This hypothesis is supported by the association runes have always had with the god Odin, who, in the Proto-Germanic period (under his original name Woðanaz), was the divine model of the warrior leader. The Roman historian Tacitus noted Odin (Mercury in the interpretatio romana) was already established as the dominant god in the pantheons of many Germanic tribes by the first century AD although whether the runes and the cult of Odin arose together or one predated the other remains in dispute.  In Norse mythology however, the runes came from nothing as mundane as an old alphabet.  The runes were never invented or a product of evolution but are eternal, pre-existent forces Odin himself discovered by undergoing a tremendous ordeal.

The Hávamál

The Hávamál (Sayings of Hár, Sayings of the high one) is one of the poems of the Poetic Edda.  A kind of survival guide to for those seeking to live a good life, the form of verse varies, the most notable being where the text shifts to discuss how Odin (Odhins) gained the secret of the magical runes and came to learn the spells.  A work thus both pragmatic and philosophical, the poem’s only known source the Codex Regius, thought to date from circa 800.

The Rúnatal (Rúnatáls-tháttr-Odhins or Odins Rune Song) contains the stanzas in which Odin reveals the secret of the Runes.

I know that I hung on a windy tree

nine long nights,

Wounded with a spear, dedicated to Odin,

myself to myself,

on that tree of which no man knows

from where its roots run.

No bread did they give me nor a drink from a horn,

downwards I peered;

I took up the runes, screaming I took them,

then I fell back from there.

The Hávamál concludes with the mystical Ljóðatal, which dwells on knowledge and the knowing of the Odinic mysteries.  A kind of dictionary which lists and provides a legend creating keys to a sequenced number of runic charms, there are linkages with the Sigrdrífumál (known often as Brynhildarljóð, a section of the Poetic Edda text in Codex Regius) in which the valkyrie Sigrdrífa details a number of the runes at her command.  In stanza 151, there’s an allusion to the sending of a tree root carved with runes, a noted motif in Norse mythology and the cause of death of Grettir the Strong.

I know a sixth one if a man wounds me

with the roots of the sap-filled wood:

and that man who conjured to harm me,

the evil consumes him, not me.

The runic-themed imagery used for the cover art of Lindsay Lohan's A Little More Personal (Raw) (2005).

Historians and archivists have devoted much attention to the Codex Regius, reconstructing its timeline from the many fragmentary sources.  The earliest writings appear to have been collections of proverbs, sayings and advice attributed to Othin, probably in the manner so much in the Bible is said to have been the words of Solomon; other dubious claims of connection exist in the texts of the Buddha, Confucius, the Prophet Muhammad and others where the documentary record can never be conclusive.  The collection was thus, probably from its earliest times, elastic in content though always known as "The High One's Words", others taking advantage of the authority Othin’s imprimatur conferred to add such poems or other sayings of wisdom they thought appropriate.  In the nature of such things, the style of writing displays a consistency, important when seeking to imply that the speaker was Othin, a process which is something of a gray area in the history of literary forgery, the later authors perhaps assured what they were adding was what Othin might have said or with which he would anyway have concurred.  So, a catalogue of runes, or charms, was later bolted-on, along with new sets of proverbs, differing in content but not in style from those in the original document.  There are some stylistic variations in form in that some verses verge upon the narrative but the structure of the whole is loose, accommodating the odd innovation without jarring effect.  It’s agreed that structurally the text exists in five parts:

(1) The Hovamol proper (stanzas 1-80): The sayings and proverbs to guide the living of life, a kind of early self-help manual.

(2) The Loddfafnismol (stanzas 111-138): Another collection similar to the first, but these more a discourse on ethics and morality and addressed specifically to a young man known as Loddfafnir.

(3) The Ljothatal (stanzas 147-165): A listing of charms.

(4) The love-story of Othin and Billing's daughter (stanzas 96-102): The love story is something of a cautionary tale, beginning as it does with a dissertation on the faithlessness and general unreliability of women (stanzas 81-95).  Scholars suggest the warning words were the first written with the rest of the poem created as an apt illustration.

(5) This is the story of how Othin got the mead of poetry, the draft document which delivered to him the gift of tongues, an indulgence from the maiden Gunnloth (stanzas 103-110).  Added to this (and obviously later) is the brief passage (stanzas 139 146) recounting Othin’s winning of the runes.  Structurally, the poem needs this section as an introduction to the Ljothatal and any good editor would have insisted on its inclusion.

Of the authorship or even the dates of the accretions, nothing can for sure be known.  All than can be said is that some is very old and some more recent which isn’t a great deal of help but anything else is merely speculative.  The text instead needs to be read as it is: a gnomic collection of the wisdom a violent race living in a brutish world written to help people survive in an unforgiving time when, days when wherever one went, one would be ill-advised to assume one was among friends.  Tellingly, women are not mentioned in the non-narrative sections of the poem, not even a nod to the advantage of having someone to cook and clean for this is very much a work about the world of men on earth, the threats and their consequences.  There’s no discussion of heaven and hell or any after-life, no judgement beyond that of one's fellow men.