Simony

Simony (pronounced sahy-muh-nee or sim-uh-nee)

(1) The making of profit out of sacred things.

(2) In Christianity, the practice, now usually regarded as a sin, of buying or selling spiritual or ecclesiastical benefits such as pardons, relics, benefices or preferments.

The buying or selling of spiritual or sacred things, such as ecclesiastical offices, pardons, or consecrated objects.

1175–1225: From the Middle English & the twelfth century Old French simonie (selling of church offices; the sin of buying or selling sacred things), from the Late Latin simōnia (from Simon Magus (Σίμων ὁ μάγος in Greek, Simon Magvs in Latin), the Samaritan sorcerer (magician) who was rebuked by Peter when he tried to buy the power of conferring the Holy Spirit (Acts 8:9-24)).  The nouns simoniak & simoner (the alternative spelling was simonier) (one who practices simony) appear in documents around the turn of the fifteenth century but there’s no evidence the adverb simoniacally was in use before the mid-1700s.  Simony, simonist, simoner & simonism are nouns, simoniac is a noun & adjective, simonient is an adjective and simoniacally is an adverb; the noun plural is simonies.

Acts 8:9-24: Origin of the Church’s ban on outsourcing.

18: And when Simon saw that through laying on of the apostles' hands the Holy Ghost was given, he offered them money.

19: Saying, give me also this power, that on whomsoever I lay hands, he may receive the Holy Ghost.

20: But Peter said unto him, thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money.

Simon Magus, known also as Simon the Sorcerer, was one of many magicians and, with competition fierce in a crowded market, he sought to increase his stock of magic tricks, gaining thereby a comparative advantage.  What he really wanted was to be thought of as one who, by laying on of hands, could make people feel filled with the Holy Spirit (the presence of the Lord), then a desired thing.

Saint Peter to Simon the Sorcerer: "Just don't do it; just say no."

When Simon Magus saw Peter and John deliver the presence by the laying of their on baptized believers, he offered money if they would confer on him the same power.  The pious pair were aghast at the idea one could buy the gift of God and urged Simon to repent so God might forgive him.  Hearing these words made Simon fearful and he pleaded with them to pray that nothing bad would befall him.  Whether Simon was truly repentant is never made clear although he did not immediately die so God did not at once smite him in his wrath.  Others were not so fortunate but Simon was the first heretic named in the New Testament and ever since, the Church has insisted on its monopoly in matters spiritual.  However, later popes, bishops and other clergy, while noting the the ruling of Peter & John as conferring on them exclusivity of supply in such matters, their interpretation didn't extend to banning profit from the business, something which would come to have profound consequences for Church and state. 

Compared with the unfortunate Ananias and Sapphira, Simon got off lightly.  In the Book of Acts (4:32), it’s recorded the early Christian disciples did not think of their possessions as their own but as the property of the collective to be used in the name of the Lord (not now a popular piece of scripture among the more materialist Christians).  Were money received by one, it belonged to all the apostles and were one to be found cheating, there were consequences and of course there had to be because, theologically, not only was the miscreant cheating others in the clergy, they were stealing from God Himself.  In Acts (5:1-11), it’s recounted that Ananias and his wife Sapphira sold their land but, when handing the proceeds to Peter, Anania kept some of the money for himself (the modern term in the study of governance & corruption in the distribution of foreign aid would be "siphoning").

5 But a certain man named Ananias, with Sapphira his wife, sold a possession,

2 And kept back part of the price, his wife also being privy to it, and brought a certain part, and laid it at the apostles' feet.

3 But Peter said, Ananias, why hath Satan filled thine heart to lie to the Holy Ghost, and to keep back part of the price of the land?

4 Whiles it remained, was it not thine own? and after it was sold, was it not in thine own power? why hast thou conceived this thing in thine heart? thou hast not lied unto men, but unto God.

5 And Ananias hearing these words fell down, and gave up the ghost: and great fear came on all them that heard these things.

6 And the young men arose, wound him up, and carried him out, and buried him.

7 And it was about the space of three hours after, when his wife, not knowing what was done, came in.

8 And Peter answered unto her, Tell me whether ye sold the land for so much? And she said, Yea, for so much.

9 Then Peter said unto her, How is it that ye have agreed together to tempt the Spirit of the Lord? behold, the feet of them which have buried thy husband are at the door, and shall carry thee out.

10 Then fell she down straightway at his feet, and yielded up the ghost: and the young men came in, and found her dead, and, carrying her forth, buried her by her husband.

11 And great fear came upon all the church, and upon as many as heard these things.

A salutary warning then, rather untypical of the New Testament, something more in the spirit of the vengeful God of the Old and it remains one of the passages in scripture most of modern Christianity prefers to ignore.  The endorsement of the death penalty often attracts little criticism but the notion of sharing with others one’s capital gains from the real-estate market would likely have little appeal to the many in evangelical congregations, although, given the corporate structure, the richer of the clergy might see some attraction.

The story has long been a struggle for theologians.  Although a injunction against lying is not one of the ten commandments (although it seems implied in (8) You shall not steal & (9) You shall not bear false witness), it wasn't explicitly prohibited although Ananias and Sapphira were struck dead simply for conspiring to lie; that would seem unfair for on the night Christ was tried, Peter himself lied three times yet was not thrice struck dead and anyway, as Peter acknowledged, they were under no obligation to donate the money.  It might then seem difficult to see just what was the sin so heinous that both deserved to die but theologians most often hint at something Aristotle might have called honor, what the social media marketing experts might call the quality of authenticity.  The transgression of Ananias and Sapphira was seeking the honor of their community in a manner dishonorable, shaming themselves as mere counterfeits; phoneys.  It was not the money which mattered, it was the fake news and, as Peter said, that news came from Satan for Satan had filled (to “the brim” in some translations) the heart of Ananias.  So, it's no great theological leap to see in their conduct as transgressions of (8) You shall not steal and (2) You shall not make any idols to worship (in that money had become an object of veneration).

La Mort de Saphire (The Death of Sapphira (1652)), oil on canvas by Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665).

People lie all the time and God does not smite them in his wrath but while all men might be equal before God, not all communities are equal.  When people lie to others in their community they are lying to others, to themselves and before God; it is a sin and one day they shall be judged.  But among the disciples of Christ himself, there can be no lies for to lie there is to lie about the work of the Holy Spirit and to speak that lie to God.  There can be only one consequence and that must be death.  It's a warning to those with the conceit to seek pre-eminence among the people of God, careerists seeking recognition, influence and power in God’s Church which is wrong for it is God alone who takes us into His Church (John 6:44, 65) and Him alone who elevates and ordains individuals to offices within (1 Corinthians 12:18, 28; Ephesians 4:11); as in all things, "the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away; Blessed be the name of the Lord" (Job 1:21).  The vainglory of the self-aggrandizement of Ananias and Sapphira was the work of the mind and nature of Satan (Isaiah 14:13-14; Ezekiel 28:17) and was what made the couple willing instruments in the execution of his purposes.  Structuralists draw from the story a lesson about the authority of the hierarchical clergy and the nature of the institution of the Church.  Theologians writing their apologia (which seem always emphasise that Peter must be absolved of any responsibility) conclude the message is in everything we do we must love our neighbors as ourselves and seek not to accrue wealth, status and power.

In the early medieval church the legal position was unambiguous so the spirit was strong, even if the flesh of priests was sometimes weak, accusations of simony not uncommon, something encouraged presumably by the increasingly obvious wealth of not a few clergy.  In reaction, canon law banned what had become revenue streams derived from the supply of what had once been simple orders of service performed for events such as blessings or baptism.  Over the years many canons and edicts reinforced the sanctions, something necessitated by priests being good “black letter law” practitioners, eager to spot loopholes and eyes of needles through which money could pass.  Even papal bulls addressed the matter though it was a time of low literacy and distant channels of communications, things which helped imaginative priests hone their business model.  Famously, Gregory I (circa 540–604; usually styled Saint Gregory the Great, pope 590-604) condemned such transactions as “a simoniac heresy” but the problem was not the state of law but the efficiency of its enforcement, a familiar complaint in the modern secular world.

Despite it all, by the ninth and tenth centuries, simony had become so entrenched in the ecclesiastical structure that the very economy of the Church may have been dependent on the practices and in the eyes of the population, presumably was an accepted part of theology.  The more austere canon lawyers however found it disturbing and by the eleventh century, one of the debates between them concerned the issue of whether a priest who had gained his office by a simonical transaction (ie purchased it from a bishop) could be said to be validly ordained and this was not merely a tiresome technical point argued between lawyers: if an ordination was invalid, did this invalidate the legal effect of the rituals he’d since performed?  If so, were some marriages null & void, couples living in sin and unknowingly producing illegitimate children?  Were their baptisms valid or were there many unbaptised heathens?  That was bad enough but if so, would those who had died (and there would have been many), on that basis be sent not to Heaven but instead burn in Hell (discussions of some less unpleasant alternatives such as Limbo were not then well advanced)?

It was during the pontificate of Gregory IX (circa 1150-1241; pope 1227-1241) the sanctions were codified and it was done with a legal sledgehammer.  In issuing the Corpus Juris Canonici (literally “Body of Canon Law”) in 1234, Gregory provided the document which would provide the framework for the Church’s canon law for over 700 years and although subject to frequent refinement, it would not be replaced until 1917.  As a part of this, the matter of simony was dealt with in what might now be called “an omnibus provision”, the definitional basis for the offence so wide that just about any transaction “involving consideration” (ie money or some other benefit) might be caught in its net.

Canto XVIII, part of the eighth circle of Hell, in Divine Comedy (circa 1494), illustrated by Sandro Botticelli (Alessandro di Mariano di Vanni Filipepi; circa 1445–1510).

It’s said to have had a great reforming influence but of course the problem shifted shape rather than going away and in the fourteenth century, Dante Alighieri (circa 1265–1321) in Divina Commedia (Divine Comedy (circa 1310-1321)) detailed (not without glee) the fate of avaricious simoniacs including “clergymen, and popes and cardinals” who, dammed for “fraud” would be cast into the eighth circle of Hell, a hot, fiery place where they’d have ended up trapped for eternity in a flaming tomb, the frequent punishments including being whipped by demons, immersed in excrement and transformed into reptiles:

Rapacious ones, who take the things of God,
that ought to be the brides of Righteousness,
and make them fornicate for gold and silver!
The time has come to let the trumpet sound
for you;

Ever if not scared of lawyers, from the most humble monk to the pope himself, priests were scared of going to Hell so Dante’s words may have had some effect, even though he wrote in common Italian rather than Latin.  The lure of money though proved strong and although the sale of “indulgences” (essentially God’s forgiveness, often in bulk) was not the sole inspiration for the movement which led to the sixteenth century Protestant Reformation, it was probably the most celebrated and an indication of the way corruption tends to be hydra-headed, difficult to suppress and probably impossible to eradicate.  Still, it was the framework of canon law which provided the basis for the structures the Church of England would adopt to stamp out simony and it’s not hard to see traces of it in many of the anti-corruption statutes and institutions which exist today in many Western states.

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

Crossbody

Crossbody (pronounced kraws-bod-ee or kros‐bod-ee)

(1) Of or noting a type of bag, distinguished by a long shoulder strap intended to be worn diagonally across the body.  A crossbody purse or crossbody wallet is a variation on the theme.

(2) In professional (ie choreographed) wrestling, a term covering several aerial moves in which one competitor launches themselves from a height (sometimes using the ring’s ropes or corner-posts to gain altitude) landing horizontally or diagonally across their (often already) prostrate opponent's torso, forcing them to the mat if they were standing.

Early 1950s: The construct was cross + body.  As a prefix, cross was from the Middle English cros- & crosse- (relating to a cross, forming a cross, in the shape of a cross or “X”), developed from the noun and influenced by “across”.  Body (the spelling bodie is long obsolete) was from the Middle English bodi & bodiȝ, from the Old English bodiġ (body, trunk, chest, torso, height, stature), from the Proto-West Germanic bodag (body, trunk), from the primitive Indo-European bhewd (to be awake, observe).  It was cognate with the Old High German botah from which the Swabian gained Bottich (body, torso).  Although as late as the sixteenth century, “body” was used in the now archaic sense of the “section of a dress or gown extending from the neck to the waist but excluding the arms” the idea of the crossbody was a reference always to “the body” in the sense of the physical structure of a human form, in this case the torso, the line extending from a shoulder to around the opposite hip.  The alternative spelling is cross–body.  Crossbody is a noun & adjective; the noun plural is crossbodies.

The cross-prefix has widely been used for similar or analogous purposes such as the crossbow, (an early, mechanized version of the bow and arrow), the cross-bolt (a means of adding additional structural rigidity to the main bearings in an internal combustion engine by adding locating bolts at a 90^o angle to those mounted vertically) and cross-purposes (a conversation in which two or more are talking while misunderstanding each other's plans, intentions or meanings) and the cross-stitch (in needlework or embroidery, a double-stitch which forms a cross.  Many other uses such as cross-country, cross-dresser, cross-cultural et al, are different in that they don’t involve the “X” shape or (of necessity) anything in a diagonal.

Bill Clinton & Monica Lewinsky, the White House, February 1997, one of the photographs of the 1990s.

Monica Lewinsky (1973) was the young intern of whom in 1998 Bill Clinton (b 1946; US president 1993-2001) infamously remarked “I did not have sexual relations with that woman… Miss Lewinsky.”  Had that been something said in a county court in a remote flyover state of a consensual encounter between two obscure private citizens, defense counsel may have succeeded in arguing that for there to be “sexual relations” one must have “sex” and what transpired had not crossed the accepted definitional threshold.  In 1998, there probably were still places where such distinctions were maintained but because what happened happened in the White House between the chief magistrate of the United States and an intern a quarter century younger, Monicagate played out.  As presidential scandals go there have certainly been worse and as Harold Macmillan (1894–1986; UK prime-minister 1957-1963) replied when woken in the middle of the night to be told a member of his cabinet was in the midst of an affair with a young lady “with both a present and a past” who was also enjoying the affections of a Soviet spy: “Well at least it was with a woman.”  That the liaisons with the Russian were arranged at the behest of MI5 (the UK's internal security organization) is one of the many details which made the Profumo Affair (John Profumo (1915–2006)) one of the century's juiciest scandals although, some of the files containing "sensitive" information about members of the English establishment remain embargoed until 2046. Even then, few expect to see unredacted papers. 

Bill Clinton and crooked Hillary Clinton, the Hamptons, 2021.

A youthful indiscretion is one thing but an indiscretion with a youth is something else and whether crooked Hillary Clinton (b 1947; US secretary of state 2009-2013) ever forgave her husband only she knows but she didn’t leave him so there was that.  She had her own reasons to stay which may or may not have involved forgiveness but the conventional political wisdom remains that had the US constitution allowed it, Bill Clinton would probably have enjoyed a comfortable victory in the 2000 presidential election so enough of the US population either forgave him or were indifferent in the matter.  Monica Lewinsky fared not as well, being as unprepared for what ensued as just about anyone in her position would have been and it’s remarkable she coped as well as she did.  However, now 50, Ms Lewinsky has survived and in February 2024 emerged as the face of women’s fashion label Reformation’s latest campaign, one focused on corporate workwear and, in concert with vote.org, encouraging women to “use their voice” in the upcoming election and given the extent to which recent court decisions have encouraged an influential faction in the Republican Party to mount further assaults on the rights of women, their vote has the potential to be decisive in contests for both houses of Congress.

Monica Lewinsky's photoshoot for Reformation’s You’ve Got the Power campaign. 

The “You’ve Got the Power” campaign slogan thus has a dual meaning, referencing both the exercise of the franchise and the “power dressing” of the wardrobe (good taste prevailed and no electric blue dresses were featured) although big shoulder pads didn’t make a return which would have disappointed some but the corporate staples red (here described as “scarlet”) and black were prominent.  The range was conservative as befits the target market but seems to have been well-received and serious students of such things especially appreciated the inclusion of an irregular polka-dot in black & white.  Ms Lewinsky certainly looked good and while photographers have tricks to play with lighting and angles, there’s little to suggest much post-production editing was done; she looked a youthful, elegant 50.  One piece which attracted attention was the “Monica” bag which came with both a fitted top-handle and a longer strap, allowing it to be carried on the shoulder or as a crossbody.

Reformation’s "Monica" crossbody bag in black (left) and topo (right).

The Monica crossbody bag is available in topo or black.  Topo is a Spanish word meaning “mole” (both (1) in zoology as the small mammal and (2) in the jargon of espionage a “sleeper agent” who infiltrates an organization, usually to spy) and as a dark brownish-grey colour (ie an approximation of the colour of a mole's skin (hence the familiar "moleskin"), it’s the equivalent of the English taupe, from the French taupe, from the Latin talpa (mole).  In the circumstances, “talpa” presumably was more appealing to the marketing department than “moleskin” although “black” was refreshingly simple.  Reformation’s Monica (as in the crossbody bag) web page recommended the topo hue worked well paired with their “Lysander” dress, available in “selene” (the rather fetching polka-dot) or “midnight” (a dark blue close to navy and far enough removed from the shade of dress Ms Lewinsky made famous not to attract comment).  How fashion houses come up with product names is often mysterious.  Lysander was from the Ancient Greek Λῠ́σᾰνδρος (Lúsandros) and is a (now rare) male given name although in the US there has in the twenty-first century been a modest resurgence.  In the Greek, the name was used to denote “liberator” and it became entrenched in English probably because William Shakespeare (1564–1616) used it in the comedy, A Midsummer Night's Dream (1596), a romp in which Lysander found himself under Puck's spell after running away with his beloved Hermia, enduring a half-dozen cases of mistaken identity before being reunited, marrying in a triple ceremony (all of which sounds curiously modern in a Netflix sort of way).  What Reformation may have had in mind was Lysander (circa 454-395 BC), the Spartan admiral who liberated his people from the hegemony of Athens, his most famous victory being the sinking of the Athenian fleet at the Battle of Aegospotami (405 BC), the engagement which ended the Peloponnesian War.  Presumably, the thinking at Reformation was the name of an admiral from Antiquity was enough of a connection with navy blue although that tradition of use in navies began many centuries later.  There was also the Westland Lysander, a World War II (1939-1945) era communications & support aircraft used by the British Army and best remembered for (1) its role in smuggling spies and saboteurs into occupied Europe and (2) the unusual use of the wheel spats as mounting points for machine guns and ordnance such as 250lb (115 KG) bombs.  In production in the UK & Canada between 1936-1943, it was an uncelebrated but versatile platform which provided invaluable service in the clandestine operations run by the UK’s remarkably large number of agencies concerned with dirty tricks and other murky business.  It’s not likely Reformation thought much about the aircraft.

The Monicagate (1998) effect: The decline of the use of the name Monica in the US

Monica is a female given name and the variants in other European languages include Monique (French & Dutch), Mónica (Spanish Portuguese & Italian), Mônica (Brazilian Portuguese), Monika (Polish, Slovak, Slovine, Lithuanian, Croatian, Finnish, German & Indian, Czech, Bulgarian, Latvian, Finnish, Swedish, Norwegian & Danish), Moonika (Estonia), Mónika (Hungarian) and Mònica (Catalan).  The origin is obscure but may be from a Phoenician, Punic or Berber dialect, the oldest known instance being as the name of the mother of Saint Augustine of Hippo (354–430) although it has also been associated with the Ancient Greek μόνος (monos) (alone, only, sole, single).  It was Monica who converted Augustine to Christianity and in gratitude the Church also canonized her.  The Latin name Monica was from monere (to advise), an inflection of moneō, from the Proto-Italic moneō, from the primitive Indo-European monéyeti, causative from men- (to think); it was etymologically unrelated to later forms.  As an English name, it has been in use since the mid-eighteenth century while in the US, popularity peaked in the mid-1970s before beginning a gradual decline which became a precipitous plummet after 1999, something it seems reasonable to attribute to “the Monicagate effect”.

Lindsay Lohan with crossbody bags: At the LLohan Nightclub pop-up event, Playboy Club, New York, October 2019 (David Koma crystal-embellished cady midi dress with asymmetric hem, Valentino Rockstud 110mm pumps and Chanel mini tweed bag with crossbody strap from the Spring/Summer 2015 runway collection) (left) and with Louis Vuitton Louis Vuitton Le Coussin BB Bag (with a detachable crossbody strap), arriving at JFK Airport, August 2022 (right).

Creature of habit: Audrey Hepburn carrying her crossbody purse, Rome, 1971.

The crossbody bag in one form or another would have existed about as long as there have been bag-like creations for holding stuff because the design offers the advantage of transferring the weight to the shoulders (alternating if required) and leaving the user inherently "hands free".  Although for centuries a feature of military webbing, as a packaged piece of fashion, the industry usually credits the "design" of the product to Robert Sakowitz and later refinements to his daughter Bunny (she added the game-changing zipper!), the latter acknowledging a debt to the eighteenth century cross-body "strap bags".   The mix of thoughtful detailing, practicality and high prices meant that in the 1950s it soon became a a fashion staple and Audrey Hepburn (1929–1993) using one in her portrayal of the modern young spinster Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961) cemented it's place.  It's never left and a crossbody bag is merely one worn across the body with the strap extending diagonally from one shoulder to the opposite hip but the utility come from (1) hands-free convenience, (2) security & stability while affording ease of access to multiple compartments and (3) the ability to optimize weight distribution.  The crossbody method can be applied to bags of various sizes and there are even crossbody wallets and small purses and while such things might sound merely decorative, men tend often forget it's not uncommon for a woman's entire outfit to include not one pocket and in an era when it's become possible to carry only one's phone, a lipstick and a small can of mace; practicality need no longer be big.

The Monica 560

France's finest ever: 1963 Facel Vega Facel II.

In the fashion business there have been a number of products named “Monica” and it’s likely this often was for no reason other than it was thought appropriately feminine and pleasing to use.  There is also an automotive footnote, the Monica 560 a French-built luxury car which was the last of what often are referred to as the "first generation" of trans-Atlantic hybrids which, combining elegant European coachwork with robust, powerful, very cheap (and very thirsty) US-sourced drive-trains, flourished between the mid-1950s and the first oil shock two decades later.  They weren't really the "first generation" because there were manufacturers of such things during the 1930s but the sales volumes were tiny.  It’s often said the Monica was an attempt to resurrect the much lamented Facel Vega (1954-1964) but the founder was more nostalgic still, the industrialist Jean Tastevin (1919-2016) recalling the pre-war Delahayes, Bugattis Delages & Buccialis, French cars which ranked with the world’s finest.  However, when in the late 1960s Monsieur Tastevin surveyed the scene, even the more expensive French cars, whatever their other virtues (some of which were admittedly well concealed), were under-powered and although in many ways sophisticated, lacked the power and refinement of the British, US & European competition.  His core business was the large conglomerate Compagnie française de produits métallurgiques (CFPM) which specialized in building freight rail wagons, his imaginative business model including leasing them, a form of vertical integration which provided a stable revenue stream during periods of diminished demand.  

One of the valve cover castings for a Martin V8 installed in a prototype Monica.

With this industrial capacity and financial infrastructure, he reasoned building a car to compete with the other speciality builders (and he included in that the upper-range Mercedes-Benz, Jaguars and such) was within CFPM’s capacity and in that he may have been correct but a combination of bad decisions, bad luck and bad timing doomed the project.  The first mistake was to try to match Maserati & Ferrari in the use of a bespoke engine rather than the US V8s pragmatically adopted by Jensen, Bristol, Iso, Monteverdi and others; Tastevin wanted a thoroughbred, not a bastard.  What was available was a V8 designed by the gifted English engineer Ted Martin (1922-2010) and it was in many ways outstanding being robust, compact, powerful and light.  Convinced, Tastevin bought the rights along with the collateral contract under which Rolls-Royce agreed to handle the production, the prestige of a “Rolls-Royce-built engine” another thing which appealed.  Unfortunately, Monsieur Tastevin subsequently demanded of Rolls-Royce they guarantee the power output of each unit, an underwriting the company declined on the basis that as a manufacturing and assembly contractor of something they’d not designed and tested, they were not prepared to guarantee someone else’s work.  His contract well-written, Ted Martin kept the money and Tastevin had to find another engine.

The first (left) and second (centre) Monica prototypes and the Amiot 143M (1931-1944), a French five-seat reconnaissance bomber (right).

By early 1968, that was still to happen and prototypes were built with the Martin V8.  There was progress in that the chassis and most of the underpinnings were in close to their final form but the all-important styling was still a work in progress although that is being charitable, the appearance of the early prototypes in the tradition of some of the inter-war bombers built for the French Air Force which to this day remain among the ugliest aircraft ever to fly.  The English were involved in the appearance of the early cars so blame can be shared and it wasn’t until the Italian carrozzeria Vignale became involved, something like the final, sleek form emerged although the work would be brought to fruition by others because Vignale subsequently was shuttered.  One thing which was deemed right as soon as the decision was made was the car’s name: Madam Tastevin’s name was Monique.

The Monica stand, Paris Motor Show, 1972.

The Monica made its debut at the Paris Motor Show, late in 1972 and impressed many with the look of its jewel-like V8 and sumptuous interior although the price raised a few eyebrows, costing as much as two Citroën SMs, then the most expensive car produced in France.  In the way of such things, the sales projections were optimistic, suggesting as many as 500 Monicas annually even though the market for big, expensive four-door saloons had become crowded; not only were specialists like Iso, Monteverdi and De Tomaso offering fully-developed and well-established models with reliable US V8s, Jaguar’s V12-powered XJ12 had set a dynamic benchmark at an extraordinarily low price and Mercedes-Benz were rumoured to be preparing a 7.4 litre (452 cubic inch) version of their epoch making S-Class (W116) (post-oil shock, eventually it would in 1975 surface as the 450 SEL 6.9).  Still, in 1972, generally, there was faith in the future.

1973 Monica 560 interior.  The engine was from the US, the leather & burl walnut was English, it was styled in Italy and the gearbox was German (or from the US if automatic).  It had a "French flavor". 

There optimism was still in the air in 1973 (the oil wouldn’t stop flowing until October) but by then the hunt was on for a new engine.  The contractual squabble with Rolls-Royce was one thing but by then, it had anyway finally occurred to Tastevin’s inexperienced team that the Martin V8, an enlarged racing engine, was never going to possess the characteristics needed in a luxury car.  It was noisy, at its best with a manual gearbox and at anything but high revs (where it needed to operate to produce the required power), somewhat rough.  In the early 1960s the Maserati Quattroporte had been much the same and it sold well but then there were few alternatives and the world had moved on; what buyers now wanted was the turbine-like smoothness of the XJ12 or the effortless torque of the big-displacement V8 hybrids.  The 3.4 litre (209 cubic inch) Martin V8 was a vibrant thing which would have been entertaining in a sports car but it wasn't what the target market now expected in a luxury saloon.  Tastevin’s original plan had been to build a high-performance sports car and the switch to four-door coachwork came early in the development process.  Of all the hybrids built in the era, the Monica was the only one never offered as a coupé. 

One of the few: 1974 Monica 560 Berlina.  The flowing lines were much admired and clearly not forgotten because the motifs re-appeared early in the next century on the Maserati Quattroporte V (Tipo M139, 2003-2012), that shape from Pininfarina's studio.

Surrendering to the inevitable, Tastevin phoned Detroit and arranged to purchase a batch of Chrysler’s 340 cubic inch (5.6 litre) (LA) V8s, one of the best of the small-block engines of the era and equally adaptable either to the company’s TorqueFlite automatic transmission or the ZF five-speed manual which still had real appeal for some.  Although by then somewhat detuned from its peak during the muscle car years, the 340 could be run in Europe without most of the power-sapping anti-pollution gear insisted on by US regulators (things were different then) and the performance was sparkling; in deference to Europeans for whom cubic inches were mysterious, the car was named the Monica 560 (an allusion to the V8's 5.6 litre displacement).  In 1974, the finished product was ready for sale although inflation meant the already high price had risen by over 50% since 1972 and the four-fold increase in the price of oil in the wake of the embargo had punished demand for fast, thirsty, cars, especially those from a previously unknown manufacturer.  By late 1974, many of the makers of the trans-Atlantic hybrids were either closed or in the throes of what would for most be a not long-protracted demise.  After 17 Monicas were sold in a few months, it was obvious the math was wrong and in February 1975, the company’s closure was announced, one of many such press-releases that year and while a handful of uncompleted chassis were brought to a finished state by a contracted third party, it’s never been clear how many.  Had the Monica 560 been brought to market in 1968 or 1969, it might have enjoyed some years of modest suggest although there’s no reason to believe it would have weathered the winds of change brought by the 1970s any better that the others which fell victim.

Sepia

Sepia (pronounced see-pee-uh)

(1) A dark brown pigment obtained from the ink-like secretion of various cuttlefish, often used with brush or pen in drawing.

(2) A drawing made with this pigment.

(3) A photograph or digital image in the tone recognized as “sepia”.

(4) A specific range of shades of brown, which tend to a reddish tincture.

(5) In photography, a print or photograph rendered within this color range, associated especially with early types such as calotype.  Now easily replicated in software, when using physical film stock it can be produced by first bleaching a print (after fixing), then immersing it for a short time in a solution of sodium sulphide or of alkaline thiourea.

(6) Any of several cuttlefish of the genus Sepia, producing a dark fluid used naturally for defense and, by humans, in various mixes of ink (mostly archaic but still used in technical literature).

1821: From the Italian seppia (cuttlefish), from the Latin sēpia, from the Ancient Greek σηπία (sēpía) (cuttlefish (and its secretion)), the origin of which is uncertain, the orthodox explanation being it was from the Ancient Greek σήπειν (sḗpein) (to make rotten) but there are etymologists who suggest while that’s “semantically possible” (on the basis of the “rotten:” smelling ink), it’s may be from a pre-Greek source.  The Greek sḗpein was related to σήψ (sḗps) (a kind of lizard; also a serpent, the bite of which was alleged to cause putrefaction”).  The Greek sēpía was akin to sepsis.  Sepia & sepian are nouns & adjectives and sepialike (also as sepia-like) is an adjectives; the noun plural is sepias.

The use of the word to describe the brown pigment extracted from the secretions of cuttlefish dates from the 1820s and the “brownish” meaning as applied to drawings was first recorded in English in 1863 (originally as “sepia drawing”); it was extended later to photography and film and it remains a motif in “retro” art and verisimilitude in film & television.  Reflecting the influence of Classical & Medieval Latin in the formation of zoological taxonomy, sepia had been used of the cuttlefish as early as the late-fourteenth century but today such use is rare.  The Latin was also the source of words in a number of languages including the Bulgarian се́пия (sépija), the Catalan sèpia, the Esperanto sepio, the Finnish seepia, the French sépia, the Galician sepia, the German Sepia, the Hungarian szépia, the Japanese: セピア色 (sepiairo), the Portuguese sépia, the Romanian sepia, the Russian се́пия (sépija), the Spanish sepia, the Swedish sepia, the Tagalog sepia and the Turkish sepia.  

The noun sepiolite (in mineralogy, a hydrated magnesium silicate, clay mineral used for carving into decorative articles and smoking pipes (known also as meerschaum), from the same etymological origin as sepia, picked up the name because of the resemblance to cuttlebone.  The -lite suffix (when used formally) was a representation of the Ancient Greek λίθος (líthos) (stone) and was appended to form the names of rocks and minerals.  In informal use (in commerce or humorously (and in politics often disparagingly)) it's a phonetic version of “light” in the sense of “smaller, lesser, reduced in weight”; it's used often for cut-down (sometimes free) versions of software, diet drinks etc.

Montage of Lindsay Lohan red-carpet stills, rendered in vintage calotype sepia.

As an adjective sepian (the comparative more sepian, the superlative most sepian) began life meaning (1) of or pertaining to the sepia (in the sense of the cuttlefish or its dark pigment) and (2) of the color (not of necessity produced with the derived ink).  In the post-war Unites States, sepia was adopted to refer to some of those with darker pigmentation of the skin, specifically applied to black Americans or African Americans.  The emergence was because in many parts of the US, use of most offensive of the N-words had become socially less acceptable in many circles and as this disapprobation trickled down the social spectrum, new slurs were created, sepian presumably attractive because of the history as a description of colors of paint, fabrics etc.  It was thus separated from ethnic identity and could thus be defended as wholly neutral in use.  As a term, it was neither sufficiently widely adopted nor endured in use for long enough for any pejorative association to become attached so it never became part of the linguistic treadmill.

Bridget Bardot (b 1934) in sepia, on set in Viva Maria! (1965).

As an artistic device, sepia is sometimes used in film.  In The Wizard of Oz (1939), one of the most famous uses was to contrast the bleak, sepia-toned scenes in Kansas with the vibrant (techni-) color in the Land of Oz.  A different effect was achieved in The Shape of Water (2017) (which is either a fantasy or science fiction (SF) film depending on who is writing the review), the sepia-toned sequences depicting the protagonist's memories and dreams.  Presumably, directors find sepia a useful device because black & white (the other obvious alternative) has through use become vested with connotations, gained not only from of the association with film noir.

Felicitous

Felicitous (pronounced fi-lis-i-tuhs)

(1) Characterized by felicity; causing happiness or pleasure.

(2) Well-suited to the occasion (of actions, manners, speech, expression etc); something apt or appropriate in the circumstances.

(3) Possessing a particular aptitude to display a suitable manner or expression; possessing an agreeable style.

(4) In structural linguistics (of a sentence or other fragment), semantically and pragmatically coherent; fitting in the context.

(5) In astrology, a planet or other heavenly body in an influential position.

1720s: The construct was felicit(y) + -ous.  Felicity was from the Middle English felicite (bliss, happiness, joy; delight, pleasure; a source of happiness; good fortune; prosperity; well-being; a heavenly body in an influential position (used in astrology), from the Old French felicité (source of the modern French félicité (bliss, happiness; felicity)), from the Latin fēlīcitātem, the accusative singular of fēlīcitās (fertility, fruitfulness; happiness, felicity; good fortune; success), from fēlix (happy; blessed, fortunate, lucky; fertile, fruitful; prosperous; auspicious, favorable) (ultimately from the primitive Indo-European dheh & dhehy (to nurse, suckle)) + -itās (a variant of -tās (the suffix used to form nouns indicating a state of being)).  The -itas suffix was from the Proto-Italic -itāts & -otāts (-tās added to i-stems or o-stems, later used freely) and ultimately from the primitive Indo-European -tehats.  The –ous suffix was from the Middle English -ous, from the Old French –ous & -eux, from the Latin -ōsus (full, full of); a doublet of -ose in an unstressed position.  It was used to form adjectives from nouns, to denote possession or presence of a quality in any degree, commonly in abundance.  In chemistry, it has a specific technical application, used in the nomenclature to name chemical compounds in which a specified chemical element has a lower oxidation number than in the equivalent compound whose name ends in the suffix -ic.  For example sulphuric acid (H₂SO₄) has more oxygen atoms per molecule than sulphurous acid (H₂SO₃).  There are degrees of felicitousness; the comparative is more felicitous, the superlative most felicitous.  Felicitous is an adjective, felicitousness is a noun and felicitously is an adverb.

In structural linguistics felicitous is a technical term used to indicate a sentence is semantically and pragmatically coherent (in the context of use).  It is not a synonym for “correct” in every situation because a sentence can be grammatical yet not be felicitous, analogous with law where a contract to undertake a murder can be found to be a valid (legal) contract because it conforms to the rules for such things yet be held to be “void for illegality” because the act of murder is unlawful.

In use, "felicitation", (complimentary expression of belief in another's happiness or good fortune), the noun of action from felicitate, is often used in the plural as “please extend my felicitations” although it’s now rare and probably something of an affectation by those for whom Noël Coward’s (1899–1973) drawing room scenes remain models of good manners; it may be the ultimate middle-class phrase.  In English drawing rooms and other places, felicitation was in use by the early eighteenth century.  Some style guides note the occasional error of use in which felicitation is used as a synonym for “congratulations” and caution it should instead be though a companion term.  Like the verb congratulate, congratulation implies one’s feeling of pleasure in another's happiness or good fortune while felicitation refers to an expression of belief the other is fortunate; what felicitations should suggest to the recipient is their pleasure is well deserved and should be enjoyed.  Expressions of both congratulations and felicitations can be sincere or wholly fake and those skilled in the art of such things deliberately can, with exactly the same text, convey either meaning through nuances such as intonation or non-verbal clues.  The guides’ distinction seems helpful (at least at the margins) but not arbiters of English agreed.  One of the most consistently severe of these was Henry Fowler (1858–1933) who in his authoritative A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) included “felicitate” in his list of “formal words” as a merely decorative alternative to “congratulate”, lumping it in with other needlessly ornate forms (adumbrate vs outline; endeavour vs try; desist vs cease (layers can prove those two are distinct); extend vs send; proceed vs go et al).  No fan of “genteelisms” in language, Henry Fowler thought there were few exceptions to his rule that the common or vernacular form is better than the formal.

Intriguingly, etymologists note a single verified use of “felicitously” in the 1530s but it's thought probably an error and the form wasn’t to emerge for more than a century.  The now obsolete verb felicitate (to render happy) was in use in the early seventeenth century, during which it picked up the sense of “to reckon happy”.  It was from the Late felicitatus, past participle of felicitare (to make happy), from felicitas (fruitfulness, happiness), again from fēlix.  The meaning “congratulate, compliment upon a happy event” seems to have emerged in the 1630s and the related forms were the verbs felicitated & felicitating; the rare alternative verb form felicify was documented in the 1690s and by the late nineteenth century this yielded adjective felicific and the companion antonym infelicific, neither now in common use but being shorter, seem more convenient than the alternative adjective infelicitous (unhappy, unlucky), in use by the late 1740s, supplanting the late sixteenth century form infelicious.  In most cases, there will anyway probably be better words to use but infelicific, infelicitously & infelicitousness seem more elegant that the alternatives (nonfelicitous, nonfelicitously & nonfelicitousness and unfelicitous, unfelicitously & unfelicitousness).

Because of the way Google harvests data for their ngrams, they’re not literally a tracking of the use of a word in society but can be usefully indicative of certain trends, (although one is never quite sure which trend(s)), especially over decades.  As a record of actual aggregate use, ngrams are not wholly reliable because: (1) the sub-set of texts Google uses is slanted towards the scientific & academic and (2) the technical limitations imposed by the use of OCR (optical character recognition) when handling older texts of sometime dubious legibility (a process AI should improve).  Where numbers bounce around, this may reflect either: (1) peaks and troughs in use for some reason or (2) some quirk in the data harvested.  So, all the ngrams reveal only what's in the particular sub-set Google’s grabbers extract from their catchments and that indicates the use of “felicitous” & “infelicitous” was most common in the mid-nineteenth century and although the former seems to have been used more than the latter, no conclusions should be drawn about the changes in the state of human happiness.  One clear finding however is that the double-negative form (that favorite of lawyers, politicians and Foreign Office mandarins) never found favor; if people wished to convey felicitousness they bothered not with “not infelicitous”.

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

The double negative is though handy to add nuance; whatever would be the surface analysis on the combination, “not bad” is understood to mean something different than “good” and it may be that like “I’m not unhappy”, “not infelicitous” can be useful in that it can be used to convey the sense that although one might not be all that happy, one is not despairingly miserable.  Given the nature of the human condition, it’s surprisingly it’s not heard more often.

Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021) and Nikki Haley (b 1972; US ambassador to the United Nations (UN) 2017-2018): Feeling respectively "felicitous" and "not infelicitous" after the South Carolina Republican Primary, February 2024.

Syzygy

Syzygy (pronounced siz-i-jee)

(1) In astronomy (actually borrowed from astrology!), the descriptor for either of the two positions (conjunction or opposition) of a celestial body when sun, earth, and the body lie in a straight line (since applied to the "straight-line configuration" of firstly three and later any number of celestial bodies in a gravitational system.

(2) Any two related things, either alike or opposite (obsolete except for historic references).

(3) In classical prosody, a group or combination of two feet, sometimes restricted to a combination of two feet of different kinds.

(4) In biology (especially zoology), the aggregation in a mass of certain protozoans, especially when occurring before sexual reproduction but can be used also when describing the asexual exchange of genetic material.

(5) In psychology, an archetypal pairing of contra-sexual opposites, symbolizing the communication of the conscious and unconscious minds.

(6) In mathematics, a relation between generators of a module.

(7) In medical pathology, a fusing of some or all of the organs.

(8) In genetics, the pairing of chromosomes in meiosis

1650-1660:  From the Late Latin sȳzygia (conjunction), from the Ancient Greek συζυγία (suzugía) (yoke of animals, pair, union of two, conjunction), from syzygein (to yoke together), the construct being an assimilated form of syn- (together) + zygon (yoke), from the primitive Indo-European root yeug- (to join).  In the Greek, the word produced also zeugnýnai (to yoke together), sometimes simplified in English transcription as synzugon.  In English, syzygy was adopted by astronomy in 1847.  In science there are a number of terms of classification based on syzygy, the most attractive of which is probably Syzygium samarangense (a taxonomic species within the family Myrtaceae (wax apple or Javan rose apple).  

In progress.

Syzygy was one of those words from the once respectable field of astrology later adopted by a number of scientific disciplines (astronomy, genetics, psychiatry, mathematics, zoology) and retained, even after astrology became widely regarded as disreputable.  In mathematics and the physical sciences, it was a handy descriptor of things which became paired or, however briefly, were in alignment although historically the emphasis was on "pair", a syzygy as able to be applied to an identical pair as two diametric opposites.  That permissiveness is now listed by most dictionaries as obsolete but is something to be noted when reading historic texts.

The origin of the application of the word in disciplines like psychiatry and psychology (noted more by its appearance in literary works than professional or academic papers) is thought by some to have been triggered by Russian philosopher Vladimir Solovyova (1853–1900) who used syzygy to denote “close union” and applied the concept in a variety of ways which influenced Russian writers not only in the nineteenth century but also those of the symbolist and neo-idealist movements of the later Soviet era and some critics agree Solovyov was at least one of the sources for Fyodor Dostoevsky's (1821–1881) characters Alyosha and Ivan Karamazov in The Brothers Karamazov (1880).  Very much in the tradition of   More controversial is the idea his book, The Meaning of Love (1892) (in which syzygy was introduced) is one of the philosophical sources of Leo Tolstoy's (1828-1910) much discussed The Kreutzer Sonata (1889); critics remain divided and opinions are argued with vigour although unusually united was the critical industry built around Carl Jung (1875–1961) and Sigmund Freud (1856-1939) (particularly the former's theories of the collective unconscious and the balancing of conscious and unconscious elements within an individual's psyche, although this was metaphorical and abstract compared to the use in astronomy and other sciences) which found strands of syzygy in the many themes of the self which so permeates their work.  Given the overarching concepts of (1) the individuation process and (2) the unions of individuals, especially of male and female tending to a totality, even a unity, it’s a word with some appeal to those who seem to value having something with such a range of adaptable meanings to use in works of speculative vagueness.

Listicle

Listicle (pronounced lis-ti-kuhl)

A published article (print or on-line) which differs from a simple list in that the entries are augmented with some additional content (text, links or images).

2000–2005: A portmanteau word, a blend of list + (art)icle.  List (in this context) was from the Middle English lī̆st & lī̆ste (band, stripe; hem, selvage; border, edge, rim; list, specification; barriers enclosing area for jousting, etc), from the Old English līste (hem, edge, strip) or the Old French liste & listre (border; band; strip of paper; list) or the Medieval Latin lista, all from the Proto-West Germanic līstā, from the Proto-Germanic līstǭ (band, strip; hem, selvage; border, edge) which may have been from the primitive Indo-European leys- (to trace, track). It was cognate with the Saterland Frisian Lieste (margin, strip, list), the Dutch lijst (picture frame, list), the German Low German Liest (edging, border), the German Leiste (strip, rail, ledge; (heraldry) bar), the Swedish lista (list), the Icelandic lista & listi (list), the Italian lista (list; strip), the Portuguese lista (list), the Spanish lista (list, roll; stripe), the Galician lista (band, strip; list) and the Finnish lista ((informal) list; batten).  Article was from the Middle English article, from the Old French article, from the Latin articulus (a joint, limb, member, part, division, the article in grammar, a point of time), from the Classical Latin artus, from the primitive Indo-European hértus (that which is fit together; juncture, ordering), from the root huer- (to join, fit (together)).  The adoption to describe “pieces of written text” was based on the “joining” function in grammar.  Listicle is a noun; the noun plural is listicles.

That a listicle can be all or substantially made up of text, links or images in any mix is a familiar concept but if the piece is either exclusively or substantially focused on charts (usually in the statistical rather than admiralty sense although an "informational graphic" counts as a “chart” for this purpose), then it can be referred to with the companion term "charticle" (plural charticles), another portmanteau word, a blend of chart + (art)icle.  Charticle is fun but seems an unnecessary word and a needless layer of differentiation; like many modern coinings, it ends up in lists (which can sometimes be listicles) of unusual or rare words with little evidence of actual use; were it not for the on-line world, charticle would likely have died a quick death.

Listicle is really less a description than a slur, an encapsulated critique of “pseudo-journalism”, the accusation being that the structure of a piece is provided by a “paint-by-numbers” approach and is fundamentally a PowerPoint slide (sometimes even the bullet points are included) with annotations (usually images or text) added as desired.  Sometimes, the criticism implies the whole thing is a “cut & paste” job.  It can be a valid objection if the format is inappropriate for the content but not every article needs to be anything like one of Susan Sontag’s (1933—2004) essays and a well-written listicle can present information in a concise and easily digestible format; indeed in many longer form pieces (including academic papers), summary-type appendices (abstracts or executive summaries) often are in the form of a listicle and thire brevity is much appreciated.

Illustrative examples of the three basic types include (1) Harper’s Bazaar's “Eleven of Lindsay Lohan’s Best Style Moments” (just a summary paragraph and captioned photographs), (2) People’s “Lindsay Lohan’s Most Iconic Early Looks” (a summary paragraph and annotated photographs) and (3) The Guardian’s “Ranking of US Presidents” (text only and a listicle disguised as an article, the content of which was so predictable it would have delighted their devoted readers).

So the form of the listicle can be useful.  The objection to them seems to focus on (1) the (allegedly increasingly accelerating) proliferation of the things, (2) that many are “fake journalism” in that they are merely a “padded list”, a PowerPoint slide disguised as prose and (3) many are little more than click-bait used but build the nominal engagement count and drive website traffic.  In some cases, the more strident criticism is of journalism which at first glance seems to be an “article” (in the accepted sense of the word) but if subject to structural analysis (a popular thing to do in media studies classes), it can be reduced to a listicle, even to the point of it being obvious where the bullet points should appear.  This is good sport as a form of attack on newspaper columnists who espouse the “wrong” politics but in cases where word limits are imposed, it’s likely the format is used for utilitarian reasons: it’s just an efficient way to order and impart information.

It’s no longer necessary to read Machiavelli’s (Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli, 1469–1527) Il Principe (The Prince; (1532)) because everything is now explained in in listicles.  There are free quotes.

The occasionally discussed matter of whether listicles are “real” journalism is something subjective and really depends on how one defines journalism (another significantly pointless exercise in this context, however vital it may be in a court of law).  The listicle is just another format and a well-written, information-dense listicle will contain journalistic elements, such as research and analysis and can be a more valuable thing than a piece, however conventional which is poorly-written, repetitive, or says very little.  All content should be judged on its merit rather than dismissed because of the form in which it's presented and it’s hard to escape the feeling they arouse such antagonism because they’re so often associated with entertainment and other parts of pop-culture.  There’s also the way listicles disproportionately populate the blogosphere and this one is probably as illustrative as any of the cynical way the format can be used for content creation.