Probe

Probe (pronounced prohb)

(1) To search into or examine thoroughly; question closely; an investigation, especially by a legislative committee, of suspected illegal activity.

(2) To examine or explore with or as if with a probe; the act of probing.

(3) A slender surgical instrument for exploring the depth or direction of a wound, sinus, or the like.

(4) In aerospace, an unmanned exploration spacecraft.

(5) A projecting, pipe-like device on a receiving aircraft used to make connection with and receive fuel from a tanker aircraft during refuelling in flight.

(6) A device, attached by cord to an oven that can be inserted into food so the oven shuts off when the desired internal temperature of the food is reached.

(7) In biochemistry, any identifiable substance that is used to detect, isolate, or identify another substance, as a labelled strand of DNA that hybridizes with its complementary RNA or a monoclonal antibody that combines with a specific protein.

(8) In electronics, a lead connecting to or containing a measuring or monitoring circuit used for testing; a conductor inserted into a waveguide or cavity resonator to provide coupling to an external circuit

1555–1565: From the Medieval Latin proba (examination (“test” in Late Latin)), derivative of probāre (to test, examine, prove), from probus (good).  The Spanish tienta (a surgeon's probe) came from tentar (try, test).  The dual meanings in Latin ((1) instrument for exploring wounds etc and (2) an examination) persist in English.  The sense "act of probing" is from 1890, from the verb; the figurative sense of "penetrating investigation" is from 1903.  The use to describe a "small, unmanned exploratory spacecraft" is attested from 1953; unrelated to this is the curious popularity of aliens subjecting humans to examinations with anal probes in stories of alien abduction.  Probe is a noun & verb, probing & probed are verbs, probeable is an adjective and probingly is an adverb; the noun plural is probes.

The Voyager 1 space probe, launched by NASA in 1977.

Originally (with companion probe Voyager 2) a twelve-year mission, it’s expected to remain a functional scientific instrument until 2025 and is now some 24 billion km (15 billion miles) away, the most distant human-made object from Earth (only our radio waves have travelled further).  There are some who claim the probes have already reached inter-stellar space while other astronomers  maintain the edge of our solar system extends much further than was once thought and they're travelling still through a sort of cosmic limbo.  The Voyager probes, even after they're long inert, may continue their journeys for thousands or millions of years because, although the universe is a violent, destructive swirl, there is vast distance between threatening stuff.

Of the many inconsistencies in English spelling, none must be seem more mystifying to anyone learning the language than those words affected by the “mute e rule”: the inflections and derivatives formed from words ending in a “silent e”.  The question always is: to e or not to e?  Deciding whether to retain or omit the last letter is easier than once it was because dictionaries seem now to be more consistent in their approach, presumably one of the benefits of their shift to becoming on-line resources although, for historic reasons, we seem stuck with what seem ancient, arbitrary decisions such as ageing and icing continuing in peaceful co-existence.  So, there are words where centuries of particular spellings have become entrenched that to suggest a change would be absurd and that means any rule would have both examples which conform and those which defy.  Henry Fowler (1858–1933) in his A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) acknowledged the impossibility of constructing a rule of absolute validity but as a guide offered (1) an indicative rule and (2) a guide to the exceptions.  The (1) rule was “when a suffix is added to a word ending in a mute e, the mute e should be dropped before a vowel but not before a consonant”.  The condition for (2) an exception was “the mute e should be kept even before a vowel if it is needed to indicate the soft sound of a preceding g or c or to distinguish a word from another with the same spelling”.  Probe is such an exception because if one has a probe, it’s helpful to know if something (or someone according to those who have been abducted by aliens) is probeable and that adjective can’t be spelled “probable” because that has another meaning.

The Mazda MX-6-based Ford Probe (1988-1997, left) and the car it was once mooted to replace, the long-serving “Fox” Mustang (1978-1993).

A competent, inoffensive coupé, the Ford Probe probably would for a decade existed as a moderate success and then, having been discontinued without a direct replacement, been soon forgotten, had it not been for the furore which erupted when the idea surfaced it might be the company’s replacement for the Mustang.  In 1987, by means of a “controlled leak” the pro-Mustang faction (the beer drinkers) within the corporation let it be known Ford was planning to replace the Mustang with a re-badged Mazda (championed by the chardonnay faction).  The reaction was vociferous & voluminous, Ford’s mailbox (and in 1987 mail came in envelopes with postage stamps stuck on) soon overflowing with complaints, the idea of a FWD (front-wheel-drive) Mustang anathematic, the absence of a V8 apparently beyond comprehension (although the Mustang II (1973-1978) had suffered that fate between 1973-1975).

Newspaper headline writers like the word “probe”.  Within the industry, short, punchy words like “probe”, “jab”, “fix”, “bid” etc are part of a subset of English called “headline language”.

The correspondents also put their money where their poison pens were because the previously moribund sales of Mustangs suddenly spiked, the thought that this might be the last chance to buy a “proper” RWD (rear-wheel-drive), V8-powered Mustang enough to push the thing back up the sales chart.  The flow of letters and cash proved enough to persuade Ford and the platform was reprieved, the Mustang surviving to this day as a unique and highly profitable niche; indeed, by 2026 it was the only traditional "car" Ford manufactured in the US.  The Mazda co-project however was well advanced so the decision was taken to proceed and offer both; badged as the Ford Probe, the modified Mazda lasted a decade-odd and it’s doubtful it cannibalized much of the Mustang’s market, its competition the other mid-sized, FWD Japanese coupés which had become popular.  A typical Japanese product, well engineered with a high build-quality, the Probe was a success (though it never realised Ford’s hopes in overseas markets) and when production ended, the only reason it wasn’t replaced was the demographic buying the things had shifted to other segments, notably the SUVs (sports utility vehicles) which would soon dominate.

1969 M-505 Adams Brothers Probe 16 (Durango 95)

The still controversial film A Clockwork Orange (1971) was based on the dystopian 1962 novel of the same name by Anthony Burgess (1917–1993).  At the time shocking in its depiction of violence, it's set some time in the future and as part of the verisimilitude the car used in the "driving scene" was a M-505 Adams Brothers Probe 16, one of three built.  Only 34 inches (864 mm) high (the prototype was 5 inches (125 mm) lower!), it emerged from the studios of the designers of the quirky Marcos sports cars which were idiosyncratic even by the standards of the cottage industry of low-volume sports cars which flourished in the UK until the early 1970s.  Although utterly impractical (passengers entered and exited through a sliding glass roof) it certainly looked futuristic but performance was disappointing because of the limited power. To create the mid-engined Probe, the designers used the engine and gearbox from the modest Austin 1800, moving the FWD package amidships, an approach later adopted by a number of manufacturers.  Had it been built using the mechanicals from the contemporary Cadillac Eldorado (which improbably had a 472 cubic inch (7.7 litre) V8 driving the front wheels through a chain-drive transaxle), assuming such a thing could be made to fit, it would have offered performance to match the promise of the looks.  In the film, the Probe was given the name “Durango 95” a name which seems to have chosen for no particular reason although the “95” may have been an allusion to 1995, decades away when the book was written.  Although A Clockwork Orange is perhaps not something with which manufacturers would like their products to be associated, many have since used the Durango name for a variety of purposes.

Driving scene in A Clockwork Orange (1971): 1969 M-505 Adams Brothers Probe 16 (Durango 95).

Proctology

Proctology (pronounced prok-tol-uh-jee)

(1) Historically, the branch of medicine dealing with the surgery of the colon, rectum, and anus.

(2) In modern use, colorectal surgery as a specialty inside (as it were) proctology.

(3) A department or building so named in a hospital, university or clinic etc.

1896: The construct was procto- +‎ -logy or proct- + -ology.  Procto was from a Latinized form of the Greek prōktos (anus), from the primitive Indo-European prokto-, the source also of Armenian erastan-k' (buttocks).  The suffix -ology was formed from -o- (as an interconsonantal vowel) +‎ -logy.  The origin in English of the -logy suffix lies with loanwords from the Ancient Greek, usually via Latin and French, where the suffix (-λογία) is an integral part of the word loaned (eg astrology from astrologia) since the sixteenth century.  French picked up -logie from the Latin -logia, from the Ancient Greek -λογία (-logía).  Within Greek, the suffix is an -ία (-ía) abstract from λόγος (lógos) (account, explanation, narrative), and that a verbal noun from λέγω (légō) (I say, speak, converse, tell a story).  In English the suffix became extraordinarily productive, used notably to form names of sciences or disciplines of study, analogous to the names traditionally borrowed from the Latin (eg astrology from astrologia; geology from geologia) and by the late eighteenth century, the practice (despite the disapproval of the pedants) extended to terms with no connection to Greek or Latin such as those building on French or German bases (eg insectology (1766) after the French insectologie; terminology (1801) after the German Terminologie).  Within a few decades of the intrusion of modern languages, combinations emerged using English terms (eg undergroundology (1820); hatology (1837)).  In this evolution, the development may be though similar to the latter-day proliferation of “-isms” (fascism; feminism etc).  A physician specializing in proctology is a proctologist although some may prefer the punchier construction Bart Simpson (from the cartoon TV series The Simpsons), used: “butt doctor”.  The noun proctalgia (pain in the anus or rectum) existed in the medical literature as early as 1811 while the first known use of “proctologist” dates from 1897.  Proctology & proctologist are nouns and proctologic & proctological are adjectives; the noun plural is protologists.

In 1974, The British Medical Journal (BMJ) used the term “guitar nipple” to describe “the irritation to the breast that can occur from the pressure of the guitar against the body.”  In the same spirit, two years later a contributor to the Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA) was more imaginative still, coining “hot pants syndrome” when documenting cases in which a burn to the skin had been induced by a patient carrying a battery-powered transistor radio in the pocket of their trousers.  There was also in 1978 the New England Journal of Medicine's (NEJM) “disco digit” which referred to “a sore or infected finger caused by too much finger snapping while dancing.”  These terms were indicative of the trend in the English-speaking world for newly-identified (and in some cases novel conditions) to be constructed with English elements, rather than the Latin historically used.  In the fields of proctology, the historic terms (of discomfort in the region) were:

Rectalgia (pain in the rectum), the construct being rect- (a clipping of the New Latin rectum, itself a clipping of the Latin rectum intestinum (literally “the straight intestine”), neuter of rectus (straight) +‎ -algia (from the New Latin -algia (pain), from the Ancient Greek ἄλγος (álgos) (pain).

Proctalgia (pain in the anal or rectal region), the construct being proct- (a New Latin combining form, from Ancient Greek πρωκτός (prōktós) (anus).+‎ -algia.

Anodynia (anal pain; anorectal pain), the construct being ano- (from the Latin anus) + -dynia (an alternative (used when the preceding morpheme has a terminal vowel) form of -odynia (a New Latin combining form, from the Ancient Greek ὀδύνη (odúnē) (sorrow, grief, anguish, unhappiness).

Confusingly though, because terminology evolved often independently an in parallel, medicine contrived to use anodynia also to mean “the absence of pain in a previously painful region” and in that case the construct differed, being an- (from the Ancient Greek ἀν- (an-); a doublet of un- and in- (used her in the sense of a negation) +‎ odynia (a New Latin combining form, from the Ancient Greek ὀδύνη (odúnē) (sorrow, grief, anguish, unhappiness).  So for the non-medically trained, confusion could arise given anodynia can mean either “pain in the butt” or “pain has gone away” although because it’s a word unlikely much to be seen by other than the medically trained, instances of this have presumably been rare.  But in the context of “butt pain” there would seem to be some overlap in meaning between rectalgia, proctalgia & anodynia but while all are used to refer to “pain in or around the rectal area”, in the profession there are distinctions in use, particularly in clinical and diagnostic work 

Rectalgia is used to describe pain localized in the rectum and tends to be used as general term for the condition and often without specifying a cause.  Conditions associated with rectalgia include anorectal abscesses and fissures.  Proctalgia encompasses pain in the anorectal region (both anus and rectum) and is commonly used of proctalgia fugax, a specific condition characterized by sudden, severe, and brief rectal pain with no obvious underlying cause.  As the etymology suggests, proctalgia’s remit is broader than that of rectalgia because it includes both anus and rectum.  Whether or not related to the duality of meaning, anodynia is now not in general clinical use but historically it referred to pain in the vicinity of the anus.  The modern terms for that are “anal pain” & “anorectal pain”.  So, although lay-readers might be forgiven for thinking they could be used interchangeably, clinicians applied them based on anatomical location: rectalgia (rectum), anodynia (anus) &, proctalgia (anorectal region).

In the thoughts of Kellyanne Conway: A protologist's ultrasonic rectal probe (available in 140 & 200 mm (5½ & 8 inch) length versions) by the Electro Surgical Instrument Company (ESI (1896)).

Protology and pains in the butt do feature in idiomatic use in English.  Kellyanne Conway (b 1967; senior counselor to the US president, 2017-2020) when discussing the “Muller probe” (an investigation by special counsel Robert Mueller (1944) into Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021; president elect 2024) and the matter of alleged Russian interference in the 2016 US presidential election) told a press conference the whole project was “a political proctology exam.”  She clearly liked the imagery because later, when Mr Muller handed down his report, she told the assembled press pack it was the “best day” since Mr Trump’s (2016) election, repeated the phrase “political proctology” and, sticking with medical allusions, said the verdict delivered “a clean bill of health.”

PITB (and its variations) is widely used.

Kellyanne Conway in hoodie: Miss January, Clare Boothe Luce Policy Institute's annual Conservative Women Calendar (2009).

So like Mr Trump, Ms Conway would have found the Muller probe a (metaphorical) pain in the butt but “political proctology exam” was both a more polite and elegant way of saying it.  The saying “pain in the butt” belongs to a class of such expressions (all meaning “a nuisance; a source of trouble or annoyance”) which variously are used according to the need for politeness, the hierarchy of rudeness (in ascending order) being: “pain in the neck”, “pain in the brain”, “pain in the back” (all about equal), “pain in the rear”, “pain in the bum”, “pain in the ass” & “pain in the arse” (the choice between “ass” & “arse” dictated by linguistic tradition).  All are often used as initializms (PITN PITB, PITR, PITA) and PITA seems the most popular while in oral use “pain in the neck” and “pain in the ass (arse)” vie for popularity although some do like “pain in the brain” for the rhyme.

First edition (hardcover, 1956) of Soranus' Gynecology, published by Johns Hopkins University Press, translated and with an introduction by Owsei Temkin MD (1902-2002).

Quite when the idea of “specialists” in the modern sense of the word came to the practice of medicine isn’t certain but long before such things were formalized by the creation of colleges or specialist qualifications, it’s likely the early physicians did tend to develop particular areas of expertise and would have had certain patients referred to them, much as is the modern practice.  Probably, this emergence of specialties would have happened organically, based on geography: a physician in a fishing community on the sunny Aegean coast would have encountered a different patient profile than one who worked in the cold of the mountains.  Thus, while it’s not known who can be though the “first proctologist”, medical students everywhere will probably nominate Soranus of Ephesus, a Greek physician who practiced in both Alexandria and Rome during the first & second century AD.  His four-volume treatise on gynecology still exists so he probably deserves to be remembered as an early gynecologist but, as many medical students will confirm, his name is pronounced sawr-ey-nuhs so a proto-proctologist he must be.  Such things do happen: Winston Churchill’s (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) neurologist was Russell Brain (1895–1966).

Tent

Tent (pronounced tent)

(1) A portable shelter of skins, canvas, plastic, or the like, supported by one or more poles or a frame and often secured by ropes fastened to pegs in the ground.

(2) Something that resembles a tent (often as tent-like).

(3) A type of frock (usually as tent-dress).

(4) In casual political discourse (popularized by US President (1963-1969) Lyndon Johnson (1908-1973) (as “inside the tent”) a term to distinguish between those inside or outside the institutionalized political system.

(5) To give or pay attention to; to heed (Scots; largely archaic).

(6) In first-aid (medicine), a roll or pledget, usually of soft absorbent material, as lint or gauze, for dilating an orifice, keeping a wound open, etc.

(7) A red table wine from Alicante, Spain (obsolete).

(8) A sixteenth century word for a dark-colored tint (from the Spanish tinto (obsolete)).

(9) A portable pulpit set up outside to accommodate worshippers who cannot fit into a church (Scots; largely archaic).

1250–1300: From the Middle English tente (a probe) from the twelfth century Old French tente (tent, hanging, tapestry) from the Latin tenta, (a tent; literally literally "something stretched out”), noun use of feminine singular of the Latin tentus, (stretched), past participle of tendere (to extend; stretch) from the primitive Indo-European root ten (to stretch).  Technically, the Old French tente was a noun derivative of tenter from the Latin tentāre, variant of temptāre (to probe, test, to try). Despite some sources claiming the Latin tentōrium translates literally as “tent”, the correct meaning rather “something stretched out” from tendere (to extend; stretch); related was the Latin temptāre, source of the modern “tempt”.

In Middle English, tent (noun) (attention) was an aphetic variant of attent from the Old French atente (attention, intention) from the Latin attenta, feminine of attentus, past participle of attendere (to attend).  Word thus evolved in meaning to describe a structure of stretched fabric under which people could attend events.  The French borrowing wholly displaced the native Middle English tild & tilt (tent, til”) from the Old English teld (tent). The closest in Spanish is tienda (store, shop; tent).  The verb sense of "to camp in a tent" is attested from 1856, "to pitch a tent" noted a few years earlier.  The modern sense of tent and the relationship to words related to “stretch” is that the first tents were ad-hoc structures, created by stretching hides over wooden framework.  In arachnology, the Tent caterpillar, first recorded 1854, gained its name from the tent-like silken webs in which, gregariously they live.

FBI director J Edgar Hoover & President Johnson, the White House, 1967.

The phrase “inside the tent” is a bowdlerized version of words most frequently attributed to Lyndon Johnson (1908–1973 (LBJ); US president 1969-1969) explaining why, on assuming the presidency, he chose not to act on his original inclination (and the recommendation of some of his advisors) not to renew the appointment of J Edgar Hoover (1895–1972; director of US Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) 1924-1972): “Well, it’s probably better to have him inside the tent pissing out, than outside the tent pissing in.”  That may have been sound political judgement from one of the most Machiavellian operators of the modern age but an indication also of the fear (shared by not a few others) of what damaging and even incriminating information about LBJ Hoover may have locked in his secret files.

Lord Beaverbrook & Winston Churchill, Canada, 1941.

LBJ’s sometimes scatological references often involved bodily functions but much of it drew on the earthy language he learned from decades of political horse trading in Texas, another favourite when speaking of decision-making being: “There comes a point when you have to piss or get off the pot”.  Nor were the words used of Hoover original, the earliest known references in exchanges in the early twentieth century between the Arabists in the UK’s Foreign Colonial offices as “…keeping the camel inside the tent”.  In the vein of the US State Department’s later “He might be a son of a bitch but he’s our son of a bitch”, it was an acknowledgement often it was desirable to in some way appease the odd emir so that he might remain an annoying but manageable nuisance rather than a potentially dangerous enemy.  When it came to colonial fixes, the foreign office had rare skills.  Winston Churchill (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) recycled the joke in 1940 when, after being advised by George VI (1895–1952; King of the United Kingdom 1936-1952) not to include Lord Beaverbrook (Maxwell Aitken, 1879-1964) in his administration, the king’s concerns including being well aware of why the press lord had gained his nickname “been a crook”.

House minority leader Gerald Ford & President Johnson, the White House, 1967.

One quip however does seem to be original, LBJ’s crude humor the source also of the phrase “walk and chew gum”, used to refer to the ability (or inability) of governments to focus on more than one issue.  It was a sanitized version of a comment made by LBJ after watching a typically pedestrian television performance by Gerald Ford (1913–2006; US president 1974-1977), then minority leader (Republican) in the House of Representatives: “Jerry Ford is so dumb he can't fart and chew gum at the same time.”  There was a time when that might never have been reported but times were changing and it was printed in the press as “Gerald Ford can't walk and chew gum at the same time.”

Of tents, sacks & maxi

The tent dress, also known as the "A-line", picked up both names because of the similarity of the trapezoid shape to an A-frame tent or building and was one of a number of garments which emerged in the 1960s when women's fashion retreated from the cinch-waisted, tailored lines mainstream manufacturers mass-produced in the 1950s.  Because the sheer volume of fabric, they were popular with some designers who used vivid psychedelic imagery in the patterns, a nod to the hippie vibe of the time.

Crooked Hillary Clinton in tent dress, The Hamptons, 2019.

Designed originally to be functional, comfortable and ageless, tent dresses have no waistline and are worn without belts; they’re thus essentially shapeless and while they don't exactly hide flaws, they certainly don't cling to them so can (sort of) flatter a shape to the extent it's possible, even though they actually accentuate width.  About once every fashion cycle, and never with great success, the industry pushes the tent dress as one of the trends of that season, the attempt in 2007 still regarded in the industry as a cautionary tale of how things shouldn't be done.

Tent dresses, made from a variety of fabrics, obviously have a lot of surface area so there's much scope to experiment with colors, patterns and graphics, the garments offered in everything from solid hues, subtle patterning, bold strips and, most famously, wild arrays of colors seemingly chosen deliberately to clash.  Given their purpose, most are long-sleeved or at least with a sleeve reaching the upper forearms and while the length can vary (some actually better described as loose shirts), the classic tent dress is knee or calf-length.

Sack dresses by Hubert de Givenchy (1927–2018), Spring Summer 1958 collection, Paris 1957.

Nor should the sack-line be confused with the tent.  Givenchy’s sack-line debuted in their spring-summer line in 1957, Cristóbal Balenciaga (1895-1972) showing a not dissimilar style just a few weeks later.  Both were essentially an evolution of the “Shirt Dress” which had attracted some attention the previous season and signaled a shift from the fitted, structured silhouettes which had been the signature motif of the decade.  The sack-line dresses were described by some critics as “shapeless” or “formless”, presumably because they lacked any suggestion of the waistline which had existed for so long as fashion’s pivot-point.  However, the forms the sack-line took would have been recognizable to anyone familiar with fluid dynamics or the flow of air in wind tunnels, a waistless dress which narrowed severely towards the hem one of the optimal aerodynamic shapes.

That was presumably a coincidence but Givenchy’s press-kits at the 1957 shows did claim that “More than a fashion, it’s actually a way of dressing” and one which must have found favor with at least some women, not unhappy at being able to ditch the forbidding and restrictive, high-waisted girdles needed to achieve the wasp-wasted “New Look” which Dior had introduced to a post-war world anxious to escape wartime austerity.  Waistless, the sack-line appeared to hang suspended from the shoulders like an envelope around the frame yet despite not being body-hugging, the lines managed to accentuate the figure, the trick being using the mind of the observer to "fill in the gaps", based on available visual clues.  The simplicity of the sack line made it the ideal canvas on which to display other stuff, models in sacks soon showing off gloves, hats, shoes and other adornments and the elegant austerity of the lines remains influential today.

Maxi dresses are not tent dresses.  Lindsay Lohan in maxi dresses illustrates the difference.

Not all enveloping dresses, of which the vaguely defined “maxi” is probably the best known example, are tent dresses.  What really distinguishes the tent dress is that it’s waistless and in the shape of a regular trapezoid, hence the alternative name “A-line” whereas the point of the maxi is that it’s ankle-length, the antithesis of the mini skirt which could be cut as high up the thigh as any relevant statutes and the wearer’s sense of daring permitted.  Extreme in length, the maxi typically had at least something of a waist although some with severe perpendicular lines certainly could be classified as sacks.

Variation

Variation (pronounced vair-ee-ey-shuhn)

(1) The act, process, or accident of varying in condition, character, or degree; The act of varying; a partial change in the form, position, state, or qualities of a thing.

(2) Amount, rate, extent, or degree of change.

(3) A different form of something; a variant; a related but distinct thing.

(4) In music, the transformation of a melody or theme with changes or elaborations in harmony, rhythm, and melody (the technique often using repetition of material with alterations to melody, harmony, rhythm, timbre, texture, counterpoint or orchestration (though often with some invariant characteristic).

(5) In ballet, a solo dance, especially one a section of a pas de deux.

(6) In astronomy, any deviation from the mean orbit of a heavenly body, especially of a planetary or satellite orbit.

(7) In admiralty use as applied to nautical navigation, the angular difference at the vessel between the direction of true north and magnetic north; also called magnetic declination.

(8) In biology, a difference or deviation in structure or character from others of the same species or group (specifically in genetics the modification of a hereditary trait.

(9) In linguistics, any form of morphophonemic change, such as one involved in inflection, conjugation, or vowel mutation.

(10) In linguistics, when two or more linguistic forms appear in the same environment without a change in meaning, the choice of form being determined by factors of dialect, sociolect, register or simply the speaker's preference.

(11) In board and other games, a a line of play that differs from the original.

(12) In mathematics (variational calculus), an infinitesimal perturbation applied to a function, typically denoted , used to probe how a functional changes.

1350-1400: From the Middle English variation (difference, divergence), from the Middle French variation, from the Old French variacion (variety, diversity) and directly from the Latin variationem & variātiōn (stem of variātiō) (a difference, variation, change), from the past participle stem of variare (to change) (the source of the modern English vary).  The use in the context of musical composition wasn't common until the early nineteenth century.  The available synonyms themselves show an impressive variation: deviation, abnormality, diversity, variety, fluctuation, innovation, divergence, alteration, discrepancy, disparity, mutation, shift, modification, change, swerve, digression, contradistinction, aberration, novelty, diversification, mutation, alteration, difference.  Apart from the English variation, European descendants include the French variation, the Italian variazione, the Portuguese variação, the Russian вариация (variacija), the Spanish variación and Swedish variation.  Variation & variationism are nouns, variationist is a noun & adjective and variational is an adjective; the noun plural is variations.

In jurisdictions of the common law tradition, the word “variation” must be used with caution because while in documents it can be innocuous, it possesses also a number of well-established legal meanings, these varying according to the field of law where applied.  In the broadest (and simplest) sense, a “variation” is a change to an existing legal instrument, obligation, agreement etc that in some way changes something while leaving the arrangement’s whole substantially in existence.  The most familiar use is in contract law, a variation to a contract an agreement between parties to the contract to alter one or more of the terms.  In practice, despite the evolved rules, with the agreement of all parties, a variation to a contract can be so fundamental that it really become a “new contact”.  Provided there is certainty in the wording of the “variation” and all parties are content, this can be uncontroversial but in disputes, a variation can be found to be so fundamental a court will declare it a “new contract”.  Contract variations are so common (and often oral transactions if minor) that most pass unnoticed though disputed variations are among some of the famous entries in contract law text books.  In the jargon, a variation is conceptually distinct from a rescission (terminating an existing contract) or a novation (substituting a new contract or party for an existing one).

The interesting technical aspect of course is the point at which a “variation” becomes a contract, the terminology of significance because just because those writing something call it a “variation”, that doesn’t mean a court will accept it is one; depending on this and that, it may be held what the parties call a “variation” has, in effect, rescinded and replaced the original contract.  Borrowing from the traditions of equity the maxim “equity looks at substance rather than form” and what contract law judges do is look at consequence rather than the label.  One who would have understood that what matters is substance rather than form was comrade Stalin.  He eventually would find the Yugoslavian communists just to troublesome but while they could still be controlled, he was inclined to despair, complaining they were “more Marxist than Marx” and became annoyed with one delegation to which he'd just explained the importance of assuming control of the organs of state without it appearing a communist takeover.  All they wanted to talk about was the design of the red stars for the caps of the police and military personnel, prompting him angrily to exclaim: “What do you want with red stars on your caps?  The form is not important but what is gained, and you—red stars!  By God, there’s no need for stars!”     

Ginger, copper, auburn & chestnut are variations on the theme of red-headedness: Lindsay Lohan demonstrates the possibilities. 

Courts can also impose variations on their own orders (in which a term or terms might be altered but the order remains operative).  A judge of their own volition may issue a variation or it can be a response to a request from one of the parties (or both) to the proceedings.  Variations in orders are very common in family matters (quantum of maintenance payments, shared parenting arrangements etc) and criminal law (a sentence, bail or parole arrangements etc).  As a piece of judicial administration, variations are a vital aspect because, analogous with the use in contract law, they are a “modification”, meaning the force of the original remains afoot with no need for a re-hearing or the making of a new order.  Of course, a court may choose to set aside an order and make a new one; it’s on an order-by-order basis.  In specialized matters such will or trusts, variations can highly be regulated the laws of trusts especially specific and, as Rupert Murdoch (b 1931) found out, sometimes legally bulletproof.  Beneficiaries and trustees are of course subject to restrictions on variations but courts are also governed by the rules.  

Glenn Gould and the Goldberg Variations: 1955 & 1981

Published in 1741, J.S. Bach’s (1685-1750) Goldberg Variations consists of an aria and thirty variations.  Written for the harpsichord, it was named after German harpsichordist & organist Johann Gottlieb Goldberg (1727-1756), thought to have undertaken the first performance.  The work is now part of the canon of Baroque music but, before 1955, was an obscure piece of the Bach repertoire, a technically difficult composition for the hardly fashionable harpsichord and known mostly as a device for teachers to develop students’ keyboard skills.  Even for aficionados of the Baroque, it was rarely performed.

Glenn Gould (1932-1982) was a Canadian classical pianist, his debut album on the then novel twelve-inch vinyl LP an interpretation of The Goldberg Variations, played not on a harpsichord but a piano.  It was at once acknowledged to be an extraordinary performance and although critics don't always embrace radical approaches to older pieces, the praise was almost universal although there was one reviewer wo expressed "shock" ate Gould's fingers moving at a tempo the composer would never have envisioned, resulting in a piece of electrifying intensity; it really was something beyond mere interpretation. As well as introducing him to a wider audience, The Goldberg Variations proved also Gould's swansong, uniquely for him, re-recorded in 1981 and issued days before his death.  Eschewing the stunningly fast pace that had made the earlier recording famous and clearly the work of a mellower, more reflective artist, for those familiar with the original, it’s a masterpiece of controlled tension.  In 2002, Sony re-released both, the earlier essentially untouched, the later benefiting from a re-mastering correcting some of the technical deficiencies that tended to plague many early digital releases.  Although critics and professional musicians doubtlessly understood why Gould believed there were aspects of the 1955 performance that detracted from the whole and why he felt his second attempt the better piece of art, for those who listen to music for pleasure, it’s still the original that thrills.

Rarely can a single recording have so successfully revived a long-neglected work but that’s what Gould’s 1955 release did for Bach’s Goldberg Variations, his audacious interpretation unlocking fascinations that have since drawn audiences although not until the next century were many other pianists tempted into the studio.  The (alleged) early history also is intriguing: When first published, the piece was titled: “Aria with diverse variations for a harpsichord with two manuals.  Composed for Music Lovers to Refresh their Spirits.”  While we can be grateful for the adoption of the punchier “Goldberg Variations”, the origins of the wordy original may lie in the household of an insomniac Russian count then serving as ambassador to the electoral court of Saxony (part of the Holy Roman Empire).  To sooth him to sleep, the ambassador would have the court musician (Johann Gottlieb Goldberg) spend evenings in an antechamber, playing the harpsichord.  It was the count who requested Bach to compose works of a “gentle yet lively character” so that, even if not lulled to sleep, he might be cheered up.  That tale appeared in a very early biography of Bach and few historians think it likely (his pupil Goldberg was the aged 14) but it’s attractive enough not to be forgotten and while the inclusion of “lively” might seem a strange request from an insomniac, as a chronic condition it has been linked to depression.

Simone Dinnerstein, Goldberg Variations by J.S. Bach (Telarc CD-80692).

Additionally, the count may have had scripture in mind:  “And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand: so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him.” (1 Samuel 16:23; King James Version of the Bible (KJV, 1611).  Not for nothing is Bach known as perhaps the greatest composer of “Church Music”, his works often including what was in his lifetime called gemüths-ergetzende (soul-enhancing).  Certainly, the work retains its capacity to stun, US pianist Simone Dinnerstein’s acclaimed recording in 2007 one of that year’s big hits on the classical charts: Released by Telarc, it was her self-financed project to mark a return to performance after pausing to give birth to her first child and definitely it was not a Gould 1.1 or 2.1.  Preformed on a 1903 Hamburg Steinway model D concert grand, the sound was sumptuous without the contrived lushness many studios once were compelled to concoct in the day before digital techniques were refined to the point where individual notes could be captured almost in the space’s “specific cubic millimetres”.  What’s often forgotten about the Goldberg Variations is that although reviewers have often focused on the “difficult passages”, some of it is simple indeed and it’s this “light & dark” that can be exploited; Gould in 1955 had his approach, Dinnerstein in 2007 had her own and the contrast in obvious from the opening aria, played at a tempo that will seem startling to those who have only heard Gould’s first take on the meditation.  What she seems to have decided is it could be a romantic piece (not the most fashionable view in 2007), not from beginning to end, but with the character of those passages gaining emphasis from the more rapid sections.  It was an accomplished work and while the virtuosity might have been expected, it’s the inventiveness that will intrigue although there will be some who expected more, some of the repeats not included, presumably a technical limitation of the single-CD release.  Hopefully, like Gould, she’ll re-record, now technology no longer imposes such constraints.

Inquire & Enquire

Inquire (pronounced in-kwahyuhr)

(1) To seek information by questioning; to ask.

(2) To make an investigation (usually followed by into).

(3) To seek (obsolete).

(4) To question (a person) (obsolete).

1250–1300: From the Middle English enqueren & anqueren (to ask (a question), ask about, ask for (specific information); learn or find out by asking, seek information or knowledge; to conduct a legal or official investigation (into an alleged offense)), from the Latin inquīrere (to seek for), replacing the Middle English enqueren, from the Old French enquerre, also from Latin.  The construct in Latin was from in- (into) + quaerere (to seek).  The prefix -in is quirky because it can act either to negate or intensify.  The general rule is that when prepended to a noun or adjective, it reinforces the quality signified and when prepended to an adjective, it negates the meaning, the latter mostly in words borrowed from French.  The Latin prefix in- was from the Proto-Italic en-, from the primitive Indo-European n̥- (not), the zero-grade form of the negative particle ne (not) and was akin to ne-, nē & nī.  In Modern English it is from the Middle English in-, from Old English in- (in, into), from the Proto-Germanic in, from the primitive Indo-European en.  Inquiry & inquirer are nouns, inquiring is a noun, verb & adjective, inquires is a verb, inquirable & inquisitive are adjective and inquiringly is an adverb; the noun plural is inquiries.  The verb inquireth is listed by most as archaic and forms such as reinquired & reinquiring have been coined as needed.

So the in- in inquire is not related to in- (not), also a common prefix in Latin and this created a tradition of confusion which persists to this day.  In Ancient Rome, impressus could mean "pressed" or "unpressed; inaudire meant "to hear" but inauditus meant "unheard of; invocatus was "uncalled, uninvited," but invocare was "to call, appeal to".  In Late Latin investigabilis could mean "that may be searched into" or "that cannot be searched into”.  English picked up the confusion and it’s not merely a linguistic quirk because mixing up the meaning of inflammable could have ghastly consequences.  Fortunately, some of the duplicity has died out: Implume, noted from the 1610s meant "to feather," but implumed (from a decade or more earlier meant "unfeathered".  Impliable could be held to mean "capable of being implied" (1865) or "inflexible" (1734).  Impartible in the seventeenth century simultaneously could mean "incapable of being divided" or "capable of being imparted" and, surprisingly, impassionate can mean "free from passion" or "strongly stirred by passion" (used wrongly that certainly could have inintended consequences).  The adjective inanimate was generally understood to indicate "lifeless" but John Donne (1572–1631), when using inanimate as a verb meant "infuse with life or vigor." Irruption is "a breaking in" but irruptible is "unbreakable".

In addition to improve "use to one's profit", Middle English also had the fifteenth century verb improve meaning "to disprove".  To inculpate is "to accuse," but inculpable means "not culpable, free from blame".  Infestive (a creation of the 1560s, from infest) originally meant "troublesome, annoying" but by the 1620s meant "not festive".  Bafflingly, in Middle English, inflexible could mean both "incapable of being bent" or "capable of being swayed or moved".  During the seventeenth century, informed could mean "current in information" formed, animated" or "unformed, formless", an unhelpful situation the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) described as “an awkward use".  Just a bizarre was that in the mid-sixteenth century inhabited meant "dwelt in" yet within half-a-century was being used to describe "uninhabited".  Some dictionaries insist the adjectives unenquired & unenquiring really exist but there’s scant evidence of use.  A noted derivation with some history is inquisitor.  Synonyms and words with a similar sense include examine, inspect, interrogate, investigate, analyze, catechize, explore, grill, hit, knock, probe, check, prospect, pry, query, question, roast, scrutinize, search, seek & sift.

Enquire (pronounced en-kwahyuhr)

A variant form of inquire

Circa 1300: From the Middle English enqueren & anqueren, (to ask (a question), to ask about, to ask for (specific information); learn or find out by asking, seek information or knowledge; to conduct a legal or official investigation (into an alleged offense)), from the Old French enquerre (to ask, inquire about) (which persists in Modern French as enquérir) and directly from the Medieval Latin inquīrere (to seek for).  As long ago as the fourteenth century the spelling of the English word was changed following the Latin model, but, in the annoying way that happens sometimes in English, the half-Latinized enquire persists and some people have even invented “rules” about when it should be used instead of inquire.   Sensibly, the Americans ignore these suggestions and use inquire for all purposes.  In Old French the Latin in- often became en- and such was the influence on Middle English that the form spread and although English developed a strong tendency to revert to the Latin in-, this wasn’t universal, thus pairs such as enquire/inquire which is why there must always be some sympathy for those learning the language.  There was a native form, which in West Saxon usually appeared as on- (as in the Old English onliehtan (to enlighten)) and some of those verbs survived into Middle English (such as inwrite (to inscribe)) but all are said now to be long extinct.

Enquire or inquire?

Lindsay Lohan says the spelling is "inquiry" so that must be right.

The English word was re-spelled as early as the fourteenth century on the Latin model but the half-Latinized "enquire" has never wholly gone away.  Outside of North America, it's not unknown to come across documents where "inquire" & "enquire" both appear, not in tribute to a particular "rule" of use but just because it hasn't been noticed; it's probably most associated with documents which are partially the product of chunks of texts being "cut and paste".  In the US, where the enquire vs inquire "problem" doesn’t exist because inquire is universal, this must seem a strange and pointless squabble because hearing a sentence like "She enquired when the Court of Inquiry was to hold its hearings" would unambiguously be understood and if written down, there could be no confusion if the spelling forms were to appear in either order.  So,  some hold it would be a fine idea if the rest of the English-speaking world followed the sensible lead of the Americans and stuck to "inquire" but history suggests that’s not going to happen and some suggestions for a convention of use have been offered:

(1) Enquire & enquiry are "formal" words to convey the sense of "ask" whereas inquire & inquiry are used to describe some structured form of investigation (such as a "Court of Inquiry").

(2) Enquire is to be used in informal writing and inquire in formal text.

Neither of those suggestions seem to make as much sense as adopting the US spelling and probably just adds a needless layer to a simple word; enquire and inquire mean the same thing: to ask, to seek information, or to investigate. One is therefore unnecessary and enquire should be retired, simply on the basis the Americans already have and there’s lots of them.  Those who resist should follow the one golden rule which is consistency: whatever convention of use is adopted, exclusively it should be used. 

The ultimate court of inquiry, the Spanish Inquisition and the DDF

The Spanish Inquisition, conducting their inquiries.

The Tribunal del Santo Oficio de la Inquisición (Tribunal of the Holy Office of the Inquisition), known famously as the Inquisición española (Spanish Inquisition) was created in 1478 by the Roman Catholic Monarchs, King Ferdinand II (1452–1516; king of Aragon 1479-1516, king of Castile 1475-1504 (as Ferdinand V)) and Queen Isabella I (1451–1504; queen of Castile 1474-1504, queen of Aragon 1479-1504), its remit the enforcement of orthodox Church doctrine in their kingdoms.  Ostensibly established to combat heresy in Spain (though eventually its remit extended throughout the Spanish Empire), the real purpose was to consolidate the power of the monarchy of the newly unified Spanish kingdom.  Its methods were famously brutish and although many records were lost, it's thought close to two hundred-thousand individuals came to the attention of the Inquisition and as many as five-thousand may have been killed; during the tenure of Castilian Dominican friar Tomás de Torquemada (1420–1498), the first grand inquisitor, it's believed some two-thousand were burned at the stake.  Suppressed first by Joseph-Napoléon Bonaparte (1768–1844; king of Naples (1806–1808) and king of Spain (1808–1813)) in 1808, it was restored by Ferdinand VII (1784–1833; king of Spain 1808 & 1813-1830) in 1814, suppressed in 1820, and restored in 1823.  It was finally abolished in 1834 by the Spanish queen regent María Cristina de Borbón (Maria Christina of the Two Sicilies 1806–1878; queen consort of Spain from 1829-1833 and regent of the Kingdom 1833-1840).  Historians have noted that although the Spanish Inquisition didn't last into the twentieth century, there were more than echoes of its methods & techniques witnessed (on both sides) during the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939).  

Rome certainly understood the need to enforce doctrine and punish heretics but they wanted control of the processes, aware even then some of the excesses were proving to be counter-productive and the imperative was to create a body under the direct jurisdiction of the Holy See.  Formed in 1542, was emerged was an institution which in recent years has had a few instances of what in commerce (and increasingly by governments too) is called "re-branding".  Originally named the Supreme Sacred Congregation of the Roman and Universal Inquisition, between 1908-1965 it was known as the Supreme Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office before becoming Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF), its best-known prefect (head) being the the German Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger (1927–2022) who, after serving as Chief Inquisitor between 1982-2005) was elected pope as Benedict XVI, serving until his unusual (though not unprecedented) resignation in 2013 when he decided to be styled pope emeritus, living in a kind of papal granny flat in the Vatican until his death.  In 2022, the institution was re-named the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith (DDF) and despite it all, many continue to refer to it as "The Holy Office" (in public) or "The Inquisition" (in private).  There are now (even when under Cardinal Ratzinger as far as in known) no more torture chambers or burnings at the stake but the DDF remains a significant factional player in curia politics although Vatican watchers have detected a grudging softening in the DDF's expressions of doctrinal rigidity since the election of Pope Francis (b 1936; pope since 2013).