It feels like there’s less hope in the world lately. Politics is nastier than it’s been in decades. European wars are back, and in the rest of the world many of them never left. We’ve changed the climate in ways we won’t even know about for years. People with fewer resources are finding it harder to get by. More people here in the supposedly wealthiest country in the world have no homes, not enough food, and of course we’ve managed to put together the worst health care system in the world. Opinions that are moderate are regularly denounced as “radical,” and “radical” is assumed to be unthinkably bad. Millions of people in the US seem to believe things they’re told without any evidence, even though there’s plenty of evidence to the contrary easily available. In a two-party political system, one of them seems to have decided the system itself — voting — doesn’t work any more.

So is there any hope for the future? Is there a future any more?

Well of course there’s a future. As for hope, I was going to paste in some sort of uplifting quotation, but wouldn’t you know it, quotations about “hope” tend to be so treacly they make my teeth hurt. They’re all about the abstract, idealized notion of hope, and if you’re going to use any of the dratted things you have to pretty much incline your chin and gaze meaningfully into the sky. Adopt a breathy, portentous voice for best effect, I think. I hate that stuff. We need to keep our distance from too much abstraction.

What I do think is that what might be happening is we’re getting a bit disconnected from our own language, and we’re definitely disconnected from our collective past. Taking things in the US first, we’ve been in this situation before. There have always been authoritarians around here distrusting democracy and voting and the whole idea that virtually anybody can have a say — at the level of a vote, a very small say, but a say nevertheless — in how the place gets run. Back in the beginning, two and a half centuries ago, the authoritarians carried enough weight that to get a vote you had to be white, male and own land. That prejudice is still with us, even though we’re not the agrarian society we were back then. Why else do you think a rural resident of, say, Wyoming is far better represented in our government than an urban resident of New York? Both states get two senators, but the ones in Wyoming and similar rural states represent vastly fewer people. That means a resident of Wyoming has a vastly better chance of making contact with one or both of their senators, and convincing them of something.

Except…that’s just the abstract version of how that works. In practice, if you want to get the attention of a senator, it doesn’t matter all that much whether you’re from a city or a farm. What matters is that you put in some effort. In the real world, being from a city might actually help you garner some attention, simply because there’s more potential attention right around you. If you want to get a message to a lot of people, you probably have more chances in a city than if your nearest neighbor is miles away.

One of the founding principles of the US, if not European civilization in general (or maybe even “civilization” overall) is doing less work yourself. Getting somebody else or something else to do it. This tendency has not, in the long run, been without serious side effects. Some of them are obvious: slavery, conscription, and I think you can list all the downsides of industrialization here too. People are lazy, but still driven to accomplish things. (I contrast this with my dog, who is at least as lazy, as a human, but perfectly content accomplishing nothing more than finding the most comfortable chair in any given room.) I think it’s that “accomplishing things” part that often causes problems, because when the accomplishment feels so important that you’re willing to overlook things you ordinarily would not — the misery of others, the poisoning of the water supply, air you can barely breathe — you go ahead and do it anyway. You might even feel badly about the side effects. But you go ahead anyway.

But here’s the thing about those side effects; they get more important over time. Slavery brought enough discomfort to enough free people that eventually they put an end to it, or at least pretty nearly. Poisoned rivers and lakes got bad enough about fifty years ago that something began to be done about it, and now many of those rivers are once again safe.

And that’s the basis, I think, for non-treacly hope. People are multifaceted, and although they often — all the time, for that matter — do things that have unfortunate side effects, those effects eventually get noticed by enough other people — even sometimes including those originally responsible — that fixing them becomes the aim. And sure, everything has unintended consequences because in addition to being lazy we’re not half as smart as we claim to be, so there’s really no end to it. But things do eventually get better. Before, of course, getting worse all over again.

Besides, even though it may seem like we’re on the verge of a “things getting worse” cycle, an important thing to remember is that there’s more than one cycle. Far more than one. And every cycle has a different pace and rhythm. We’re always on the verge of things getting worse, just like we’re simultaneously on the verge of things getting better. And even though I’m not fond of overly abstract quotes, here’s a good one: “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” By the way, that’s not from Abraham Lincoln, Barack Obama or Martin Luther King Jr., although they all used the line. It’s from Theodore Parker, a Unitarian minister born in 1810 in Lexington, Massachusetts. He was a prominent figure in the Transcendentalist movement that produced so many of those treacly, abstract quotations. Oh well.

Before I get accused of “both-sides-ism,” I should point out that I have some much more pragmatic suggestions about hope:

• You can ban a book or an idea in one small context, but it will pop up more noticeably and stronger somewhere else, and banning it probably increases its scope.

• Kids today are just as smart as they’ve ever been, and just as capable of fixing everything us older folks have broken as we were at fixing the broken stuff we inherited.

• Authoritarians and ultra-conservatives are historically always wrong and everything they try to do disappears.

• The mega-systems that feed us information are currently broken, or a lot of them are. But people are also working on fixing those problems.

• The mega-systems that we rely on for commerce and goods and services are also currently broken or breaking. But there are fixes in the works for those too.

• Pure abstract ideas like “capitalism” or “socialism” or “liberal” or “conservative” are silly oversimplifications we came up with because of our laziness; simplified abstract ideas are much easier to sling around for entertainment. But not one of them is real.

“And what is good, Phaedrus,
And what is not good—
Need we ask anyone to tell us these things?” -Robert Pirsig

Tales from the Forest

Magpie was perched on the back of a chair outside her favorite cafe in the town when she noticed several members of the Wren family in the park across the street. She flew over to say hello.

“Hello, Anna, hi Bob,” said Magpie. “And is that Clarissa? You’ve gotten so big since I last saw you!”

“Hello, Magpie,” said Anna Wren. “how are you today?”

“I’m fine,” said Magpie. “I’m spending some time in town because I had to get out of the forest.”

“You had to?” asked Bob. “Why? What happened?”

“It’s Squirrel,” said Magpie. “You know Squirrel, don’t you?”

“We do indeed,” said Anna Wren, “but the Squirrel I know is quite a pleasant fellow. Why did you have to get out of the forest because of him?”

“It was all the questions,” said Magpie. “The unending, incessant, annoying questions. I just couldn’t stand it any more. At least for a while.”

“What’s Squirrel asking about?” asked Clarissa Wren. Then before Magpie could answer, she flew away to play flying tag with her brothers Dan and Ed.

“I apologize for Clarissa,” said Bob, “that was rude. But we’re curious too, Magpie, what IS Squirrel asking about?”

“Flying,” said Magpie.

“What it’s like?” asked Anna, puzzled.

“More like ‘how to do it’,” said Magpie. “Squirrel’s cousin Filbert is visiting for the month. He’s from the other side of the forest, you know, and he’s put all these ridiculous ideas in Squirrel’s head.”

“What ideas?”

“Filbert is a flying squirrel, you know,” said Magpie. “Not that they really FLY, of course; it looks to me like all they do is glide. But Filbert has convinced Squirrel that any squirrel can fly like he can. Squirrel believes it, and he’s trying to really do it.”

“Oh my,” said Anna. “Do you think it’s true, Magpie? Could Squirrel really learn to fly?”

“It’s not just a matter of learning,” said Magpie, “Filbert has flaps of fur between his front and back legs, and when he spreads them out they work like wings. Squirrel is trying to make his own wings, and he’s coming up with all sorts of ridiculous inventions.”

“Like what?” asked Bob.

“The latest one,” said Magpie, “is made from a couple of plastic bags he borrowed from Beaver. I don’t know why I ever brought the first plastic bags into the forest and explained how useful they are. Look what it’s led to now.”

“But that sounds like a pretty good idea,” said Bob, cocking his head to one side to think about it better. “If Squirrel can come up with a way to fasten the edges of the bag on the front and back, it might work…”

“It DOES work!” shouted Squirrel, swooping down and landing in the grass in the park. He was holding a plastic bag with all four paws. “It works, it works!”

“Far out, dude,” said Filbert, swooping down and landing next to Squirrel. “Hey there, fellow flyer.”

“Hello Filbert, hello Squirrel,” said Anna and Bob. “Congratulations, Squirrel. That’s pretty impressive.”

“Dude, you gotta see this, though,” said Filbert. “It’s, like, exceptional, dude! Even I can’t do this.” He turned to Squirrel and said “show ‘em, man!”

“I still need practice,” said Squirrel, “but I figured out how to do this. Watch.” He grabbed his bag with all four paws — Bob noticed it wasn’t a whole bag, just a piece about the right size — and started spinning his big tail. As Bob and Anna and Magpie watched, Squirrel’s tail spun around so fast that it seemed to push him along the ground. He lifted up with his front paws, the air caught the plastic, and he was flying again. He flew some big circles, getting higher and higher, and finally, when he was a treetop height, he relaxed his tail and called down “I figured out how to use my tail like a propeller. Now I can take off from anywhere!”

He swooped back down and landed again. He was still breathing hard. “It’s easier if I just climb a tree and jump,” he admitted, “but there isn’t always a tree handy…”

“Dude,” said Filbert, “that is totally rad. The coolest thing I ever seen! You rule, dude!” The cousins fist-bumped their paws.

“VERY impressive!” said Bob. “Welcome to the flying club!”

“Really? There’s a club?” asked Squirrel.

“No,” said Bob, “it was just an expression. There’s no club.”

“Maybe we should start one,” said Squirrel eagerly. “We could have classes so us new flyers could ask you experienced pilots about things.”

“Fer sure, dude,” said Filbert, “like you had some radical wipeouts with your first landings, cuz.”

“And it’s thanks to Magpie that I figured it all out,” said Squirrel. “Thank you, Magpie. I got you something. It’s just a token, but I appreciate all your help.” He took out a shiny ring he’d found somewhere and held it out to Magpie.

“Oh,” said Magpie, who loved shiny things. She took the ring in her claw. Now she felt embarrassed for the things she’d said about Squirrel. “Squirrel, I, um…”

“No need to say a word,” said Squirrel, waving a paw. “You helped me out a lot, Magpie, even when I could tell you were getting annoyed.”

“Thank you, Squirrel,” said Magpie. “I’m sorry I got annoyed.”

“Hey, dude, you literally have no idea how frazzled my cuz can make somebody,” said Filbert. “Whatever you do, don’t start arguing with him about acorns.”

“Acorns?” asked Bob.

“My cousin Filbert doesn’t understand that when you’re gathering acorns,” said Squirrel, “you should concentrate on the ones that have caps. The others, where the caps have fallen off, aren’t nearly as good.”

“Cuz,” said Filbert with a sigh, “that is so not true. Acorns are all the same, dude.”

“There’s where you’re wrong,” said Squirrel. “Now gather around, everybody, this is important. The acorns that still have caps attached…”

“Excuse me,” said Magpie, “I just remembered I need to be somewhere.” She flew off to stash her ring in her nest.

“Dear,” said Anna to Bob, “was that Felicia calling us?”

“I think it was,” said Bob. “Sorry guys, we need to go make sure the kids aren’t getting into trouble.” They flew away.

“OK, Filbert,” said Squirrel, “now I’ll explain this one more time.”

“Oh, cool,” said Filbert. “there’s a totally rad chunk of cookie over there next to the path. See ya, dude.” Filbert scampered off.

“Huh,” said Squirrel. “Oh well. I’ll just get all the good acorns before Filbert even gets back.” He grabbed his plastic, revved up his tail, and took off back to the forest.

Good Word of the Day

If English had any consistency at all, we could talk about the relative merits of three options as being “good”, “gooder”, and “goodest”. Another consistent option might be “bett”, “better”, and“best”. But instead, as you’re well aware, all we have is “good”, “better”, and “best”.

The word “good” has, in fact, the same root as both “gather” and “together”. They come from the Germanic “gath”, a verb meaning “to bring together”. As an adjective, meaning evolved from “united”, to “appropriate” (or “appropriately united”). From there, people realized that if a set of things (or people, or what-have-you) were suitable when combined, that was a pleasing thing — and that’s where our modern meaning of “good” arose.

“Good” is a noun as well as an adjective, of course; it’s used in “goods and services”, and “goods” can be just about any tangible objects, property, or merchandise. Originally the noun “good” also meant what we would use “goodness” for (“They are reformed, full of good, … And fit for great employment.” - Shakespeare, from “Two Gentlement of Verona”, 1590). That sense of “good” morphed into our “goodness” around the mid 1700s.

“Gooder” and “goodest” (which, technically, would be the comparative and superlative forms of “good”) have never existed. This is probably because “better” and “best” have been available in English just as long as has “good” — and all three go back to Old English. But we could easily have ended up with something like the imaginary but consistent sequence “bett”, “better”, and“best”.

“Better” and “best” also come from Germanic roots, and they did have three forms. The Germanic “bat” meant “improvement”, and it had comparative (batizon) and superlative (batistaz) forms. These two forms entered English as “betera” and “betest”, which became the less stuttery words we’re familiar with, “better” and “best”. What happened to “bat” itself? Well in fact it DID enter English, but was never associated closely enough with “better” or “best” to make them a logical sequence. “Bat” became “boot” — not the footwear; a noun that meant, sensibly enough, “advantage”. It’s still around in the phrase “to boot”, as in “I got a new set of tires, and they threw in a free spare to boot.” “To boot” has a pretty narrow meaning nowadays, and is almost exclusively used to mean something added to a transaction.

So we could very well have ended up with “boot”, “better”, and “best” — but if those had become the default sequence, mightn’t they have become closer in pronunciation too? Something like “boot”, “booter”, and…hey, wait a minute…”BOOST”? Well no, don’t get too excited, “boost” is not related.  Actually there are at least three “boosts” in English, each of which has its own derivation. The oldest “boost” appeared around the 1300s, and meant a box. This “boost” came from the Old English “boiste”, which meant a box, especially a box used for ointment of some sort. This form of “boost” disappeared several centuries ago. The “boost” that means encouragement, help, or an upward push to someone trying to climb, say, a wall, didn’t appear until the 1800s. It was originally a slang term in the US, and hasn’t changed much at all in meaning since then. “I got a pretty good boost in Boston…by the editors giving me recommendations” is from “Selected Letters of Major Jack Downing”, published in 1834.

Another version of “boost” never really made it out of Scottish dialects, where it means “I must”. It goes back to the late 1700s, when it was used by Robert Burns: “ I fear, that, wi' the geese, I shortly boost to pasture I' the craft some day.” It’s been spotted in the wild as recently as 1980 (with a variation in spellling): “We buist hide wir dried, an' wir luve” (by G. Taylor, from the December, 1980 issue of “Akros” magazine).

So in the end, here we sit, still subject to the vagaries and inconsistencies of English. Which is fine, I suppose, but it would at least be a little finer if “boot”, “better” and “best” had worked out. And finest of all I think would be the simple and obvious “good”, “gooder”, and “goodest”. But it wasn’t meant to be, so we’ll have to look elsewhere for a consistent sequence of favorability that includes comparative and superlative versions. Where would we ever find such a sequence?

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