Eye of newt, toe of frog, and a spoonful of sugar to boot

We're a society obsessed with the curative and the instantaneous. Liquid diets promise Gina she'll shed those Thanksgiving 2006 pounds in days. Herb just can't seem to make it with the ladies - if only he had that new Mustang convertible he keeps seeing advertised on the sidebars of his model train webring at 3 a.m. And where would Adrian be without constant, mobile Internet access on her Blackberry to save her the agonizing three minutes of waiting in line at the bank?

In honor of such "contributions" to the commercial market and the illusion they created, today's entry covers the word "nostrum."

Merriam-Webster.com defines nostrum as "a medicine of secret composition recommended by its preparer but usually without scientific proof of its effectiveness," or more generally, "a usually questionable remedy or scheme." The lack of FDA approval for a myriad of untested products makes the nostrum an omnipresent commodity in the good ol' U.S. of A.

Nostrum is also the neuter form of the Latin word "noster," meaning "our" or "our own" - in this case referring to a remedy brewed from a secret recipe all "our own." Its concoctors keep it under wraps for a reason - it often doesn't work, and the desperate will pay for even the hope of a cure. The word entered the English language to refer specifically to quack remedies peddled on the streets of 17th-century London as a plague cure.

America has a history of nostrums stretching back to British imports before the American Revolution and peaking in the 19th century, when charlatans sold such homemade, brand-named cure-alls as Duffy's Elixir,* Dalby's Carminative and Godfrey's Cordial. Most of these were little better than

Image via Wikipedia

alcohols sweetened with sugar, spices and opiates, and had no real curative effects.

Characteristic of the Manifest Destiny blend of quack remedies in particular is another American tradition - showmanship. Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn features a scene of how such scams sometimes ran - a traveling salesman would blow into town, deliver his spiel with volume and verve, and then a shill, or conman masquerading as a customer, would proclaim the medicine's efficacy. Once the swindler sold his inventory, he and the shill would hit the road before the unwitting townsfolk discovered the scam.

Synonyms for nostrum in common usage include "magic bullet,"** "quack remedy," "catholicon" (another word for cure-all***), "patent medicine," "quick fix," and the ever-popular "snake oil" - which, according to an article by Cynthia Graber of Scientific American, might not be so devoid of benefit after all.****

Working mothers at that time did find a use for nostrums such as Godfrey's Cordial, even if they didn't do what they professed to do. Sweet, opiate-based solutions were so palatable to children that those drugged during working hours in their infancy would self-medicate once they had the motor skills to open the bottle. No childproof caps for Reconstruction America, no sirree.

Until next time, this is your language investigator signing off. Have a wonderful evening!

Information purloined from merriam-webster.com, medicinenet.com, historyhouse.com and scientificamerican.com



* - featured in the ancient PC game Oregon Trail 2! Ah, nostalgia.
** - Might need to call Consumer Report about that blender
*** - Subtext: Catholicism will cure your ED
**** - I didn't think there was anyone crazy enough to try to catch a snake, flay it, and press the oil from its skin to test it either

Why saints are few and far between

For many, life is a constant struggle between God and the Devil, the polar opposites lobbing people like grenades, launching the shrapnel of good or evil, respectively, into the moral fiber of those caught in the blast.

The language of theology, because of its pertinence to humanity, produces many idioms used on an everyday basis. A phrase rising in popularity (due in no small part to the Reeves-Pacino movie) is "the devil's advocate."

In common usage, a devil's advocate makes a case for an unpopular or opposing viewpoint either to subject it to analysis, or merely for the sake of argument. To play the devil's advocate may brighten a colorless conversation. It can also annoy pigheaded individuals with satisfying efficiency.

The expression's origin stems, of all places, from the Roman Catholic Church. Called God's Advocate (Advocatus Dei in Latin) until 1983, the Devil's Advocate (Advocatus Diaboli) presents the argument against a potential saint's candidacy for beatification (declaration of a dead person as blessed and thereby entitled to special religious honor) or canonization (placement in the canon of recognized saints). The office's formal title is Promoter of the Faith (Promotor Fidei).*

So why would the Church give Catholicism's champion and a spokesperson for God such a dishonorable title? The officeholder's argument against an aspiring saint includes all of the unflattering tidbits about his or her past.*

Pope Sixtus V: "Well, we can't have any Antonio off the street playing saint, now can we?"

While seemingly introduced by Pope Leo X in the early 15th century, Pope Sixtus V formally created the office in 1587. Pope John Paul II's 1979 revision of canonization procedures abolished the office,** in my opinion a bad move. Why do away with an avenue for valuable, logical discussion?

I think devilish advocacy is a wonderful idea - it helps avoid complacency and overconfidence, and challenges people to question the commonly accepted. If you're strong enough in your beliefs, whether they be religious, political or even methodological ("you've got your way, I've got mine"), they will bear the strain of scrutiny.

Finally, I'd like to give some mad props to the Devil. In phraseology, the Devil is a rock star. He's the subject of such common expressions as "give the Devil his due," "speak of the Devil," "between the Devil and the deep blue sea," "devil-may-care" and, my personal favorite, "the Devil can cite scripture for his purpose" (The Merchant of Venice, Act I, Scene 3).

I don't imagine the Devil gets thanked often. Maybe you should try it. He might leave you be, for the time being.


Information purloined from http://www.theanswerbank.co.uk/Article675.html, http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/160216/devils-advocate and http://www.william-shakespeare.info/quotes-quotations-play-merchant-of-venice.htm




* - The Papal Enquirer has him on speed-dial
** - I would do it if I were Pope. Saint Mead has a nice ring to it.***
*** - Could I be the patron saint of alcoholic beverages?

Fickle heart, fidgeting fingers

I figure that since I've been errant in my usual blogging, I'll compensate by posting a few additional blogs this weekend to act in the missing entries' stead. Today's blog covers the word "dithering." Commonly a British word, I first discovered it in one of my favorite novels, Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman:

"Aziraphale was dithering. He'd been dithering for some twelve hours. His nerves, he would have said, were all over the place. He walked around the shop, picking up bits of paper and dropping them again, fiddling with pens. He ought to tell Crowley." (131)

As you might be able to tell, dictionary.reference.com defines dither as "to act irresolutely" or "to vacillate" and, specifically in Northern England, "to tremble with excitement or fear." You are likeliest to dither just before embarking on a daunting but not pressing task, including but not limited to

• meeting your sweetheart's family
• chewing through a fallen branch with a chainsaw
• bungee-jumping from a bridge

Also according to dictionary.reference.com, dither originates from the Middle English word "diddere," meaning "to tremble." Trembling disguised as pseudo-productivity, I might add!* Apparently people have been fidgeting before a fight and slopping their livestock's feeding trough for the third time before their wedding*** since the Middle Ages. Until my next entry today, ladies and germs. Au revoir, and don't fall victim to this aforementioned disease! Information purloined from http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/dithering and http://rosuto.paheal.net/Books/Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman - Good Omens.pdf * - Scary Stories audiobook + grueling 9 to 5 job = cushy 9 to 5 job *** - and unlike now, both battle and marriage in the Middle Ages were the linchpins of politics, sometimes even with the former fought over the latter!