In my year in France, I never once heard anyone speak with enthusiasm about Emmanuel Macron.
For those of you who’ve forgotten the bitterness of late 2018, let me summarize. The leading figure in the world trying to tear down the postwar liberal order is Donald Trump, the most destructive force the world has seen in my lifetime. Against him, the leading figure trying to sustain the postwar liberal order is Emmanuel Macron, the first truly international leader Europe has produced since Angela Merkel.
Yet as of this month, in their home countries, Macron’s popularity ratings are lower than Trump’s (low thirties vs. mid-thirties). “Well you know,” is the typical assessment of educated thoughtful French, “he’s a man of the Right.”
What this means in effect is that rather than stand up for the world we believe in, we prefer to wait for somebody better than Macron to come along, and then we’ll think again. I hope you see that this note is not about the French, but about human nature.
[16 October 2018]
Getting deeper into French, for an English speaker, is a rich journey. I knew of the notion of false friends, but I had dimly imagined this was a universal effect to be found between any two languages. But no, the relationship of French and English is special.
First let me record a few false friends I hadn’t noticed before this year. I love the way navigation means sailing, and clairvoyant means seeing clearly, and a comedien is an actor, and apprecier means to assess, and sanitaire means health-related, and acquiescer means to agree. All like the English, yet not.
And let me mention some of the sunny surprises, discoveries that THAT’s where a certain English word came from! Today’s Le Monde reports a couvre-feu — a curfew. The participle aisé is a French word for easy. Represailles gives us reprisals, and effrayé afraid, and ennuyé annoyed, and nuisé noisy. A tailleur is one who cuts and measures, a tailor, and a pair is an equal, a peer, and farouche turns into ferocious. The word dûment puzzled me until I realized that ment here is just the adverbial suffix as usual and can be translated into “ly”. And in a biography of Napoleon I got a kick out of reading of a general who had to se rendre. Surrender!
[15 September 2018]
The public hates nuclear power, and one reason may be that the name reminds us of nuclear weapons. Would history have turned out differently if a less alarming name had been adopted early on? The model is magnetic resonance imaging, a clever branding of the technology of nuclear magnetic resonance.
I’ve noticed an example in the other direction, a case where we might have been better off if a more alarming name had been adopted. The disease we call “the flu” is lethal, but vaccination rates are low. Perhaps part of the problem is that the flu sounds so familiar, like a family pet. It might be better if we called it influenza.
[1 October 2018]
It’s funny how the good-better-best sequence misbehaves if you apply it to the word “friend”. A best friend is a perfectly good superlative of a good friend. But if you say Joe is a “better friend” than John, that introduces a negative tone. The right thing is to say that Joe is a “closer friend” than John.
As my mother always told me and my sister, comparisons are odious.
[20 September 2018]
At the end of a happy year in Lyon, during which I see I’ve written five of these notes related to France, I will finish with three more. Here is the first.
Jack London is one of those authors Americans have heard of and possibly read as teenagers. But if you ask an American these days to list some important American novels, I doubt they’ll think of The Call of the Wild or White Fang.
But the French will! I marvel at how alive Jack London is in this country. He is seen as one of the essential American authors. Translations of his books are on their shelves and in their bookstores, well-read and well-loved.
You may expect me now to remark that this shows a limitation of the French perspective, perhaps that they are trapped in a Wild Western image of America that is long out of date. But I read Croc Blanc this year, and I loved it too. It’s marvelous! Truly a book for the ages.
So I have reached the opposite conclusion. Americans, knowing their culture in detail, are aware of a thousand things, and this is natural. But from a distance, one may see more clearly the main lines, and in my opinion, the French have got this one right.
[15 September 2018]
We all want hiring to be fair. In support of this goal, lately we are required to not notice a glaring gap of logic. Orwell called the necessary skill doublethink.
The issue is what’s termed “unconscious bias”. The Royal Society has issued a position paper, and we are required to read it for hiring in the Oxford Mathematical Institute. Here is the logic of the paper in the context of gender and mathematics:
(a) There is no evidence that males or females are intrinsically more able at math.
(b) Nevertheless, many of us unconsciously suppose a man is more likely to be outstanding at math than a woman. (Pointer here to a famous web site at Harvard.)
(c) This is a contradiction: position (b) is unjustified.
But both (a) and (b) can be true! Statement (a) pertains to intrinsic ability, whereas (b) pertains to the adult products of decades of socialization and education. Alas, four out of five math PhDs are men. We must try to change this, and fighting our biases in hiring is indeed crucial — but let’s not pervert logic along the way.
Here are the RS’s slippery words. “…You unconsciously associate science with men and arts with women…. There are such strong cultural stereotypes that they feel truthful, when research has shown over and over again, that they are not.”
[1 September 2018]
For years I have proudly known that Zurich, in English, has no umlaut. This is a word in English, and it’s simply irrelevant what the German version may be.
At the same time I have scorned the British for their mispronunciation “Los Angeleeze”. That’s just plain wrong and ignorant, I have thought.
Painfully, slowly, I have accepted that these two positions are inconsistent, and I am duty bound to recognize that in British English, that Californian city is Los Angeleeze.
Just when I thought I had put this all behind me, here comes a new challenge! One of the main squares in Toulouse is the Place du Président Thomas Wilson. The French, who can’t get their heads around middle names, are calling Woodrow Thomas! So let me ask you, then: am I duty bound to accept that in France, the 28th American President was Thomas Wilson?