Create: Myth, Mealtimes, & Matinées


Welcome to the Endless Knot! Today, we’re getting creative – as part
of the CreateICG event. Check out the playlist at the end of this
video to see more great videos on the theme of “CREATE”. And now, let’s take a closer look at the
word “Create” itself. The word create comes from the Latin verb
creare, with more or less the same range of meanings. But if we go back further, we come to the
Proto-Indo-European root *ker- which means “to grow”. So Latin creare actually comes from a suffixed
form of the root with the sense of “to cause to grow”. We can see that sense of “to grow” in
a different suffixed form which leads to the related Latin verb crescere. But it’s from these two ideas, the base
sense of growing and the causative sense of creating that we can find an interesting insight
into the act of creation more generally. Creation isn’t always a deliberate act,
sometimes it’s a more organic process of growing, and can therefore involve the influence
of one’s surroundings and build on what has come before. No one creates in a vacuum. Well, except in many creation myths from different
cultures around the world, which sometimes describe the creation of the cosmos from chaos,
which originally meant “gap” or “void”, so creation out of nothingness. One story of creation is the Judeo-Christian
biblical narrative (you know, the “let there be light” story), which was creatively retold
in musical form in the 1799 oratorio The Creation composed by Joseph Haydn. The text of Haydn’s oratorio draws not only
on the biblical account but also on the epic poem Paradise Lost by John Milton. Milton’s poem, which actually focuses mainly
on the story of the fall of Adam and Eve and of the rebel angels led by Lucifer, was a
very influential work, also in part inspiring the novel Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. Frankenstein is the story of the creation
of life as well, how the scientist Victor Frankenstein fashions and brings to life a
creature, which has since become an icon of gothic horror. Note that word ‘creature’ — it comes,
of course, from ‘create’, and thus meant something created by God; here, Frankenstein
tries to play God, but the thing he creates turns out to be a monster, giving us the common
modern meaning of ‘creature’ as ‘monster’. Think ‘creature feature’. In the novel, the creature sees himself as
a sort of Adam, but out of spite at being abandoned by his creator turns to evil and
becomes, like the rebel angels in Milton’s poem, a sort of devil. Another inspiration for Mary Shelley in writing
the novel was the Greek myth of Prometheus. According to one version Prometheus created
the human race on the instructions of the chief god Zeus. However, he went against Zeus’s wishes in
also giving to human beings the secret of fire, the metaphorical light of invention,
and for that he was punished with continual torture, just like Lucifer is punished by
being cast into hell in Paradise Lost. And Mary Shelley had one last source of inspiration
for her story about the creation of life, some experiments that Erasmus Darwin, grandfather
of evolutionary scientist Charles, made when investigating the theory of the spontaneous
generation of life, though the exact nature of the experiments are a little unclear as
she recalled it involving Darwin causing spontaneous movement in a piece of, believe it or not,
vermicelli, so a sort of spaghetti monster. And that’s a little taste of how the lines
of creative inspiration can work. But turning from the taste of pasta to the
taste of breakfast, that Latin verb crescere also gives us the word crescent, from the
idea of the waxing or growing moon, and from there the word croissant, that crescent-shaped
breakfast pastry. But even more breakfasty is another word we
get from that same “growing” root, cereal, from the Roman goddess of agriculture Ceres. Cereal basically means grain, but of course
the eating of cooked grains as a breakfast food (think porridge or oatmeal) goes back
hundreds if not thousands of years. One of the first cold breakfast cereals as
we know them today was cornflakes, invented by John Harvey Kellogg in 1894. Kellogg, who ran the Battle Creek Sanitarium,
a kind of 19th century health spa, was a bit of an oddball, who in addition to having rather
unsavoury views about eugenics and genital mutilation, also believed that a bland vegetarian
diet would suppress the urge to masturbate, which he thought was just about the worst
thing you could do and would lead to a myriad of health problems, not least of which was
blindness. Kellogg was experimenting with a breakfast
gruel made from a variety of grains, but accidentally allowed some to go hard. In an attempt to rescue the situation, he
passed the muck through rollers and then toasted the resulting flakes, and voila, the cornflake
was born, leading eventually to the multi-million dollar breakfast cereal industry. And as we know, what every breakfast cereal
needs to catch the eyes of consumers is a mascot. The famous cornflake rooster was suggested
to Kellogg by his Welsh friend, harpist Nansi Richards, as a pun on his name, since the
Welsh word for rooster is ceiliog. Richards was a student of harpist John Thomas,
who himself was admitted at the age of 14 into the Royal Academy of Music in London
through the influence of Ada Lovelace, the daughter of poet Lord Byron, today celebrated
as the creator of computer programming for her work with Charles Babbage on the first
mechanical computer ever designed, the Analytical Engine. Lovelace was introduced to Babbage by her
tutor, Mary Somerville, who was also a highly celebrated scientist, in fact arguably the
very first “scientist”, as the word itself was first coined by William Whewell in his
glowing review of Somerville’s book On the Connexion of the Physical Sciences, which
was one of the best selling science books of the 19th century. Somerville was also one of the first two female
members of the Royal Astronomical Society, being jointly inducted along with Caroline
Herschel, sister of famed astronomer William Herschel, the discoverer of the planet Uranus. William Herschel was often pestered by visitors,
including composer Joseph Haydn, who it turns out was a bit of an astronomy fanboy, and
included a section in his oratorio The Creation on the creation of the planets. But getting back to breakfast, the etymology
of the word itself will prove instructive for our story of creation. You see breakfast, which is first recorded
in the 15th century, literally means to break one’s fast, fast here in the sense of not
eating overnight. The funny thing is, so does the earlier 13th
century word dinner. The word dinner comes through French from
the Latin elements dis- (basically a negative prefix) and ieiunus meaning “fasting or
hungry”, so literally dinner means “to break one’s fast” or “breakfast”,
the first meal of the day. And indeed in the middle ages, dinner really
was the first big meal of the day, and was eaten around noon. So dinner meant breakfast, but was eaten at
lunch, and now often refers to the last meal of the day. Confused yet? These shifting mealtimes have a number of
causes including the working day, which originally followed the daylight hours, assuming you
were a farmer working the fields, for instance. But with the shift to indoor factory work
during the industrial revolution, often with artificial lighting, the major meal, dinner,
would have a tendency to move later in the day after working hours, with a light lunch
(meaning originally “lump”, so a small bit of handheld food one could eat quickly)
in the middle of the day. Another factor influencing the mealtimes of
the non-working class was the various social obligations of the 18th & 19th centuries. The afternoon was taken up with social calls
one was expected to pay and repay, so again dinner had the tendency to slip later and
later in the day to accommodate this. But perhaps the most interesting social activity
of the leisured class that had an impact on mealtimes was the ever creative world of the
theatre. You see in Shakespeare’s day, theatres were
open air, like the famous Globe Theatre, and relied on the natural lighting of the sun. But later on as the theatre moved indoors
with artificial lighting, theatre hours were no longer fixed. We can see this also reflected in the word
matinée, which we now think of as an afternoon performance. Etymologically speaking matinee, from French
matin meaning “morning”, originally referred to a morning musical performance, from the
French phrase matinee musicale. So for instance you might go to see a performance
of Haydn’s Creation in the morning as a matinee. But as the main performance slipped later
and later, so too did the matinee, giving us the afternoon performance we think of now. Once again, all thanks to artificial lighting. The history of artificial lighting of course
goes back a long way with such technologies as oil lamps, burning fuels like olive oil
in ancient Greece and Rome, and candles made from animal fats in the medieval period, but
there were no real advances in artificial lighting for thousands of years. In the theatres of the 17th century, stages
were lit with large chandeliers, which had the disadvantage of dripping hot grease on
theatregoers and actors alike. The first creative breakthrough came with
the advent of footlights, putting the candles at the front of the stage with reflectors
in front of them to cast the light back on the actors and shield the direct light from
the audience. To this day the word “footlights” still
means the theatre even though they’re no longer used. The famed 18th century actor and theatre manager
David Garrick is sometimes claimed to have imported the new lighting techniques into
England from France, and though they may predate him, Garrick certainly was responsible for
dispensing with the chandeliers at his Theatre Royal, Drury Lane and adopting new stage lighting
techniques, including lighting from the wings. The next technological breakthrough came with
the invention of a new type of oil lamp called the Argand lamp patented by its inventor Aimé
Argand in 1780, which featured a hollow circular wick and glass chimney, allowing for a much
brighter light with less smoke (though requiring a considerable amount of oil), and these were
quickly adopted by theatres such as Drury Lane (though after Garrick’s time). Another big innovation was gas lighting, pioneered
by William Murdoch in 1792, who produced combustible gas by heating up coal and designed a lamp
to burn it in. The process of producing the coal gas was
actually originally discovered by accident by one Archibald Cochrane who was trying to
produce tar to preserve the wooden hulls of ships, and in passing mentioned the flammable
gas to James Watt, inventor of the steam engine. As for Murdoch, he claimed the idea as his
own and brought it to Matthew Boulton, industrial revolution bigwig and partner of James Watt
(big coincidence), at whose firm Murdoch worked, and soon Murdoch’s coal gas lamp was lighting
the Boulton and Watt Soho factory. Boulton, by the way was a good friend of Erasmus
Darwin (remember him). In any case, these new gas lights were a boon
to the industrial revolution, allowing for better factory lighting, and also had knock
on social effects such night classes and popular science lectures (which further bolstered
creativity and innovation) and evening social functions, like the theatre and musical concerts. Drury Lane and other theatres were quick to
adopt the new gas lights by the early 19th century. It was around this time, by the way, that
Haydn’s Creation was first performed in London, and coincidentally enough, Thomas
Linley, who was in charge of oratorios at Drury Lane, may have had a hand in writing
the first English text of Haydn’s great work. Small world. But getting back to artificial lighting innovations,
next up was limelight, produced by using an oxyhydrogen flame to superheat quicklime (in
other words calcium oxide) which then incandesces producing a tremendously bright light. The effect was originally discovered in the
1820s by a surgeon and chemist by the name of Goldsworthy Gurney, but was put into practise
in a viable lamp by Scottish civil engineer Thomas Drummond, who, after hearing about
the effect in a public lecture by the famous scientist Michael Faraday, invented his lamp
initially to aid in the surveying work he did as a civil engineer. But it wasn’t long before the lighting technology
was adopted in the theatre world (by around the middle of the 19th century), especially
for spotlights, and to this day we still have the expression “in the limelight”, though
nowadays of course spotlights are all electric. The first kind of viable electric light invented
was the carbon arc light, which essentially works by causing an electric current to jump
between two pieces of carbon, which very slowly combust producing a brilliant light. As it turns out the arc light was invented
in 1809 by Humphry Davy, sometime employer of Michael Faraday. But of course the type of electric light we
most likely think of today is the lightbulb “invented” by Thomas Edison. I say “invented”, but it was really perfected
by him in 1879, as there were numerous other creators of versions of the lightbulb before
Edison. But through trial and error with various materials
for the filament, Edison and his team made the technology viable. And again this is very appropriate for understanding
how the creative process works, often through accidental discovery and never working in
a vacuum, unless you’re putting a filament in a vacuum to make a light bulb! And this is appropriate too given that the
lightbulb has become the standard iconic representation of creative inspiration. What’s more this story has come just about
full circle, as Edison happened to be a patient of John Harvey Kellogg—though there’s
no word on whether or not he ate the cornflakes. Let there be light! As I mentioned at the beginning, this video
was part of the CreateICG event, a week-long celebration of online creation, and of the
Internet Creators Guild, a non-profit organisation that supports and connects online creators. To find other takes on the theme of “Create”,
check out the playlist or search the hashtag #CreateICG on your social media of choice. Thanks for watching! If you’ve enjoyed these etymological explorations
and cultural connections, please subscribe to this channel or share it. And check out our Patreon page, where you
can make a contribution to help me make more videos. I’m @Alliterative on Twitter, and you can
read more of my thoughts on my blog at alliterative.net

Add a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *