greek, big words, and inside jokes

Once upon a time, I had a wonderful friend who was named Tiffany. Well, she still is named Tiffany, and she still is my friend, but she was all of that once upon a time too. Anyway, I like to call her Tiffanio on occasion. It's a good nickname, but one that means absolutely nothing to anyone but the two of us. Yet this nickname means enough to us that just my saying it will make her turn a bit pink and launch into a very entertaining response. It is one of the many dimensions of our friendship, and it is so special to us because of the memories and stories that surround the creation of this nickname.

Now as unique of friends as the two of us are, Tiffany and I are certainly not alone in this phenomenon. Everyone has inside jokes. One word or singularly unfunny phrase can send two people into paroxysms of laughter. Strange as this may seem, it is simply because those two people have shared an experience together and it only takes a few words to call up scores of memories and impressions of that experience.

In my US History class this semester (to change the subject entirely), our primary textbook is Don't Know Much About History. Um yeah, not quite the college textbooks or primary sources I read in high school. But today I picked up our second textbook and began reading. This book, A Student's Guide to U.S. History, informed me that its purpose was to communicate the telos of historical studies. Hey, I thought, there's a word I know! And I remembered all the lectures I had heard about the concept of telos. Next came the word ethos. Again, a familiar word with lots of memorable lectures behind it.

I kept reading, coming to a critique of traditional history courses which drilled facts and dates. "One could propose it as an iron rule of historical inquiry," said my book, "that there is an inverse proportionality between the importance of the question and the precision of the answer." Huh, I mused, that sounds like my history teachers' approaches, in contrast to a public school approach. I nestled deeper into my comfortable little corner and kept reading. Soon I reached this nostalgic sentence: "modern historians begin to sound like the J. Alfred Prufrocks of the intellectual world." As I read through pages and pages of allusions to Heraclitus, Homer, Hesiod, Oedipus, Thomas More, Yeats, Don Quixote, and even a brief critique of relativism and postmodernism, I began to notice an odd sensation. I was happily reminded of my high school days (I can use that phrase because I'm so far removed from them now), but I also started to realize that I am a part of a vast, respectable community of which I was previously unaware. This intellectual community has its own inside "jokes," as you might call them. For example, a mention of J. Alfred Prufrock and his inability to eat a peach would sound a bit out of place to someone who had never read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." But simply a mention of this character and this fruit, simply the mention of Oedipal psychodrama, made McClay's entire point so much richer. In one or two words, McClay evoked the ethos of all these other people and literary works, called up hundreds of other words we both already associated with that concept, and saved himself the trouble of having to explain his point exhaustively. It feels wonderful to be included in this community, to understand and be edified by its inside jokes. Because of shared educational and intellectual experiences, one little word has the power to recall scores of memories, impressions, and philosophies. I love it. I feel very much at home in this community of which I have only just become aware.

Right now I am gratefully remembering my wonderful teachers who passionately and diligently worked to bring me into this community, who carefully laid the necessary foundation for a comprehension and appreciation of all these allusions. It is because of you that I can revel in this new intellectual community, and I want to sincerely thank all of you. And thank you for not telling me that you were bringing me into a community of which you were already a part. The surprise of the realization just made my sense of awe and delight that much stronger.