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Time
for some humble pie.
Several
of our readers have an interest in matters both scientific
and linguistic. One of these on-the-ball scholars —
jeneric by name — has been kind enough to draw my
attention to a factual error in my Up-front
Popularisers piece on Lancelot Hogben’s Mathematics
for the Million in Issue 15 (September 1999). The
error was mine, not Hogben’s, I should add, and proves yet
again that one should always re-check one’s work — four
times at least.
What I
had written so nonchalantly was this:
. . . did
you know that the word “algebra” is derived from the name of an ancient
Arab mathematician? He was Abu Al Khwarizmi, who worked in Baghdad in the
8th century . . .
As
jeneric points out, the word derived from the mathematician’s name should
have been “algorithm”, not “algebra”. Referring to a statement in Roger
Penrose’s The Emperor’s New Mind (Chapter 2), a well regarded book
from 1989 on the human mind and computers, jeneric explains as follows:
. . . it
was Abu Ja’far Mohammed ibn Musa al-Khodrizm who wrote in 825 AD the
influential text book “Kitab al-jabr wa’l-muqabala”, from which the two
words algorithm (al-Khowdrizm) and algebra (al-jabr) derived.
Harlish
Goop, whom I consulted on this, has confirmed the facts, adding
OED2
has some interesting extra information on the two words.
Take
algebra, for instance. The original meaning in Arabic (al-jabr) was
the reuniting of broken parts, including the setting of fractured bones.
The word passed into Western languages in the 13th century, and maintained
the surgical meaning along with the mathematical until well into the 17th
century.
As for
algorithm, this, says the OED, while certainly derived from the
surname of Abu Ja’far Mohammed Ben Musa, is actually a form in
English of the old word algorism, “which passed through many
pseudo-etymological perversions”, and which means the Arabic decimal
system of numeration.
Regarding
the spelling of the man’s name, jeneric aptly says
. . .
it’s probably been translated from Farsi to Arabic to Latin to English and
a “correct” spelling would be anybody’s guess.
Harlish
Goop adds, that according to the OED, the surname (which it has as
al-Khowarazmi) means “the native of Khwarazm (Khiva)”.
And if
the above transgression wasn’t enough, Lewis Carroll nonsense aficionado
Katisha has contacted Bikwil regarding an incomplete QQQ in Issue
13 (May 1999). We had the quote in question as
I only
took the regular courses, reeling and writhing.
 But
as Katisha correctly points out, the line should have been
I only
took the regular courses, reeling, writhing and fainting in coils.
Sorry,
sorry, sorry.
Worse
still, that unlucky page of quotes had second stupid error in it. How many
of you spotted it, but were too polite to draw it to my mortified
attention?
The one
in question was the P.G. Wodehouse quote
Few
things so speedily modify an uncle's love as a nephew's air gun bullet in
the fleshy part of the leg.
The
inexcusable fact is that that selfsame line had already appeared in Issue
12. Anyone would think I had a special affection for PGW!
True
enough, but much to my embarrassment I have to confess the real reason:
nothing more than the fact that I copied the wrong quote from my master
QQQ list, and once more failed to check my work sufficiently carefully.
The shame
of it all is that the missing quote I had prepared for Issue 13 was this
fine witticism from Robert Benchley, colleague and friend of the equally
scathing theatre critic Dorothy Parker:
It was
one of those plays in which all the actors unfortunately enunciated very
clearly.
Perversity
now being one of the predictable catchcries of the QQQ page, my atonement
for using a quote twice is to give you three extra doses, not of Benchley,
but of Wodehouse.
First:
Unlike
the male codfish, which, suddenly finding itself the parent of three
million five hundred thousand little codfish, cheerfully resolves to love
them all, the British aristocracy is apt to look with a somewhat jaundiced
eye on its younger sons.
Second:
Jeeves
has a way of suddenly materialising at one's side like one of those Indian
blokes who shoot their astral bodies to and fro, going into thin air in
Rangoon and re-assembling the parts in Calcutta. I think it's done with
mirrors.
And . . .
wait for it . . . one of his best similes ever:
He looked
haggard and careworn, like a Borgia who has suddenly remembered that he
had forgotten to shove cyanide in the consommé, and the dinner gong due
any moment.
— TR |