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Island history
The word
Bookends
Liverwort
Island history Homo Britannicus: The incredible story of human life in Britain by Chris Stringer, Allen Lane, £25, ISBN 0713997958 Reviewed by Douglas Palmer
EYE OF SCIENCE/SPL
HOW do plants get their common names? While their Latin names are the result of a (supposedly) rational and organised system, the everyday names of plants come via a somewhat looser – if not downright mysterious – process. A few months ago in this column we described how the common names of some animals come from the names used in the local language of the area in which western explorers “discovered” them (New Scientist, 22 April, p 52). Well, this also happened with some plants, among them banana, peyote, rambutan and achiote. With many others, it is easy to see how their names relate to the function they must once have had. Feverfew, a pretty little wild chrysanthemum common in British hedgerows, really can bring down fevers, while the fleabanes release natural insecticides when burnt. Apparently some dogs really do not like the smell of wolfsbane. But what about those plants that sound as if they mean something but don’t appear to? Liverwort is one example. It’s that green stuff that grows in small plate-like lumps on moist walls, and at first glance looks nothing at all like the stuff you might get served fried with onions and bacon in a roadside cafe. Similarly, why would a quite undistinguished thin-stemmed skinny-leaved daisy with tiny yellow flowers be called nipplewort? And what is it about a pink and blue flowered plant that likes damp hedgerows that merits the
“They thought God designed the plant to resemble the body part it could treat” name lungwort? To modern eyes, none of these names – and there are many like them – make sense. That may be because we’re not looking hard enough. These plants got their names through a medieval diagnostic system known as the Doctrine of Signatures (or Signs), which said that God’s way of showing people which plants should be used for which remedy was to design the plant to resemble the body part it had the power to treat. In a world full of portents and allegory, and where plants were the sole reliable source of remedies, this
schema made good sense. The only problem was that you had to look quite imaginatively to see a body part in a plant. But, as the priests always said, God moves in mysterious ways. And in some cases, the doctrine was spot on: some species of liverwort do contain chemicals that can help hepatic function, for example. As the idea moved beyond the herbalists, apothecaries and monastery gardens into common knowledge, people started interpreting in this way many plants whose names were already established, often with slightly wacky results. For example, the pomegranate, whose name means “seeded apple”, was considered good for toothache because when the fruit’s peel was pulled away the seeds and pith resembled rows of teeth between lips. ●
Enigma Any amount No. 1412 Albert Haddad I HAVE a five-digit TOTAL, a six-digit AMOUNT, and several other whole numbers, all expressed in words written in capital bold letters, where different letters stand for different digits and the same letter stands for the same digit. 56 | NewScientist | 7 October 2006
061007_Op_The Word.indd 56
A few curious properties are noticeable. For instance, if you add ANY amount to my TOTAL, and then divide by say, A value, the result is a whole number. And if you subtract AN amount from my AMOUNT, and then divide by say, ANY value, the result, of course, is ANY amount. How much is my five-digit VALUE? £15 will be awarded to the sender of the first
correct answer opened on 8 November. The Editor’s decision is final. Please send entries to Enigma 1412, New Scientist, Lacon House, 84 Theobald’s Road, London WC1X 8NS, or to [email protected] (please include your postal address). The winner of Enigma 1406 is Peter Gatenby of Warwick, UK. Answer to 1406 What a turn up! There are 47 cards in my stack.
WHEN it comes to ancient European archaeology, the Germans have the Neanderthals, the French have some wonderful rock art and the Brits have a famous fake, Piltdown Man. At least, it used to be that way. More recently, archaeologists have laid bare Britain’s rich prehistory, and it is well told and illustrated in this new book by Chris Stringer, one of the UK’s foremost prehistorians. For example, sites such as Boxgrove and Pakefield show that Homo Britannicus set up shop as a big-game hunter an astonishing 700,000 years ago.
All together then The Best of All Possible Worlds by Ivar Ekeland, University of Chicago Press, $25, ISBN 0226199940 Reviewed by Matthew Killeya
IVAR EKELAND provides a fascinating window into a barely recognisable period in science. In the 17th and 18th centuries philosophy, science and theology were inextricably intertwined as scientists and mathematicians sought the “best of all possible worlds” alongside theologians. Central to the story is the French physicist Mauperitus and his principle that everything in nature occurs in the way that requires least action. The idea was later modified by others but it offered great insights into many problems, from evolution to game theory.
www.newscientist.com
29/9/06 3:09:03 pm
Bookends
Liverwort
Island history Homo Britannicus: The incredible story of human life in Britain by Chris Stringer, Allen Lane, £25, ISBN 0713997958 Reviewed by Douglas Palmer
EYE OF SCIENCE/SPL
HOW do plants get their common names? While their Latin names are the result of a (supposedly) rational and organised system, the everyday names of plants come via a somewhat looser – if not downright mysterious – process. A few months ago in this column we described how the common names of some animals come from the names used in the local language of the area in which western explorers “discovered” them (New Scientist, 22 April, p 52). Well, this also happened with some plants, among them banana, peyote, rambutan and achiote. With many others, it is easy to see how their names relate to the function they must once have had. Feverfew, a pretty little wild chrysanthemum common in British hedgerows, really can bring down fevers, while the fleabanes release natural insecticides when burnt. Apparently some dogs really do not like the smell of wolfsbane. But what about those plants that sound as if they mean something but don’t appear to? Liverwort is one example. It’s that green stuff that grows in small plate-like lumps on moist walls, and at first glance looks nothing at all like the stuff you might get served fried with onions and bacon in a roadside cafe. Similarly, why would a quite undistinguished thin-stemmed skinny-leaved daisy with tiny yellow flowers be called nipplewort? And what is it about a pink and blue flowered plant that likes damp hedgerows that merits the
“They thought God designed the plant to resemble the body part it could treat” name lungwort? To modern eyes, none of these names – and there are many like them – make sense. That may be because we’re not looking hard enough. These plants got their names through a medieval diagnostic system known as the Doctrine of Signatures (or Signs), which said that God’s way of showing people which plants should be used for which remedy was to design the plant to resemble the body part it had the power to treat. In a world full of portents and allegory, and where plants were the sole reliable source of remedies, this
schema made good sense. The only problem was that you had to look quite imaginatively to see a body part in a plant. But, as the priests always said, God moves in mysterious ways. And in some cases, the doctrine was spot on: some species of liverwort do contain chemicals that can help hepatic function, for example. As the idea moved beyond the herbalists, apothecaries and monastery gardens into common knowledge, people started interpreting in this way many plants whose names were already established, often with slightly wacky results. For example, the pomegranate, whose name means “seeded apple”, was considered good for toothache because when the fruit’s peel was pulled away the seeds and pith resembled rows of teeth between lips. ●
Enigma Any amount No. 1412 Albert Haddad I HAVE a five-digit TOTAL, a six-digit AMOUNT, and several other whole numbers, all expressed in words written in capital bold letters, where different letters stand for different digits and the same letter stands for the same digit. 56 | NewScientist | 7 October 2006
061007_Op_The Word.indd 56
A few curious properties are noticeable. For instance, if you add ANY amount to my TOTAL, and then divide by say, A value, the result is a whole number. And if you subtract AN amount from my AMOUNT, and then divide by say, ANY value, the result, of course, is ANY amount. How much is my five-digit VALUE? £15 will be awarded to the sender of the first
correct answer opened on 8 November. The Editor’s decision is final. Please send entries to Enigma 1412, New Scientist, Lacon House, 84 Theobald’s Road, London WC1X 8NS, or to [email protected] (please include your postal address). The winner of Enigma 1406 is Peter Gatenby of Warwick, UK. Answer to 1406 What a turn up! There are 47 cards in my stack.
WHEN it comes to ancient European archaeology, the Germans have the Neanderthals, the French have some wonderful rock art and the Brits have a famous fake, Piltdown Man. At least, it used to be that way. More recently, archaeologists have laid bare Britain’s rich prehistory, and it is well told and illustrated in this new book by Chris Stringer, one of the UK’s foremost prehistorians. For example, sites such as Boxgrove and Pakefield show that Homo Britannicus set up shop as a big-game hunter an astonishing 700,000 years ago.
All together then The Best of All Possible Worlds by Ivar Ekeland, University of Chicago Press, $25, ISBN 0226199940 Reviewed by Matthew Killeya
IVAR EKELAND provides a fascinating window into a barely recognisable period in science. In the 17th and 18th centuries philosophy, science and theology were inextricably intertwined as scientists and mathematicians sought the “best of all possible worlds” alongside theologians. Central to the story is the French physicist Mauperitus and his principle that everything in nature occurs in the way that requires least action. The idea was later modified by others but it offered great insights into many problems, from evolution to game theory.
www.newscientist.com
29/9/06 3:09:03 pm