Church and crown have gone to war in Dimension 20′s A Crown of Candy as Pontifex Brassica, Heirophant Rex of the Bulbian Church, has outlawed our favorite royal family. (Catch up on dropout.tv!)
It isn’t surprising to learn that church and crown often clashed in Medieval Europe, as powerful men attempted to control extensive lands and large populations of tax payers. One of the most heated struggles was between Pope Gregory VII & Henry IV, King of Germany, Italy & Burgundy. Gregory excommunicated Henry not once but twice!
Gregory was a reformer & spent his papacy reasserting the Roman Church’s power over western Christendom. His decisions angered royals who enjoyed choosing the bishops & abbots who served in their kingdoms. Philip I of France wasn’t pleased with Gregory’s reforms, but he wasn’t very interested in arguing either, since under Pope Urban II (Gregory’s predecessor), he had endured excommunication, absolution, and various rebukes over his second “marriage.” Philip and his nobles were mostly united as well, so Gregory may have considered that crown too well affixed to criticize.
But Gregory especially infuriated Henry IV, the heir to the Holy Roman Empire, who periodically faced rebellion in his lands. Needing Gregory’s support at a critical moment, Henry agreed to refrain from opposing the reformer pontiff & his initiatives. But as soon as that threat passed, Henry reneged on his promises which earned him a harsh letter of rebuke from Gregory.
Henry, unhappy with Gregory since his election, responded with his own letter that declared his divinely ordained right to rule and denied the legitimacy of “the false monk.” Pope Gregory immediately excommunicated Henry and absolved all Henry’s subjects of their oaths of fealty, effectively dethroning Henry.
Learning that many of his subjects were actually quite happy with this turn of events, Henry begged for absolution and penitently hiked through snow & ice to ask the pope in person. Gregory knew that such a display required him to absolve Henry & welcome him back into communion, but the humiliated king was forced to bend the knee, a moment that had repercussions for centuries.
Unfortunately for Henry, the absolution didn’t return his royal power because rebellious nobles had decided that they preferred his brother-in-law, Duke Rudolf of Swabia, and had chosen him to be king. King Henry’s loyalists fought the faction supporting the antiking Rudolf for three years while Gregory remained neutral & tried to broker peace (occasionally and half-heartedly).
Finally, in January 1080, a battle at Flarchheim seemed to turn the tide for Rudolf, and in March, Gregory again excommunicated and dethroned Henry in a patently political maneuver. However, Henry had solidified his political power in the interim, while Gregory’s support in the episcopate had waned, and three months later, Henry held a synod where Gregory was declared deposed and Clement III was elected antipope. The pope’s influence in the Holy Roman Empire now depended almost entirely on the victory of antiking Rudolf—an unfortunate situation rising from the pontiff’s choices.
When Rudolf died suddenly in October, Henry’s internecine troubles abated, and he took the fight to Italy. Less than 4 years later, Henry took Rome, and Gregory fled the city. Clement III was installed and he crowned Henry emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. Gregory died in exile in May 1085 and was canonized as Saint Gregory VII in 1606.
Henry’s time as Holy Roman Emperor was not peaceful, however. He spent the next 20 years warring with his rebellious sons, Conrad and Henry, and abusing his second wife, Praxedis-Adelaide, who publicly denounced him. He died at 56, in 1106.
In the cacophonous lull between a live premier of a new episode and the livestream of the Adventuring Party talk-back, Dropout’s Discord servers shimmer with activity from fans. Theories, complaints, compliments, laments, and cheers all flash up as members express their feelings to the people who will understand them best.
In the midst of this enthusiastic yammering after episode 7, Amy (aka CthulhuMermaid) gave us an assignment: listen to the second movement of Beethoven’s 7th Symphony and compare it to the episode. At the time, I was annoyed and researching medieval laws of succession, but I made a note to complete her task. What an enjoyable bit of homework it turned out to be!
Those of you who read music may see the solemn tone in the opening A minor chord and the simple pace of the strings playing the symphony’s counter-theme. For anyone like me who doesn’t read music, a lot of Beethoven’s genius is inaccessible (as I understand it), but all of us can listen to the Vienna Philharmonic and immediately grasp the melancholy of the piece. Especially here at the beginning, the steady but relentless rhythm underpinned by sadness aligns with the footfalls of the escaping survivors.
But this is an allegretto, not a requiem, so Beethoven brings in the theme, and the music swells during 8 minutes of moving, victorious life. The sadness is woven into melody and counter-melody as the somber beginning gives way to action, rising energy and quiet reflection, with the persistent rhythm almost always present as the heartbeat of the movement. This is a song of struggle and its aftermath: victory at a cost.
How excellent of CthulhuMermaid (Amy) to share her insight with us!
Names are cool. “Jawbone” is an excellent name for someone who can rip out a throat with his bite and heal a shattered heart with his words. “Misty Moore” is poetic, fanciful, and melodious—much like the grande dame herself. One of our newer heroes, “Sir Theobald Gumbar,” has an extremely good name, and I suspect Brian Murphy chose it precisely. I have found three things that make it satisfying, and since I notice and value names, I enjoy learning where they are from, why they were chosen, and what they mean. It turns out there is an entire branch of social science that I did not know existed until this week: anthroponymy.
Anthroponymy is the study of human names. Linguists, anthropologists, historians, genealogists, and other experts all lend their talents to uncovering the origins and implications of what we choose to call ourselves, from casual nicknames to broad reaching national identities. Anthroponymy can tell us more about who has lived in an area, how a human group organizes themselves, or what a certain people value most.
For example, in ancient Greece, patrilineage was especially important and it was traditional for a grandson to be named after his grandfather. The philosopher Aristotle was the son of Nicomachus and, keeping custom, named his son Nicomachus. This custom was handy for Aristotle because he was able to his most famous work, the Nicomachean Ethics, after both of them. Since he learned moral wisdom from his father and taught it to his son, his choice of name is especially satisfying.
Anthroponymists focused in the origin of names trace the linguistic roots of our monikers. The original language of the name often lingers long after its meanings are forgotten. But many parents still choose baby names for the meaning as much as the musicality, perhaps hoping that the name shapes the child’s life. Trans folx have the wonderful but stressful experience of naming themselves which most of us will never undertake. Many gamers put so much thought into their character’s name that they struggle more with it than their school of magic or fighter class. Even when we don’t care, we still care a little—random name generator buttons are rarely clicked only once, I have found.
Although it may be simple superstition, the psychological impact of knowing your name’s meaning could factor into your expectations for yourself. Does Emily Axford know that her name means “industrious” and “hardworking,” a fitting name for a focused person who takes copious notes and creates detailed plans? Surely she would be just as productive if her name were Amity (“friendship” & “harmony”), right? There is a theory called nominative determinism that tries to explain why people with the last name Banks might be more likely to pursue a career in finance and why there might be a higher rate of Denises in the field of dentistry. On the other hand, I’m sure it is easy to find a clumsy Grace, a melancholy Ashok, and a Fabian who has never grown or sold a bean. (Yep, Fabian means “bean grower” — even for his own my darling man boy!)
So, what about Sir Theobald Gumbar, who stands ready to protect the royal House Rocks? Why did Murph choose those names in particular? The surname is easy: half of gummy and part of bear (or an anglicized take on the German version, bär). It also has a good tone, a solid ring to it. It sounds substantial when said aloud, which is appropriate for a protector.
Looking at the first name, I already knew that theo means “god” in Greek and that “Theodore” means “gift of God.” The suffix -bald sounds like the Greek root bal- which means “throw”, so I guessed perhaps “God’s throw” or “God strikes.” But I discovered that “Theobald” has no connection to “Theodore” whatsoever and doesn’t originate in Greek.
“Theobald” is a Germanic name, and it means “courageous people,” from theod (“people”) and bald (“brave,” “bold,” “courageous”). When it made its way into French, it became Thibault, and by the time Shakespeare wrote Romeo and Juliet, one variation was Tybalt.
So what’s in a name? One extremely silly reason that “Theobald” fits so well is simple. There are lots of bears in the world with various types of fluff and fur, but only one type of bear is best when it is “bald”: the gummy bear. And it’s not only best when it is bald—it’s awful when it isn’t!
With that unappetizing idea behind us, let’s look again. While I think it would chafe him, Sir Theo could go by a different nickname, which gives us the first real reason it is so fitting. Teddy is usually a nickname for Theodore, but it works for Theobald, too. And there is a great comfort to be found in a protective, armored and highly skilled teddy bear.
The second reason it is a great name: its meaning. Sir Theobald doesn’t think he’s God gift or sent by Bulb. (But I bet Sir Theodore would.) He knows he’s a common man, but he has uncommon courage. He doesn’t hesitate but also isn’t reckless. Theo is dauntless, not rash or cowardly. He is from a brave people. Sir Theo the Bold is very cool. (He’s always been cool! Always!)
Finally, what’s the best reason that Murph chose wisely? “Theobald” is German, and so is the sweet Gummibär! Gummy bears were invented in Bonn, Germany in 1922 by Hans Riegel Sr. After training and working as a confectioner, in 1920 he founded a company you may have heard of: HARIBO! (HA for Hans, RI for Reigel, and BO for Bonn, and all caps always!)
Herr Riegel figured out how to mold sweet and chewy gelatin treats using molds stamped into cornstarch. He decided to call them “little rubber bears”—that is, Gummibärchen! Sold as “Dancing Bears,” these treats were larger but not quite as chubby as the little ones we have today, but in 1960, the iconic Gold-Bären were introduced and became an international success. Today, HARIBO manufactures 160 million Gold-bären every day across the world, using both traditional and vegan recipes.
So there you have it. Sir Theobald Gumbar, the gummibär with the golden armor, was given a wonderful name by Brian Murphy. His name is Irish, by the way. Brian has hazy origins but is likely from the Old Celtic for “noble” and Murphy is derived from the original Gaelic word murchadh meaning “sea warrior.” So Murph, you’re destined to become a noble sea warrior!
Sir Theo will be one first, though, as the Munch Bunch fight off a naval attack on next week’s Dimension 20: A Crown of Candy. Catch up on dropout.tv and watch Wednesday, May 27 at 7PM EDT/4PM PDT on youtube.com/dimension20show!
Kintsugi (金継ぎ, "golden joinery"), also known as kintsukuroi (金繕い, "golden repair")
Hunter #namegate (They/Them) posted beautiful art of Lapin on Twitter recently that seems to include the ancient Japanese art of repairing ceramics using lacquer (Urushi) and pure gold. Considering Zac’s heritage and Lapin’s fate, including this small detail is especially fitting.
Kintsugi is not simply a repair using gold dust in glue or gold paint over a noticeable crack, which might not be obvious if you’ve only seen it as a fun decor option or craft project. Unfortunately, a lot of items labeled kintsugi are quick fixes that achieve the appearance but not the strength or safety of the true craft.
The traditional and authentic repair process uses expensive materials and labor-intensive techniques. First, the lacquer comes from a unique natural source: the sap from the Japanese lacquer tree (Urushi) that is difficult to work with, in part because most people are allergic to it. After all, the lacquer tree has several cousins that you may have (unfortunately) met: poison ivy, poison oak, and poison sumac all contain urushiol oil.
Once you have the proper materials, the process is extremely meticulous. Thin layers of lacquer are applied and allow to cure, one at a time over many cycles. When hardened, the lacquer is extremely durable and won’t break down from acids or heat. Adding fine gold powder in the final layers creates a food-safe finish since this precious metal is non-reactive and easy to clean.
Awareness of kintsugi outside of Japan has blossomed over the last decade or so, for many reasons.* First, as an art form, it creates beautiful and unique pieces which command attention in a perfected and over-produced world. Most items in our world are identical and impersonal, so a bit of sweet disorder can bewitch us.**
As people have moved away from disposable lifestyles into more sustained ways of living, we have also rediscovered old values in repairing items instead of buying new, cheap ones. Traditionally, kintsugi-repaired items were intended to return to their former service; although many likely become art pieces today, they are still restored to work as before.
Finally, more of us are living out: demanding respect for who we are, honest about our imperfections, and unashamed of our scars. An ancient practice that values broken items and takes the necessary time and effort to heal them? You can bet that’s going to be our cup of tea.
* that is, for reasons other than Death Cab for Cutie’s 2015 album Kintsugi
While the Dairy Islands of Calorum may be home to pirates and political intrigue in Dimension 20 A Crown of Candy, the real world islands of Jersey & Guernsey in the English Channel are home to the best dairy cattle in the world. Channel Island milk is creamy golden, rich, & very nutritious! It’s a true treasure!
King Amethar of House Rocks is a great pop to his licorice twin daughters. His Majesty explodes in rage if his family is threatened, but real-life Pop Rocks explode when their sugar melts in your mouth & a 600-psi carbon dioxide bubble bursts on your tongue!
The signature pop! from Pop Rocks isn’t caused by a chemical reaction in your mouth. What you feel is an intense version of soda bubbles bursting when you drink your favorite soft drink. Pop Rocks is made by carbonating hot liquid sugar under high pressure and then allowing that bubbly hot sugar to cool and solidify, trapping the high pressure bubbles of carbon dioxide inside hard shells of sugar. Once it is cooled, it shatters into variable size pieces when pressure is released, but tiny bubbles are still captured throughout the sweet treat--until it touches water and dissolves. Then all that pressurized & trapped carbon dioxide gets released at once, and you enjoy a loud sugary sensation!
Dimension 20: A Crown of Candy premieres new episodes on YouTube each Wednesday (through June 2020). Catch up anytime on Dropout!
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