Category: Uncategorized

Thank you for the A2A, Jelle Zijlstra, and why do I suspect that you’ve read my page Astral Planes?

There’s 17 * 65536 characters in Unicode. Each 65536 characters is called a Plane. The first plane, the BMP, is the plane that most characters you will ever encounter are in. Only two other planes are used (or indeed likely to be used), and they contain obsolete, archaic scripts or characters in scripts that won’t get used much at all, and that most people will rarely encounter.

Or, per Plane (Unicode) – Wikipedia

In the Unicode standard, a plane is a continuous group of 65,536 (= [math]2^{16}[/math]) code points. There are 17 planes, identified by the numbers 0 to 16 decimal, which corresponds with the possible values 00–10 hexadecimal of the first two positions in six position format (hhhhhh). Plane 0 is the Basic Multilingual Plane (BMP), which contains most commonly-used characters. The higher planes 1 through 16 are called “supplementary planes”, or humorously “astral planes“.

Thank you Wikipedia.

[citation needed]

Actually, you know what? I’ll cite me. Astral Planes

So as of Unicode 3.0.1 (August 2000), Unicode is organised into 16 planes, each of 64K; this gives over a million codepoints, which should be enough for all needs, past present and future. The Basic Multilingual Plane (BMP), or Plane 0, is the first 64K, which is what was in use until 2000, and where just about everything useful will still reside. The other planes are termed Supplementary.

The supplementary planes are an innovation in how characters are internally represented—programmers have to assume a character can have a million possible values, not just 64K, which means they often have to change their existing code. Furthermore, they are not drastically common in use: most ‘real’ scripts (though not all) are ensconced in the BMP. […]

The informal name for the supplementary planes of Unicode is “astral planes”, since (especially in the late ’90s) their use seemed to be as remote as the theosophical “great beyond”. There has been objection to this jocular usage (see “string vs. char” and subsequent discussion on Unicode list); and as Planes 1 and 2 spread in use there will be less occasion to feel that the planes really are ‘astral’. But the jocular reference is harmless, and it serves as a reminder that we’re not quite there yet.

Astral plane is a joke on Astral plane: they’re “planes” of characters, but they were inaccessible and immaterial, you’d never get to them, your software would never get to them, and you’d never need to get to them: they were abstruse and obscure. The joke was coined on the Unicode mailing list.

The term is still in use; e.g. https://youtrack.jetbrains.com/i… . And the term still means something: legacy products still fail to support them (such as… oh, the Quora text editor).

There’s a simple reason why those planes aren’t particularly astral any more. In amongst the Deseret and Nabataean and Egyptian hieroglyphs, there is one set of characters in the supplementary planes that sees a *lot* of usage now, and that users have come to expect all their platforms to support. Those characters weren’t in Unicode when I wrote my page in 2003, but they’re there in the Astral Planes now.

Those characters are, of course, Emoji.

Do read this in conjunction with:

Stefan Hill’s answer to Why didn’t the Byzantine Empire have ethnic conflicts like the Ottoman Empire did?

Ethnicity was not important in the Medieval world. Common people did not have to communicate with the state. They were supposted to work and pay taxes. The best they could hope for was to be left alone.

In the 19th century that changed.

The flashpoints in the Early Byzantine Empire were religious and doctrinal, but those often ended up being closely correlated with ethnicity—particularly with dyophysitism vs monophysitism (to use each side’s pejoratives). The bulk of the peoples lost by the Empire to the Caliphate were not native speakers of Greek, after all.

After Chalcedonian Christianity, “heresies” remained a flashpoint, but you do also start seeing more clearly ethnic-based conflict. I don’t know what else to call the Uprising of Asen and Peter, for instance:

The Uprising of Asen and Peter (Bulgarian: Въстание на Асен и Петър) was a revolt of Bulgarians and Vlachs living in the theme of Paristrion of the Byzantine Empire, caused by a tax increase. It began on 26 October 1185, the feast day of St. Demetrius of Thessaloniki, and ended with the creation of the Second Bulgarian Empire, ruled by the Asen dynasty.

In fact, the victorious brothers raised a church to the same St Demetrius whose cult site was in Salonica; in other words, they asserted religious continuity with the Empire, but not political allegiance:

After their return, many of the protesters were unwilling to join the rebellion. The brothers Peter and Asen built the Church of St Demetrius of Thessaloniki in Tarnovo, dedicated to Saint Demetrius, who was traditionally considered a patron of the Byzantine city of Thessaloniki, and claimed that the Saint had ceased to favour the Byzantines: “God had decided to free the Bulgarians and the Vlach people and to lift the yoke that they had borne for so long”.

Nick Nicholas’ answer to Can you write an English sentence, phonetically, in another script without changing the language?

Jen Zhou

I’ll be on vacation starting this Sunday (U.S., Pacific time) for 9 days or 10. In another country, I don’t think I can use Quora.

Having read James Garry’s answer to Can you write an English sentence, phonetically, in another script without changing the language?

Όου Γκουντ Λορντ. Μάι μπρέιν ιζ χέρτιγκ του. Δε πέιν, δε πέιν…

… Χαγκ ον, James Garry, γιου ρόουτ Ένσιεντ Γκρικ, νοτ Μόντερν. Οκέι. Λετ μι όφερ μάι ατέμτ.

I’m pretty sure Ancient Greek rendered [θ] as [s], e.g. the Laconian early lenition of /tʰ/. [ð] by analogy, and just as in French stereotype, would be [z], but Ancient Greek didn’t have a [z], and [dz] would be a poor equivalent. I’d stick with [d].

Νο [v] either. Hm.

And yes, I will have an Australian accent in my vowels. With a proud eta for æ.

This is my rendering of James’ para.

Δὲ πρόβλεμ ἲς δὰτ δὲ Ἤνσεντ Γρὶκ λάγγυαζ λὴξ μένι σαὺνζ δὰτ Ἴγγλις ἥς. Αἲ κὴντ ἴυεν ῥαὶτ μαὶ ωὒν νεὶμ πρόπερλι βικὼς δὲρ ἲς νωὺ λέτα υἳτς ῥεπρεσέντς [dʒ]. Αἲ στὶλ λαὶκ ἲτ δωὺ. Δὲ Γρὶκ σκρὶπτ ἲς οὐὰν ωὒ δὲ πρίτιεστ ἲν δὲ ὑέρλδ. Αἲ λοὺκ φόρυαρδ τοὺ ῥίδιγγ Νὶκ Νίκολας ἀτέμτ ἢτ δίς, ἢνδ σίιγγ ἲφ ἲτ ἥς μὼρ ωὒ ἀν Ὠστρείλιαν ἤξεντ τοὺ ἴτ.

And for added bonus, a transliteration back into IPA:

de próblem is dat de ɛ́ːnsent ɡrik láŋɡyadz lɛːks méni saundz dat íŋɡlis hɛ́ːs. ai kɛːnt íuen r̥ait mai ɔːun neːm próperli bikɔ̀ːs der is nɔːu léta hyits r̥epresénts [dʒ]. ai stil laik it dɔːu. de ɡrik skript is uàn ɔːu de prítiest in de hyérld. ai luk pʰóryard tu r̥ídiŋɡ nik níkolas atémt ɛːt dís, ɛːnd síiŋɡ ipʰ it hɛːs mɔːr ɔːu an ɔːstréːlian ɛ́ːksent tu it.

See also: Nick Nicholas: Can you write an English sentence in another script without changing the language? by Nick Nicholas on The Quora Lectionary

I’m going to do some backgrounding on this for people not blessed enough to have delved in the waters of Greek.

English makes a distinction between active and passive voices of a verb.

Homeric Greek made a distinction between active and middle voices of a verb. It distinguished between you actively doing something to the world, and you just sitting there. If you were having things done to you (passive), you’re just sitting there. If you are doing things to yourself (reflexive), you’re just sitting there. If you two are doing things to each other (reciprocal), you’re just sitting there. And if you are doing things for yourself, you are still just sitting there: in all these instances, you are not actively doing something to the world, outside of yourself.

The distinction puts some instances that in English would be active into the middle voice. The verb for sleep is in the middle voice. So is the verb for work.

So, in that division of the world, the middle voice of ‘love’ can mean all of the above: “I love for myself”, “I love myself”, and “I am loved”.

In Homeric Greek, you occasionally have a verb form in the aorist that looks somewhat different from the middle. This ended up extended to the future tense in Attic (in a very morphologically awkward way), and it was supposed to be the emergence of a distinct passive voice in those tenses, whereas the future and aorist middles kept their middle meaning (“just sitting there”, including reflexives, reciprocals, and self-benefit).

That’s the theory. In practice, you will still find aorist passive forms with middle meaning, and aorist middle forms with passive meaning: they were easily confused, and Greek writers really did confuse them. The legacy is that in Modern Greek, we only have active and passive forms in the aorist…

… and the passive forms have the same range of meanings as the Homeric middle: the forms have switched, the underlying meaning hasn’t. Remember: the middle/passive distinction only ever happened in the aorist and future, and even there it was garbled. In the present, imperfect, perfect and pluperfect, Greek continued to use the one voice for both middle and passive, throughout. Greek simply got rid of the outliers in the aorist: it kept the semantics the same.

So, if I may introspect on the modern verb αγαπιέμαι: in the plural, it would be interpreted as “we love each other” (αγαπιόμαστε), and in the singular, it would be interpreted as “I am loved”. That’s not about preference of one meaning over the other, that’s about context and plausibility. Other words have different default interpretations. An inanimate subject of κλέβομαι “be stolen” is passive; a human subject will be interpreted as reciprocal (we stole each other = we eloped).

And there is the possibility of confusion between middle and passive still. I once used the middle of self-benefit with reference to shopping: I announced to my cousin that ψωνιστήκαμε “we went shopping (for things for ourselves)”. My cousin told me to shut up, because the idiomatic interpretation of the verb “to shop” in the middle/passive voice was not self-benefit, but passive: “we were shopped for, someone went shopping to buy us”. Which applies to street prostitutes.

Oh, we Aussies, we’re a defensive lot. Not the first time I’ve seen this on Quora. And I did appreciate Alap Arslan’s answer.

Lemme have a go.

casual swearing (cursing)

Yes. I don’t think it’s uniquely Australian, but we certainly pride ourselves in swearing; the subreddit Straya • r/straya seems to use cunt as every third word. We have defined ourselves (mythologically) in opposition to British moralising, and we find American avoidance of profanity ridiculous. (I was astonished, living in California, when two delivery guys said they were looking for a restroom. No delivery guy in Australia would say anything more genteel than toilet.)

Is this uncivilised? Well, it certainly is not genteel, and it prioritises egalitarianism over respect (positive over negative politeness—in this regard; compared to Southern Mediterraneans, Aussies are still a bunch of emotionally unforthcoming Poms). And there is a special boorishness in the business elite, with none of the noblesse oblige you might see elsewhere. But as others have said on this thread, we find scepticism about deference a healthy thing. Just like Israelis do.

excessive drinking

Yes, one of our less helpful inheritances from the UK. An outbreak of drunken violence in Sydney has led to an early curfew there—and to Melbourne gloating about it.

informal culture

Much more so now than thirty years ago. People used to dress up for classical concerts or dinner; they rock up to both in jeans now. Can be seen, again, as egalitarian rather than uncivilised, but it does mean that there is less of a sense of occasion or solemnity. Australians don’t do solemnity. In fact, when I tried to solemnly launch my departmental working papers as a postgrad, I was heckled.

… Well, rephrase that. They don’t do solemnity, unless it’s one of their sacred cows. A Muslim activist raised the plight of detained refugees during Anzac Day, and got attacked for it universally.

disrespect toward or suspicious of authority figures and authority generally

Overstated. Yes, people are contemptuous of politicians, and routinely vote informal. Yes, people are suspicious of ceremony, and are reluctant to offer deference. Something they again are quite proud of, as you’ll have seen here.

On the other hand, their obedience of laws and norms is distressingly reflexive. I had a friend from Eastern Germany, who was aghast at how unquestioningly Australians obey the law; “social consensus” happens very quickly here, and the nanny state finds fertile ground among the citizenry.

sports obsessed

Yes, there is a big sports culture, and sports chews up a disproportionate amount of public discourse. Australia isn’t really unique in that; and Australia does at least have a culture of public participation in sport, which is rather healthier than just collecting stats about it on the couch.

arrogant

Well, yes. Australia is compensating now for generations of cultural inferiority complex and tugging the forelock to The Mother Country, by truly believing they are the best country on earth, and deflecting criticism. (As again you will have noted in this thread.) The post-Howard brand of nationalism is much more po-faced and prickly than the understated wisecracking about God’s Own Country that went on before Howard. And I don’t think most Australians really believe that they have anything to learn from any other countries.

Found one!

1 Corinthians 15:50

Τοῦτο δέ φημι, ἀδελφοί, ὅτι σὰρξ καὶ αἷμα βασιλείαν Θεοῦ κληρονομῆσαι οὐ δύναται, οὐδὲ ἡ φθορὰ τὴν ἀφθαρσίαν κληρονομεῖ.

“Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit incorruption.”

The verb for cannot is singular in the Greek.

See also On Hendiadys in Greek. Nothing useful there, though it does mention that hendiadys is routinely ignored in accounts of Classical Greek—but noted in accounts of Biblical Greek.

Vocaroo | Voice message

OK, OK, I yield to the inevitable. Word of the day is in fact, “covfefe” – ‘a summoning word of fearsome power, never to be used lightly.’ pic.twitter.com/PE4Oc4CPS5

— Robert Macfarlane (@RobGMacfarlane) May 31, 2017

Trebizond is derived from the Ancient Greek Trapezous (genitive Trapezountos, hence Modern Greek Trapezounda), meaning ‘table-like’, and referring to the mountain formation in the area.

Per People and Culture: Trebižat River,

There are two theories on how the river got its name. The first one says that it was named “Trebižat” because it escapes from the surface three times. According to the second theory, the name comes from the Italian “il trebizatto”, meaning the river is rich in eels.

So, unlikely, and I wouldn’t have thought there’s a clear reason why you’d name the river after such a far-off city anyway. Especially when the river gets a different name each of the nine times it resurfaces above ground to begin with (Trebižat (river) – Wikipedia)—so none of the originally named instances were particularly long or, I’d have thought, widely known.