Take as a legendary example of “fail” the death of William the Conqueror, a.k.a Duke William II of Normandy, the guy responsible for that predictable question about 1066 on the history test. Remember that history lesson and the test question about 1066, the year Billy conquered England by defeating King Harold Godwinson at the Battle of Hastings (actually, it wasn’t at Hastings, but that’s a graduate school test question)? Anyway, William conquered a goodly portion (Doth that sound Medieval enough?) of Merry Olde England (Ye probably dust tyre of this).

Back to the “fail.” William was a successful conqueror (That’s probably why he got the moniker). Conquests can breed overconfidence and arrogance. Overconfidence and arrogance can breed “fail” or make any stumble seem significant. Conquering puts one in places that other people once owned. Overconfidence distracts one from little details that can accumulate to become a big detail. Arrogance obliterates the sense of mortality. In 1087, back on the continent, William attacked the French at Mantes, where, good rumor has it, his horse stumbled on burning rubble in the very destruction that William had caused, throwing Will hard against the pommel like a skateboarder failing on a handrail. Epic fail, but no video. Days later, William, about to expire, made his peace, probably pleading, as in the words of the Norman (not from Normandy) Greenbaum song “Spirit in the Sky”: “Oh set me up with the spirit in the sky.”

Back to the “fail.” You’ve seen dozens of “fails” on TV and YouTube. And you keep asking yourself, “What was he thinking? Why didn’t he stop before…?” Twenty-one years after conquering England, there was William on the continent engaging France’s King Philip I’s forces. According to all reports the Conqueror was in later life a rather pudgy (Is that okay to say nowadays?) fellow who lost the spring of youthful muscles on a once strong body. But yes, there he was, less than physically fit, waging war from the saddle in the midst of destruction. And then his horse stepped on a burning ember, tossing William the Conqueror up and allowing gravity to do its work—as it does in almost all epic fails—to bring him down hard on that pommel. Before we leave that image, let’s refine it. The imaginary IPhone is in the hands of a French soldier who just lost the battle but who is hiding in the ruins as the great “conqueror” passes by. The battle is over. William seems relaxed in the arrogant overconfidence that he has won. And then, through a somewhat shaky video, we see the horse step on a burning board. Frightened, the horse rears high, leaps, and sends the “conqueror” into the air momentarily. His body lifted by the force of the horse’s rising back, the king grabs for the reins, the mane, the pommel itself, but instead falls hard on the metal pommel abdomen first. Epic! Hit the play button again. Watch the pudgy guy get thrown and come down hard. Epic! A voice from behind the camera says, “Oui.”  
 
“Fails” occur to everyone, but some people go out of their way to make “fails” more likely. Some go out of their way to make them even more spectacular. William’s forces destroyed and burned the very building whose ember caused his horse to stumble. When one, regardless of past success, is bent on destruction, even someone else’s destruction, a “fail” is more likely. 

Your body is lined with pressure points, bundles of nerves that respond to a concentrated pressing by sending messages of pain to the brain. One of these points lies on top the web between thumb and forefinger. If someone else presses on this spot, you will feel pain. If you gently rub the web counterclockwise with your other thumb, you will relieve a headache. Strange.

Let’s get this straight. Pressing on a spot delivers pain. Gently rubbing on the same spot relieves pain. Same spot. Different approach.

Try that on people.

Look. Then look again.

The word respect derives from re, “back,” “again,” and specere, “to look.” So, in “respecting,” we are “looking again.” And that is how we impart esteem to others.

First looks don’t provide in-depth understanding of others’ personalities. Second looks do. In “respect,” we go beyond first impressions that can easily be misinterpretations or misreadings of personality.

First impressions fail to give a complete picture because each of us carries the baggage of our place of origin, our cultural bias, our mental, emotional, and physical makeup of the moment, and our ability to read new verbal and facial expressions. Of course, we recognize universal expressions, such as facial expressions associated with anger, but each of us exists on more subtle levels, so barring some intensely emotional circumstance or harmful action, first looks don’t serve us well.

Second looks give us insights into subtle underlying layers of personality. Maybe we should practice the double-take as our usual way of seeing others.    

A place where three roads (viae) converge is called, in Latin, a trivium. About 13 centuries ago, intellectuals started referring to a group of three studies as the Trivium because they saw relationships among them. Those studies were grammar, logic, and rhetoric. Grammar consisted of putting symbols together; logic, of thinking; and rhetoric, of communicating. All three converged at the crossroads of fact or truth.

Is there a different trivium? If there is, it meets at the crossroads of obfuscation and opinion. Neither fact nor truth is the goal for many in education, politics, and social interactions best encapsulated in chat rooms and gossip on the Web. Almost every topic receives slanted coverage, coverage that is one-sided and aimed at harming or destroying a supposed “enemy” or “presumed evil” person.

It’s not that we have “come to this.” The symbols of any age make coherent and semi-coherent statements about axioms. The logic that derives from those axioms makes perfect sense to those who accept them as self-evident. Then, the defense of those axioms in the “grammar” that symbolizes them becomes the preferred rhetoric of the day. Today, that rhetoric defends every special interest regardless of the many definitions of “truth.” And those defenses put us in constant quandary and in frequent conflict.

If you are an Earthling, and I assume you are, then I have little doubt that you want to preserve the environment on the only planet on which Earthlings can live. It makes good sense to keep Earth a viable home for human life. Now consider the possibility that that comfy environment might be changing. How do we talk to one another about such a change? What if we don't start from the same axioms? And what if the grammar, logic, and rhetoric vary widely among those who discuss the possible maintenance of a steady environment conducive to human life and to established ecologies? 

Apparently, the climate is warming, but some reasonable people question to what extent and to what effect. So much of what we hear is based not on unshakable data, but rather on estimates from models. And some of the supposed data appears to be a bit questionable.   

Parts of the climate arguments are based on some solid facts. Measurements on top Mauna Loa have shown an increase in atmospheric carbon dioxide; it has the reached 400 parts per million, an increase of 150 ppm since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. We know that gas to be a greenhouse gas, so we assume that there is a direct and immediate cause and effect relationship. But, of course, there might be simple a coincidental relationship, such as having every supper interrupted by a ringing phone. Eating doesn’t cause a phone to ring.

We also know, as a fact, that Earth underwent large shifts in climate long before humans burned their first log to add some carbon dioxide to the atmosphere. That means, of course, that humans had no influence on earlier large climate shifts, including the warming that ended the last large continental glacial epoch 8,000 to 10,000 years ago. Finally, we have very good evidence that, relative to today’s temperatures, Earth has been both much warmer and much colder. Periods of great warming, such as the Paleocene-Eocene Thermal Maximum and the Little Ice Age indicate that the vicissitudes of climate are a norm, varying through Earth history on time scales and in geography.

At the climate crossroads of grammar, logic, and rhetoric we see people poised to defend positions based more on their axioms than on their command of fact and truth. Some of those positions are based on temporary weather phenomena like droughts, rainy spells, or even cold weather. Other positions assume that humans are much too insignificant to affect climate. When the proofs come from conflicting axioms, then the rhetoric becomes more strident. Almost every set of axioms engenders its own grammar, logic, and rhetoric. Now, just about everyone is yelling at everyone on the other side of the issue. That makes obfuscation dominate the issue.  This is not a new human circumstance. The crossroads of climate arguments is a model of human interaction. Teens have axioms that parents might once have held but have since abandoned. Political parties stand by their axioms regardless of their consequences. Religious groups seem to follow the same practice, and even scientists find breaking from untenable axioms difficult to do.

It seems that humans are always at crossroads on many issues. We’re all shouting at one another because we stand on different crossroads. It’s surprising that we literally haven’t all gone deaf. 

Cartographers use “projections” to map Earth. The projections are mathematical constructs that enable mapmakers to turn a round world into a flat one that’s easier to carry around than a globe, the only true map of the planet. People don’t carry around globes in their back pockets: “Does this globe make my butt look fat?”

Flat maps cause distortions. Just look at Greenland on a globe and then on a flat map. The globe shows its true size relative to, say, South America. The flat map makes Greenland look like a continent that approaches South America in size. As a personal geographer, you, too, use projections to map your world.

When your projections distort reality, you map make-believe worlds. Often, what you imagined to be bigger, taller, smarter, harder, more glistening, more unattainable, you eventually discover to be rather finite, a pinch or a lot smaller, shorter, dumber, softer, duller, reachable.

A short tale: When the athletic 22-year old college athlete (call him Sam) went with his girlfriend (call her Lisa) to her neighbor’s house for the first time, Sam encountered the pet Rottweiler (call him Fido). Big head, big teeth, big dog. Standing behind the nearest wingback chair because he thought it offered the greatest protection, Sam watched in amazement as Lisa played with Fido and his favorite chewing toy, an effigy of a lion tamer. When the dog accidentally pinched Lisa’s finger in its mouth during their tug of war over the toy, she swatted it on the nose and said, “Bad dog!” To Sam’s astonishment, Fido cowered before a gentle creature he could have mauled. Now there’s a distortion of reality. Sam’s guess is that Fido still views Lisa through a puppy’s eyes. You see this type of distortion in the circus lion and the lion tamer. A 450-pound fanged carnivore with the IQ of a runaway truck obeys the 175-pound lion tamer with the tiny, oft-flossed canine teeth and no claws.

Go away from an imposing place and return years later to remark, “Gee, I thought it was bigger than this.” Go away from an imposing person (teacher, manager, minister, coach) and return years later to find someone of surprisingly lesser stature than you remember. Play in trepidation during your rookie season, and then return the following year to face the same opponent. Go through college thinking that a professor is omniscient, then study the subject on your own and couple your knowledge with practical experience. Face the interviewer years after you have risen to VP. Skip the first three high school reunions before returning to see the BMOC or the BWOC. Watch the popular football star whose glory days seem so incongruous to his walking in handcuffs and shackles in front of the local sheriff, or to his walking his garbage to the curb outside a modest house in the suburbs.

Again, I ask you to compare the features on a globe with the features on a flat map. Projections distort in various ways. In what ways have you distorted your personal world?

The generalized character types we recognize today are no different from those of ancient times as evidenced by a work partially passed through more than two millennia to us. The Characters was written by Theophrastus (371-­‐287

B.C.E.) who headed the Lyceum after Aristotle died. Originally called Tyrtamos, he acquired his nom de plume from Aristotle because it meant “divine speaker.” So, what did this human-god pass on to us?

The Characters is composed of short descriptions of personality types, reportedly both “good” and “bad,” but unfortunately, only his list of the “bad” survived. In a politically correct 21st century, calling a type of character “bad” is, of course, judgmental, and, therefore, taboo. Nevertheless, a quick look at Theophrastus’ classification can serve as a point of departure for our own self-examination. These bad characters include:

The ironical person who says the opposite of what he or she really thinks to achieve goals


The flatterer (no explanation necessary here, dear erudite reader)


The chatterer who just goes on incessantly about anything (think Cliff Claven from the TV program Cheers)

The boor who lacks the refinements of a culture (burp!)


The ingratiating person who is always eager (or even, in some instances, anxious) to please others


The outcast who is a man or woman of no principles


The talker who appears to know everything about everything and who thinks those he (she) encounters are wrong if their ideas differ from his (hers)


The inventor of news who is not unlike today’s gossip columnists, pundits with an agenda, and tabloid writers


The shameless person who does not care if his or her character is one of ill repute as long as he or she has something to gain


The skinflint (no further explanation necessary, “Here, Miss. Give my friend the check”)


The abominable person who is obnoxious to others, doing something to offend just because he or she gets joy from offending


The unseasonable person who chooses the wrong time for anything, such as asking someone in a hurry for an opinion


The presumptuous person who promises what he or she cannot deliver


The feckless person who is defined by a lack of wit and action


The hostile person who is just plain evil for no apparent reason (Think Billy Budd’s nemesis, Claggart, in Melville’s tale or of Shakespeare’s Iago in Othello, of whom Thomas Carlisle spoke as a manifestation of motiveless malignity)


The superstitious person who believes objects, animals, and actions (such as breaking a mirror) can control his or her fortune


The chip-on-the-shoulder person who is always bothered by some grievance with others


The distrustful person (what more to say?)

The offensive person who cares little for manners and customs of appearance (I think this guy or gal pals around with the boor)

The tiresome person who interrupts the course of another’s daily activity


The (petty) ambitious person who puts on a show in everything he or she does to exalt himself
or herself

The mean person who values expense over honor


The boasting person
 (I leave this to your description)

The arrogant person who despises everyone but himself (misanthrope)


The cowardly person
 (Is it true that cowardly actions come back to haunt cowards in some way?)

The authoritarian (an oligarchic temperament motivated by power and profit)

The late-learning person who takes on tasks too difficult for his or her age


The slanderer (calumniator, detractor, defamer)


The criminal who is essentially a psychopath


The avaricious person who craves gain at the expense of others

Humanity fashioned these characters from the stuff of potential personalities. At various times in our lives we might be guilty of creating some of these characters or imitating some of their characteristics. Or, in the words of Verve in “Bitter Sweet Symphony”:

But I’m here in my mold...
And I’m a million different people from one day to the next

Of course, the characters you have fashioned or encountered in others could be like those of Theophrastus’ lost descriptions: the “good characters.” Maybe you are one or more of the following that I assume the ancient thinker might have expressed as adjectives:

Straightforward


Honestly deferential


Engaging


Sophisticated


Independent


Principled without foisting principles on others

Humble

Respectful

Reputable

Generous

Pleasing

Considerate

Accommodating

Competent


Kind

Rational


Forgiving


Trustful


Assiduously sophisticated

Deferential

Unobtrusive

Upright

Modest

Humanitarian

Brave

Tolerant

Extolling

Law-­‐abiding

Benevolent

The how of each of these characters is so easily identifiable that the second last of them, law-­‐abiding, was even used as an ironic title for a motion picture (Law Abiding Citizen). Why any of us should be any of them, that is, any of either the “good” or the “bad” characters, is a bit of a mystery. We all have life experiences, role models we observed, and other reasons for taking on any of these character types, but none of those reasons make the "bad" character types any more pleasant to be around. Still, as Theophrastus' predecessor Socrates noted, "the unexamined life isn't worth living," so it's probably  important to figure out which character or mix of characters you are.