Aphorisms and Our World
Published April 17, 2007
By Elias Altman
I was recently in Borders looking for a book that would corroborate my worldview the way The Catcher in the Rye once did. As I thumbed through the glossy spines, I overheard – really “eavesdropped on” – a conversation between a couple.
They were arguing about something silly – the basis for most relationship squabbles – and I glanced up at them. He capped the argument by saying, “Well, you know, when in Rome, do as the Romans.”
Aphorisms are short sentences that convey a truth of general import, and I have always been curious about them. The overwhelming confidence in this particular man’s tone – the authority he thought the saying conferred upon him – renewed my interest.
They were the precursors to bumper-stickers, sound bites, and political slogans. Even though the word aphorism only entered into the English language in the 1500s, the concept of distilled truth is as old as language itself.
Some of the oldest aphorisms I know come from the ancient Seven Wise Men of Greece. They had maxims like “Know Thyself,” “Avoid Excesses” or my favorite, “Most Men Are Bad” – which certainly plays to the Holden Caulfield in me.
Many American aphorisms come from Benjamin Franklin – “Nothing but money is sweeter than honey” or “A penny saved is a penny earned” – but I prefer the wisdom of Yogi Berra.
Yogi Berra was a great catcher (three-time MVP) for the Yankees who also became well known for his short sayings. His aphorisms are characterized by their logic-defying or redundant tendencies: “If you can’t imitate him, don’t copy him” or “It was impossible to get a conversation going; everybody was talking too much.”
These push aphoristic boundaries, but they distill the essence of life’s contradictions, especially during the tumultuous 1950s. Once when Berra was driving, a friend complained that they were totally lost and Berra replied, “Yeah, but we’re making great time.” Never has the ethos of the post-war boom been succinctly stated.
Aphorisms demonstrate our need for there to be facts about life. There is no science for living and these maxims provide us with general proofs. They also lend credibility to the speaker. They act as corroborations of what we already think in the same way books can. Since they are familiar to us, we take them as accepted knowledge.
We are so trained by the power of aphorisms that you can just say something like “Well, you know, tension is better than pretension” and people will nod like automatons.
I once staged a protest against aphorisms. It was a short-lived and semi-ridiculous demonstration, but I elected to only use aphorisms when they did not apply to the situation. My friend broke up with her boyfriend and I told her calmly, “You know, a nickel isn’t worth a dime anymore.” She thought it was funny. You think I’m callous.
But the best aphorisms make us rethink the aphorism itself as well as the world in which we live. That’s why Yogi Berra’s are so good; they undermine the truth they mean to purport. When Ben Franklin says “Failure to prepare is preparing to fail,” he tells us nothing new.
But when Berra says “You’ve got to be very careful if you don’t know where you are going, because you might not get there,” we know what he means even though it is illogical. It describes a contradictory world in its own terms.
Yogi Berra, towards the end of his life, said, “I really didn’t say all the things I said.” He meant that he was often misquoted, but he strikes at the core of how we use aphorisms. They allow us to say things without really saying them – we don’t really say all the things we said.
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