Skip to main content

Happy Birthday to...

Nostradamus, born in 1503.

It's difficult to find a consensus on even the basics about his life—some people think he received his doctorate from a medical school, but some people think that school expelled him for being an apothecary, a manual trade which was not permitted in the world of higher education.

Some people think he was extraordinary in healing those afflicted with the Plague, but others think he was a dismal failure, trying out all kinds of treatments that failed.

Some people think he was a prophet, but others think he wrote and often plagarized his jumbled quatrains cryptically so as not to be persecuted by the Church. When his books were translated into English, often incorrectly, they made even less sense and are all too easy to misinterpret.

Whatever you think about the wacky guy, you have to give him credit for staying power. I guess we all just wish we could see into the future just a little. I wonder if he predicted that?

Comments

peahen said…
I did try reading him once. My own (rather cynical) opinion is that you can write any random nonsense and some people will find it spookily accurate, which is just how newspaper horoscopes work.
dive said…
Happy birthday, Nostradamus.
I suppose we cannot blame the man for the epidemic of charlatans who have created an industry "interpreting" his ramblings.
If he had truly foreseen that, he would be giggling in his portrait.
Nostradamus say: man who go to bed with itchy butt wake up with... was that Nostradamus or Confucius?
Maria said…
I just like his name. I mean, his mother didn't name him Ed or Joe or Micky. No. It was a name that sort of slides around on your tongue. I like a name that does that....
Mrs. G. said…
I remember reading about this guy in high school and being freaked out at his predictions. They actually scared me a little.
Scout said…
Peahen, and people will translate it in their own native language to mean whatever they want.

Dive, I have read he never actually claimed to be a prophet but people misinterpreted.

Rich, hee hee hee.

Maria, his mother named him Michel.

Mrs. G, I would be scared, too, if he actually predicted anything, but he really just wrote jibberish in various languages, and it was reinterpreted to mean other stuff from century to century.
Maria said…
Oh...well....um...never mind.
Sassy Sundry said…
Credit where credit is due. He reminds me a bit of Madonna with his staying power.
Gina said…
For some reason, I've never liked Nostradamus. Too much of a wet blanket kind of guy.
Anonymous said…
Robyn mentioned in passing,

"I guess we all just wish we could see into the future just a little. I wonder if he predicted that?"

Why yes, he did:

"In the year of the dung beetle
The Robin will write Frenchie stuff with horns.
Smoke will rise from the cow butt
And confirmation bias and cold reading shall be called Johanian Edwardsum."


Whoa.

P.S. I haven't figured out how to make the new Blogger sign-in write "Lou FCD" instead of my blog address since the recent change, but I guess you've realized that by now. (It did it the first time, what's up with that?)

Popular posts from this blog

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...

My Sitemeter is All Bloated and Not Quite Itself

I'm tempted to let it sit on the couch with its feet curled up under a blanket, a hot cup of coffee in hand, a block of cherry almond bark Chocolove within reach, and An Affair to Remember spinning in the DVD player. I'm one of those obsessive bloggers, the kind who checks her sitemeter as often as possible throughout the day, the kind who gauges the quality of her writing by the number of readers who regularly stop by. I've become less interested in the overall number of hits and more interested in the number of repeat hits. The return visitors are the ones I long for. When my sitemeter reads forty at the end of the day, and the majority of those hits are webpals who have conversed, I'm happy. Forty may seem low to many of you, but I've only been at this since August. To me, forty is a jackpot. A few days ago, I sat down at my laptop and discovered a number somewhere in the eighties. Eighties! Yippee! Yeeha ! Hoo-rah ! I've been discovered by the webworld , o...

Happy Birthday...

to me! Update: Since you have asked, I only got one actual packaged gift, a beautiful hand-made bracelet from a friend, but both girls were home for the weekend, and we had dinner at the lake and a relaxing weekend. Thanks to all of you for your lovely wishes!