We are privileged to have Daniel Foucachon join us in the studio to discuss the finer things that God's world has to offer, as well as the Christian's duty to participate in that world. Daniel founded Roman Roads Press to equip those desiring a Classical Christian Education. Check out more of his work here.

Questions covered in this episode:

1. Is it the role of the classical school to teach how to enjoy “the finer things in life?”

2. Does taking a child out of the home most of the day go against classical Christian paideia?

3. Is there a benefit to intentionally choosing the slow way to do things?

4. Is “Jabberwocky” a good poem?

Let us know your questions and comments!

At the heart of this show—on the Mechanical Arts—is the vision that Austin Hoffman shares with the Greystone Theological Institute. That is, craft and skill are closely connected to the pursuit of wisdom and should be employed to the glory of God.

“This is especially important for ministers, who are to exhibit faithfulness by drawing upon all the providential sources of wisdom, both ‘professional’ and ordinary.”

How might this vision elicit the use of your own practical skills for good?

Check out this episode to learn more.

Devin O’Donnell returns to explore the origins of a word we probably use every day: paragraph.

How does assuming the the definition of this word in a modern sense steal from us our abilities to act creatively? Check out this episode to find out!

When the half-tipsy Nick Caraway stumbles into the library of Gatsby’s mansion, he meets an even more tipsy gentleman who declares his surprise at finding real books on display:

“See!” he cried triumphantly. “It’s a bona fide piece of printed matter.”

This sentiment will be the norm from now on. Whenever we enter a house or an office and catch sight of bookshelves with real books that people actually read, we too will say, “A bona fide piece of printed matter.” Though we will be saying it someday with a sigh and with more resignation. Why? Because it is the sunset of reading, and it is night upon the book.

For decades, critics have lamented the irony that literacy has plummeted more in the age of information than at any other time. But decline of reading has accelerated in the last few years. Two of the most widely read articles in First Things both reference the death of reading amid the hastening flood of digital sources of media. In a 2025 piece, Mary Harrington argues that we now live in a “post-print world,” resulting in “a people less primed for analytic thought but more attuned to patterns.” (As my friend C. R. Wiley said to me, if you are at all in the classical education space, you need to read her article, for many reasons.) Harrington writes:

Digital reading is not “making people dumber” in some absolute sense, just less analytic. And amid the shroud-waving over smartphones and IQ , another consciousness-altering effect has gone relatively unremarked: the re-emergence of modes of thinking that emphasize pattern, image, and symbolism.

The physical form of print literature invites long-form linear reasoning, analytic reflection, and a deepening of felt interiority. By contrast, as the social critic Nicholas Carr has argued, digital reading is filled with distraction and multi-directional links, and characterized by overwhelming volume and variety. To navigate information in this form necessitates a different mode of content consumption—one that responds to information overload by filtering less for linear logic than for latent patterns.

This actually describes an older, more “classical” approach to reading, and the results signify a massive sea change. Such a “resurgent popular facility for discerning patterns will entail a renewed interest in, and capacity to apprehend, meaning as a real feature of the world and not merely a phantasmagoric obstacle to its study.” In other words, this older form of reading cultivates the ability to map the events of a story (or of our daily life) onto the transcendent structures of meaning in Reality.

We can’t dispute the fact that “internet content consumption degrades long-form concentration.” But before we tear our clothes and sprinkle ashes on our heads, Harrington invites us to consider the way in which this digital effect also has new benefits: for it “heightens awareness of patterns of shared meaning, which echo mnemonic communicative registers more characteristic of medieval culture than of modernity.” (Hence, the meme craze that is so wildly popular, especially amongst young people.)

It’s also no surprise that we see this form of reading clearly in the wisdom literature of the Scriptures. When Solomon tells us of the adulterous woman, for instance, he is giving us an archetype, a pattern that not only allows us to identify what this kind of woman looks like but also allows us to predict the future outcome of one’s involvement with her. If the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, then perhaps mastery of pattern recognition is one of the ends of wisdom.

What does this mean for classical educators? It means there is developing in our age a natural and intuitive aptitude for the art of Grammar. Grammar is, after all, the art of discerning the shades of meaning in a word. It penetrates the superficial presentation of things, seeking the deeper meanings in word or text. Perhaps the best example of this skill was the way in which the Church Fathers read the Bible, demonstrated in the fourfold reading of Scripture—a discipline we might also call “pattern recognition.”

Note that the grammar employed in the patristic period was not the same as the “grammatical historical” method of our modern theological schools. We find the art of Grammar applied not only to the reading of Holy Writ but also to the pagan stories and literature. Naturally, such skill was needed to distinguish not only the value of reading pagan literature but also the precise meaning of it in the light of divine revelation. St. Augustine demonstrated a competence for this art , of course, though he even questioned the value of reading Virgil and “weeping for Dido.” Perhaps a better example of the skill for allegorical interpretation was Gregory the Great, whose works demonstrate the combination of sound grammatical technique and pastoral wisdom. In those days, there was much to figure out—a grammatical phrase that still remains with us today.

In other words, grammar is back. We are less concerned with what the “expert” has to say, for instance, and more concerned with whether the larger narrative structure maps onto Reality. One need only look to the discredited authority of the medical establishment during COVID, or to the ongoing debate over vaccines. Or, for a more recent example, it seems almost commonplace to suggest, as Vice President Vance mentioned, that aliens are probably just demons. But the revelation of such things is not simply due to the “age of disclosure” in which we now live. The fact is, truth and meaning have always required interpretation. To make sense out of the chaos of mere input is the domain of grammar. Without interpretation stats and data are quite literally meaningless.

Oh how we neglect our bodies. The tension between “body” and “spirit” has been long discussed and wrestled with over many years and throughout many cultures. Austin Hoffman brings to light some key insights on how Christians should consider these topics.

Austin Hoffman joins the show to discuss one of HIS words - "Technology." This word carries an interesting origin...

Learn what it is, how to think about technology in the modern world, how to apply it to education, and more at Artes Mechanicae.

David, Devin, and Heather are joined by Nick Duncan who teaches 10th Grade Humanities and is the Mock Trial Coach at The Ambrose School in Meridian, ID.

In this episode they discuss the easily overlooked and misunderstood applications of beauty in the classroom experience.

#1 Do aesthetics matter in K-1 classrooms? Why or why not?
#2 How do schools embrace philosophies that minimize beauty?
#3 Do we overlook beauty when teaching literature?
#4 Is beauty and cultivation of aesthetic taste ignored/forgotten in our schools?

Please comment with questions or feedback!

In this episode, Austin Hoffman explores the difference between the Promethean and the Orphic attitudes towards nature. Hugh's conception of the mechanical arts fits squarely with an Orphic attitude in opposition to one of technological dominion. Examining our attitude towards nature allows us to use technology rightly as we seek to work with nature rather than conquer her.

How did this word meaning "hearth fire" develop into the common use that we have today? Devin O'Donnell explains the etymological origins of "focus" in this episode of Isidore's Pub.

Comment with the words you want Devin to unpack in upcoming episodes!

“There is a lot more in him than you guess, and a deal more than he has any idea of himself.” I will never forget the first time my eyes landed upon the words of Gandalf from The Hobbit. Gandalf’s proclamation here reveals his determination to magnify the potential of Bilbo Baggins in the eyes of both the dwarves and Mr. Baggins himself. Gandalf perceived something in Bilbo, and in that moment, Bilbo and the dwarves were not capable of apprehending that truth spoken by Gandalf. To his newly found peers, Bilbo was a gluttonous, comfortable, pleasure-seeking little hobbit. But Gandalf did not see that. Gandalf saw Bilbo—the irreducible Bilbo.

The profundity of Gandalf’s prophetic announcement brought me to a screeching halt as visions of each of my students flashed onto the eyes of my soul. I then asked myself a critical question: Do I see each of my students as Gandalf sees Bilbo—as being so much more than a seemingly insignificant little hobbit? I set the book down, and I contemplated.

It was not long into my contemplation that truth roared with its characteristically gentle voice: “The lens through which you perceive your students will determine how you educate them.” Truth had spoken, and I was left to wrestle with the implications of its message. Let us first examine the latter part of this message to establish the means and ends of classical Christian education in order to ascertain our telos as classical Christian educators. An elucidation of the purpose of classical Christian education and the role we as educators play therein should then allow us to evaluate the corresponding acuity of the lens through which we perceive our students. A familiar Biblical story of two sisters situated in the same room but differing in posture will help us on this quest.

Classical Christian educators, as delineated by the CIRCE Institute, should strive to cultivate virtue and wisdom in their students by nourishing their souls on the true, good, and beautiful so that, in Christ, the student is enabled to better know, glorify, and enjoy God. Fundamentally, the conclusion of it all is communion with the Savior, sitting at His feet. When one considers this idea of sitting at His feet, one cannot help but think of Mary, who sat at the Master’s feet and “chose the good portion, which will not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:42). The optimal Biblical comparison to the telos of classical Christian education is arguably found in the posture of Mary, communing with the Master while seated at His feet. At the Master’s feet is where our students find the good portion, where their souls are nourished on truth, goodness, and beauty. Thus, if communion with Christ while seated at His feet is the good portion, might there exist a less-than-good portion? Enter Martha.

Martha is distracted, anxious, and troubled about many things. Martha might be worried about performing well on her next test, or she might be concerned about her final grades on her report card, or she is daily doing her best to exhibit good behaviors in class. Discernibly, Martha’s position here is utterly discordant with the essence of a classical Christian education.

Consider the differences between our two students. Mary is free; she is free to know, glorify, and enjoy truth, goodness, and beauty Himself. By choosing the good portion, Mary’s soul is being cultivated with wisdom and virtue as she listens to her Master speak to her. On the other hand, Martha, at this moment, is a slave; she is a slave to busyness and production, thereby distracting her from a clear perception of that which is true, good, and beautiful. The distinction here between Mary and Martha is evident, and analogically speaking, Mary exemplifies our ideal educational outcome.

Thus, let us now revisit the assertion above: The lens through which we perceive our students will determine how we educate them. If indeed we desire to lead our students to the feet of the Master, we must perceive them accurately. Gandalf, in all his wisdom, has spoken the words that can lead us to an accurate perception of our students. Imagine, for a moment, walking about your classroom and invoking the words of Gandalf on each of your students. I contend that the advancement of such a proclamation reinforces an eternal truth: each student is more than the sum of his or her parts. In fact, each student is a masterpiece fashioned by the hands of the Master who has stamped His image upon them. “For we are His workmanship [masterpiece] created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them” (Ephesians 2:10). A masterpiece is a sublime work of art skillfully created by a master. Christ is their Master, and the “deal more” is His image. In The Problem of Pain, Lewis states, “We are not metaphorically but in very truth, a Divine work of art, something that God is making, and therefore something with which He will not be satisfied until it has a certain character.”

The Master is intimately invested in His work, and He is calling his masterpieces to Himself (Mark 10:14; Matthew 11:28-29; John 7:37; John 6:51). We have learned from Mary that the good portion is heeding that call and resting at His feet. Recall CIRCE’s definition of classical Christian education; when the masterpiece communes with the Master, the means and ends of classical Christian education are accomplished. Thus, the classical Christian educator has the eternal responsibility of recognizing that the “deal more” in each student is the Master’s handiwork that ultimately belongs in His presence in order to be continuously fashioned.

Despondently, there is always a serpent around, and temptation can blur the vision. Even as classical Christian educators, we can be tempted to perceive our students as their intellectual capacities, behaviors, grades, and so forth. Such a reductionistic perspective of our students engenders a pragmatic educational approach, which will either address the students’ shortcomings or accelerate their strengths, both of which, when done in isolation, are innately iniquitous. Moreover, we can be tempted to perceive our students as something like computers into which (notice how I did not say whom) we are working our hardest to download an abundance of information. The student is essentially reduced to a test taking machine. This reductionistic lens will induce an education that is demonstrably divergent from the telos of classical Christian education. Any attempt to transmit truth, goodness, and beauty in the classroom will only become an intellectual exercise, bypassing the transformative power of the transcendentals, and at best, producing brilliant Marthas whose primary affections are for achievement, high grades, and excellent behaviors. The inability to consistently satisfy such affections will leave the student distracted, anxious, and troubled.

“Stamp eternity on my eyeballs!” exclaimed the great preacher, Jonathan Edwards, as he would pray. I believe that this is the decree to us educators! “We must fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Cor. 4:18). Academic production and classroom behaviors are seen. The unseen, or the essence of the masterpiece, appears through an eternal lens. When we perceive our students as masterpieces made by the Master who longs for them to sit as His feet, we are more apt to properly position our students to be like Mary, sitting at the Master’s feet and delighting in the good portion which shall not be taken away from them.

Thus far, I have argued that the telos of education is communion with Christ, sitting at His feet. One might ask, “In an educational setting, what does sitting at the Master’s feet look like?” At the Master’s feet, the student begins to learn that just as they are essentially irreducible, so is every subject of study in the classroom, whether it is grammar, math, literature, etc. Certainly, each subject of study must be analyzed, but the ultimate perception of these subjects should be an eternal one because each of them is eternally founded in the Logos, Christ Himself. Because of this eternal founding in Christ, these subjects are interwoven to form a beautiful tapestry and should be discussed as such with our students. At His feet, they hear Him exclaim, “This is all Mine!” So the goal becomes training our students to gaze upon that which is eternal in every subject, so that through it all, they see their Master Himself, Christ, and are thus transformed.

There is indeed so much more to this “Bilbo” who sits at his desk each day, a deal more than he has any idea of himself. The “deal more” in our students signifies that they are eternally more than their intellectual capacities, behaviors, grades, etc. As masterpieces made in His image, they are of infinite worth and meant for glory. If it is indeed true that the lens through which we see our students determines how we educate them, let us cast aside a reductionistic vision, which yields a propensity to produce anxious and troubled Marthas. Conversely, let us stamp eternity onto our eyeballs and perceive the “deal more” in our students. This perception will facilitate an education that leads the masterpiece to the feet of the Master where wisdom and virtue are cultivated, where truth, goodness, and beauty are feasted upon, and where the Master becomes known, glorified, and enjoyed—the good portion, which will not be taken from him.

What do the mechanical arts have to do with the pursuit of wisdom? Austin Hoffman connects the mechanical arts of Hugh of St. Victor to the instructions in Proverbs. The wise man will learn to find wisdom from every place and contemplate God's providential supply of examples. The mechanical arts teach us to observe the world and treat even the most mundane occurrences as potential sources of instruction.

What is the meaning of the carnival before the season of Lent? Devin O'Donnell explains the etymological origins of carnival in this episode of Isidore's Pub.

David, Devin, Heather, and Ty return to touch on the hard truths of schooling outside of the Christian worldview. Join us for this complex but incredibly important discussion.

#1 Can you have classical without Christian?
#2 Is a classical charter school better than a non-classical Christian school?
#3 Is classical Christian education accomplished better in the home than in the school?
#4 Is it a sin to send your kids to the local public school?

Please comment with questions or feedback!

In this episode of the series on the mechanical arts and technology, the relationship between the mechanical arts and the liberal arts is revisited to clarify why they belong together within a classical framework of education. Drawing on the work of Anya Burgon and Hugh of St. Victor, the lesson explores how the mechanical arts provide not only practical skills but also an image of how wisdom is formed in the soul. Through craftsmanship, attentiveness, and disciplined practice, students encounter a model of learning that emphasizes formation rather than mere technique. This vision is further illuminated through The Abolition of Man by C. S. Lewis, which contrasts an older understanding of education—conforming the soul to reality—with modern approaches that seek to conform reality to the will.

The episode also engages themes from That Hideous Strength to illustrate the dangers of severing education from nature and objective order. It presents the classical Christian claim that reality possesses a fixed structure—what Lewis calls the Tao—and that wisdom consists in learning to live in accordance with that structure. Practical examples from gardening, animal care, engine repair, and the culinary arts demonstrate how prudence and insight arise through direct engagement with the world rather than abstraction alone. The mechanical arts, therefore, are presented as a vital means of cultivating attentiveness, humility, and experiential knowledge on the path toward wisdom.

Tempus fugit! Devin O'Donnell explores the different conceptions of time evident in Greek thought and how our modern reduction of time obscures festivity and joy. What is the difference between chronos and kairos? This question helps us to make sense of questions such as "how much Easter did you have?"

Learn more:

• Chronos devours all. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cronus

• More about Goya: https://masterful-artists.com/francis...

• Saturn Devouring His Son: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Satu...

David, Devin, Heather, and Ty discuss all things related to the government and education. Have Christian schools gone to far in their rejection of public education or tax dollars? Could a compulsory government education ever be seen as a moral good?

#1 Are compulsory education laws right?
#2 Is it acceptable to have government education provided it is good [moral]?
#3 Does it take a village to educate a child?
#4 Should the government fund education?

Comment with questions or feedback.

David Goodwin of the ACCS sits down with Mandi Gerth to discuss liturgies, transitions, stories, and the formation of habit. In this interview, Mandi shares from her experience and research about the formation of virtue and the cultivation of a rich aesthetic. She provides practical tips for busy teachers to fill every moment with meaning and help students love what is true, good, and beautiful.

In this series, Austin Hoffman continues to explore Hugh of St. Victor's Didascalicon. Hugh places the mechanical arts as an image of philosophy as a whole. They function as a poetic reimagining of the role of philosophy. By understanding this connection, we are encouraged to pursue the mechanical arts as part of a philosophical program in the path of wisdom.

In That Hideous Strength, C.S. Lewis tells the story of Mark Studdock, a servile man who ironically comes to realize his true freedom in the limitation of a jail cell. However unpleasant it may be, we have it on good authority that “being at close quarters with death” can actually be good medicine for the soul, especially for the Christian soul. Like Boethius and greater men before him, Mark Studdock receives a great blessing in his incarceration (as he comes to see later on). But how can jail time confer a blessing?

When Studdock is first imprisoned, he finally begins to do something that the psalmist recommends to us all: commune with your own soul on your bed and be still. Silence begins to penetrate the layers of distractions. The jail cell ironically affords him the leisure to do the real work that he has been avoiding his entire life and marriage. As his physical freedom is taken away, the soul’s freedom is allowed to expand. Alone and quiet, Studdock is forced to come to terms with the self he really is, not the marketed or curated self, which he often fancies.

He looked back on his life not with shame, but with a kind of disgust at its dreariness. … He saw himself in his teens laboriously reading rubbishy grown-up novels and drinking beer when he really enjoyed John Buchan and stone ginger. The hours that he had spent learning the very slang of each new circle that attracted him, the perpetual assumption of interest in things he found dull and of knowledge he did not possess, the almost heroic sacrifice of nearly every person and thing he actually enjoyed, the miserable attempt to pretend that one could enjoy Grip, or the Progressive Element, or the N.I.C.E. — all this came over him with a kind of heart-break. When had he ever done what he wanted?

To realize that all your painful choices in life were for things you never really wanted in the end is an earthquake. Fear of death can produce this. But such a realization only comes when one’s attention is not divided and when one’s vision is clear. Without this kind of jailed leisure, Studdock’s transformation into becoming a real human being would be impossible.

But it’s not just about being a better person. According to Lewis, leisure is a matter of life and death, of one’s very salvation. The devils know the danger of contemplation. The first lesson that The Screwtape Letters records is about how the devils can successfully distract, worry, and frighten the “patient” into not attending to one’s soul.

In The Screwtape Letters, Lewis reminds us that modern man “has been accustomed, ever since he was a boy, to have a dozen incompatible philosophies dancing about together inside his head,” and that the devils “are there to fuddle him.” Screwtape recalls an incident where a bit of schole almost undid his entire project of damnation:

I once had a patient, a sound atheist, who used to read in the British Museum. One day, as he sat reading, I saw a train of thought in his mind beginning to go the wrong way. The Enemy, of course, was at his elbow in a moment. Before I knew where I was I saw my twenty years’ work beginning to totter. If I had lost my head and begun to attempt a defense by argument I should have been undone. But I was not such a fool. I struck instantly at the part of the man which I had best under my control and suggested that it was just about time he had some lunch. The Enemy presumably made the counter-suggestion (you know how one can never quite overhear what He says to them?) that this was more important than lunch. At least I think that must have been His line for when I said ‘Quite. In fact much too important to tackle at the end of a morning,’ the patient brightened up considerably; and by the time I had added ‘Much better come back after lunch and go into it with a fresh mind,’ he was already half way to the door. Once he was in the street the battle was won. I showed him a newsboy shouting the midday paper, and a No. 73 bus going past, and before he reached the bottom of the steps I had got into him an unalterable conviction that, whatever odd ideas might come into a man’s head when he was shut up alone with his books, a healthy dose of ‘real life’ (by which he meant the bus and the newsboy) was enough to show him that all ‘that sort of thing’ just couldn’t be true.

Leisure is no light thing. It involves eternity. It involves eternity because it is a kind of time that qualitatively relates to eternity. It might mean the difference between salvation or damnation. Notice how Screwtape juxtaposes two realities: the “real life” of the shouting newsboy and the No. 73 bus stand in contrast to “the ideas that come into a man’s head when he was shut up with his books.” In this scene, the man falls because he is easily confused and distracted. The question is, of course, which is the “real life”?

Later, Screwtape scolds his impish nephew for the “blunder” of allowing his patient some contemplation: “you, first of all, allowed the patient to read a book he really enjoyed . . . [i]n the second place, you allowed him to walk down to the old mill and have tea there—a walk through country he really likes, and taken alone.” The demons endeavor to drown out the still small voice with the “noise” of Hell or to lure us away from the True Venus with the false beauty of sirens and “stage girls” of the world (think of Boethius). In short, the Adversary seeks to abort man’s ability to become fully human and attain wisdom and virtue.

St. Peter tells us the Devil, “as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour” (1 Peter 5:8). But what does this mean? Lewis suggests that the demonic purpose is to scatter, confuse, and distract. Hence, the word “diabolical,” meaning “to throw apart” and sow discord. Though he cannot destroy the Good, the True, and the Beautiful, the Adversary can certainly attack our capacity to see or hear them. Repeatedly he instructs Wormwood to attack the patient’s leisure or any semblance of intellectual solidarity. “It is funny,” remarks Screwtape, “how mortals always picture us as putting things into their minds: in reality our best work is done by keeping things out.”

If one of the demonic aims is to ruin our leisure, then it is not the “public schools” that the devils will go after. Hell has already been wildly successful with the various programs of that enterprise. It’s not simple progressivism either. No. Take a hint from eavesdropping on Screwtape. Hell would rather have us convinced that classical Christian education is safe from all such attacks. The devils would gladly deceive us with whatever they can, and this should disabuse us of any smug pretense that classical education is somehow immune to worldly temptations or demonic deceptions.

Alas. The shouting newsboy and the passing bus simply represent the old distractions one might have faced in Lewis’s day, before the digital flood. There are myriad now. The colossal vanity of Tik Tok, the twitterpated Tweets, the disorientation of gaming, the boasts of Instagram, the “Tumblring” (if that’s even a thing anymore), the incessant messaging, the augmented ephemera of SnapChat, the dark corners of Reddit, the continual buzz of news updates and media wars, and then there’s Netflix. And we haven’t even begun to analyze the way in which normal things of life today have increased in competition for our attention, fragmenting our desires—the endless sports games or tournaments, the youth group retreats, the pretty girl or handsome boy, the shopping for things one doesn’t need, the buying of things one does need, or the times when our belly growls and interrupts our ruminations with thoughts of lunch.

Yes, leisure can keep one’s soul from the distractions of hell. But how can one find leisure in a world where there is none? And if the devils really can stifle our contemplation with an appeal to our appetites or with a healthy dose of some daily diversion, then how much more ought we to be prepared today? And oughtn’t we, as educators, to be even more on guard? After all, education by its origin and nature belongs to the domain of leisure (scholé). But how many teachers, administrators, parents, and home educators (yes, you too) are ignorant of this? We blithely assume students know what it means to read a book. We blithely assume they have moments of quiet such as the one Lewis describes. We blithely assume the liberal arts tradition means anything in today’s Age of Martha, where we are, as Eliot laments, “distracted from distraction by distraction.”

It is enough that the devils need only “fuddle” us and keep things out. “Handle him properly,” says Screwtape, “and it won’t come into his head.” The opposite is true for the educator. But our aim is not simply to get the right things back into students’ heads. It is to create the preconditions for those things to be received in the first place and to cultivate habits of attention to accomplish this. Else the liberal arts, the Great Books, and the rest of the fragmented pieces of wisdom will simply take their place on the less fashionable isle of desiderata, behind all the other “real” things to see and to do.

In order to know what a thing means, we have to know where it comes from. Join Devin O'Donnell as he explores the origins of words that have lost meaning because we have forgotten their roots.