Adverse Adjectives - As Advertised

The media seem to be consumed with the Republican Presidential primary races. Not with the issues, necessarily, as much as with the internecine  battles and adverse publicity, especially if it is prurient in nature and venal. While some may consider this to be puerile, it is not venial, and much of the media are not averse to appealing primarily (pun intended) to prurient interests.

And there are the five words – all adjectives - for this week and next: adverse, averse, prurient, venal and venial. The first two are confusing in their similarity but not often used outside of religion, the last one used often and related to the others in meaning, and the middle two often confused and misused for one another. Sounds a little like Goldilock’s experience, doesn’t it? All of these words come originally from Latin.

The word venial was the first to arrive in English, in about 1300. Given its original and still primary meaning of “able to be forgiven or pardoned” it probably came through the church, although it also came through an Old French word with the same spelling. Eventually the word evolved to mean any offense that is relatively minor or trivial, unrelated to spiritual conduct. But in the Catholic world venial sins are still held in contradistinction from mortal sins, which are more serious. The Latin word for forgiveness is venia which, by the way, is related to the Latin word venus that means lust or sexual desire (for which Venus was the goddess).

Venus is also related to the word venal, which means able to be bribed. How do you get to bribery from lust? Okay, it may not be that hard to understand, but get your mind out of the gutter. The Latin word venum means “for sale”, which is good to know if you’re house hunting in Italy. The nominative form of the word venum is venus. “I just love that house” has more meaning than you thought, doesn’t it? Anyway, the phrase “that is for sale” in Latin becomes venalis, which after an adjustment by the French to vénal. By the time it came to English in the 1650s it just meant anything that is available for purchase. Over time it has developed a negative connotation, meaning a person who can be “bought” or bribed. And that’s how you get from lust to bribery.

So both venal and venial are words for things that are not good. Averse and adverse are bad responses or reactions to circumstances, and are not even as distantly related as venal and venial.

We’ll take adverse first since it came to English first (in the late 14^th century, while averse arrived about 50 years later in the middle of the 15^th century). It, like the word venial, came from an Old French word, in this case avers. Likewise, averse came from avers. However, you have to go back a little further to get to the different roots. The Old French got their word from the Latin word adversus, the past participle form of the word advertere, made by combining ad- “to”, with vertere “to turn”. Adversus meant “turned against or toward”, and avers meant “antagonistic or contrary.” Our word adverse means antagonistic or unfavorable, and also means acting against or opposing. If this were a book, the page on the other side of the spine would be the adverse page. But most often the word is used to refer to anything that stands in opposition to an opinion or path. 

The rest of this entry coming next Sunday...stay tuned.

Good Words from Yankee from Olympus

On January 1, 2012 I shared some of the confusing words to come from reading “Yankee from Olympus”. Sometimes when I read I encounter a word or words that are often paired or used instead of a similar word. Today’s blog is about a couple of those I found in the book.

The first pairing of words is ferment and foment. My understanding was that ferment was something that resulted from cooking and heating, while foment is the development of rebellion. The most common usage of foment I’ve encountered has been “foment rebellion”. The word has as its definition “to instigate or foster (discord, rebellion, etc.)” which makes me wonder if it’s wrong to use foment in a positive sense. Can one foment philanthropy? Is this an example of a good word gone bad? “Bad words, bad words, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?”

Foment came to English in the early 1400s from the Old French word fomenter. It was used at that time to describe the act whereby one would “apply hot compress (to a wound)”. The French got it from the Late Latin word fomentare, which came from the Latin word formentum, that also referred to a “warm application” or “poultice”. It was a contraction of the word fovimentum, which is a form of the word fovere, which means “to warm; cherish, encourage”, according to etymonline.com. By the 1620s the French had developed the sense of instigating in the use of the word. (Those rebellious French!)

Ferment, on the other hand (in case you need a poultice on both hands) has developed meanings that add to the confusion. It is the interloper, the instigator. Originally it referred only to the process by which living organisms such as yeasts, molds, and certain bacteria, cause fermentation. (Don’t you love when a definition uses a form of the word to define the word? Fermentation is the change that converts sugar into alcohol.) But because often the process of fermentation involves heat the word ferment began referring to the heat itself, and now has the additional meanings of agitation, excitement, unrest, commotion, tumult or inflaming. That means that ferment is a synonym for foment. (Unfortunately. I prefer clarity not confusion.)

Ferment has a similar path as foment, coming to English in the late 1300s from the Old French (fermenter) who took it directly from the Latin word for “to leaven” fermentare. By the 1670s it had developed the additional meaning of anger or passion.

So the two words are apposite (another word from the book). Apposite is not the opposite of opposite exactly. It means apt, relevant, suitable or appropriate. The interesting etymology of the word is its back-formation from apposition, which came first into English over a century before apposite appeared in the 1620s, about when the Pilgrims appeared in Plymouth. Apposition is from the Latin word appositionem which is the past participle stem for the word that means “to put to.”

Apposite is a good word – when something is especially well-suited or appropriate, use apposite. If it just fits but not unusually well, use appropriate.

C'est le bon mot.

Yankee from Olympus

One of the first books I finished this year is a biography of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., Supreme Court Justice who served longer than any other Supreme Court Justice in history. He served the north in the Civil War (where he had opportunity to meet Abraham Lincoln) and resigned after Franklin D. Roosevelt became President. The book is entitled "Yankee from Olympus" and had several new words for me.

The first word I encountered (or at least the one that starting me keeping track) was ferule. In talking about education in the early 1800s in Boston, the book uses the word ferule to discuss the corporal punishment exacted on students by their instructors, and mentions the ferule, or rod, cane, or flat piece of wood (like a ruler) that was "for punishing children, especially by striking them on the hand" (dictionary.com). 

The word arrived in English in the 1590s, from the Middle English word for the fennel plant, ferula, which came from the same word in Latin that meant whip, reed, rod, or staff. Be careful that you only give it one “r” because adding a second “r” changes it to refer to the metal cap on the rod, not the rod itself.

The second word, syllabub, (it was spelled sillabub in the book, the less commonly accepted spelling) refers to a warm spiced drink made of milk mixed with rum, port, brandy, or wine. I mentioned this word to an associate and she was excited to use it in the context of a night out with friends where one of them had a syllabub and didn’t know it.

The word comes to English in the 1530s, but we have no idea whence it came. (Whence means “from where” and to say “from whence” is arguably – they really do argue about it - tantamount to saying ATM machine; it’s redundancy again in my opinion.) Its frothy nature as a drink gave rise, apparently, to the secondary usage that flourished beginning in 1706, of “floridly vapid prose”, according to etymonline.com. I am not often accused of being syllabub, but maybe someday…

The third word for today is palanquin. (Whence doesn’t count.) A palanquin is something you’ll likely envision (once I give you its definition) but never knew the word for it. Its etymology gives some clue to its meaning, so I’ll leave the definition to last.

Palanquin arrived in English in the 1580s from the Portuguese, where it was spelled with a final m. Apparently the Portuguese, world travelers that they were, adopted it from the Malaysian/Javanese word palangki. According to etymonline.com it ultimately came from the Sanskrit word palyanka-s, created from combining the words pari (meaning “around”) and ancati (meaning “it bends or curves”). So the meaning may have originally meant “that which bends around the body.” When you add the Spanish word palanca (which came from the Latin word phalange that referred to a pole to carry a burden) you have the complete background on this word.

So what’s the definition? A palanquin is that box or chair on a platform supported by poles that is used to carry Kings and Pharoahs around. Or, as dictionaries put it, “a covered or boxlike litter.” But it should never be confused with a litter box. 

A Disporting Post Comprised of Four Studies

As I indicated in my last post and in previous posts, many of my ideas come from my reading. In addition to the appraise/apprise issue, I encountered two other uses that made me wonder: compose/comprise and disport/comport.

Compose/comprise is one of the most common confusions in usage. It may help to know that one of the definitions of comprise is “to be composed of”. They are not synonymous, and actually have a slightly different perspective on composition.

Compose comes through the Old French word composer, which is formed from the prefix com-, meaning “with” and poser, meaning “to place”, so it meant literally “to place with” and was used mostly in reference to writing. Composer came from the Latin word componere, from which we get the word composite. Its entry into Middle English came about 1400 as the word composen or compousen. It means “to form in combination; make up; constitute.” The key to understanding is “to form…” because when something is composed it is composed in being formed. Comprised is a description of the parts that came together (composed) the already-formed whole.

Comprise means “to contain or include”, or “to consist of or be composed of”. It came to English at about the same time as compose, but through Old French from a slightly different Latin word, or different form of the same Latin word: comprehendere (Latin scholars are encouraged to weigh in here.) The Old French word was compris, the past participle of   comprendre.

You may quote me in saying that in communication the composition is completed and is comprised of various components.

I encountered the word disport, and it seemed to be used in the same manner that comport would be, so I had to “look it up”.

Comport is a verb transitive means “to behave or conduct oneself in a specified manner” according to my dictionary, but it only adds in the verb intransitive form the additional meaning that there is agreement or accord between behavior/conduct. It came to English a little before comprise or compose, from the Latin comportare through Middle French. The Middle French word was comportement, and meant behavior.

Disport is a verb intransitive that means “to indulge in amusement, play, or frolic.” In its transitive form it means to amuse or divert oneself. It came at about the same time (late 14^th century) as comport, originally from the Latin word for carry (portare) which in Old French added the prefix des- (meaning “away”) to form the word desporter. While the literal translation meant “to carry [the mind] away from”, it came to mean any amusement. It arrived in English through the Anglo-French disporter.

An accurate usage of the words comport and disport would be a reference to comporting oneself after being disported. While comport has more of a connotation of behavior than disport, there’s not enough differentiation to be concerned about. Using either as the opposite (antonym) of the other is acceptable and recommended.

Now that I’ve composed this blog, it is comprised of four word studies, and while I got disported by providing a quote on “com-“ words, I believe I comported myself well nonetheless.

Valuing Words

I have been convinced to resume blogging, and this begins my resumption after a hiatus (there's a good word for a future post) of almost a year.

I was reading a biography of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. and came across either a typographical error or what I would consider a misuse of a word. In the place where I would look for the word apprise was the word appraise. That extra "a" makes a difference.

Appraised has an element of determining amount to it. My dictionary has in its three definitions the words "price", "quantity", and "worth". To appraise something is to determine how much (value, quantity) it has. It came to English in about 1400 through Old French (aprisier) from the Late Latin word appretiare. Appretiare was formed from the Latin roots ad-, meaning "to" and pretium, which means price. So its meaning hasn't changed much over the centuries. But its entry into English began the confusion which continues to this day. It came to English as apprize (notice the lack of the second "a"), a spelling still extant in my dictionary.  The existence and confusion with the word praise (not prize) ultimately resulted in the current spelling.

Apprise, on the other hand, comes to English later (about 1690) and from the same root as our word apprehend. The past participle of the French word appris is apprendre, and means literally "to lay hold of [in the mind]". It means to inform, teach, or notify. The word can be spelled with an s or a z; depending on whether you are more concerned with confusion with appraise or apprize you may decide for yourself which spelling to use.

I used the word extant earlier. In case you’re wondering, it’s not a misspelling of extent, it is another good word.

Extant is a good old adjective, arriving in English in the 1540s from the Latin word extantum, which means “standing out above the surface”. The definition of “standing out” is still listed in my dictionary, but as an Archaic usage. Its current usage is the meaning “still in existence, not lost or destroyed.” That meaning came into English within 20 years of the word’s arrival.

Extent is a noun, with more history. It came to English in the early 1300s, from the Anglo-French word extente. It also has an original element of valuation (like appraise); it was originally a reference to the evaluation of land, or the stretch (extent) of the land. It wasn’t until after the use of extant that the meaning of extent settled to its current primary meaning of size or limits of something.

Most people are familiar with extent and appraise; you can show your erudition by proper usage of the good words extant and apprise. Stay tuned for more blogs on words like erudition…

Let's Drink to That

Complete/replete, apprehend/comprehend, and gourmet/gourmand – what’s the good word in each pair?


Complete means “lacking no component part; full; whole; entire.” Replete means either “well-filled or plentifully supplied” or “stuffed with food and drink; gorged”.

It is possible to be replete without being complete, and complete does not always indicate a state of being replete. The degree of supply is greater with replete than complete, but the quality of the supply is greater with complete than replete. Since replete included the idea of food, it is somewhat like the difference between gourmet and gourmand.

A gourmet is someone “who likes and is an excellent judge of fine foods and drink” whereas a gourmand is akin to a glutton, “a person with a hearty liking for good food and drink and a tendency to indulge in them to excess.” It is a matter of supply with the gourmand and a matter of quality with the gourmet. Do you comprehend the difference?

Speaking of comprehend, there’s also the difference between comprehend and apprehend. Apprehend in its second definition, that is. (Not the primary one that means capture.) It also means “to take hold of mentally; perceive; understand.” How does that differ from comprehend? It also means to understand, but my dictionary says “to grasp mentally”. What’s the difference between grasping and holding? In usage comprehend is the less intense form – when you take hold of an idea it’s comprehended, but when the idea takes hold of you it’s apprehended. But that differentiation is open to refutation.

Where did all these words come from?

Complete came to English from Latin through Old French in the 14th century. The Latin word completus was formed by adding the intensive prefix com- to the word for fill plere, which is the root word from which we also get the word plenary. (The Old French word is complet.) Replete has the same path and timing, and re- is also an intensive prefix. So those who spoke Latin also had the two words, and the Old French kept them and gave them to us.

It is interesting how similar were the paths of apprehend/comprehend to complete/replete.

Both came to English in the 14th century from Latin (apprehendere, comprehendere), but comprehend didn’t get to spend time in France on its way to England. Apprehend has corresponding French words (Old French: aprendre, Modern French apprendre, which means to learn or be informed about and from which we get the word apprentice.) The Latin root word prehendere is the word for seize, so you can see how it could be used in both words.

Gourmet and gourmand, as you might guess, are both of French origin. But you might not guess that, as etymonline.com says, they are “not connected.” Back in the 13th century there was an Old French word for a young man, groume. It came to mean a wine-taster or wine merchant’s servant. But it wasn’t until 1820 that it took the meaning in English of someone who is a connoisseur (see 11/14/10 blog) of food and drink.

Gourmand comes from the Middle French word gourmant, which meant gluttonous (it was originally an adjective). In the late 15th century (in case you’re wondering, at about the same time King Henry VIII was born) it found its way to England, with the meaning of glutton. It didn’t take the meaning of someone simply fond of good eating until 1758.
Make sense? Then let’s drink to that.

Power to the People, Part II

The Greek words hoi polloi are literally translated “the many”, and are the plural form of the word polys, from which we get our common prefix for many: poly-. But the word hoi is Greek for “the”, so the common usage “the hoi polloi” is like saying “ATM machine”, and belongs in the Department of Redundancy Department (a nod to one of my favorite comedy groups as a teen, Firesign Theatre, who debuted the Department of Redundancy Department on their album “Don’t Crush that Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers.” I’ve often thought of another one of their opuses - opae? - titled “How Can You Be Two Places at Once When You’re Not Anywhere at All?” Check out firesigntheatre.com for more information on this group – you can even purchase their recordings. I particularly enjoyed “Nick Danger, Third Eye”.)


Hoi polloi was used as a Greek phrase by Dryden in 1668 and by Byron in 1822, and both of them used “the hoi polloi”, setting the precedent for generations of subsequent needless duplications. Hoi polloi is credited with becoming an English phrase in 1837. But whereas demotic contrasts with priestly or formal, hoi polloi has a patronizing or contemptuous sense to it, similar to the use hoi polloi would make of those who are hoity-toity, a much older word in English that will have to wait for another time.

Our final word this week is used in the definition of our first word (from Sunday): vernacular. Not to be confused with funicular (Lengthy Diversion Warning: Funicular came to English in the 1660s from the Latin word funiculus, the diminutive form of the word for cord or rope: funis. Funicular is most commonly used of rail cars suspended on each end of a cord or cable: when one goes down the incline it pulls the other up the hill or mountain. Now back to the theme of the week.), vernacular is taken from the Latin phrase vernacula vocabula. (Has a nice ring, doesn’t it?) Vernacula vocabula essentially means native language. The word verna means home-born slave or native, and is of Etruscan origin (see May 30, 2010 blog).

Vernacular has one of the more lengthy definitions in my dictionary. It has five definitions as an adjective and four as a noun (the fourth of which has two parts). The number of definitions show that it has broad usage, mainly distinguishing either native or common verbiage from more formal or non-native. The final definition in the listing refers to its use in describing the common or non-scientific name of a plant or animal (e.g., person, as opposed to homo sapiens.) I have too often heard the phrase “common vernacular”, but that is another candidate for inclusion in the Department of Redundancy Department.

So, in referring to common writing, use demotic. In referring to common language or terms, use the word vernacular. And, if you want to use a pejorative word for the non-royal, non-elite, non-special-in-any-way people, use hoi polloi (but not “the” hoi polloi – show how really pendantic you can be.)