A recent email string among some of my Association of Fundraising Professionals (AFP) chapter colleagues concerned our next meeting's guest and his introduction. The program chair is unable to introduce him and asked if I would. She informed others that I would be doing the introduction and added a comment bringing into question whether my use of obscure words might inhibit understanding.
My reply was simply "apopemtic inchoate" or "panegyric inchoate" (I forget which) which drove at least one of them to the dictionary and probably several in another direction. (See Feb. 15th's blog for inchoate.)
Apopemtic was not the right word to use; it comes from the Greek word apopemtikos, a form of the verb apopempein which means to send off. Apo is a prefix for away, and pempein means to send. So apopemtic would be better used for a communication made when sending away, not when welcoming; valedictory comes close, as does benediction.
Benison is a word I've only recently encountered that fits in this category. (It suffers in spoken English from being difficult to distinguish from the word for deer meat, which probably deserves a blog along with mutton and beef because of their interesting etymology.) While apopemtic uses the word valedictory in its definition, benison uses benediction. Both benison and benediction have the same Latin root (benedictio, "bene" for good, "dicere" for to speak), but benison came to English from a less direct root. Its introduction to English is ascribed to about 1300, which would put it during the time of the Norman invasion of England (along with the words beef and mutton - can't wait to do that blog). If you take the Latin word benedictus, run it through the Old French beneisson and then through the Middle English benisoun you arrive at this word. Why you would use it in place of benediction, I don't know; maybe it's less churchy.
What word should I have used? Panegyric would have been acceptable. It actually would be slightly incorrect, coming as it does from the Greek words for all (pan) and to bring together (ageirein). The Greek word means to bring a group together; panegyris refers to a public meeting. It was brought into Latin as panegyricus, then into French as panegyrique, from which we get our word. It has come to mean a formal speech at which someone or something is praised or honored, with a secondary definition of that praise itself. So an introduction could be a panegyric, but a panegyric need not be an introduction.
An even better word would have been exordium, which also comes from Latin. Exo means from, ordiri means beginning; ordiri refers to the act of doing the warping to begin to weave. Technically an exordium would be the opening part of a speech or writing, not the introduction of the speaker or book.
So, stay tuned as I continue my search for the pedantic word for introduction.
In the mean time, I'll just have to settle for the word introduction.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Playing loose and pulling wool
I find it interesting that there seem to be more words for telling a lie or stretching the truth than for telling the truth. My dictionary has an entire paragraph of synonyms for the word lie, but only three for truth, and they are all derived from the latin word verus, which means true.
So, if you're going to tell a fib (which comes from the 16th or 17th century slang phrase fible-fable, with emphasis on the fable) and don't want to admit it, you can dissemble, dissimulate, equivocate, fabricate, obfuscate or prevaricate. What difference would it make? Is one fib worse than the other? Is one the good word for "little white lie"?
There are different ways to hide the truth. You can hide your emotions (dissimulation) or hide who you are (Sherlock Holmes was known for his being able to dissemble). Hiding the truth in similar-sounding words (Korea was a police action rather than a war) is equivocation. If you feel like you're turning away from something to avoid telling the truth, think of prevaricating, and if you need to make something up to avoid the truth, fabricate it.
So there are shades of differences to the words, just like there are with truth.
Prevaricate comes from a Latin word praevaricatus, the past participle of praevaricari, which means to walk crookedly. Pre-, as is usually does, means before. But varicari means to straddle. It comes from varus, which means bent, and if you want to go back to the Indo-European root for the Latin word and take another path you would end up with the word vacillare, from which we get the word vacillate. No matter how you look at it, prevaricate is an unsteady version of the truth.
Obfuscate comes from the Latin obfuscatus, the past participle of obfuscare, which means toward darkness. Ob- is a Latin prefix meaning toward, and fuscare means to obscure, from the word fuscus which means dark. So to try and hide the truth from the light, you are obfuscating. Perhaps pulling the wool over ones' eyes is a way of obfuscating.
Equivocating is using words to sound like the truth while actually deceiving. "I did not have sexual relations with that woman" sounds like a truthful statement until you unravel the speaker's meaning for "sexual relations" and what that excludes. The Latin words aequus and vox mean equal and voice, and are the original source for this word for a means of evading the truth. aequus vox, after going through Low Latin and getting to Middle Latin, developed a past participle (interesting that we seem to get our "lie" words from past participles) of aequivocari that is aequivocatus. The Middle English dropped the us and added an en, and dropped the a. (Aesop, speaking of fables, seems to be one of the few to have retained the ae in common usage.)
Dissimulate is not the same as dissimilate, which means to make dissimilar (not similar). Dissimulate comes from the word from which we get simulation, or representation of the actual. It means to hide by pretense, or to act in a way that isn't true. Usually you hide your feelings or your motives when you dissimulate, so you are simulating the way you think you should act. The murderer who shows excessive grief is likely dissimulating to avoid suspicion. What's interesting is that the second definition of dissimulate is dissemble, though I find a significant difference between the two
Where dissimulating is showing the wrong attitude or emotion to avoid the truth, dissembling is more overt in that its primary definition relates to physical appearance, disguising the truth or concealing under a false appearance. It also comes from the word simulate, but to dissemble means to try to mis-represent the actual through physical appearance. Used most often of someone trying to hide their identity (Khalid Sheik Mohommed comes to mind, if you've seen the robed and bearded photo and the one shortly after his capture with bare head and no beard) it is more about hiding physically than emotionally or intellectually.
Just like there's more than one manner of excoriating a feline (see Feb. 3 blog), there is more than one way to shade the truth. And more words about it (the next blog on this subject with focus on words ending in -y rather than -ate).
So, if you're going to tell a fib (which comes from the 16th or 17th century slang phrase fible-fable, with emphasis on the fable) and don't want to admit it, you can dissemble, dissimulate, equivocate, fabricate, obfuscate or prevaricate. What difference would it make? Is one fib worse than the other? Is one the good word for "little white lie"?
There are different ways to hide the truth. You can hide your emotions (dissimulation) or hide who you are (Sherlock Holmes was known for his being able to dissemble). Hiding the truth in similar-sounding words (Korea was a police action rather than a war) is equivocation. If you feel like you're turning away from something to avoid telling the truth, think of prevaricating, and if you need to make something up to avoid the truth, fabricate it.
So there are shades of differences to the words, just like there are with truth.
Prevaricate comes from a Latin word praevaricatus, the past participle of praevaricari, which means to walk crookedly. Pre-, as is usually does, means before. But varicari means to straddle. It comes from varus, which means bent, and if you want to go back to the Indo-European root for the Latin word and take another path you would end up with the word vacillare, from which we get the word vacillate. No matter how you look at it, prevaricate is an unsteady version of the truth.
Obfuscate comes from the Latin obfuscatus, the past participle of obfuscare, which means toward darkness. Ob- is a Latin prefix meaning toward, and fuscare means to obscure, from the word fuscus which means dark. So to try and hide the truth from the light, you are obfuscating. Perhaps pulling the wool over ones' eyes is a way of obfuscating.
Equivocating is using words to sound like the truth while actually deceiving. "I did not have sexual relations with that woman" sounds like a truthful statement until you unravel the speaker's meaning for "sexual relations" and what that excludes. The Latin words aequus and vox mean equal and voice, and are the original source for this word for a means of evading the truth. aequus vox, after going through Low Latin and getting to Middle Latin, developed a past participle (interesting that we seem to get our "lie" words from past participles) of aequivocari that is aequivocatus. The Middle English dropped the us and added an en, and dropped the a. (Aesop, speaking of fables, seems to be one of the few to have retained the ae in common usage.)
Dissimulate is not the same as dissimilate, which means to make dissimilar (not similar). Dissimulate comes from the word from which we get simulation, or representation of the actual. It means to hide by pretense, or to act in a way that isn't true. Usually you hide your feelings or your motives when you dissimulate, so you are simulating the way you think you should act. The murderer who shows excessive grief is likely dissimulating to avoid suspicion. What's interesting is that the second definition of dissimulate is dissemble, though I find a significant difference between the two
Where dissimulating is showing the wrong attitude or emotion to avoid the truth, dissembling is more overt in that its primary definition relates to physical appearance, disguising the truth or concealing under a false appearance. It also comes from the word simulate, but to dissemble means to try to mis-represent the actual through physical appearance. Used most often of someone trying to hide their identity (Khalid Sheik Mohommed comes to mind, if you've seen the robed and bearded photo and the one shortly after his capture with bare head and no beard) it is more about hiding physically than emotionally or intellectually.
Just like there's more than one manner of excoriating a feline (see Feb. 3 blog), there is more than one way to shade the truth. And more words about it (the next blog on this subject with focus on words ending in -y rather than -ate).
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Let's hit the slopes
Today's words come from as varied a lineage as any three words we're likely to look at.
Magnate comes from the Latin through Middle English, (in the 1500s), maven from Yiddish (around 1952, believe it or not), and mogul (depending on the definition) from either Mongolian or a Greek dialect used in Vienna. The Mongolian word comes from 1588 and the Greek from 1959.
So, what do they mean? Magnate refers to someone who is person of rank, power, influence or distinction. In the Middle Ages, in a much more class-stratified system, it would have referred to those in the upmost class. It has come to mean anyone at the top: of their profession, their area of learning, or their skill set.
Maven, the first Yiddish word we've encountered on this blog, is less distinguished or powerful, merely referring to someone who is experienced or knowledgeable. (For those who don't know, Yiddish is a language that is "High German written in Hebrew characters ...spoken by Jews and descendents of Jews of central and eastern European origin." With the great influx of Jews from German areas in the 20th century, it became a common source of new words to American English.)
A Mogul (notice the initial capital) was a person from the conquering Mongols during the time of Mongolian empire. The word is actually a Persian transliteration of the word Mongols used of themselves. It came to mean a great personage, like a magnate. But more power than class in its definition.
So, if you've been watching the Vancouver Olympics, how does that apply to the moguls the skiers traverse in their bone-jarring descent? In 1959 the word became common usage in English to refer to the bumps in a ski run. The Greek dialect used in Vienna calls small hills mugls, and its transfer to English took on the spelling of the already-in-common-use mogul.
How's that for a world tour?
Magnate comes from the Latin through Middle English, (in the 1500s), maven from Yiddish (around 1952, believe it or not), and mogul (depending on the definition) from either Mongolian or a Greek dialect used in Vienna. The Mongolian word comes from 1588 and the Greek from 1959.
So, what do they mean? Magnate refers to someone who is person of rank, power, influence or distinction. In the Middle Ages, in a much more class-stratified system, it would have referred to those in the upmost class. It has come to mean anyone at the top: of their profession, their area of learning, or their skill set.
Maven, the first Yiddish word we've encountered on this blog, is less distinguished or powerful, merely referring to someone who is experienced or knowledgeable. (For those who don't know, Yiddish is a language that is "High German written in Hebrew characters ...spoken by Jews and descendents of Jews of central and eastern European origin." With the great influx of Jews from German areas in the 20th century, it became a common source of new words to American English.)
A Mogul (notice the initial capital) was a person from the conquering Mongols during the time of Mongolian empire. The word is actually a Persian transliteration of the word Mongols used of themselves. It came to mean a great personage, like a magnate. But more power than class in its definition.
So, if you've been watching the Vancouver Olympics, how does that apply to the moguls the skiers traverse in their bone-jarring descent? In 1959 the word became common usage in English to refer to the bumps in a ski run. The Greek dialect used in Vienna calls small hills mugls, and its transfer to English took on the spelling of the already-in-common-use mogul.
How's that for a world tour?
Monday, February 15, 2010
Don't Start With Me
I'm late in getting started on this blog, since it's Monday. So what better good words to look at than words referring to starting. Now, start has several meanings, and the one I'm writing about is begin, not the one where you jump when surprised.
Let's consider four good words for start, and their differences help us put them in chronological order of "startedness". (My use of such a poorly constructed word should establish me as a student of words rather than a grammarian or word policeman. Nascence or inchoateness would be better.)
Incipient (soft c - sounds like an s) means to begin, or to take up. It goes back to 1669, and comes to us from Latin. Incipit is the first word in a Latin text, and literally means "here begins", so incipient is our starting word for starting.
Our next word is liminal. It is the adjective form of the word limen, which comes directly from the Latin word limen, which is the word for threshold. While limen gets into my dictionary, it is even more rarely used in English than liminal. (The most common English word from this root is subliminal, which technically means below the threshold.) But for our usage chronology it is when you've arrived at the threshold of something. I put that a little later than incipient, but wouldn't argue if you say they're synonymous. If you did, I might argue the former is for use in communication and the latter in movement.
Inchoate (our third word, with three syllables: in-koe-it) has an agricultural etymology. It comes from the Latin word cohum, which was the strap that was fastened to the oxen's yoke. Since to begin farming you used to have to hitch up the oxen as a first step, this came (by at least 1534) to mean that you've started, but haven't gotten far (or anywhere). Or are in the process of starting.
An interesting sidelight of inchoate is a blog written just last month (http://abluteau.wordpress.com/2010/01/12/choate/) making reference to an excoriation (see last blog of mine) of a lawyer using this phrase by Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia. As the other blog recounts, this has become a standard English legal term even though it's a back-formation and as such is looked down upon by some. (The blog also quotes Scalia as referring to backformation of insult to sult and P.G. Wodehouse's backformation gruntled - see my very first blog from December 26.)
Finally, nascent (ignore the c in pronouncing it) came to English in 1624 from the Latin word nasci, which means "to be born". Nascent is to any idea, plan, or activity what a baby is to pregnancy. When an idea is formed, but not fully grown, it is nascent. When a plan has been begun but not put in place, it is nascent. If you've chosen up teams but haven't started the game, the game is nascent.
While I've tried to put these in some sense of chronological order, I won't be obdurate or adamantine about it, no matter what the title says.
Let's consider four good words for start, and their differences help us put them in chronological order of "startedness". (My use of such a poorly constructed word should establish me as a student of words rather than a grammarian or word policeman. Nascence or inchoateness would be better.)
Incipient (soft c - sounds like an s) means to begin, or to take up. It goes back to 1669, and comes to us from Latin. Incipit is the first word in a Latin text, and literally means "here begins", so incipient is our starting word for starting.
Our next word is liminal. It is the adjective form of the word limen, which comes directly from the Latin word limen, which is the word for threshold. While limen gets into my dictionary, it is even more rarely used in English than liminal. (The most common English word from this root is subliminal, which technically means below the threshold.) But for our usage chronology it is when you've arrived at the threshold of something. I put that a little later than incipient, but wouldn't argue if you say they're synonymous. If you did, I might argue the former is for use in communication and the latter in movement.
Inchoate (our third word, with three syllables: in-koe-it) has an agricultural etymology. It comes from the Latin word cohum, which was the strap that was fastened to the oxen's yoke. Since to begin farming you used to have to hitch up the oxen as a first step, this came (by at least 1534) to mean that you've started, but haven't gotten far (or anywhere). Or are in the process of starting.
An interesting sidelight of inchoate is a blog written just last month (http://abluteau.wordpress.com/2010/01/12/choate/) making reference to an excoriation (see last blog of mine) of a lawyer using this phrase by Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia. As the other blog recounts, this has become a standard English legal term even though it's a back-formation and as such is looked down upon by some. (The blog also quotes Scalia as referring to backformation of insult to sult and P.G. Wodehouse's backformation gruntled - see my very first blog from December 26.)
Finally, nascent (ignore the c in pronouncing it) came to English in 1624 from the Latin word nasci, which means "to be born". Nascent is to any idea, plan, or activity what a baby is to pregnancy. When an idea is formed, but not fully grown, it is nascent. When a plan has been begun but not put in place, it is nascent. If you've chosen up teams but haven't started the game, the game is nascent.
While I've tried to put these in some sense of chronological order, I won't be obdurate or adamantine about it, no matter what the title says.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Just Stop It
Sometimes one word can develop two meanings and eventually two slightly different words that can be confused or in some cases substituted for each other.
Stanch and staunch are two of those words. A quick perusal of both words in the dictionary shows that for each word the other is listed as a variation in spelling. So confusion can easily occur since you can spell the word "officially" in either way without regard to meaning. It's also interesting to note that the second listing for stanch is a "variation of staunch" while staunch is first listed as a variation of stanch before it's listed in its own right. So in a very tight race, use stanch for either meaning wins over separate meanings for each spelling.
Let me get deep into old languages here for a minute just to demonstrate how convoluted etymology can become. Stanch comes to us most recently from the Middle English word staunchen, which they got from the Middle French word estancher, which is perhaps (it is sssumed to be) from the Vulgar Latin sord stanticare (Vulgar in this sense refers to that which was used in common expression rather than formal communication.) Stanticare comes from the Latin stant- or stans. It's indicated to become the word stanch in the 14th century. That's how stanch came to be.
How did we get staunch? The same dictionary says it comes from the Middle English and Middle French, but from the feminine form of the word which is estanche (rather than estancher for stanch). We don't get to estancher until the Old French (don't ask me the different, I'm just reporting here.) Perhaps it continues back to the Vulgar Latin and Latin, but the staunch trail ends in Old France rather than heading to Latin. Staunch is a 15th century word, so it took an extra 100 years. The dictionary does tell us to find out more at stanch, but we've already been there.
So, conflation abounds. (We'll get to conflate in another post.)
Does the definition help? The first definition for stanch is "to stop the flowing of". I agree that this is the most common use of the word, and it seems wed to bleeding more so than any other flow. "Stanch the flow of the bleeding" is the use I've encountered most often. It has two other definitions, one of which is archaic, so why bother? The other is to stop a course of something like a crime wave. Since a crime wave isn't technically a flow, even though it sounds like it, you have to have a secondary definition. And a secondary definition to that one (2b if you're keeping track) is to make watertight or stop up. I don't know why that's 2b rather than 1b, but there you go. One clue to different usage is that it's a verb transitive. (Whatever that is.)
Staunch, on the other hand, is an adjective. (I know what an adjective is.) It's first meaning is watertight or sound. So once a leak has been stanched with a patch it is a staunch patch. But this definition, while listed first, is not the more common use I've encountered. It's the second one that I'm familiar with: steadfast in loyalty or principle. Now THAT's a great thing to be. Beats a good patch any day in my book (soon to be published by Arryoo, Kidding.)
Two very different meanings, to stop the flow or to be loyal and steadfast. But that's where we've come. The good news is that you needn't worry about which spelling to use for both words, if you follow my dictionary. But I'm going to be staunch in my usage and use stanch only for stopping the flow of something.
Stanch and staunch are two of those words. A quick perusal of both words in the dictionary shows that for each word the other is listed as a variation in spelling. So confusion can easily occur since you can spell the word "officially" in either way without regard to meaning. It's also interesting to note that the second listing for stanch is a "variation of staunch" while staunch is first listed as a variation of stanch before it's listed in its own right. So in a very tight race, use stanch for either meaning wins over separate meanings for each spelling.
Let me get deep into old languages here for a minute just to demonstrate how convoluted etymology can become. Stanch comes to us most recently from the Middle English word staunchen, which they got from the Middle French word estancher, which is perhaps (it is sssumed to be) from the Vulgar Latin sord stanticare (Vulgar in this sense refers to that which was used in common expression rather than formal communication.) Stanticare comes from the Latin stant- or stans. It's indicated to become the word stanch in the 14th century. That's how stanch came to be.
How did we get staunch? The same dictionary says it comes from the Middle English and Middle French, but from the feminine form of the word which is estanche (rather than estancher for stanch). We don't get to estancher until the Old French (don't ask me the different, I'm just reporting here.) Perhaps it continues back to the Vulgar Latin and Latin, but the staunch trail ends in Old France rather than heading to Latin. Staunch is a 15th century word, so it took an extra 100 years. The dictionary does tell us to find out more at stanch, but we've already been there.
So, conflation abounds. (We'll get to conflate in another post.)
Does the definition help? The first definition for stanch is "to stop the flowing of". I agree that this is the most common use of the word, and it seems wed to bleeding more so than any other flow. "Stanch the flow of the bleeding" is the use I've encountered most often. It has two other definitions, one of which is archaic, so why bother? The other is to stop a course of something like a crime wave. Since a crime wave isn't technically a flow, even though it sounds like it, you have to have a secondary definition. And a secondary definition to that one (2b if you're keeping track) is to make watertight or stop up. I don't know why that's 2b rather than 1b, but there you go. One clue to different usage is that it's a verb transitive. (Whatever that is.)
Staunch, on the other hand, is an adjective. (I know what an adjective is.) It's first meaning is watertight or sound. So once a leak has been stanched with a patch it is a staunch patch. But this definition, while listed first, is not the more common use I've encountered. It's the second one that I'm familiar with: steadfast in loyalty or principle. Now THAT's a great thing to be. Beats a good patch any day in my book (soon to be published by Arryoo, Kidding.)
Two very different meanings, to stop the flow or to be loyal and steadfast. But that's where we've come. The good news is that you needn't worry about which spelling to use for both words, if you follow my dictionary. But I'm going to be staunch in my usage and use stanch only for stopping the flow of something.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Skunks, Sheets, and Sheds
Sometimes a new word starts me thinking "Why do we have more than one word for this?" I understand that different degrees of the same condition might warrant further description, but what's the difference between drunk and intoxicated and inebriated and why three different words?
First, the definitions: drunk usually refers to a condition caused by extreme intake of alcoholic beverage, and can mean someone who is habitually in that state. Intoxicated is a state caused by alcohol or drugs that is described as a loss of control affecting the nervous system. Inebriated is a synonym for drunk (and when is someone ever ebriated? - see Dec. 26, 2009 post).
So why do we have the two words drunk and inebriated? Etymology, my dear Watson. ("Elementary, my dear Watson" was a phrase never published by Arthur Conan Doyle - it was used first in the movie version of Sherlock Holmes.)
Drunk comes from the Middle English word dronke, and inebriate comes from Latin. Ebrius means drunk, and the in- prefix is an intensive in Latin, so inebrius means very drunk. Ebriare is the past participle of ebrius, and inebriare is as close as Latin comes to providing us with the word we use today.
Inebriated has become a polite synonym for drunk, and has some connotation of not being as intoxicated as someone who's drunk.
Intoxicate has a more sinister etymology. It comes from the Latin word toxicum which means to poison. When you smear poison on something the word becomes toxicare, and the prefix in- gives indication of the state of having been poisoned. We also get the word toxic from this root. While the word we use today comes from a very negative root word, it doesn't retain only negative usages. I am intoxicated by my wife's beauty, and that's not a bad thing.
First, the definitions: drunk usually refers to a condition caused by extreme intake of alcoholic beverage, and can mean someone who is habitually in that state. Intoxicated is a state caused by alcohol or drugs that is described as a loss of control affecting the nervous system. Inebriated is a synonym for drunk (and when is someone ever ebriated? - see Dec. 26, 2009 post).
So why do we have the two words drunk and inebriated? Etymology, my dear Watson. ("Elementary, my dear Watson" was a phrase never published by Arthur Conan Doyle - it was used first in the movie version of Sherlock Holmes.)
Drunk comes from the Middle English word dronke, and inebriate comes from Latin. Ebrius means drunk, and the in- prefix is an intensive in Latin, so inebrius means very drunk. Ebriare is the past participle of ebrius, and inebriare is as close as Latin comes to providing us with the word we use today.
Inebriated has become a polite synonym for drunk, and has some connotation of not being as intoxicated as someone who's drunk.
Intoxicate has a more sinister etymology. It comes from the Latin word toxicum which means to poison. When you smear poison on something the word becomes toxicare, and the prefix in- gives indication of the state of having been poisoned. We also get the word toxic from this root. While the word we use today comes from a very negative root word, it doesn't retain only negative usages. I am intoxicated by my wife's beauty, and that's not a bad thing.
There's one other word today: dipsomania. You would think dipsomania would be the fear of drinking or being drunk, but that's not so. Dipsomania actually is a medical term first popularized in the 1800s for the extreme or abnormal craving for alcohol. It comes from the German word dipsa, which means thirst.
Drunkenness has spawned some of the most colorful euphemisms (second only to sex, I think). My dictionary starts the list with tipsy, tight, blind and blotto, but there are others like plastered, potted, and stewed. If you have a poetic bent you can be drunk as a skunk, or if you like sailing you can be three sheets to the wind (sheets refers to the ropes that held the sails in place; having a sheet to the wind causes loss of control and power).
BBC News online (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/1883481.stm) has a list of 141 euphemisms for drunk. The list includes entries from ankled to zombied, including the colorful "shedded (as in 'My shed has collapsed taking most of the fence with it.')"
So, if you're enjoying the Super Bowl today, avoid getting shedded.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
There's More Than One Way...
My older brother went to a college prep high school, and they had cheers like "progress, progress, undulate over the turf". I was reminded of that when thinking of the word excoriate, as in "you have more than one option when excoriating a feline."
Excoriate has two simple definitions. The first comes from the word's origin, which is Latin. Although it was used in Middle English, the original source is the word excoriare. The ex means to come out of or off of, and the corium is the skin (a word apparently used more of the skin of insects than of humans). So excoriate means to take the skin off of something, whether intentionally or not. It is a synonym of abrade or flay or chafe. Its second definition is the figurative sense of the action: to denounce harshly, my dictionary says. If you are so harsh in your denunciation of someone that they feel like they've had their skin ripped off, that's excoriating. Sounds like a medieval torture.
The second word is another one which in my mind comes from the middle ages. Defenestrate comes from fenestra, which is the Latin word for window. To defenestrate something is to throw it out the window. I probably associate this with the middle ages because the first remembrance I have of the word is in describing how people would use the streets as their sewers, throwing everything they wished to discard out of the windows. It made it dangerous, or at least unsavory, to walk down the streets. (Since we've stopped doing that people don't wear hats as much.) When you think in terms of "throwing the baby out with the bathwater" it seems harsh. But in some ways the idea is more comical than punitive. Office and hotel windows don't open enough to throw someone out of any more, so it's mostly a figurative expression.
Castigate is another middle ages term, and also comes from a Latin root: castigare means to purify, but we also get the word chastise from castigare, so there is an element of purifying through criticism. Castigate also has a more public element to it, as if someone were placed in the stocks in the public square. It means to punish or severely rebuke, especially publicly.
The final word today is the most recent to come to my awareness. In my dictionary it is two words below one of yesterday's words, fustian, but both were found in my reading rather than in perusing the dictionary. Fustigate comes from the same original word as fustian, the Latin word fustis, which is a wooden stick. But this word's meaning retains the involvement of the stick, whereas fustian has lost it. To fustigate someone is to beat them with a stick (or cudgel, another odd word).
So, today's words, all from Latin roots, are all ways to punish, berate, or get rid of someone. Just to show there's more than one way...
Excoriate has two simple definitions. The first comes from the word's origin, which is Latin. Although it was used in Middle English, the original source is the word excoriare. The ex means to come out of or off of, and the corium is the skin (a word apparently used more of the skin of insects than of humans). So excoriate means to take the skin off of something, whether intentionally or not. It is a synonym of abrade or flay or chafe. Its second definition is the figurative sense of the action: to denounce harshly, my dictionary says. If you are so harsh in your denunciation of someone that they feel like they've had their skin ripped off, that's excoriating. Sounds like a medieval torture.
The second word is another one which in my mind comes from the middle ages. Defenestrate comes from fenestra, which is the Latin word for window. To defenestrate something is to throw it out the window. I probably associate this with the middle ages because the first remembrance I have of the word is in describing how people would use the streets as their sewers, throwing everything they wished to discard out of the windows. It made it dangerous, or at least unsavory, to walk down the streets. (Since we've stopped doing that people don't wear hats as much.) When you think in terms of "throwing the baby out with the bathwater" it seems harsh. But in some ways the idea is more comical than punitive. Office and hotel windows don't open enough to throw someone out of any more, so it's mostly a figurative expression.
Castigate is another middle ages term, and also comes from a Latin root: castigare means to purify, but we also get the word chastise from castigare, so there is an element of purifying through criticism. Castigate also has a more public element to it, as if someone were placed in the stocks in the public square. It means to punish or severely rebuke, especially publicly.
The final word today is the most recent to come to my awareness. In my dictionary it is two words below one of yesterday's words, fustian, but both were found in my reading rather than in perusing the dictionary. Fustigate comes from the same original word as fustian, the Latin word fustis, which is a wooden stick. But this word's meaning retains the involvement of the stick, whereas fustian has lost it. To fustigate someone is to beat them with a stick (or cudgel, another odd word).
So, today's words, all from Latin roots, are all ways to punish, berate, or get rid of someone. Just to show there's more than one way...
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