This makes four months’ worth of blog entries, and it’s time to catch up on some follow up words that were missed or left off for lack of space in previous blogs.
On March 7 I, as a soidisant blogger, blogged about the different words for different names for people. I missed two that I’ve since encountered in my reading. Soidisant comes directly from French, where it is literally translated self-saying. It means “so-called by oneself, self-styled.”
The second word I missed was bespoke, which doesn’t sound at all like what it means. You instantly recognize it as the past participle of bespeak, of course, which means “to speak about or arrange beforehand,” something it has meant since the 1580s. It has come to also mean to be indicative of or anticipatory of, the usage with which I am most familiar. It is, according to etymonline.com, “now usually of tailored suits”. While I have absolutely no experience with tailored suits (as you can probably discern if you’ve ever seen me in a suit) I take the source at its word and presume that as the reason for the development of the past participle of it to mean “custom-made” or “made-to-order”. So bespeak means to be indicative or portending of something, and bespoke (its past participle) means custom-made. English – what a language!
Rostrum (see April 11th’s blog) is the word for the stage on which the dais or podium might be placed, and on which the pulpit or lectern would be placed. It originally referred to the prow of Roman ships, which looked like a bird’s beak (Latin – rosus). In the Forum in Rome, the place where speakers stood was decorated with the prows of ships taken in the first naval victory of the Roman Empire, over Antium in 338 bc. Taking the description of the prows and applying it to the place of speaking, the area became known as the rostrum and came to English in 1542, the 50th anniversary of Columbus sailing the ocean blue.
Way back on February 3 in talking about various words to describe punishing language there was one missed: obloquy. It refers to verbal abuse of a person, or the ill repute that comes from it. It also comes from Latin (late or low Latin, in the mid 15th century), from the words meaning against (ob) and speak (loqui). The word is pronounced obb-la-kwee, which reminds me of the Beatles’ hit “Oh- bla-dee oh-bla-dah, life goes on”.
After writing (on April 12) about homonyms/synonyms (words that sound alike and mean similar things) I encountered a nice quotation that used feint and faint together, illustrating the same h/s idea. Unfortunately both my time and space today are already gone, so it will have to wait for another “follow up” blog. That will give me time to find the quote and use it impressively.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Hastings Makes Wastings
Almost two months ago (on Feb. 28) I mentioned that it would be good to blog on beef and mutton. Since then I can add venison to the list.
Beef came to Middle English in about 1300 from the Old French boef or buef (in the 11th century there was boeuf), which comes from the Latin word bovis. It refers to cows or bulls, oxen or any meat of the bovine family (bovine coming from bovis, too).
Mutton came to Middle English in the late 13th century from the Old French moton, which probably came from Middle Latin multo or multonem. It refers to the sheep or their flesh when used for food.
Venison came to Middle English as veneison in the late 13th century from the Old French venesoun, which came from the Latin word for a hunt (venatio). It originally meant any game meat from a hunt, but now is becoming more a reference to deer alone.
All three are pretty straightforward. But the question is: why do we call it a cow when alive but beef when butchered? The same holds true with sheep and mutton, and game and venison. We don’t call fish one thing alive and another thing when caught; and while pork comes directly from the Latin for pig (porcus), the other three come through Old French. What’s up with that?
It all goes back to 1066, which you know is when the Battle of Hastings took place that resulted in the Norman conquest of England. Subsequent to that, it became practice (and self-preservation) for nobility to speak French while the common folk continued to use Middle English, or lapse into Latin if it was perceived dangerous to speak in English.
So the commoners would produce the meat (whether cows or sheep or hunted game) and provide it to the royalty for consumption. Since only French was used, when the food was placed on the tables it was referred to in French as beef or mutton or venison.
In addition to food, we have other words that have resulted from the Norman conquest: an English flower will have a French bloom that issues a French odor, aroma, and scent vs. English smell and stench.
Since the reign of England by French royalty continued for many years, the words became engrained in our vocabulary. One source I consulted indicated that the French words adopted and kept provided more specificity than their English counterparts. There were no words for cooked cow or cut flowers, so the French become very useful.
For centuries French was a common language of royalty, as the most powerful kingdom through marriage and alliances influenced much of western culture. Only with the hegemony of the United States in commerce, as late as the 20th century, did English become the international language and the primary second language. So while we can say merci for greater English flexibility, others say thank you for economic opportunity.
Beef came to Middle English in about 1300 from the Old French boef or buef (in the 11th century there was boeuf), which comes from the Latin word bovis. It refers to cows or bulls, oxen or any meat of the bovine family (bovine coming from bovis, too).
Mutton came to Middle English in the late 13th century from the Old French moton, which probably came from Middle Latin multo or multonem. It refers to the sheep or their flesh when used for food.
Venison came to Middle English as veneison in the late 13th century from the Old French venesoun, which came from the Latin word for a hunt (venatio). It originally meant any game meat from a hunt, but now is becoming more a reference to deer alone.
All three are pretty straightforward. But the question is: why do we call it a cow when alive but beef when butchered? The same holds true with sheep and mutton, and game and venison. We don’t call fish one thing alive and another thing when caught; and while pork comes directly from the Latin for pig (porcus), the other three come through Old French. What’s up with that?
It all goes back to 1066, which you know is when the Battle of Hastings took place that resulted in the Norman conquest of England. Subsequent to that, it became practice (and self-preservation) for nobility to speak French while the common folk continued to use Middle English, or lapse into Latin if it was perceived dangerous to speak in English.
So the commoners would produce the meat (whether cows or sheep or hunted game) and provide it to the royalty for consumption. Since only French was used, when the food was placed on the tables it was referred to in French as beef or mutton or venison.
In addition to food, we have other words that have resulted from the Norman conquest: an English flower will have a French bloom that issues a French odor, aroma, and scent vs. English smell and stench.
Since the reign of England by French royalty continued for many years, the words became engrained in our vocabulary. One source I consulted indicated that the French words adopted and kept provided more specificity than their English counterparts. There were no words for cooked cow or cut flowers, so the French become very useful.
For centuries French was a common language of royalty, as the most powerful kingdom through marriage and alliances influenced much of western culture. Only with the hegemony of the United States in commerce, as late as the 20th century, did English become the international language and the primary second language. So while we can say merci for greater English flexibility, others say thank you for economic opportunity.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Same Difference
Sometimes the obscurity in words is not in the words themselves but in the various definitions and their differences. For the most part, today’s words are common, but they have meanings with shades of differences that escape some people.
For instance, one definition of a founder (noun) is a person who founds, or establishes. And one definition of flounder (noun) is any of a large group of flatfishes, one of which is halibut. But another definition of founder (verb intransitive) is “to become stuck in soft ground, bog down, fill with water and sink.” And another definition of flounder (verb intransitive) is “to struggle awkwardly to move, as in deep mud or snow.” So a boat or ship can either founder or flounder; if merely stuck in mud it is floundering, and if it begins filling with water it is foundering.
Why the different meanings? Founder is the noun form of the transitive verb found, which in Middle English was founden and in Old French was fonder, came from the Latin word fundare, which meant bottom. (It’s possible the Latin word came from Indo-European and possibly Sanskrit, but that’s debatable.) So a founder is someone at the bottom or start of a construction. Founder (verb instransitive) also comes through Middle English (foundren) and Old French (fondrer). Fondrer means to fall in or sink. It comes from the Latin word fundus, another form of the word fundare. So they have the same root, but have taken a different path to English. The verb founder is an early 14th century arrival in English.
Flounder (noun) comes to Middle English from Scandinavia, as in the Swedish word flundra, which is akin to the Greek word flunder. Flounder (verb intransitive) is less definitive in its etymology. My dictionary says it is a variation of founder, but etymonline.com says it is from the 1590s, perhaps as a variation, but is “influenced by the Dutch word flodderen”, which means to flop about.
Careen and career also have similar meanings: Careen is from the French carener which is from the Italian carena (the Genoese dialect, as you’ve undoubtedly discerned) which is from the Latin carina. Carina is the word for the keel of a ship, and the intransitive verb careen means “to cause (a ship) to lean or lie on one side.” One verb transitive definition is “to lurch from side to side.” It is also from the 1590s, but has been confused with career since at least 1923.
The definition of the intransitive verb career is “to move at full speed; rush wildly.” Something (usually a ship) can either careen or career, and sometimes both at the same time. Career comes to English from the French carriere, which refers to a race course, from the Italian carriera.
I suppose when you are in trouble at sea, whether foundering, floundering, careering or careening, specificity of verbiage is not your primary concern. But now you know the difference between these similar words.
For instance, one definition of a founder (noun) is a person who founds, or establishes. And one definition of flounder (noun) is any of a large group of flatfishes, one of which is halibut. But another definition of founder (verb intransitive) is “to become stuck in soft ground, bog down, fill with water and sink.” And another definition of flounder (verb intransitive) is “to struggle awkwardly to move, as in deep mud or snow.” So a boat or ship can either founder or flounder; if merely stuck in mud it is floundering, and if it begins filling with water it is foundering.
Why the different meanings? Founder is the noun form of the transitive verb found, which in Middle English was founden and in Old French was fonder, came from the Latin word fundare, which meant bottom. (It’s possible the Latin word came from Indo-European and possibly Sanskrit, but that’s debatable.) So a founder is someone at the bottom or start of a construction. Founder (verb instransitive) also comes through Middle English (foundren) and Old French (fondrer). Fondrer means to fall in or sink. It comes from the Latin word fundus, another form of the word fundare. So they have the same root, but have taken a different path to English. The verb founder is an early 14th century arrival in English.
Flounder (noun) comes to Middle English from Scandinavia, as in the Swedish word flundra, which is akin to the Greek word flunder. Flounder (verb intransitive) is less definitive in its etymology. My dictionary says it is a variation of founder, but etymonline.com says it is from the 1590s, perhaps as a variation, but is “influenced by the Dutch word flodderen”, which means to flop about.
Careen and career also have similar meanings: Careen is from the French carener which is from the Italian carena (the Genoese dialect, as you’ve undoubtedly discerned) which is from the Latin carina. Carina is the word for the keel of a ship, and the intransitive verb careen means “to cause (a ship) to lean or lie on one side.” One verb transitive definition is “to lurch from side to side.” It is also from the 1590s, but has been confused with career since at least 1923.
The definition of the intransitive verb career is “to move at full speed; rush wildly.” Something (usually a ship) can either careen or career, and sometimes both at the same time. Career comes to English from the French carriere, which refers to a race course, from the Italian carriera.
I suppose when you are in trouble at sea, whether foundering, floundering, careering or careening, specificity of verbiage is not your primary concern. But now you know the difference between these similar words.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Cuckoo for cockle puffs
I was talking with Bishop Desmond Tutu recently (okay, he was addressing a crowd of 4,000 of which I was a part, and I was talking with someone near me) when he (Bishop Tutu) used the phrase “cockles of my heart” and immediately admitted he didn’t know what that meant. A friend said to me “there’s a subject for your blog” and I dutifully am following through.
A cockle, at least since 1311, is a word for a mollusk, any one of a number of shellfish of the European species Cordium edule. The primary definition doesn’t explain the phrase because rarely are shellfish found in the heart. However, the phrase, which originated in 1669, has several possible sources. It could come from: 1. the similarity in shape of a cockle to a heart, or 2. from the Latin word corculum (although why I don’t know), or 3. from the Latin word coclea, which literally means snail but refers to a winding cavity. I think the latter is most likely, referring to a deep recess of the heart, listed as the third definition in my dictionary. The etymology of the word is through Middle English (cokel) from Old French (coquille) from the Latin conchilium which is from the Greek konchilion from which we also get the word conch.
Cockle sounds like cuckold, but has a very different meaning of the heart. The word cuckold comes originally from the Old French onomatopoetic word cucu, or coucou, which is the sound a bird makes. In Middle English, or about the mid-13th century, it was spelled cokewold. Its current definition (a man whose wife has committed adultery) derives from the female bird’s alleged habit of changing mates (or some birds’ authentic habit of leaving their eggs in other bird’s nests). The noun became a verb in the 1580s. And, yes, we get the word cuckoo from the same Old French word (and pronounce it koo-koo rather than kuck-oo because of its French roots).
If that doesn’t make you laugh (and there’s no reason why it should), it might at least make you chuckle. The word chuckle, according to my dictionary, probably came from the word chuck with the addition of the frequentative suffix –le. The same dictionary says chuck is echoic, the same as cluck (the sound a hen makes). Why it didn’t just refer me to cluck I can only assume is to keep the etymological development intact. My online reference doesn’t go through those contortions, merely stating that in 1598 it came to English from the Middle English chukken which refers to a clucking noise, and originally meant noisy laughter. My dictionary says cluck came from through the Middle English clokken from the Old English cloccian. Who knows? Who cares?
Additionally, etymonline.com recounts that Lewis Carroll, in his 1872 book “Through the Looking Glass”, coined the word chortle by combining chuckle and snort.
All of which certainly counts as taking us from the sublime to the ridiculous.
A cockle, at least since 1311, is a word for a mollusk, any one of a number of shellfish of the European species Cordium edule. The primary definition doesn’t explain the phrase because rarely are shellfish found in the heart. However, the phrase, which originated in 1669, has several possible sources. It could come from: 1. the similarity in shape of a cockle to a heart, or 2. from the Latin word corculum (although why I don’t know), or 3. from the Latin word coclea, which literally means snail but refers to a winding cavity. I think the latter is most likely, referring to a deep recess of the heart, listed as the third definition in my dictionary. The etymology of the word is through Middle English (cokel) from Old French (coquille) from the Latin conchilium which is from the Greek konchilion from which we also get the word conch.
Cockle sounds like cuckold, but has a very different meaning of the heart. The word cuckold comes originally from the Old French onomatopoetic word cucu, or coucou, which is the sound a bird makes. In Middle English, or about the mid-13th century, it was spelled cokewold. Its current definition (a man whose wife has committed adultery) derives from the female bird’s alleged habit of changing mates (or some birds’ authentic habit of leaving their eggs in other bird’s nests). The noun became a verb in the 1580s. And, yes, we get the word cuckoo from the same Old French word (and pronounce it koo-koo rather than kuck-oo because of its French roots).
If that doesn’t make you laugh (and there’s no reason why it should), it might at least make you chuckle. The word chuckle, according to my dictionary, probably came from the word chuck with the addition of the frequentative suffix –le. The same dictionary says chuck is echoic, the same as cluck (the sound a hen makes). Why it didn’t just refer me to cluck I can only assume is to keep the etymological development intact. My online reference doesn’t go through those contortions, merely stating that in 1598 it came to English from the Middle English chukken which refers to a clucking noise, and originally meant noisy laughter. My dictionary says cluck came from through the Middle English clokken from the Old English cloccian. Who knows? Who cares?
Additionally, etymonline.com recounts that Lewis Carroll, in his 1872 book “Through the Looking Glass”, coined the word chortle by combining chuckle and snort.
All of which certainly counts as taking us from the sublime to the ridiculous.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
J'accuse
Animadversion is the noun form of the intransitive verb animadvert (which sounds like a nickname the British would give to an animated advertisement). Animadvert means criticize adversely. The noun form came first (1590 as opposed to 1630) from the Latin word animadversionem (No kidding!). The Latin word came from the combining of animum (mind) and advertere (to turn to) and had a sense of finding fault or blaming. At times it was used in Latin as a euphemism for the death penalty. What's interesting is that in English it originally meant just notice or attention, without a fault being involved. By the time of the development of animadvert in the 1630s it still meant to notice or give attention to. But within 30 years (by 1660) it had developed a meaning of to censure or blame. And yes, the word advertise comes from advertere.
Delation, is the noun form of the verb transitive delate. It is primarily a Scottish word meaning to accuse or inform against, a more formal meaning than animadvert. It comes from the Latin delatus, which is the past participle of deferre, from which we get defer. Deferre means to bring down.
Execrate is derived from the Latin execratus, which is the past participle of execrare, which meant to curse. It comes from ex and sacrare; ex meaning out from and sacrare is a form of the Latin word from which we get sacred. So execrate comes from a meaning of cursing, or bringing out of a sacred position. It still means to curse, along with calling evil down upon, and speaking abusively about or contemptuously of, or denouncing scathingly. It could also mean simply to loath or abhor or hate. Not a nice thing, at any rate.
So, whether you are the subject or object of animadversion, delation, or execration, it's not a good thing. Maybe one of these days we will look at words for compliment.
J'accuse (today's title) is, of course, a reference to the letter Emile Zola published in the newspaper L'Aurore in 1998 criticizing the handling of the Dreyfus affair.
Delation, is the noun form of the verb transitive delate. It is primarily a Scottish word meaning to accuse or inform against, a more formal meaning than animadvert. It comes from the Latin delatus, which is the past participle of deferre, from which we get defer. Deferre means to bring down.
Execrate is derived from the Latin execratus, which is the past participle of execrare, which meant to curse. It comes from ex and sacrare; ex meaning out from and sacrare is a form of the Latin word from which we get sacred. So execrate comes from a meaning of cursing, or bringing out of a sacred position. It still means to curse, along with calling evil down upon, and speaking abusively about or contemptuously of, or denouncing scathingly. It could also mean simply to loath or abhor or hate. Not a nice thing, at any rate.
So, whether you are the subject or object of animadversion, delation, or execration, it's not a good thing. Maybe one of these days we will look at words for compliment.
J'accuse (today's title) is, of course, a reference to the letter Emile Zola published in the newspaper L'Aurore in 1998 criticizing the handling of the Dreyfus affair.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Speaking of Speaking
Today begins the AFP International Conference in Baltimore, where the organization will celebrate its 50th Anniversary. Some presenters will use a lectern, some a podium. Some will be on a dais.
I have heard all three terms used for the same thing, so let’s differentiate.
A lectern is traditionally the desk in church from which the Scriptures are read. The word lectern comes from lectus, which is the past participle of legere, which means to read. It has travelled to us in its current form as adjustments were made in Middle Latin, then Old French, then Old English, when it was spelled lettorn in the early 14th century. In the mid-15th century it was altered after the Latin forms (one source said “re-Latinized”) to our current spelling. In many churches the lectern is separate from the pulpit. It has also come to mean the stand for holding the notes, etc. of a lecturer, and the illustration in my dictionary shows a lectern as something behind which a standing person would speak.
The word pulpit actually refers to the platform used to elevate the clergyman rather than the desk itself. A lectern could, according to my dictionary, be on a pulpit. In Low Latin (or Latin, my sources disagree again) the word pulpitum gives this word to English in the early 14th century. Other than that there is etymological disagreement in other ways. Pulpitum means stage or scaffold, although that is also disputed. It wasn’t long, however, before pulpit also came to refer to preachers and ministers. That was in place by the 1560s.
A podium (from the Greek podion, which is a diminutive form of the Greek word for foot) was by 1743 the raised platform around the ancient arena or the wall that separated the seats from the arena. It was also used for the projecting base of a pedestal. It wasn’t until 1947 that the raised platform at the front of a hall or stage (on which a lectern would sit) came to be called a podium. The podium is the platform, not the desk holding notes. It has also come to mean the platform on which an orchestra conductor stands.
A dais can be synonymous with a podium, but it has a better and more common use. Coming from the Greek word diskos that was transliterated into the Latin word discus (yes, that discus) to describe a plate, in Old French it came to mean the table or platform on which plates were placed. It was spelled dais in Old French, but later in Anglo-French its spelling was deis. The interesting thing about this word is that its used died out in England in about 1600, but survived in Scotland. In the 19th century it was “revived by antiquarians” and has been used since. I believe its best use is to describe the table(s) set on a podium in proximity to the lectern. Whether there are any plates involved or not.
I have heard all three terms used for the same thing, so let’s differentiate.
A lectern is traditionally the desk in church from which the Scriptures are read. The word lectern comes from lectus, which is the past participle of legere, which means to read. It has travelled to us in its current form as adjustments were made in Middle Latin, then Old French, then Old English, when it was spelled lettorn in the early 14th century. In the mid-15th century it was altered after the Latin forms (one source said “re-Latinized”) to our current spelling. In many churches the lectern is separate from the pulpit. It has also come to mean the stand for holding the notes, etc. of a lecturer, and the illustration in my dictionary shows a lectern as something behind which a standing person would speak.
The word pulpit actually refers to the platform used to elevate the clergyman rather than the desk itself. A lectern could, according to my dictionary, be on a pulpit. In Low Latin (or Latin, my sources disagree again) the word pulpitum gives this word to English in the early 14th century. Other than that there is etymological disagreement in other ways. Pulpitum means stage or scaffold, although that is also disputed. It wasn’t long, however, before pulpit also came to refer to preachers and ministers. That was in place by the 1560s.
A podium (from the Greek podion, which is a diminutive form of the Greek word for foot) was by 1743 the raised platform around the ancient arena or the wall that separated the seats from the arena. It was also used for the projecting base of a pedestal. It wasn’t until 1947 that the raised platform at the front of a hall or stage (on which a lectern would sit) came to be called a podium. The podium is the platform, not the desk holding notes. It has also come to mean the platform on which an orchestra conductor stands.
A dais can be synonymous with a podium, but it has a better and more common use. Coming from the Greek word diskos that was transliterated into the Latin word discus (yes, that discus) to describe a plate, in Old French it came to mean the table or platform on which plates were placed. It was spelled dais in Old French, but later in Anglo-French its spelling was deis. The interesting thing about this word is that its used died out in England in about 1600, but survived in Scotland. In the 19th century it was “revived by antiquarians” and has been used since. I believe its best use is to describe the table(s) set on a podium in proximity to the lectern. Whether there are any plates involved or not.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Whereeee's Johnny?
On February 28 my blog ended with the statement that I would just have to continue my search for the pedantic word for introduction.
Does encomium “fit the bill”? Not really; encomium is listed as a synonym for panegyric or eulogy. It is a formal expression of high praise. Its current use, though, is not of a speech such as a eulogy; it is more an expression than a speech. Nor does it have a sense of high praise and speech such as panegyric. It merely has the high praise part.
Encomium comes originally from the Greek word enkomion, which in one source referred to a “laudatory ode or eulogy.” Another source translated it as a hymn to the victor. It comes from en-, meaning “in”, and komos, meaning banquet, procession, merrymaking, or revel. So it originally was laudatory speaking in the context of a banquet or merrymaking. According to the definition a toast could be an encomium. It was first used in English in 1589, but I don’t know where.
A eulogy is almost never used for anything other than an address or reflection on the death of someone. It was first used in the mid-15th century, and came from the Greek word eulogia, which meant "praise." That word came from eu- "well" and -logia "speaking." Logia came from the more familiar word logos "discourse, or word." Eu legein meant "speak well of." Eulogia is used in both the Greek New Testament and the Septuagint.
A valedictory, on the other hand, is almost never used to refer to anything other than an address at graduation. It comes from the Latin words vale, farewell, and dicere, to say. It comes from the 1610s. It still means to say farewell.
Peroration is the word with the most history in English, and is also the one furthest from our quest for a substitute for introduction. It actually refers to the conclusion of a presentation, the summation of a legal argument. Since those are the most important parts for “driving home” a point, the word has also come to mean high-flown or bombastic speech. It comes from the Latin per, through or to the end, and orare, to pray, plead or speak. It came to English in about 1440.
When an encomium becomes overblown it becomes apotheosis. Apotheosis has an interesting etymology to me; it comes from the Greek but is used in Late Latin (or Latin – my sources disagree) as a transliteration of the Greek. It has been used as a noun since the 1600s, but only formed into a verb in 1760. Its root word is theos, the Greek word for God. Apo- is a prefix that normally means “from”, and one of my sources uses it, explaining its etymology as originally apotheos “from a God”, then developing into apotheoun (to deify), a form of which is apotheosis. My other source says that the use of apo is special, being used in this case to mean “change”.
So the search continues.
Does encomium “fit the bill”? Not really; encomium is listed as a synonym for panegyric or eulogy. It is a formal expression of high praise. Its current use, though, is not of a speech such as a eulogy; it is more an expression than a speech. Nor does it have a sense of high praise and speech such as panegyric. It merely has the high praise part.
Encomium comes originally from the Greek word enkomion, which in one source referred to a “laudatory ode or eulogy.” Another source translated it as a hymn to the victor. It comes from en-, meaning “in”, and komos, meaning banquet, procession, merrymaking, or revel. So it originally was laudatory speaking in the context of a banquet or merrymaking. According to the definition a toast could be an encomium. It was first used in English in 1589, but I don’t know where.
A eulogy is almost never used for anything other than an address or reflection on the death of someone. It was first used in the mid-15th century, and came from the Greek word eulogia, which meant "praise." That word came from eu- "well" and -logia "speaking." Logia came from the more familiar word logos "discourse, or word." Eu legein meant "speak well of." Eulogia is used in both the Greek New Testament and the Septuagint.
A valedictory, on the other hand, is almost never used to refer to anything other than an address at graduation. It comes from the Latin words vale, farewell, and dicere, to say. It comes from the 1610s. It still means to say farewell.
Peroration is the word with the most history in English, and is also the one furthest from our quest for a substitute for introduction. It actually refers to the conclusion of a presentation, the summation of a legal argument. Since those are the most important parts for “driving home” a point, the word has also come to mean high-flown or bombastic speech. It comes from the Latin per, through or to the end, and orare, to pray, plead or speak. It came to English in about 1440.
When an encomium becomes overblown it becomes apotheosis. Apotheosis has an interesting etymology to me; it comes from the Greek but is used in Late Latin (or Latin – my sources disagree) as a transliteration of the Greek. It has been used as a noun since the 1600s, but only formed into a verb in 1760. Its root word is theos, the Greek word for God. Apo- is a prefix that normally means “from”, and one of my sources uses it, explaining its etymology as originally apotheos “from a God”, then developing into apotheoun (to deify), a form of which is apotheosis. My other source says that the use of apo is special, being used in this case to mean “change”.
So the search continues.
Happy Easter to You
Today is Easter Sunday for most Christians, the most glorious day in the liturgical calendar. I looked over the list of words to find a set that would be appropriate for today, and decided to pull from my list of words several that apply to this day and its meaning.
Easter was adumbrated in the Old Testament, but even so as the first Easter Sunday dawned the disciples and followers of Jesus felt acephalous. While the full import of this day is ineffable, it has produced in many a sense of afflatus. Easter is the day that showed that death is not inexpugnable, and that Jesus has risen and now his instauration has him at the right hand of God.
First is the word adumbrate, which means to outline in a shadowy way or foreshadow. It comes from the Latin word adumbratus, which is the past participle of adumbrari, which means to (ad-) shade (umbra, like in umbrella). If you read the words in Psalm 16:10 and Hosea 6:1-3 which are the most important prophecies of Jesus’ resurrection you will see that the word adumbrate applies – they both foreshadow and lack clarity (are shadowy).
The second word today is acephalous. Acephalous comes from the Greek word kephalos, which means the head. In Greek the prefix a- means without (and we still use it that way in words like amoral and atypical). So acephalous means without a head. The disciples and followers felt that their leader, the head of their movement, had been taken away; they were acephalous, and consequently had no idea what direction to head, what to do. And they would continue to act that way pretty much until the ascension and pentacost.
Ineffable comes from Latin, where (as discussed in the blog for Dec. 26) in- is a negative prefix. The –effable (there is no word effable in my dictionary) comes from the Latin prefix ex-, which means out, and fari, which means to speak. Effari in Latin means to speak out, and ineffabilis in Latin means not utterable. There are no words to describe all of what Easter means to the Christian.
Inexpugnable has the same two Latin prefixes (more intact in this word than in ineffable); the other root word is pugnare (from which we get pugnacious) and means to fight. The ex- prefix is an intensive in this instance, so inexpugnable means something that cannot be defeated by force, unyielding or unconquerable.
Afflatus is a word that means an inspiration or powerful impulse in an artistic or poetic sense; in the 1660s when it came from the Latin word for “a breathing upon” (afflatus) it referred to a miraculous communication of supernatural knowledge. There is much artwork and poetry surrounding this day in history.
Instauration is from the Latin instaurare, meaning renew or repeat. Instauration is a noun, and I found no verb or other form of the word in English. It refers to the act of restoring and has an element of renewal or repair.
I hope that this Easter you get a sense of the ineffable, instauration, and some afflatus, too.
Easter was adumbrated in the Old Testament, but even so as the first Easter Sunday dawned the disciples and followers of Jesus felt acephalous. While the full import of this day is ineffable, it has produced in many a sense of afflatus. Easter is the day that showed that death is not inexpugnable, and that Jesus has risen and now his instauration has him at the right hand of God.
First is the word adumbrate, which means to outline in a shadowy way or foreshadow. It comes from the Latin word adumbratus, which is the past participle of adumbrari, which means to (ad-) shade (umbra, like in umbrella). If you read the words in Psalm 16:10 and Hosea 6:1-3 which are the most important prophecies of Jesus’ resurrection you will see that the word adumbrate applies – they both foreshadow and lack clarity (are shadowy).
The second word today is acephalous. Acephalous comes from the Greek word kephalos, which means the head. In Greek the prefix a- means without (and we still use it that way in words like amoral and atypical). So acephalous means without a head. The disciples and followers felt that their leader, the head of their movement, had been taken away; they were acephalous, and consequently had no idea what direction to head, what to do. And they would continue to act that way pretty much until the ascension and pentacost.
Ineffable comes from Latin, where (as discussed in the blog for Dec. 26) in- is a negative prefix. The –effable (there is no word effable in my dictionary) comes from the Latin prefix ex-, which means out, and fari, which means to speak. Effari in Latin means to speak out, and ineffabilis in Latin means not utterable. There are no words to describe all of what Easter means to the Christian.
Inexpugnable has the same two Latin prefixes (more intact in this word than in ineffable); the other root word is pugnare (from which we get pugnacious) and means to fight. The ex- prefix is an intensive in this instance, so inexpugnable means something that cannot be defeated by force, unyielding or unconquerable.
Afflatus is a word that means an inspiration or powerful impulse in an artistic or poetic sense; in the 1660s when it came from the Latin word for “a breathing upon” (afflatus) it referred to a miraculous communication of supernatural knowledge. There is much artwork and poetry surrounding this day in history.
Instauration is from the Latin instaurare, meaning renew or repeat. Instauration is a noun, and I found no verb or other form of the word in English. It refers to the act of restoring and has an element of renewal or repair.
I hope that this Easter you get a sense of the ineffable, instauration, and some afflatus, too.
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