Today is Halloween, and an appropriate time to look at why we have so many words like ghost, specter, wraith, poltergeist, spook, and apparition.
Ghost is the word with the most etymology. We know it comes from the Old English word gast, which means “soul, spirit, breath, or life”. There are a lot of possible sources for gast, including the Proto-Germanic word ghoizdoz (which explains the Old Saxon word gest, the Middle Dutch word geest, and the German geist) and the Proto-Indo-European base ghois, which means to be excited or frightened.
The Old English word came to prominence as the Biblical translation of the Latin word spiritus, often used to refer to the Holy Spirit (Holy Ghost). By the end of the 14th century the word came to be used for a disembodied spirit. Most Indo-European words for spirit also refer to supernatural entities. Many have a sense of “appearance” (Greek phantasma, French spectre, etc.)
The gh- spelling was added in the early 15th century. It was probably influenced by the aforementioned Middle Dutch (and Flemish) word gheest. But it was rarely spelled with the gh- beginning until the mid-15th century. Various phrases have attached the word ghost to describe the subject, like ghost writing and ghost town (ghost town was coined in 1931).
The Greek word phantasma, two paragraphs ago, is the source of our word phantom, which came to English in about 1300, when it was spelled fantum, because the Old French word from which it came directly was fantesme. It took 200 years for the spelling to return to the Greek ph- rather than the French f- (for political reasons, I'm guessing.) Phantom has a sense of illusion that ghost doesn’t convey.
The word wraith was next to arrive, in the 1510s. It is Scottish, but beyond that its origin is unknown. It is defined as an apparition of a living person, portending his or her death. (Remember the Dickens story A Christmas Carol?)
A decade later, in the 1520s, is when apparition appeared. Apparition has a sense of supernatural rather than illusion. There was an Anglo-French word aparicion, which came from the Old French word apparition. The word originally referred to the revealing of the Christ Child to the Wise Men (called the Epiphany) and didn’t get the connotation of ghost until about 1600.
As mentioned above, the French gave us the word specter in about 1600, when it was spelled spectre. The word specter has a connotation of a fearful appearance of a spirit (as opposed to a ghost which may not be visible). The French word refers to an image, figure or ghost. The French got the word from the Latin word spectrum, which means appearance, vision, or apparition.
The word spook appeared in English in 1801. It has a sense of scare, and came from the Dutch word spook, which came from the Middle Dutch spelling spooc, from the German word Spuk, which means ghost or apparition. In Middle Low German it was spelled spok, the same spelling as the Swedish word for scarecrow. Norwegians spelled it with a j: spjok. (Go fjigure.)
Poltergeist came to English in 1838 from German. Literally translated, poltergeist means noisy ghost. (Poltern means make noise or rattle.)
So if you can see the spirit, it will be a phantom, wraith, apparition, specter or spook, and perhaps ghost. But a ghost might not be visible and a poltergeist will only be heard. And none of them involve a sheet with holes in it. So if you see someone in a sheet, it’s not a real ghost, it’s a trick-or-treater.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Ya Know?
I am not famous. I’m not even infamous. If you think in terms of the two words, you won’t conflate fame with infamy. Fame is “the state of being well-known or talked about; renown.” Not that you didn’t know that. Its definition uses renown as a synonym, which always leads me to ask why we have two words for the same thing.
Renown is defined as “great fame or reputation; celebrity.” It originally was a superlative word for fame. I’ve tried to spell it reknown, but its etymology belies that spelling. It came to English in about 1300 from Anglo-French (my dictionary says Middle English then Anglo-French, but they’re conducing the verb used in Middle English to the noun form), where the word is renoun. In Old French it was renom, a form of renommer, which means to name again and is formed from the Latin prefix re- (meaning the same as our prefix re-) and nominare or nomen, which means name.
Fame also came to English in about 1300 from the Old French, based on the Latin word fama, which means “talk, rumor, or reputation.”
But there is a difference between renown and infamy.
Infamy has a very negative connotation. It is the opposite of fame (hence the in- prefix – see Dec. 26, 2009 blog). To say someone is “infamous” for a good thing is the wrong use of the word. It may seem to be a superlative, but it’s not – renowned is the word you’re looking for. My dictionary defines infamy as “very bad reputation, disgrace, dishonor, notoriety.”
So on a spectrum of being well-known, with bad reputation being first, the words would be: infamy, fame, renown. In common usage, renown and fame no longer have the relationship defined above. They are now more commonly used with renown referring to someone who has become known for a positive contribution to society, whereas fame is attached to celebrity, where the reputation is based merely on public awareness of the individual.
(I’ve used two words in the above portion of today’s blog that I have previously addressed: conflate and conduce. They are also sometimes misused. I explained these words in my June 9 blog.)
It was Andy Warhol who is quoted as saying “In the future, everybody will be world famous for 15 minutes.” The quote became so tied to him that he later tried to change it to “In 15 minutes everybody will be famous.”
It is the different shades of words that provide for me the color to language that is equivalent to the shades an artist gives to a painting. Whether or not that applies to Andy Warhol is for you to determine, but accuracy of use provides better clarity to the final image.
Renown is defined as “great fame or reputation; celebrity.” It originally was a superlative word for fame. I’ve tried to spell it reknown, but its etymology belies that spelling. It came to English in about 1300 from Anglo-French (my dictionary says Middle English then Anglo-French, but they’re conducing the verb used in Middle English to the noun form), where the word is renoun. In Old French it was renom, a form of renommer, which means to name again and is formed from the Latin prefix re- (meaning the same as our prefix re-) and nominare or nomen, which means name.
Fame also came to English in about 1300 from the Old French, based on the Latin word fama, which means “talk, rumor, or reputation.”
But there is a difference between renown and infamy.
Infamy has a very negative connotation. It is the opposite of fame (hence the in- prefix – see Dec. 26, 2009 blog). To say someone is “infamous” for a good thing is the wrong use of the word. It may seem to be a superlative, but it’s not – renowned is the word you’re looking for. My dictionary defines infamy as “very bad reputation, disgrace, dishonor, notoriety.”
So on a spectrum of being well-known, with bad reputation being first, the words would be: infamy, fame, renown. In common usage, renown and fame no longer have the relationship defined above. They are now more commonly used with renown referring to someone who has become known for a positive contribution to society, whereas fame is attached to celebrity, where the reputation is based merely on public awareness of the individual.
(I’ve used two words in the above portion of today’s blog that I have previously addressed: conflate and conduce. They are also sometimes misused. I explained these words in my June 9 blog.)
It was Andy Warhol who is quoted as saying “In the future, everybody will be world famous for 15 minutes.” The quote became so tied to him that he later tried to change it to “In 15 minutes everybody will be famous.”
It is the different shades of words that provide for me the color to language that is equivalent to the shades an artist gives to a painting. Whether or not that applies to Andy Warhol is for you to determine, but accuracy of use provides better clarity to the final image.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Non-Skeptical Omphaloskepsism
So, what have I been doing for the last couple of weeks? I have definitely not been busy with omphaloskepsism (see 7/28 blog). Several things have been going on (an event on the 14th, an event on the 21st, and an event on the 22nd). And on the 12th I came down with some malady that has been both low-level and long-lasting. Not sick enough to feel missing the events was unavoidable, so never having enough time I can take off to get fully healthy. Navel-gazing would have been welcome.
Speaking of navels, how did we end up with two words spelled very much alike and yet very different in meaning? The word navel (with an e) is defined as “the small scar, usually a depression in the middle of the abdomen, marking the place where the umbilical cord was attached to the fetus.” I didn’t realize most people have “innies”. So a little research was warranted. According to chacha.com 90% of the population have “innies.” I found numerous other references, but the only source ever cited was chacha.com.
In researching this important item, I encountered a report of a survey (at http://www.abc.net.au/science/k2/lint/results.htm) that, based on 4799 respondents, 66% of whom had belly button lint, 96% of those with belly button lint have an “innie”.
Where did the word navel come from? It appeared in Middle English having come from the Old English word nafela, which my dictionary says is “akin” to the Greek word nabel. According to etymonline.com, nafela is presumed to come from the Proto-Germanic word nabalan, and it bases that presumption on the existence in other Germanic languages of similar words (comparing the Old Norse nafli, the Old Frisian navla, the Middle Dutch navel, the Old High German nabalo, and the German nabel). Which leads to the question, what is Old Frisian? Old Frisian is a language akin to English that was spoken on the North Sea coast of modern Netherlands and Germany before 1500. If that’s not enough, etymonline continues a lengthy exposition on navels with the fact that it was “Considered a feminine sexual center since ancient times, and still in parts of the Middle East, India, and Japan. Even in medieval Europe, it was averred that ‘[t]he seat of wantonness in women is the navel.’ [Cambridge bestiary, C.U.L. ii.4.26]”
I think that’s as far as I want to look into navels. Where did the word naval come from and why is it so similar?
The word naval, defined as of, having, characteristic of, or for a navy, its ships, personnel, etc., comes from the Latin. In French the word is naval, and in Latin it is navalis, from the Latin word navis, which is the word for a ship in Latin. Disagreeably ignoring the French, etymonline.com says naval came directly from the Latin around 1600.
Short and simple for naval. Interestingly, since I have a few words, navis is also the root for the word nave, which refers to that part of a church which is between the side aisles and extends from the chancel to the principal entrance, forming the main part of the building. Nave came to English from Latin through either Spanish or Italian. Its path is uncertain, but its first us isn’t: 1673. Apparently a church built in 1673 resembled a ship.
Enough nave or naval or navel gazing for one day.
Speaking of navels, how did we end up with two words spelled very much alike and yet very different in meaning? The word navel (with an e) is defined as “the small scar, usually a depression in the middle of the abdomen, marking the place where the umbilical cord was attached to the fetus.” I didn’t realize most people have “innies”. So a little research was warranted. According to chacha.com 90% of the population have “innies.” I found numerous other references, but the only source ever cited was chacha.com.
In researching this important item, I encountered a report of a survey (at http://www.abc.net.au/science/k2/lint/results.htm) that, based on 4799 respondents, 66% of whom had belly button lint, 96% of those with belly button lint have an “innie”.
Where did the word navel come from? It appeared in Middle English having come from the Old English word nafela, which my dictionary says is “akin” to the Greek word nabel. According to etymonline.com, nafela is presumed to come from the Proto-Germanic word nabalan, and it bases that presumption on the existence in other Germanic languages of similar words (comparing the Old Norse nafli, the Old Frisian navla, the Middle Dutch navel, the Old High German nabalo, and the German nabel). Which leads to the question, what is Old Frisian? Old Frisian is a language akin to English that was spoken on the North Sea coast of modern Netherlands and Germany before 1500. If that’s not enough, etymonline continues a lengthy exposition on navels with the fact that it was “Considered a feminine sexual center since ancient times, and still in parts of the Middle East, India, and Japan. Even in medieval Europe, it was averred that ‘[t]he seat of wantonness in women is the navel.’ [Cambridge bestiary, C.U.L. ii.4.26]”
I think that’s as far as I want to look into navels. Where did the word naval come from and why is it so similar?
The word naval, defined as of, having, characteristic of, or for a navy, its ships, personnel, etc., comes from the Latin. In French the word is naval, and in Latin it is navalis, from the Latin word navis, which is the word for a ship in Latin. Disagreeably ignoring the French, etymonline.com says naval came directly from the Latin around 1600.
Short and simple for naval. Interestingly, since I have a few words, navis is also the root for the word nave, which refers to that part of a church which is between the side aisles and extends from the chancel to the principal entrance, forming the main part of the building. Nave came to English from Latin through either Spanish or Italian. Its path is uncertain, but its first us isn’t: 1673. Apparently a church built in 1673 resembled a ship.
Enough nave or naval or navel gazing for one day.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Back From Vacation, Part 2
Effete came to English in the 1620s directly from the Latin word effetus, which referred to an exhausted, worn out, unproductive womb. It is formed by combining ex-, which means out, and fetus, which means offspring or childbearing. It was originally used in a figurative sense, and by the 1660s meant merely exhausted. By 1790 it had the meaning of an intellectual or moral exhaustion, which led to the meaning of decadent by the 19th century.
Ennui, which should come as no surprise to you is a French word unchanged in its English use, means a weariness and dissatisfaction resulting from inactivity or lack of interest. A synonym would be boredom, but ennui has a sense of dissatisfaction that the word boredom doesn’t. In the 1660s it was adopted into English, as a French word, and by 1758 no longer received the italicization of a foreign word. In Old French the word was enui, which in the 13th century meant “annoyance”. According to etymonline.com it is “a back formation from enuier.” As to its pronunciation, my dictionary gives both English and French pronunciations, the first syllable in French not having an English counterpart. (For those who wonder, it is similar to saying the word “on” through your nose.) Etymonline.com cites the Oxford English Dictionary as stating: “So far as frequency of use is concerned, the word might be regarded as fully naturalized; but the pronunciation has not been anglicized, there being in fact no English analogy which could serve as a guide.”
In both my dictionary and in etymonline.com it says that the French root has a connection to annoy, but I didn’t find it. (I find that annoying.) Perhaps the sense of annoyance that is part of the meaning of ennui in French couldn’t be left unsaid. Or perhaps the annoyance is with the French, who have a certain je ne sais quoi.
There is another famous quote from Spiro (carrying on from Wednesday’s blog), “nattering nabobs of negativism,” which gives us two other words, natter and nabob.
Natter is a verb intransitive, and means to chatter idly, talk at length, or find fault or scold. According to etymonline.com it means to grumble or fret. In 1829 it was a northern English variant of the dialectical word gnatter, which meant to grumble or chatter, and earlier (in the 18th century) meant “to nibble away.” According to my dictionary, it comes from a “Germanic echoic base, whence Old Norse gnata, ‘to crash noisily’ and German knatter, ‘to clatter’.”
Nabobs, as Spiro used the word, are very rich or important people. I’m sure he meant it sarcastically. Nabob’s primary definition is of a native provincial deputy or governor of the old Mogul Empire in India. Its secondary definition is of a European who has become very rich in India, and Spiro’s meaning (I assume) is the tertiary definition, which had evolved from the first and second definitions by 1764. It originally came to English in 1612 from the Hindu word nawwab or nabab, which came from the Arabic word nuwwab, which is the honorific plural form of naib, which means viceroy or deputy.
I appreciate Spiro Agnew’s sense of alliteration, his spirit of allegory, and his seminal artistry in cynical aphorisms. R.I.P.
Ennui, which should come as no surprise to you is a French word unchanged in its English use, means a weariness and dissatisfaction resulting from inactivity or lack of interest. A synonym would be boredom, but ennui has a sense of dissatisfaction that the word boredom doesn’t. In the 1660s it was adopted into English, as a French word, and by 1758 no longer received the italicization of a foreign word. In Old French the word was enui, which in the 13th century meant “annoyance”. According to etymonline.com it is “a back formation from enuier.” As to its pronunciation, my dictionary gives both English and French pronunciations, the first syllable in French not having an English counterpart. (For those who wonder, it is similar to saying the word “on” through your nose.) Etymonline.com cites the Oxford English Dictionary as stating: “So far as frequency of use is concerned, the word might be regarded as fully naturalized; but the pronunciation has not been anglicized, there being in fact no English analogy which could serve as a guide.”
In both my dictionary and in etymonline.com it says that the French root has a connection to annoy, but I didn’t find it. (I find that annoying.) Perhaps the sense of annoyance that is part of the meaning of ennui in French couldn’t be left unsaid. Or perhaps the annoyance is with the French, who have a certain je ne sais quoi.
There is another famous quote from Spiro (carrying on from Wednesday’s blog), “nattering nabobs of negativism,” which gives us two other words, natter and nabob.
Natter is a verb intransitive, and means to chatter idly, talk at length, or find fault or scold. According to etymonline.com it means to grumble or fret. In 1829 it was a northern English variant of the dialectical word gnatter, which meant to grumble or chatter, and earlier (in the 18th century) meant “to nibble away.” According to my dictionary, it comes from a “Germanic echoic base, whence Old Norse gnata, ‘to crash noisily’ and German knatter, ‘to clatter’.”
Nabobs, as Spiro used the word, are very rich or important people. I’m sure he meant it sarcastically. Nabob’s primary definition is of a native provincial deputy or governor of the old Mogul Empire in India. Its secondary definition is of a European who has become very rich in India, and Spiro’s meaning (I assume) is the tertiary definition, which had evolved from the first and second definitions by 1764. It originally came to English in 1612 from the Hindu word nawwab or nabab, which came from the Arabic word nuwwab, which is the honorific plural form of naib, which means viceroy or deputy.
I appreciate Spiro Agnew’s sense of alliteration, his spirit of allegory, and his seminal artistry in cynical aphorisms. R.I.P.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Back from "Vacation" Part 1
I returned a couple of days ago from “vacation”. I took three days vacation from work to attend a conference in Las Vegas. I have since been asked “How was Las Vegas?” and my response has become “I might as well have been in Bakersfield.” That is an overstatement, because I did get to spend about 1 ½ hours playing slots in a casino, and even won enough to pay for pizza.
A working vacation is not much of a vacation, and I find myself suffering from lassitude. I am not effete, but a little ennui sounds very appealing.
Lassitude, which has nothing to do with lassoing anything, is a state or feeling of being tired and listless. Weariness and languor are synonyms, although my dictionary includes them in the definition while listing lethargy as a synonym. When does a defining word become a synonym instead? The raison d’etre of this blog being to differentiate meaning, allow me a little diversion to do so.
Lethargy and lassitude differ in common usage in the following way: lassitude is more generally used in reference to someone who lacks motivation and exhibits tired and listless behavior; it has a slightly negative connotation. Lethargy is a more acceptable term that doesn’t have a connotation of laziness. Weariness is more purely physical in meaning, with lethargy and lassitude being attitudinal. Ennui is a forced and unwelcome inactivity and effete is a worn out inactivity (at least).
Languor, according to etymonline.com, when it came to English in the 1300s from Old French (languor) meant “disease, distress, [and] mental suffering.” In the 1650s the meaning changed to being synonymous with lethargy, and by 1825 came to refer to a “habitual want of energy.” Its Latin root word is also languor.
So, back to lassitude, which has nothing to do with television dogs (Lassie never seemed to have lassitude.) The noun comes to us through French (c’est la vie) from the Latin word lassitudo, which is a form of lassus, which means faint or weary and from which we get the word late, according to my dictionary. According to etymonline.com it actually comes from the Middle French word lassitude, which came not from lassitudo but from lassitudinem, the nominative of which is lassitudo. (Sounds like quibbling to me.) Its first known use in English is in the 1530s.
For many baby boomers, the word effete can’t be used without recalling the words of Nixon’s VP Spiro Agnew, who referred to protesters as “effete…intellectual snobs”. (For a full account of the quote and situation when Spiro uttered those memorable words, see http://www.thisdayinquotes.com/2009/10/spiro-agnew-warns-us-about-effete.html.) Effete is defined as no longer capable of producing; spent and sterile, lacking in vigor and force of character, moral stamina, etc.; decadent, soft, overrefined, etc. It is a VERY good word to use in an insult, and not one most would want to use of themselves.
We’ll get to the more on effete and other lazy and Agnew words on Sunday; I just don’t have the energy to continue with this today.
A working vacation is not much of a vacation, and I find myself suffering from lassitude. I am not effete, but a little ennui sounds very appealing.
Lassitude, which has nothing to do with lassoing anything, is a state or feeling of being tired and listless. Weariness and languor are synonyms, although my dictionary includes them in the definition while listing lethargy as a synonym. When does a defining word become a synonym instead? The raison d’etre of this blog being to differentiate meaning, allow me a little diversion to do so.
Lethargy and lassitude differ in common usage in the following way: lassitude is more generally used in reference to someone who lacks motivation and exhibits tired and listless behavior; it has a slightly negative connotation. Lethargy is a more acceptable term that doesn’t have a connotation of laziness. Weariness is more purely physical in meaning, with lethargy and lassitude being attitudinal. Ennui is a forced and unwelcome inactivity and effete is a worn out inactivity (at least).
Languor, according to etymonline.com, when it came to English in the 1300s from Old French (languor) meant “disease, distress, [and] mental suffering.” In the 1650s the meaning changed to being synonymous with lethargy, and by 1825 came to refer to a “habitual want of energy.” Its Latin root word is also languor.
So, back to lassitude, which has nothing to do with television dogs (Lassie never seemed to have lassitude.) The noun comes to us through French (c’est la vie) from the Latin word lassitudo, which is a form of lassus, which means faint or weary and from which we get the word late, according to my dictionary. According to etymonline.com it actually comes from the Middle French word lassitude, which came not from lassitudo but from lassitudinem, the nominative of which is lassitudo. (Sounds like quibbling to me.) Its first known use in English is in the 1530s.
For many baby boomers, the word effete can’t be used without recalling the words of Nixon’s VP Spiro Agnew, who referred to protesters as “effete…intellectual snobs”. (For a full account of the quote and situation when Spiro uttered those memorable words, see http://www.thisdayinquotes.com/2009/10/spiro-agnew-warns-us-about-effete.html.) Effete is defined as no longer capable of producing; spent and sterile, lacking in vigor and force of character, moral stamina, etc.; decadent, soft, overrefined, etc. It is a VERY good word to use in an insult, and not one most would want to use of themselves.
We’ll get to the more on effete and other lazy and Agnew words on Sunday; I just don’t have the energy to continue with this today.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Sesquipedalian Buckley Part III
Now, we return you to our regular blogging. Buckley used the word velleity – the lowest level of volition. My dictionary has the definitions as: 1. the weakest kind of desire or volition, 2. a mere wish that does not lead to the slightest action. It also says it comes through Middle Latin (velleitas) from the Latin word velle, which means “to wish”. The site www.word-detective.com gives it a negative meaning, to describe a person who only wishes and never acts. It also says that it first appeared in English in the 17th century.
Contumacious – I admit I was surprised to find that I haven’t blogged on this word. It’s a word I use with regularity, and often used when our children were young. It is an adjective meaning obstinately resisting authority, insubordinate, and disobedient. (Any parent can understand why I would find this word useful. It is not only perfectly descriptive, but it can also be instructive and helpful in getting children to use a dictionary.) It is a form of the Latin word contumacia, which came to Middle English as contumacie. Delving into the Latin roots is interesting (at least to me – you may be bored to death by now). Contumacia comes from contumax, which is formed from com- (an intensifying prefix) and tumere, which means “to swell up.” So when a person gets swelled up and keeps swelling, that’s contumacy.
More from Buckley's essay book review:
Supernal – see the July 14 blog. This is the only one in the review excerpt that I’ve already covered.
Psephologist – one who studies election returns. It is also in my dictionary, as psephology, the statistical evaluation of election returns or political polls. The first known use of psephology in English is 1952. According to Wikipedia, historian R.B. McCallum coined the term in the United Kingdom. Its etymology is from Greek, psephos meaning pebble, and logy being a suffix referring to the study of a subject. Why pebble? In ancient Greece elections were done with two different pebbles (now we sometimes use marbles in the same way). According to Sir William Smith in his book “A dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities”, the pebbles were placed in a cadiskoi
“when they gave their votes on a trial. There were, in fact, usually two cadiskoi: one, that in which the voting pebble was put; this was made of copper: the other, that in which the other pebble, which had not been used, was put; this was made of wood….The pebbles were distinguished from one another by proper marks….Sometimes, also, the dicasts had only one counter each, and there were two cadiskoi, one for acquitting, the other for condemning.”
As a side note, eventually white pebbles or balls were used as a vote in the affirmative, black ones were a negative vote, using the latter description of voting above. (Hence the origin of the phrase “black-balled”.) Our word ballot comes from the Italian for little ball, the diminutive form of the word balla.
And finally, in our consideration of Buckley’s words as listed in a review of an omnibus of his essays: palinode – an ode or song retracting something in an earlier poem, a formal retraction. This noun is formed starting with the Greek words for “again” – palin (I’m sure you will find a way to use this in reference to Sarah Palin over the next two years) and ode or song – oide. The full Greek word from which we end up at palinode is palinoidia, which by Late Latin was spelled palinodia, then went through Middle French as palinod before getting to English in the 1590s. While some are hoping for Palin Odes, others are looking for Palin palinodes.
And you're probably looking for the end of the blogging on the review of the Buckley book. Congratulations, you've found it!
Contumacious – I admit I was surprised to find that I haven’t blogged on this word. It’s a word I use with regularity, and often used when our children were young. It is an adjective meaning obstinately resisting authority, insubordinate, and disobedient. (Any parent can understand why I would find this word useful. It is not only perfectly descriptive, but it can also be instructive and helpful in getting children to use a dictionary.) It is a form of the Latin word contumacia, which came to Middle English as contumacie. Delving into the Latin roots is interesting (at least to me – you may be bored to death by now). Contumacia comes from contumax, which is formed from com- (an intensifying prefix) and tumere, which means “to swell up.” So when a person gets swelled up and keeps swelling, that’s contumacy.
More from Buckley's essay book review:
Supernal – see the July 14 blog. This is the only one in the review excerpt that I’ve already covered.
Psephologist – one who studies election returns. It is also in my dictionary, as psephology, the statistical evaluation of election returns or political polls. The first known use of psephology in English is 1952. According to Wikipedia, historian R.B. McCallum coined the term in the United Kingdom. Its etymology is from Greek, psephos meaning pebble, and logy being a suffix referring to the study of a subject. Why pebble? In ancient Greece elections were done with two different pebbles (now we sometimes use marbles in the same way). According to Sir William Smith in his book “A dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities”, the pebbles were placed in a cadiskoi
“when they gave their votes on a trial. There were, in fact, usually two cadiskoi: one, that in which the voting pebble was put; this was made of copper: the other, that in which the other pebble, which had not been used, was put; this was made of wood….The pebbles were distinguished from one another by proper marks….Sometimes, also, the dicasts had only one counter each, and there were two cadiskoi, one for acquitting, the other for condemning.”
As a side note, eventually white pebbles or balls were used as a vote in the affirmative, black ones were a negative vote, using the latter description of voting above. (Hence the origin of the phrase “black-balled”.) Our word ballot comes from the Italian for little ball, the diminutive form of the word balla.
And finally, in our consideration of Buckley’s words as listed in a review of an omnibus of his essays: palinode – an ode or song retracting something in an earlier poem, a formal retraction. This noun is formed starting with the Greek words for “again” – palin (I’m sure you will find a way to use this in reference to Sarah Palin over the next two years) and ode or song – oide. The full Greek word from which we end up at palinode is palinoidia, which by Late Latin was spelled palinodia, then went through Middle French as palinod before getting to English in the 1590s. While some are hoping for Palin Odes, others are looking for Palin palinodes.
And you're probably looking for the end of the blogging on the review of the Buckley book. Congratulations, you've found it!
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