For those of you who don’t know, I am finishing up my time with Sierra Vista Child & Family Services and at the first of the year will take a position with the Association of Fundraising Professionals.
At a goodbye luncheon I shared with fellow fundraising professionals (who asked for a word of the day) the word eleemosynary, and said that we might be guilty of being eleemercenaries (a word that I am hereby coining – look for it at a charity near you).
Eleemosynary is an interesting word; I am unaware of another word in English that has a double e where each e is its own syllable. (While the primary pronunciation has the double ee pronounced as a short i as in is, the secondary pronunciation – and the one I prefer for some unknown reason – is with the double e pronounced as a long e and the second one as the a in ago.) Eleemosynary is an adjective that means of or for charity or alms. A synonym would be charitable. It also refers to those supported by charity or that which is given as charity.
Eleemosynary came to English in the 1610s from the Middle Latin word eleemosynarius, which meant pertaining to alms. The word came to Middle Latin from the Late Latin eleemosyna, which got it from the Greek word for pity: eleemosyne. I have no idea where I happened upon the word, but have used it in Rotary to refer to my category of membership (…Larry Hostetler, classification Eleemosynary…). It sounds like a word W.C. Fields would have used.
A word I remember hearing W.C. Fields use is emolument. Emolument is a noun for gain from employment or position, payment received for work, salary, wages, fees, etc. It is older in English than eleemosynary, having entered the language in the mid-15th century. We get the spelling from the Middle French émolument, which they took directly from the Latin word emolumentum, meaning profit or gain. It may have originally meant payment for a miller of grain, because the Latin word emolere means to grind out, having been formed from ex-, which means out, and molere, which means to grind. Molere is the word from which we get our word mallet, I’m told. But that’s a story for another day.
While my new position doesn’t qualify as a sinecure (see 1/3/10), I must admit I feel a little like a parvenu. Parvenu is a noun that refers to a person who has suddenly acquired wealth or power, especially one who is not fully accepted socially by the class into which he has risen (I'm confident I will be accepted); a person considered an upstart. It came to English directly from the French in 1802, which got it from the Latin word pervenire, per- meaning through and venire meaning “to come” (and from which we get the word venue, again through French.)
The new position is a wonderful opportunity and I’ve received numerous congratulations and great support, so I look forward to a new chapter in a new year with a new organization. And no longer will I be an eleemercenary.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Windows and Basements?
Today begins a second year of this blog. When I began, I wasn’t sure if I’d have enough words to last a year. My initial list was shy of 50, and today’s words finish the first 53 sets of words. I now have a list of 96 groups, of which 16 remain to do, with a number of words still not grouped. So I will continue on for a while yet. I will not hold the blog in abeyance but will instead pay obeisance to my blog muse and continue.
Which takes us to our words for today: abeyance and obeisance. I grouped these two together not because they are often used erroneously one for the other, but because they have the [vowel]-b-[long a sound]-ance formation to them.
These are also words associated with Christmas in different ways. Often conflicts and wars are held in abeyance for the observance of Christmas. In some wars the opposing sides actually shared festivities during the Christmas truce before resuming the battles the next day. Abeyance (which didn’t even make it on the first two pages of my dictionary) is a noun that means temporary suspension, as an activity or function. It also is used in law to mean “a state of not having been determined or settled, as of lands the present ownership of which has not been established.”
Abeyance comes to English in the 1520s from Anglo-French (abeiance) which came down from Old French where it was spelled abeance, when it meant expectation. That meaning came from the prefix a- that meant to or at, and bayer (sometimes spelled without the y) that meant to gape, be open, or wait expectantly. The Old French (and you know who you are) got it from Gaulish which we think was batare (although etymonline.com says batare is Latin).
The root word in Old French, baer or bayer, is the source for our usage in describing a window that allows someone to sit on a window box and wait expectantly for the arrival of someone – a bay window.
Obeisance is most easily understood in connection with Christmas by saying the Magi came to pay obeisance to Jesus. Another noun, it refers to a gesture of respect or reverence, such as a bow, curtsy, etc. It also means the attitude shown by this, as in homage or deference. I used this at work once and neither of two very intelligent people I greatly respect had heard of the word.
It comes from the Middle English word obeisaunce, which came from Old French in the late 14th century where it was obeissance, a form of obeissant which is itself the present participle of obeir, which meant obey. The Old French got it from the Latin word oboedire, from which we got the word obey. It was at one time spelled abeisance, which was confused with the French word for abasement (not a basement), so the spelling with an initial o became preeminent. It wasn’t until its arrival in English that its sense of paying respect or bowing was included.
So I hope you were obeisant yesterday and for the future I will not keep this blog in abeyance.
Which takes us to our words for today: abeyance and obeisance. I grouped these two together not because they are often used erroneously one for the other, but because they have the [vowel]-b-[long a sound]-ance formation to them.
These are also words associated with Christmas in different ways. Often conflicts and wars are held in abeyance for the observance of Christmas. In some wars the opposing sides actually shared festivities during the Christmas truce before resuming the battles the next day. Abeyance (which didn’t even make it on the first two pages of my dictionary) is a noun that means temporary suspension, as an activity or function. It also is used in law to mean “a state of not having been determined or settled, as of lands the present ownership of which has not been established.”
Abeyance comes to English in the 1520s from Anglo-French (abeiance) which came down from Old French where it was spelled abeance, when it meant expectation. That meaning came from the prefix a- that meant to or at, and bayer (sometimes spelled without the y) that meant to gape, be open, or wait expectantly. The Old French (and you know who you are) got it from Gaulish which we think was batare (although etymonline.com says batare is Latin).
The root word in Old French, baer or bayer, is the source for our usage in describing a window that allows someone to sit on a window box and wait expectantly for the arrival of someone – a bay window.
Obeisance is most easily understood in connection with Christmas by saying the Magi came to pay obeisance to Jesus. Another noun, it refers to a gesture of respect or reverence, such as a bow, curtsy, etc. It also means the attitude shown by this, as in homage or deference. I used this at work once and neither of two very intelligent people I greatly respect had heard of the word.
It comes from the Middle English word obeisaunce, which came from Old French in the late 14th century where it was obeissance, a form of obeissant which is itself the present participle of obeir, which meant obey. The Old French got it from the Latin word oboedire, from which we got the word obey. It was at one time spelled abeisance, which was confused with the French word for abasement (not a basement), so the spelling with an initial o became preeminent. It wasn’t until its arrival in English that its sense of paying respect or bowing was included.
So I hope you were obeisant yesterday and for the future I will not keep this blog in abeyance.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Dr. Livingston, I Presume?
Sometimes I have no idea where I came across a word, and today is one of those days. Add to it that I’ve paired two words together that don’t on the face of it seem related and I begin to wonder about my planning process. So, let’s see if we can find out why I’ve paired recrimination and presume/assume.
We are more familiar with the words presume and assume. Now if you had asked me, I would have guessed that presumption is a later-developing form of the word presume. And I would be wrong. The word presumption came to English in the 13th century, presume entered a century later.
Presumption, in the sense of seizure and occupation without right, or taking upon oneself without warrant, is based on the Late Latin word praesumptionem (no, I’m not making that up). It means confidence or audacity, and also has a sense of anticipation to it. Pre-, as we would expect, means before, and the sume comes from sumere, which means “to take.” There is also a connection with the word exempt (the –empt and –umpt have a common Latin root word association with taking or buying). So in English, the word presumption, with its connotation of taking (without right or warrant) is the older use. The meaning of “taking for granted” didn’t appear in English until about 1300, and then it’s almost another 100 years before the word presume comes into English. It stopped for a visit in Old France, where the word was presumer (and had been there since the 12th century). There is always a little sense of seizure that remains with the word in any of its forms, a sense that one has overstepped boundaries.
Assume, on the other hand, while it still has the sense of seizure (assume control), doesn’t have the unwarranted sense that presume does. It also makes a later appearance in English, not arriving from the Latin until the middle 15th century. It was formed by the use of the prefix ad-, which means “up” or “to” with the aforementioned sumere. There is a Latin word assumere from which we can make the leap to English.
What’s interesting is that the Feast of the Assumption, the August 15 celebration of the departure from this life of the Blessed Virgin Mary, has attestation from about 1300, so the celebration long precedes the entry of the word into common English usage.
It took almost 100 years for the meaning to include not only seizure but supposition. Presume is the expression of the belief of the “presumer”, whereas assume has more of an opportunity for clarification and correction from the non-presumer.
Recrimination is a word that means “counter-charge” (as in “no, you did!”). It is used in the noun form more often than the root verb recriminate. Recrimination came to English very specifically in the 1610s, from the French word recrimination, which they got from the Middle Latin word recriminationem, a form of the word recriminari. Recriminate came from the past participle form of recriminari, recriminatus. It means “to make charges against,” and is formed from “re-“ (meaning back or again) and criminari, meaning “to accuse”. Yes, criminari or a form thereof is where we get the words crime and criminal.
So why did I pair these words together? I can only assume it is because they all refer to statements made without substantiation. You may have presumed as much. In any case, you’re welcome to express your recriminations.
For an account of the source of the quote in the title, see http://www.wayfarersbookshop.com/Biographies/Stanley_Biography/Stanley_-_Dr__Livingstone_I_Pr/stanley_-_dr__livingstone_i_pr.html
We are more familiar with the words presume and assume. Now if you had asked me, I would have guessed that presumption is a later-developing form of the word presume. And I would be wrong. The word presumption came to English in the 13th century, presume entered a century later.
Presumption, in the sense of seizure and occupation without right, or taking upon oneself without warrant, is based on the Late Latin word praesumptionem (no, I’m not making that up). It means confidence or audacity, and also has a sense of anticipation to it. Pre-, as we would expect, means before, and the sume comes from sumere, which means “to take.” There is also a connection with the word exempt (the –empt and –umpt have a common Latin root word association with taking or buying). So in English, the word presumption, with its connotation of taking (without right or warrant) is the older use. The meaning of “taking for granted” didn’t appear in English until about 1300, and then it’s almost another 100 years before the word presume comes into English. It stopped for a visit in Old France, where the word was presumer (and had been there since the 12th century). There is always a little sense of seizure that remains with the word in any of its forms, a sense that one has overstepped boundaries.
Assume, on the other hand, while it still has the sense of seizure (assume control), doesn’t have the unwarranted sense that presume does. It also makes a later appearance in English, not arriving from the Latin until the middle 15th century. It was formed by the use of the prefix ad-, which means “up” or “to” with the aforementioned sumere. There is a Latin word assumere from which we can make the leap to English.
What’s interesting is that the Feast of the Assumption, the August 15 celebration of the departure from this life of the Blessed Virgin Mary, has attestation from about 1300, so the celebration long precedes the entry of the word into common English usage.
It took almost 100 years for the meaning to include not only seizure but supposition. Presume is the expression of the belief of the “presumer”, whereas assume has more of an opportunity for clarification and correction from the non-presumer.
Recrimination is a word that means “counter-charge” (as in “no, you did!”). It is used in the noun form more often than the root verb recriminate. Recrimination came to English very specifically in the 1610s, from the French word recrimination, which they got from the Middle Latin word recriminationem, a form of the word recriminari. Recriminate came from the past participle form of recriminari, recriminatus. It means “to make charges against,” and is formed from “re-“ (meaning back or again) and criminari, meaning “to accuse”. Yes, criminari or a form thereof is where we get the words crime and criminal.
So why did I pair these words together? I can only assume it is because they all refer to statements made without substantiation. You may have presumed as much. In any case, you’re welcome to express your recriminations.
For an account of the source of the quote in the title, see http://www.wayfarersbookshop.com/Biographies/Stanley_Biography/Stanley_-_Dr__Livingstone_I_Pr/stanley_-_dr__livingstone_i_pr.html
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Possibly Panjandrums, Certainly Cynosures
Our blog begins today in 1753 in Covent Garden, where retired actor Charles Macklin is lecturing on memory. Claiming that his memory enabled him to repeat anything he had read the writer Samuel Foote quickly composed the following nonsense paragraph in an attempt to prove Macklin wrong:
So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf to make an apple-pie; and at the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street, pops its head into the shop. “What! No soap?” So he died, and she very imprudently married the barber; and there were present the Picninnies, and the Joblillies, and the Garyulies, and the grand Panjandrum himself, with the little round button at top, and they all fell to playing the game of catch as catch can till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of their boots.
Macklin refused the test, for reasons unknown.
What is known is that the story is likely an invention. While no less a source than the Oxford English dictionary quotes the tale, the first appearance of the story in print didn’t take place until 75 years later, when it was included in a book of children’s stories written by Maria Edgeworth. (See http://www.worldwidewords.org/weirdwords/ww-pan2.htm for a more complete recounting.) Copies of a children’s book title The Grand Panjandrum (attributed to Samuel Foote) can be found on the internet, including free for download from the Gutenberg site. Is it a later recreation of the Edgeworth story attributed to Foote or an original creation? You be the judge.
What we can be certain of is that the word has come to mean a pompous person, and there’s no reason not to attribute its creation to Foote.
Whether Foote or Macklin was a panjandrum we don’t know, but they may have been cynosures. (Don’t confuse cynosure with sinecure – covered in the blog of 1/3/10; but then why would you? It might be good to remember the two for a poem, though.)
Cynosure came to English in the 1590s from the Middle French word of the same spelling. The Middle French got it from the Latin word cynosura. In those times the constellation we now know as Ursa Minor (which contains the North Star) was known as the Cynosura. That title was taken from the Greek word kynosoura, formed from kyon, the genitive form of the word for dog (from which we get canine) and oura, which means tail. So the word literally means “dog’s tail” and has nothing to do with the Dog Star, or Sirius, which is part of the constellation Canis Major. Siriusly!
So it makes sense that it means something that strongly attracts attention because of its brilliance or beauty or interest, or provides guidance or direction for one of those reasons. Foote and Macklin may fit be cynosures, since those both evinced at least interest that compelled others to pay attention to them. But were they pompous, panjandrums? Possibly pompous panjandrums, and certainly sincere cynosures.
So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf to make an apple-pie; and at the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street, pops its head into the shop. “What! No soap?” So he died, and she very imprudently married the barber; and there were present the Picninnies, and the Joblillies, and the Garyulies, and the grand Panjandrum himself, with the little round button at top, and they all fell to playing the game of catch as catch can till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of their boots.
Macklin refused the test, for reasons unknown.
What is known is that the story is likely an invention. While no less a source than the Oxford English dictionary quotes the tale, the first appearance of the story in print didn’t take place until 75 years later, when it was included in a book of children’s stories written by Maria Edgeworth. (See http://www.worldwidewords.org/weirdwords/ww-pan2.htm for a more complete recounting.) Copies of a children’s book title The Grand Panjandrum (attributed to Samuel Foote) can be found on the internet, including free for download from the Gutenberg site. Is it a later recreation of the Edgeworth story attributed to Foote or an original creation? You be the judge.
What we can be certain of is that the word has come to mean a pompous person, and there’s no reason not to attribute its creation to Foote.
Whether Foote or Macklin was a panjandrum we don’t know, but they may have been cynosures. (Don’t confuse cynosure with sinecure – covered in the blog of 1/3/10; but then why would you? It might be good to remember the two for a poem, though.)
Cynosure came to English in the 1590s from the Middle French word of the same spelling. The Middle French got it from the Latin word cynosura. In those times the constellation we now know as Ursa Minor (which contains the North Star) was known as the Cynosura. That title was taken from the Greek word kynosoura, formed from kyon, the genitive form of the word for dog (from which we get canine) and oura, which means tail. So the word literally means “dog’s tail” and has nothing to do with the Dog Star, or Sirius, which is part of the constellation Canis Major. Siriusly!
So it makes sense that it means something that strongly attracts attention because of its brilliance or beauty or interest, or provides guidance or direction for one of those reasons. Foote and Macklin may fit be cynosures, since those both evinced at least interest that compelled others to pay attention to them. But were they pompous, panjandrums? Possibly pompous panjandrums, and certainly sincere cynosures.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Spoils of War
Here are two more words courtesy of those who follow in William F. Buckley’s footsteps and refuse to eschew words that require a dictionary. Both have come from the pages of National Review.
Irredentism is the collective noun form of the individual noun irredentist, and has nothing to do with dentists, but does have a connection to redemption. When referring to the Italian political party formed in 1878 it should be capitalized. That party sought to recover for Italy regions adjacent to its borders (Tyrol, Nice, Corsica, etc.) that were inhabited largely by Italians but were not under Italian control. An irredentist is anyone who advocates a policy of recovering territory formerly part of their country. Mexicans who want the southwest USA back would be irredentists. Those in the US who think we should take back the Panama Canal also fit this category.
In its broad usage, irredentism refers to any type of seeking of recovery of what was formerly owned – a business divestiture that is rued, the selling of personal property and trying to regain it, even a couple trying to work out their differences after the relationship has broken up (or down – interesting how both directions convey the same thing).
The Italian name of the political party, Irredentista, comes from the Italian word for unredeemed, which is irredenta.
Revanchism is a word related to irredentism in its concept. It refers to “the revengeful spirit moving a defeated nation to aggressively seek restoration of territories.” The individual form – revanchist – is not in my dictionary.
According to etymonline.com, the word is of French origin, having come to English in 1926 from the French word revanche, or the noun form revanchiste. Revanche is literally translated revenge, a much different emotion than redemption. Etymonline.com says its coinage related to the recovery of territory lost by Germany after World War I, but that doesn’t make sense to me. I prefer to accept the Wikipedia explanation, which attributes its origin to the movement in France after the loss of Alsace-Lorraine as a result of the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-1871. Alsace-Lorraine is a ping-pong ball of territory that went back and forth between French and German and Swiss and Hapsburg and independent and other territorial status 10 times between 1465 and 1945.
Revanchism is similar to irredentism, but where irredentism seeks inclusion of territory because of its continuing connections and is more positive in its motivation (at least on the surface), revanchism has a more negative motivation. Where irrendentism is the couple seeking to restore a relationship, revanchism is the scorned lover seeking through every means possible to “make them pay.” Where irredentism is the seeking to regain a business that shouldn’t have been sold off, revanchism is trying to get back a business lost in a hostile takeover.
So, the difference between irredentism and revanchism is not only one of tone but of intent. One could make the case that your irredentism would lead to my revanchism. The case could also be made that revanchism is a negative motivation for, and one type of, irredentism. They are close enough in definition to be interchangeable, as long as you knowingly use revanchism when you wish to convey a vengeful motivation.
Irredentism is the collective noun form of the individual noun irredentist, and has nothing to do with dentists, but does have a connection to redemption. When referring to the Italian political party formed in 1878 it should be capitalized. That party sought to recover for Italy regions adjacent to its borders (Tyrol, Nice, Corsica, etc.) that were inhabited largely by Italians but were not under Italian control. An irredentist is anyone who advocates a policy of recovering territory formerly part of their country. Mexicans who want the southwest USA back would be irredentists. Those in the US who think we should take back the Panama Canal also fit this category.
In its broad usage, irredentism refers to any type of seeking of recovery of what was formerly owned – a business divestiture that is rued, the selling of personal property and trying to regain it, even a couple trying to work out their differences after the relationship has broken up (or down – interesting how both directions convey the same thing).
The Italian name of the political party, Irredentista, comes from the Italian word for unredeemed, which is irredenta.
Revanchism is a word related to irredentism in its concept. It refers to “the revengeful spirit moving a defeated nation to aggressively seek restoration of territories.” The individual form – revanchist – is not in my dictionary.
According to etymonline.com, the word is of French origin, having come to English in 1926 from the French word revanche, or the noun form revanchiste. Revanche is literally translated revenge, a much different emotion than redemption. Etymonline.com says its coinage related to the recovery of territory lost by Germany after World War I, but that doesn’t make sense to me. I prefer to accept the Wikipedia explanation, which attributes its origin to the movement in France after the loss of Alsace-Lorraine as a result of the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-1871. Alsace-Lorraine is a ping-pong ball of territory that went back and forth between French and German and Swiss and Hapsburg and independent and other territorial status 10 times between 1465 and 1945.
Revanchism is similar to irredentism, but where irredentism seeks inclusion of territory because of its continuing connections and is more positive in its motivation (at least on the surface), revanchism has a more negative motivation. Where irrendentism is the couple seeking to restore a relationship, revanchism is the scorned lover seeking through every means possible to “make them pay.” Where irredentism is the seeking to regain a business that shouldn’t have been sold off, revanchism is trying to get back a business lost in a hostile takeover.
So, the difference between irredentism and revanchism is not only one of tone but of intent. One could make the case that your irredentism would lead to my revanchism. The case could also be made that revanchism is a negative motivation for, and one type of, irredentism. They are close enough in definition to be interchangeable, as long as you knowingly use revanchism when you wish to convey a vengeful motivation.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
All Clear?
The words evidence and evince can both be used as a transitive verb to mean to indicate or show. So why do we have the two words and what’s the difference and which is the good word for difference situations?
Let’s begin with evince, the less common word. Its definition is “to show plainly, indicate, or make manifest, especially to show that one has (a specified quality, feeling, etc.)” In fact, I have seen it used most in a phrase like “he evinces talent” or “she evinces regret”, as if to manifest a particular quality or ability. What’s interesting about this word is that it originally meant “disprove or confute”, quite a different meaning. But that was in about 1600, and was because when it came to English it was from the French word évincer, which had that meaning. The French got it from the Latin evincere, where it meant conquer, elicit by argument, or prove. It didn’t develop the meaning “to show clearly” until the late 18th century.
Evidence when used as a transitive verb (“it evidences a quality…”) is more general and often used of inanimate or non-human subjects. It came to English about 1300, from the identically spelled Old French word. They got it from the Late Latin word evidentia that means proof or clearness. In the 14th century it added the sense of “grounds for belief” and in the 1660s added the idea of obviousness. It was in the 1600s that it also developed its verb sense that we’re comparing today.
My dictionary has one of those wonderful elucidative paragraphs that differentiates several synonyms for evident (but not evince):
Evident and apparent apply to that which can be readily perceived or easily inferred, but evident implies the existence of external signs [his evident disappointment] and apparent suggests the use of deductive reasoning [it’s apparent he’ll win]; manifest applies to that which is immediately, often intuitively, clear to the understanding; obvious refers to that which is so noticeable or obtrusive that no one can fail to perceive it; palpable applies especially to that which can be perceived through some sense other than that of sight [palpable signs of fever]; clear implies that there is no confusion or obscurity to hinder understanding [clear proof]; plain implies such simplicity or lack of complexity as to be easily perceptible [the plain facts are these].
I used the word elucidate in its adjectival form above. The transitive verb elucidate means to make clear or explain, especially something abstruse (see 11/14/10 blog). We have a choice of etymologies for elucidate, which is counter-elucidative. It could be that it came from a Middle French word élucider, but élucider appeared in Middle French about the same time elucidate appeared in English (the 1500s). So did elucidate come through Middle French or directly from the Late Latin word elucidatus, the past participle of elucidare? Your choice. (And you thought you had no choice, eh?) Elucidare means to make clear, and yet it’s not clear exactly how we got elucidate in English. But then, it’s not something that will keep many people awake at night, either.
Let’s begin with evince, the less common word. Its definition is “to show plainly, indicate, or make manifest, especially to show that one has (a specified quality, feeling, etc.)” In fact, I have seen it used most in a phrase like “he evinces talent” or “she evinces regret”, as if to manifest a particular quality or ability. What’s interesting about this word is that it originally meant “disprove or confute”, quite a different meaning. But that was in about 1600, and was because when it came to English it was from the French word évincer, which had that meaning. The French got it from the Latin evincere, where it meant conquer, elicit by argument, or prove. It didn’t develop the meaning “to show clearly” until the late 18th century.
Evidence when used as a transitive verb (“it evidences a quality…”) is more general and often used of inanimate or non-human subjects. It came to English about 1300, from the identically spelled Old French word. They got it from the Late Latin word evidentia that means proof or clearness. In the 14th century it added the sense of “grounds for belief” and in the 1660s added the idea of obviousness. It was in the 1600s that it also developed its verb sense that we’re comparing today.
My dictionary has one of those wonderful elucidative paragraphs that differentiates several synonyms for evident (but not evince):
Evident and apparent apply to that which can be readily perceived or easily inferred, but evident implies the existence of external signs [his evident disappointment] and apparent suggests the use of deductive reasoning [it’s apparent he’ll win]; manifest applies to that which is immediately, often intuitively, clear to the understanding; obvious refers to that which is so noticeable or obtrusive that no one can fail to perceive it; palpable applies especially to that which can be perceived through some sense other than that of sight [palpable signs of fever]; clear implies that there is no confusion or obscurity to hinder understanding [clear proof]; plain implies such simplicity or lack of complexity as to be easily perceptible [the plain facts are these].
I used the word elucidate in its adjectival form above. The transitive verb elucidate means to make clear or explain, especially something abstruse (see 11/14/10 blog). We have a choice of etymologies for elucidate, which is counter-elucidative. It could be that it came from a Middle French word élucider, but élucider appeared in Middle French about the same time elucidate appeared in English (the 1500s). So did elucidate come through Middle French or directly from the Late Latin word elucidatus, the past participle of elucidare? Your choice. (And you thought you had no choice, eh?) Elucidare means to make clear, and yet it’s not clear exactly how we got elucidate in English. But then, it’s not something that will keep many people awake at night, either.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
I'm Sidiously Vidious
The word insidious is not an unfamiliar word to most people, who know it means something bad. Its actual definition is characterized by treachery or slyness (like Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale from the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons), or operating in a slow or not easily apparent manner; more dangerous than seems evident (like a slow-moving disease).
Insidious comes from the Latin word insidiosus, a form of insidiae, which means an ambush or plot. In case you wonder, insidiae comes from the two Latin words in- meaning in, and sedere, meaning to sit (and from which we get the word sedentary). They were combined into the word insedere, which meant to sit in or on, or (more insidiously) to lie in wait for, hence our meaning. Its first recorded use in English is in the 1540s.
Invidious is not as familiar, but is a good word that should get greater use. It is also an adjective, and can describe anything that excites ill will, odium, or envy. It also describes anything that gives offense, especially by discriminating unfairly. (And it IS possible to fairly discriminate, by choosing the best over the better or the better over the good. Otherwise, what good is an All-Star game?)
Invidious appeared in English about 1600, directly from the Latin word invidiosus, a form of the word for ill will or envy: invidia. In fact, follow invidia through Old French and in the late 13th century English adds the word envy. (In 10th century Old French it was written envie and included the meaning not only of jealousy but rivalry.)
Going back to Latin, invidia came from invidus, which meant envious, and was formed from the word invidere, the combination of in- (meaning in – weren’t you paying attention?) and videre, meaning “to see”. Which takes me back to Woodward High School’s motto Esse quam videre. It means “To be, rather than to seem to be,” a quote from Cicero used by many schools and on more than a few family crests. The motto was in Latin, but we spoke English in my high school days.
Since I mentioned it earlier, sedentary, which means remaining in one place, often in a sitting position, came to English in the 1590s. It came to English from the Middle French word sedentaire, which they got from the Latin word sedentarius. The meanings remained as sedentary as the word’s definition implies.
Speaking of mentioning earlier, odium (four paragraphs ago) is a stronger or more negative word than ill will or envy. It is hatred, especially of a person or thing regarded as loathsome. It can also mean the disgrace brought on by a loathsome action, but the synonym opprobrium would be better used for this meaning (in my estimation). And the former meaning is the more common use for odium anyway. Odium, like invidious, appeared in English in about 1600 and came directly from the Latin word odium that means ill-will, offense, or hatred.
Unfortunately, there are no English words sidious (which should mean loyal and honest) or vidious (loyal and true).
Insidious comes from the Latin word insidiosus, a form of insidiae, which means an ambush or plot. In case you wonder, insidiae comes from the two Latin words in- meaning in, and sedere, meaning to sit (and from which we get the word sedentary). They were combined into the word insedere, which meant to sit in or on, or (more insidiously) to lie in wait for, hence our meaning. Its first recorded use in English is in the 1540s.
Invidious is not as familiar, but is a good word that should get greater use. It is also an adjective, and can describe anything that excites ill will, odium, or envy. It also describes anything that gives offense, especially by discriminating unfairly. (And it IS possible to fairly discriminate, by choosing the best over the better or the better over the good. Otherwise, what good is an All-Star game?)
Invidious appeared in English about 1600, directly from the Latin word invidiosus, a form of the word for ill will or envy: invidia. In fact, follow invidia through Old French and in the late 13th century English adds the word envy. (In 10th century Old French it was written envie and included the meaning not only of jealousy but rivalry.)
Going back to Latin, invidia came from invidus, which meant envious, and was formed from the word invidere, the combination of in- (meaning in – weren’t you paying attention?) and videre, meaning “to see”. Which takes me back to Woodward High School’s motto Esse quam videre. It means “To be, rather than to seem to be,” a quote from Cicero used by many schools and on more than a few family crests. The motto was in Latin, but we spoke English in my high school days.
Since I mentioned it earlier, sedentary, which means remaining in one place, often in a sitting position, came to English in the 1590s. It came to English from the Middle French word sedentaire, which they got from the Latin word sedentarius. The meanings remained as sedentary as the word’s definition implies.
Speaking of mentioning earlier, odium (four paragraphs ago) is a stronger or more negative word than ill will or envy. It is hatred, especially of a person or thing regarded as loathsome. It can also mean the disgrace brought on by a loathsome action, but the synonym opprobrium would be better used for this meaning (in my estimation). And the former meaning is the more common use for odium anyway. Odium, like invidious, appeared in English in about 1600 and came directly from the Latin word odium that means ill-will, offense, or hatred.
Unfortunately, there are no English words sidious (which should mean loyal and honest) or vidious (loyal and true).
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Hands and Legs
Two words I’ve heard get confused are the words gambit and gamut. They are most often used in the phrases “opening gambit” and “run the gamut between…”. Because of their similarity in sound it poses problems for those who don’t see the words to know that they are two different words.
Gambit is a chess term that refers to a strategy where a pawn or other piece is sacrificed to get an advantage in position. It has come to mean any maneuver or action intended to create an advantage. What’s interesting about the word is that its etymology takes us on a tour of Europe. It came to English from the French, from the Old French word gambit, which came from the Spanish word gambito that means a tripping. The Spanish word was derived from the Italian word for leg – gamba – which is also the word in Late Latin. We get another word from this source word: gam, an American slang word for a woman’s shapely leg.
Gambit was first used in English in the 1650s, but the Spanish writer Ruy Lopez applied the word to the opening move as described above. It didn’t obtain its broader English meaning for two centuries, until 1855.
Gamut, on the other hand, means the entire range or extent, as in emotions. It came from music, from Guido “The Hand” D’Arezzo. Actually, I made up the appellation “The Hand”. It is a sad echoing of Mafia nicknames and I apologize to any Italians or Sicilians I offended. But there is a very well known musical history phrase “Guido’s Hand”.
Guido was a Benedictine monk born in the last decade of the 10th century. He died between 1033 and 1050. (It didn’t take him 17 years to die – there are differing opinions as to the year of his death.) Guido was the first person to develop musical notation, even developing what is the staff (although his had four lines and ours has five) and notes on the staff, and ledger lines for notes above and below the staff. He also used the hand to teach notes and scales, with the tips of the fingers corresponding to the top line of the staff and the lowest joint on the finger corresponding to the lowest line on the staff. He even developed words for the series of notes in a scale, deriving them from a hymn written a couple of centuries earlier. Like the song Do-Re-Mi from “The Sound of Music”, each line begins on a new note in the scale, the first syllables of each line being (in Latin) Ut, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, and Sanc. By the 20th Century the Ut was changed to Do and the Sanc to Ti.
What does all this have to do with gamut? In the 1520s, the Middle Latin phrase that referred to the lowest note in the scale, Ut, was gamma ut. Its contraction formed the word gamut, and a century later the word gamut came to refer to the entire scale or range of any string of items, not just the lowest note in a scale.
And now we've done the ambit of gamut and gambit. But we're out of space, so ambit will have to wait for another day.
Gambit is a chess term that refers to a strategy where a pawn or other piece is sacrificed to get an advantage in position. It has come to mean any maneuver or action intended to create an advantage. What’s interesting about the word is that its etymology takes us on a tour of Europe. It came to English from the French, from the Old French word gambit, which came from the Spanish word gambito that means a tripping. The Spanish word was derived from the Italian word for leg – gamba – which is also the word in Late Latin. We get another word from this source word: gam, an American slang word for a woman’s shapely leg.
Gambit was first used in English in the 1650s, but the Spanish writer Ruy Lopez applied the word to the opening move as described above. It didn’t obtain its broader English meaning for two centuries, until 1855.
Gamut, on the other hand, means the entire range or extent, as in emotions. It came from music, from Guido “The Hand” D’Arezzo. Actually, I made up the appellation “The Hand”. It is a sad echoing of Mafia nicknames and I apologize to any Italians or Sicilians I offended. But there is a very well known musical history phrase “Guido’s Hand”.
Guido was a Benedictine monk born in the last decade of the 10th century. He died between 1033 and 1050. (It didn’t take him 17 years to die – there are differing opinions as to the year of his death.) Guido was the first person to develop musical notation, even developing what is the staff (although his had four lines and ours has five) and notes on the staff, and ledger lines for notes above and below the staff. He also used the hand to teach notes and scales, with the tips of the fingers corresponding to the top line of the staff and the lowest joint on the finger corresponding to the lowest line on the staff. He even developed words for the series of notes in a scale, deriving them from a hymn written a couple of centuries earlier. Like the song Do-Re-Mi from “The Sound of Music”, each line begins on a new note in the scale, the first syllables of each line being (in Latin) Ut, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, and Sanc. By the 20th Century the Ut was changed to Do and the Sanc to Ti.
What does all this have to do with gamut? In the 1520s, the Middle Latin phrase that referred to the lowest note in the scale, Ut, was gamma ut. Its contraction formed the word gamut, and a century later the word gamut came to refer to the entire scale or range of any string of items, not just the lowest note in a scale.
And now we've done the ambit of gamut and gambit. But we're out of space, so ambit will have to wait for another day.
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