Unpaired Words

Jonah Goldberg is one of my favorite writers. Mr. Goldberg is author of The Goldberg File on nationalreview.com and the book "The Tyranny of Cliches" (buy it and the next one, too). Today's post is mostly from his Friday post, with all but the first hyperlink (part of his original post) relating to the words already covered in this blog. The Charles to which he refers is Charles Krauthammer. And now, here's Jonah: 

Anyway, Charles is a big fan of “unpaired words.” I don’t mean words with the Bluetooth turned off. I mean . . . hmmm . . . how do I explain?

Well, many times, during the commercial break on Special Report, we’ve gone back and forth -- brandy snifters in hand -- talking about how we need a president with more feck running an ept and gormful foreign policy. These conversations usually take place after the make-up lady comes into the studio to make sure that we look kempt and shevelled. Well, last Wednesday, the topic came up again, and we kept bandying them about. Which made me think, “This is pretty cool.” It also made me think, “This would be a good riff for the G-File.”Still, I’m hoping that he isn’t gruntled by this somewhat nocuous and entirely effable effort to rip off one of his favorite parlor games. Indeed, I could have dropped this choate schtick without name-dropping Charles, which might have made it seem less petuous, but why leave my motivation unbeknownst when it can be beknownst? Better to go communicado and cognito, I say. Particularly when I’m still throat clearing as I try to scrounge up a real topic to discuss. 

Still, I fear I seem quite chalant as I search for sipid things to say. If I don’t work harder, this “news”letter will never be combobulated. (“I don’t want to disrupt your flow here, so I’ll rupt it. But you should know this all comes across as soucient and below even your pareil writing style. I would have thrown this whole thing out the window, but you opted to fenestrate it.” -- The Couch)

Right off the bat Jonah used the unpaired form of two words I was surprised I didn't find in my list of blogged words: feckless and gormful. They've been on my "to do" list for a long time, so let's get to them. 

Feckless means ineffective, incompetent, or futile; it can also mean irresponsible, lazy, or indifferent. While feckless is funct (to unpair a word), the word from the 1400s from which it is formed, feck, is defunct. It is a word the Scottish shortened from the word "effect", and meant not only effect but value or vigor. The writer Carlyle (according to etymonline.com) popularized the word. Apparently at one time there the word feckful was extant.

Gormless is an adjective that came into English in about 1746 (according to etymonline.com; it is their unspecific specific date) as a "British dialectical word." Not to be confused with a British delectable word, one of the few times you'll see delectable and British in the same sentence. Gormless is defined as stupid or somehow lacking in intelligence. 

I did not realize when I began this blog (ept was in my first post) that I would be in such esteemed company. I trust I viscerated Jonah's column appropriately; I wouldn't want to sult him.

GIGO - Garbage In, Garbage Out

My wife and I have been struck this week by the magnificent challenge of instilling character in our offspring, imbuing them with good values, and infusing them with the qualities they need to make the best choices in life. It is not an easy task, and I am not even sure whether we can instill, imbue or infuse. Hence today’s post.

Instill is the most commonly used of today’s words. It means, dictionary.com tells us, “to infuse slowly or gradually into the mind or feelings.” So to understand instill we have to know the meaning of the word infuse, eh? The definition gives as synonyms the words insinuate (in my opinion using a secondary definition of that word) and inject. Not my favorite definition.

The etymology (according to etymonline.come) dates back to the early 1400s, as does the word infuse. Instill comes from the Latin word instillare that means to put in drop by drop, stilla being the Latin word for drop. Which is why the verb instill is related to the word distilling or the device used in distilling, the still.

Infuse, on the other hand, comes from the Latin word infusus (from infundere) and means to pour in, a lot at once, not drop by drop. It was not recorded as having been used figuratively (as I did in the introductory paragraph) until 1520. It still means to introduce by pouring, but again Dictionary.com gives a second definition of “to imbue or inspire.” Does that help?

Imbue also arrived in English in the early 1400s, from the Latin imbuere that means “to moisten.” The definition given is “to impregnate or inspire, as with feelings, opinions, etc.” with a second definition of saturating with moisture or color. The first definition is the sense I used initially, to saturate with feelings or opinions in the hope that those feelings or emotions will remain. This word has the least indication of volume and most indication of the recipient’s role in retention of what is being used imbued.

This brings us to the word inspire, which has seven definitions to choose from. The breadth of meaning ranges from “to fill with quickening influence” to “to guide or control, by divine influence.” 

The word came to English in the mid-1300s as the word enspiren that meant to fill (like the mind or heart with something like grace) or to prompt to action. The Old French had a word, enspiren, from which it may have come. Or it could have come directly from the Latin word inspirare that meant to inflame or blow into. Etymonline.com says that the Latin word is “a loan-translation of Greek pnein in the Bible.” The idea comes from Genesis 2:7, when the creation account tells how “…the LORD God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.”

What is the role parents play in developing their children? We try, through imbuing them with the dew of our knowledge, instilling drop by drop our ideas on character, and sometimes infusing them with opinions. And when we are successful, we inspire them with our lives and beliefs. My parents did for me. I hope my children can say the same. 

Momentarily Miffed

I feel it necessary to mourn the passing of a good distinction in words. Momentarily, meaning “for a moment,” is being transmogrified into meaning “in a moment.” Like when I hear the scraping of fingernails on a chalkboard, I cringe whenever a United Airlines crew member (it must be in their “script”) says “we will be arriving momentarily” when our arrival will take place soon and last for more than just a moment, unless you define "a moment" as 45 minutes to an hour. Or they say “we’ll be waiting momentarily for takeoff,” and that moment can be anywhere from five minutes to hours.

Now, for those nitpickers who want to point out to me that momentarily has a secondary meaning of “in a moment” I would posit that the word was perfectly good at describing a short-term situation and words like soon, anon, apace, forthwith, and (in the U.K.) straightaway work very well at expressing something liminal. Momentarily was first used to mean “for a moment” in 1650. For over two centuries that is what it meant. Then in 1928 someone (probably drunk with illicit hootch during the days of prohibition) misused the word to mean “in a moment” and since then the bothersome practice has increased.

If you wanted to say something would happen soon you would use the word soon. If you wanted to add speed to its occurrence you would use the word apace. If you wanted to be a little less distinct than soon you would use anon, and if you wanted to say something closer to “in a moment,” meaning quicker than soon, you would use forthwith.

The distinction between “for a moment” and “in a moment” may be small to many people, but to me it makes a difference whether I have to get all my belongings and get off the plane quickly because it will only be at the gate for a short time or if I only have to wait a short time to get to the gate.

One more thing: what other word do we have in English to mean “for a moment”? Briefly comes close, but is less distinct. Temporarily has a slightly different meaning, as if the action taking place is on its way to another permanent situation. (“We’re in this area temporarily until our gate opens up.”) We have plenty of words – shorter words – for “in a moment.” Use them, and leave momentarily to express a short duration!

Okay, now for some etymology (from etymonline.com). Momentarily was formed from the word momentary which came to English in the 1400s from the Latin word momentarius that means “of brief duration.” Apace has been used in English even longer, from the mid-1300s, and means “at a quick pace,” pace meaning step and coming to English in the 1200s from both Old French (pas) and Latin (passum). Forthwith means “at once” or “immediately” and is the modern equivalent of the Old English forð mid. So it comes to English from English, as does soon (it was sona in Old English). Anon is also Old English, though it developed a sense of procrastination as early as the 1520s.  

I’ll get to the words briefly and temporarily anon. But it won’t be momentarily. It will be another long post.

Flocking to Greg

Sometimes it takes a while to get caught up to a post that has some words but not others. Over four years ago I posted on words like amiable (and genial, affable,obliging, cordial, and amicable) but did not include gregarious. I thought of the word recently when using the word egregious, and wondered if they have the same root. So let us see.

Gregarious is an interesting word, and is best understood by studying its etymology first (thank you again, etymonline.com). The adjective gregarious came into English in the 1660s and first meant “living in flocks” and was used of animals. The 17^th-century English took it from the Latin word for those things that pertained to flocks: gregarious. It comes from “a reduplication of PIE [Proto-Indo-European] root *ger- ‘to gather together, assemble’ (cognates: Sanskrit gramah, Greek ageirein ‘to assemble,’ agora ‘assembly’” which makes it related to the word agoraphobia (see below).

It was not until 1789 that the first recorded use of gregarious to mean sociable or “fond of the company of others” (its primary use now) occurred. In that sense it is closer to in meaning to the word genial.

Agora is a noun meaning a place of assembly and was adopted from the Greek root word in the 1590s. 

Then in 1871 Carl Westphal, a Berlin psychiatrist, coined the German word Agoraphobie to mean fear of open spaces. By 1873 it has crossed into English  as agoraphobia.

Egregious is the oldest of our “greg” words, having entered English in the 1530s from the Latin word egregius that means excellent or extraordinary. Literally, it meant above (ex-) the flock (grege). But in the late 1500s it was apparently not good to be exceptional, and there came to be a negative meaning in the word egregious that has resulted in the complete loss of the original positive sense of the word. It still means extraordinary, but only in a bad way.

So while in the early 1500s you may have wanted to be egregious, you will now have to settle for being gregarious when you are in the agora, assuming you are not agoraphobic.

Instinguish is Extinct and Distinct from Extinguish

A month ago this blog explained:

…where do distinct, extinct, and instinct come from? They areall related to the past participle forms of Latin words (extinctus, instinctus, and distinctus),which is why they also have –tinct ending. All three are related to the Latinword for prick or goad or quench: stinguere.And etyomonline further elucidates, tieing the “ish” forms of words like extinguish and distinguish to the “Latin inchoative suffix –iscere).

Extinct arrived in English in the early 1400s. The Latin word from which it comes means much the same extinguish does: to put out, quench, go out or die out. I never realized that extinct and extinguish are so similar. Extinct was originally used of fires. While it is an adjective, Shakespeare used it as a verb. (I think the reference was to a gangster threatening to “extinct” someone.) It means no longer in existence or use, and it was not until the 1580s that it was applied to the situation where a family or a hereditary title ends, or dies out, and it was almost another 200 years (in 1768) when it was first used of species. Now extinct is rarely used of anything other than species.

Extinguish arrived in English in the 1540s, before Shakespeare was born, so why he used extinct as a verb rather than extinguish is hard to distinguish. Extinguish means to put out a fire or light or flame, or bring something to an end or out of existence.

Distinguish, on the other hand, arrived about the same time as Shakespeare, in the 1560s. It came from the Middle French word distinguiss-, the stem of dinstinguer, or it might have come directly from the Latin word distinguere. Distinguere means to separate or mark off. It still means to mark off as different, or to recognize something as different.

Distinct arrived in English in the late 1300s, originally as the past participle of distincten, a word from the Old French distincter that appeared about 1300. It means different or separate or dissimilar.

Instinct, along with extinct, arrived in English in the early 1400s. The Latin word instinctus from which it comes has a sense of prompting, or impulse that remains in the definition of instinct meaning a natural or innate impulse or tendency. It is interesting that it did not develop the animalistic sense of intuitive perception until the middle 1400s, and the meaning of innate tendency did not occur until the 1560s.

But there is no such word as instinguish. 

Future Thoughts

A couple of weeks ago (I took last week off for the holidays) I covered the etymology and various meanings of present.  Today we look to the future (as have many this week).

Future has to do with a time yet to come. It came into use in English in the late 14^th century as an adjective, from the Old French word future that came from the Latin word futurus. As a noun, the future is modeled after the Latin future, which is the neuter plural of futurus. Pretty clear and plain.

In 1842 theologians began using the word futurist to describe a particular perspective on the “end times”, or the fulfillment of prophecies found in the Biblical books of The Revelation and Daniel, as well as other portions of scripture. (In case you’re wondering, Wikipedia says “futurist beliefs usually have a close association with Premillenialism and Dispensationalism.” That should clear it up for you.

Then in the 1880s speculators started using the word “futures” to describe the selling of goods on agreement for future delivery. There is now a burgeoning market in futures in everything from soybeans and pork bellies to molybdenum and crude oil. In case you missed it, crude oil futures for delivery in February closed on Friday at their lowest level since April 2009.

The form of future known as futurism came into use in 1909, derived from the Itailian word futurismo, and coined by Italian poet Filippo Tommaso Marinetti.  Another form of the word future came into use in 1915 as a synonym for avant garde: futuristic. It was not until 1958 that the word futuristic meant “pertaining to the future” according to etymonline.com.

I used the word burgeoning above. It means to grow either quickly or in great quantity, or to begin to grow. As with the word future, burgeon also arrived in the 1300s, but early in that century. It came to English from the Anglo-French word burjuner, which is related to the Old French word for budding or sprouting borjoner, that came from the word borjon meaning a bud, shoot, or pimple. In Modern French there is a a word bourgeon, but its etymology is less certain. 

Sometimes a word search in etymonline.com produces some interesting selections. The search for burgeon also produced the etymology for orgasm. Keep reading to find out why. In the 1680s the word orgasm began to be used in English as a noun for sexual climax. It came to English from the French word orgasme (or possibly from the Latin word orgasmus, which the Latins got from the Greek orgasmos that means excitement or swelling, from the Greek word organ that means “to be in heat, or become ripe for” or literally “to swell or be excited.” Sound familiary? Anyway, the Greek word organ is related to the word orge, which comes from the “PIE (Proto-Indo-European) root *wrog- ‘to burgeon, well with strength.’” (etymonline.com)

One final note on orgasm. In the 1600s the word was used of other violent excitements of emotions or bodily functions. Now we would use the word orgy in the same sense (e.g., “an orgy of violence.”)

I don’t know what the future holds for you. I hope you have burgeoning good fortune and an orgasm of…whatever causes you excitement.

Presenting Presents in the Present (Gifts)

Two years ago this blog posted “The Pedantic Night BeforeChristmas” and last year we looked at words for love and joy. In the spirit of Christmas we’ll begin this year by opening some presents.

Why does a word (present) that is a tense and an adjective that means “at this time” also have the noun meaning of a gift or the giving of a gift? And what kind of a word is gift?

Present as a noun meaning gift was the first to arrive in English, in about 1200. It came from the Old French word present that came from the Medieval Latin word presentia. Etymonline.com adds “from phrases such as French en present ‘(to offer) in the presence of,’ mettre en present ‘place before, give,’ from Late Latin inpraesent ‘face to face,’ from Latin in re praesenti ‘in the situation in question,’ from praesens ’being there’…on the notion of ‘bringing something into someone’s presence.’” For me, that quote fits into the category of too much information.

The next versions of present to arrive in English were both the noun and adjective meanings of “the current time” as opposed to future or past. The noun arrived about 1300 from the Old French word present and from the Latin praesens that means “being there.” The adjective arrived concurrently to the noun but directly from the Latin praesentem meaning “at hand, in sight.” Interestingly (perhaps) the meaning in English of “being there” attached to “present” did not occur until the mid-1300s, about the same time that the word was used to describe the grammatical tense.

Just to complete the forms of speech, the verb use of present (pronounced with a long "e" in the first syllable and emphasis on the second syllable) also entered English about 1300. Meaning “to introduce formally” or “give formally” it comes from the Old French presenter and directly from the Latin praesentare, “to place before, show, or exhibit.”

I was surprised to find that the word gift arrived in English after the various words present. Perhaps due to the various forms of present the need for an exclusive word for that which is given was needed. Gift, according to etymonline.com, was used in surnames from as early as about 1100, but took until the middle of the 1300s for it to convey its present meaning. (See how I used present in a way that can refer to either "now" or "the thing being given"?) Gift came to English from a Scandinavian source; Old Norse has the word gift or gipt meaning gift or good luck. But Old Saxon also has the word gift and Middle Dutch has it spelled ghifte. The Old English noun for giving or gift was spelled giefu.

In this season of giving, my present to you is the gift of words. I’ve collected them for years, and hope you enjoy the interrelationship and discovery of how words came to be. (For instance, in German, the word Gift means poison. Wait until next year for that post.) It has been a gift (not the German word) to me to be able to give time to this blog and I trust it has been enjoyable for you as well as (on occasion) enlightening.

That's it for the present(s). Next week we're on to the future.