Portmanteau Idiomatic Expressions

Today we have three more words to catch up on from previous posts, all three from August, but two from this August and one from August, 2010.

The first is whippersnapper, which I used in my blog on August 19. Whippersnapper is a portmanteau word that I always associate with an old person’s appellation of a young person. I used it hoping its use would be incongruous, since I am so young, but my burgeoning grey hair may belie that contention.

Whippersnapper actual is useful when describing “an unimportant but offensively presumptuous person, especially a young one.” It dates from the 1670s, and the Oxford English Dictionary says it is “apparently a ‘jingling extension’ of whip snapper”,  or someone who cracks whips. Etymonline.com goes further back and says it may be “an alteration of snipper-snapper,” which they say was in use in the 1590s. They also refer to a term of abuse for a woman, whipperginnie, which was in use at the same time as snipper-snapper. 

The conflation of these two phrases into whippersnapper may have been the origin, but it doesn’t help us understand either snipper-snapper or whipperginnie, or for that matter whippersnapper. So here is a conundrum. Where did it come from and what did it mean? In doing further research there are some who contend the word is a sexual reference, either to penile erection or to the use of condoms. Since the use of condoms was not widespread until the 18^th century I believe that interpretation is a recent invention.

Dickens (Nicholas Nickleby) and Alcott (Little Women) used the word whippersnapper, and Thomas Nashe used the word whipperginnie in The Unfortunate Traveller (1594), but I found nothing else to help solve the conundrum. We must bow to current usage and leave it at that.

In describing whippersnapper as a portmanteau word we encounter another of today’s words: portmanteau, which is left over from my post of August 11, 2010. Originally a portmanteau was a traveling bag, especially of the sort that would open up into two halves like a trunk. It came to English from the Middle French word portemanteau. Court officials who carried a prince’s mantle in the 1540s were called the prince’s portemanteau, porte being the imperative of porter which means to carry and manteau being the word for cloak or mantle. Mickey Mantle carried a heavy stick and hit 536 home runs for the Yankees. By the 1580s the word portmanteau came to mean a case or bag that carried clothing while traveling.

The French origins of the word give you the option of pluralizing the word by adding either an s (portmanteaus) or an x (portmanteaux). Pendants will certainly opt for the latter.

One other interesting note about the word that is necessary to explain my usage of the word above. In 1882 Lewis Carroll  coined the phrase “portmanteau word” to describe a word “blending the sound of two different words.” These are the words he used to populate the conundrum of a poem Jabberwocky, the opening of which is most familiar: “’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe…”

Today’s third word, confute, is also from the August 19, 2012 post where it was used in a definition of evince. Confute means to prove something to be false or invalid. Disprove would be a synonym. So why does confute exist and where did it come from?

It came to English in the 1520s, like portmanteau from the Middle French. The French got their word confuter from the Latin word confutare, which was formed from the intensive prefix com- and the word future, which means “to beat or strike”. It originally meant to repress, check, disprove or restrain. As such it is likely different from disprove in its intensity, not in its meaning. If you have disproved something in a forceful and substantial manner, you have confuted it. In debates, it might be the verbal “smackdown,” a portmanteau idiomatic expression.

Someone should be fined for using smackdown and portmanteau idiomatic expression in the same sentence. Young whippersnapper!http://larry-whatsthegoodword.blogspot.com/2010/08/one-word-leads-to-another.html

Hoydens Give me Neurasthenia

As I promised last week, I’m trying to catch up on words I said I’d get to later.

From October 6, 2010 I have two words relating to lassitude and ennui that I didn’t get to include in my two-week exposition on vacation: neurasthenia and acedia.

Neurasthenia is a psychiatric term for what we would call nervous exhaustion. According to etymonline.com it was coined as a “medical Latin” word in 1854 by combining the Greek words for the nerves (neuro-) and feeling (asthenia).

Acedia, on the other hand, has nothing to do with psychiatry. It means sloth or laziness, particularly relative to religious matters. Or so says dictionary.com. It came to English in the early 1600s, from the Late Latin word acedia, which came to Latin from the Greek word akeda that was derived from the Greek word for care or anxiety, kedos. The prefix a- negates the word that follows, the Greek equivalent of our non-.

From my blog of December 1, 2010 comes the word ambit. Not a word I’ve seen or heard used, it is nonetheless a good word to describe the circumference or boundary or limit of something, whether physical or conceptual. Originally referring to the space surrounding a building or town in the late 1400s, by the 1590s it came to refer to a circuit. It came to English from the Latin word ambitus, which is the past participle of ambire that means to go round or about. It is the Latin word from which we also get the word ambient, meaning surrounding and usually referring to an environment. Ambient came to English at the time ambit came to mean a circuit.

Lastly, from my blog of January 23, 2011 is the hyphenated word hoity-toity. Although etymonline.com suggests it can also be used without the hyphen, my dictionary has neither hoity nor toity as a word, so I’m sticking with the hyphen. Hoity-toity is a disparaging word that means pretentious or haughty. (You can’t sing “never is heard a disparaging word” when singing about my blog.) The word hoity-toity came to English in the 1660s and originally meant “riotous behavior.” There was an earlier phrase, highty tighty (not to be confused with the screwy mnemonic “righty-tighty, lefty loosy”) that meant “frolicsome or flighty”. Etymonline.com suggests that hoity-toity might have been related to the dialectic word hoyting, which in the 1590s referred to “acting the hoyden, romping.” Hoity-toity didn’t get its sense of haughtiness until the late 1800s, and etymonline.com conjectures it was probably due to the homonymic qualities of haughty and hoity.

Hoyden, a word from etymonline.com I used in the last paragraph, is a good word to use when describing a boisterous, bold, and carefree girl, or a tomboy. It came to English in the 1590s, but it’s not clear from where. Most likely it came from the Dutch word heiden, which was used of rustic or uncivilized men. Hoyden originally meant a rude or boorish man, but since the 1670s it started being used in reference to females, and now has come to refer almost exclusively to girls. 

Bon mots about superannuated and my dotage

Last week I ran out of space before getting to the word superannuate, and the week before ended with a bon mot using bon mot. I promised I’d catch up with some words I’ve previously mentioned but saved until later, so here we go.

Not only last week but in my blog post on May 23, 2010 I used superannuate and didn’t explain. In 2010 I referred to my father’s 90^th birthday as his superannuation. I didn’t expound on superannuation, and apparently didn’t even consult a dictionary, because had I done so I would have found out it doesn’t mean “very old”, it means retired because of age or infirmity, or too old for use. It came to English in the 1630s from Middle Latin, which combined the prefix super, which means beyond or over in Latin, with the Latin word for year – annus. It originally referred to cattle that were more than a year old. While it may have a connotation that relates only to age, it should not be used for anyone not retired, not someone in their dotage.

Dotage is the word I covered in my post of August 11, 2010,but I didn’t get to the word dote. Dotage originally meant simply “the state of one who dotes”, but it has come to mean “a decline of mental faculties, especially as associated with old age.” It can be used to refer to the act of doting, but I do not know of anyone who uses that meaning. Interestingly, the word dote has gone the other direction in meaning. It originally defined a decline in mental faculties, but has come to mean the habitual showing of excessive fondness or loving attention. It is 100 years older than dotage, and was adopted from the Middle Low German word doten, which meant “be foolish.” It didn’t get develop the meaning of excessive fondness until the late 15^th century.  Dotage still retains a certain sense of foolishness to the subject that senility and superannuate don’t connote.

The week before last I used the French pairing bonmot, which has been adopted for use in English since 1735.  It is literally translated “good word” as in “What’s the good word?” In common parlance today you might hear “word” used to mean the same thing. “Word” as a bon mot is a paring of the pairing “word up”, which means, according to UrbanDictionary.com, “I comprehend what you are saying and verify that your statement is true, my good brother.” A la “true dat.” To finish the etymology, the French word mot comes from the Vulgar Latin word muttum, which descended from the Latin word muttire, which means to mutter, mumble, or murmur and from which we get the word mutter.

More words to come next week that I didn’t get to because I ran out of space, as we’re out of space again this week. 

Superman Gives 110%

To find a supernacular superannuated supernumerary who is supererogatory would be supernal. That person might be a superman. Or that might be a first-rate retired person who takes up acting, gets a non-speaking part and does more than expected. Such a person would be heavenly.

Supernacular is the only “super” word above that wasn’t on my list of unused blog words. It’s also a “mock Latin term intended to mean ‘upon the nail’.” Because of its coinage it is not found in many  dictionaries (or on etymonline.com, since it really doesn’t have an etymology). It appears to have been coined by Thackeray,and it was also used by Byron and by Brand. Its first use was as two words, super nagulum, by Nashe in 1592. The quote helps explain its meaning: “Drinking super nagulum, a devise of drinking new come out of Fraunce; which is, after a man hath turned up the bottom of the cup, to drop it on his nails, and make a pearle with that is left; which if it slide, and he cannot make it stand on, by reason ther’s too much, he must drinke againe for his penance.”

Supererogation is one of those good words that needs to be used more often, in place of the phrase “going above and beyond” or “giving 110%” (an impossibility, by the way). Supererogate, the verb form of the noun supererogation, is defined as simply doing more than is required. Which means erogate should mean doing what is expected, right? Wrong. Erogate, before it became obsolete, meant to lay our money or expend. So how do we get from paying to doing above and beyond? Supererogation is actually the word that came in English use in the 1520s. 

It is part of Catholic theology, so it is not surprising that it came from a Late Latin word supererogationem, the nominative of which is supererogatio. It was formed by adding super (in its meaning of beyond or over) to erogare, which means to pay out. Erogare is formed from ex-, meaning out, and rogare, meaning ask or request. It is used in the Latin version of the New Testament in the story of the Good Samaritan. Luke 10:35 says that after paying the Innkeeper two silver coins (New International Version, NIV, “two pence” in the King James Version) the Good Samaritan said “Look after him, and when I return I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.” (NIV) In the Latin, the underlined words are quodcumque supererogaveris. Supererogation eventually became a sense of duty and performance that came into conflict with Martin Luther’s famous translation of the words “the just shall live by faith alone” and set off the Reformation. Supererogation now means going above and beyond and deserves a place in everyone’s lexicon; especially in lieu of giving 110%.

If you’re interested in heavenly words, look at the word supernal. It is an adjective that refers primarily to heavenly, celestial, or divine beings, but also refers to anything lofty or having an excellence of more than earthly or human proportions. But to understand it better, one should compare it with its counterpart infernal.

Infernal, the adjective that means hellish, diabolical, or fiendish, also came from Latin through 12^th century Old French. Late Latin had the word infernalis that meant “of the lower regions”; Ambrose used infernus as his word for hell. Infernus means “the lower (world)”. Its relationship to a place called hell, or things that resemble it, is due to Dante’s use of the Italian word inferno, which was adopted as an English word for a raging fire as early as 1834.

Supernumerary, as can be deduced, means in excess of the usual number. A baker’s dozen (13) would be a supernumerary dozen. But supernumerary has taken on a distinctly personnel meaning. It may refer to extra staff hired on or placed temporarily, and is used of what are commonly referred to as “extras” in film and stage productions. No wonder that it has a personnel sense since it came to English in about 1600 from a Late Latin word, supernumarius, that meant “excessive in number” in reference to soldiers being added to what was already a full legion. (Legion being the Roman word for an Army Division of 3000 – 6000 soldiers.) And yes, numarius is the word from which we get our word “number”.

For the second time I’ve used the word superannuate without explaining it. Tune in next week, when I’ll catch up on some of the words I said I’d get to later. 

From Urbane to Bon Vivant

I started to share words from a biography of Aaron Burr last week, but my research diverted me from the list by interesting etymology. So, let’s get back to the list.

Aaron was described in the book as being both a bon vivant and having great equanimity. And while Burr characterized President Monroe as being pusillanimous, others used the word to describe Burr.

What is equanimity? It is mental or emotional stability or composure, especially under tension or string. As Burr is described in the book, equanimity was his strongest trait. The word equanimity came to English about 1600, from the French word équanimité, which the French got from the Latin word aequanimitatem. The word, which means calmness, was formed from combining aequus, from which we get equal, with animus, which means mind or spirit and from which we directly take our word animus. Equanimity is a good word for a good trait.

Animus, on the other hand, is a good word for a bad trait. It is a strong dislike or a hostile attitude. (Except in Jungian psychology, where it refers to the presence of the masculine principle in women.) But the noun animus did not come to English until 1820.

Animus may seem like it would be related to animal as in “animalistic behavior”, but it’s not german, it’s more distantly related. Animal, which came to English in the early 1300s, came from a different Latin word: animale. Animale refers to any being which breathes, and came from the Latin word anima, which is related to animus, but not the root. Animus is more closely related to the word pusillanimous.

Pusillanimous comes from the Late Latin word pusillanimis. Pusillanimis was formed by combining animus and pusillus, which means very weak or little. So our word, which means lacking courage or cowardly, is pretty close to its Latin progenitor. It came to English in the late 1300s. It’s also a good word for a bad trait. 

Both animal and pusillanimous have interesting Christian church connections. The word animal, while used in the 1300s, was not commonly used until the 1600s, and consequently wasn’t used in the King James Version of the Bible. And when the translators of Greek biblical texts into Church Latin looked for a Latin word for the Greek oligopsychos, which means small-souled, they used pusillanimis.

Bon vivant are two good words for a trait that some consider good and some bad. It refers to a person who lives luxuriously and enjoys good food and drink. The literal translation of the French words is bon - good, vivant - living. It generally has a positive connotation, while voluptuarian has the negative connotation for the same characteristics, but is increasingly scurrilous in its usage (blame it on class warfare). It comes directly from the French, and came to English in the 1690s. Almost exclusively used of men, its female counterpart is bonne vivante. Bon-vivant can also be hyphenated.

All these are bon mots, as in quel est le bon mot. But bon mot

Urbane and germane comments on humane

I just finished reading a biography of Aaron Burr (Fallen Founder, by Nancy Isenberg, Viking, 2007) that added more than a dozen words to my unused blog words list. I enjoyed reading it, as it gives an alternative perspective on accepted wisdom regarding Burr, Jefferson, and Hamilton. And if you think this election is sinking to new lows, you don’t know your American history. Let’s get to the words, though. This is a blog on words, not books.

The word I encountered in the book was the adjective urbane (used in its noun form – urbanity). It is a good word to describe the person who is suave , elegant, and sophisticated. It came to English in the 1530s from the Middle French word urbain. Urbain came from the Latin urbanus, meaning “belonging to a city” and also had a sense of elegance. Urbane does not have the negative connotation that “citified” has that is in vernacular today (at least in rural areas). Urbane only referred to the city’s qualities, not attending to individuals and their qualities until the 1620s. Now it rarely refers to city qualities and almost exclusively to individuals.

I also find it interesting that urbane came to English 80 years before urban did, though urban is more directly related to its Latin root word meaning. (It still means having to do with city life.) But urban was rarely used until the 1830s by which time urbane was developing its predominant meaning of refined and elegant.

Etymonline.com (the source of most of my etymological information) suggests that in the late 20th century the word urban has taken on a “suggestion of African American.” While the phrase “urban renewal” has been used since 1955 to refer to clearing of slums, I maintain that neither urban renewal nor urban sprawl nor urban legend has much African American connotation. (For my claim to urban legend status, see pudding on the ritz.)

Also interesting (at least to me) is the connection urbane has with humane and germane. Obviously their fairly rare ending (there are only 145 English words ending in –ane) is one commonality, as are their different meanings with the addition of a final e and their sense of belonging to a group. Germane came to English first, in the mid-1300s, then humane a century later.

Germane means closely related, relevant and pertinent. It originally meant having the same parents, until Shakespeare expanded its meaning beyond human parentage in Hamlet (Act V, Scene II). You remember the line (don’t you?) “The phrase would bee more Germaine to the matter: If we would carry Cannon by our sides.” We use germane to refer to closely related ideas rather than objects as Shakespeare did.

The word germane comes from a word I can’t remember encountering: german (small g). German means having the same father and mother or grandfather and grandmother. What a difference an e makes. The word german came from the Old French word germain, and they got germain from the Latin word germanus. The meaning has been consistent though the languages.

We readily see the connection of humane with human, especially in its antonym inhuman, which is almost synonymous with inhumane. Human means having the nature of people, while humane means tender and compassionate toward people and animals. But human and humane were used almost interchangeably until the early 1700s. In fact, the Royal Humane Society was formed in 1774 not to rescue animals, but to rescue drowning humans. It wasn’t for another 100 years that they turned their attention (and the meaning of humane) to rescuing animals.

Both human and humane came to English from the Old French word humain, which the Old French got from the Latin humanus, both of which mean belonging to or of mankind. Humanus also had the meaning we give to humane, so it is no wonder the two words formed.

So, you may be an urban german human, but that doesn’t mean you’re an urbane humane person. If such a statement is even germane.

An Explicit Education

Explicit would seem to be a close cousin to illicit. But it isn’t. While the pornographic meaning of explicit has some illicit meaning, illicit means not legally permitted or authorized. It is synonymous with unlawful. It also means morally or ethically wrong, and is as often used with the second meaning as with the first. It comes from the Old French word illicite, and came to English in the 1300s. The Old French got illicite from the Latin word illicitus, which means unlawful.

A word that is a virtual homophone (I am not homophone phobic) to illicit is elicit. Elicit came to English in the 1640s directly from the Latin word elicitus, which of course is the past participle of elicere. Elicere was formed by adding the prefix ex- (meaning “out”) to licere, which is the form of the word lacere that is used when combining. Lacere means to entice, lure, or deceive, and is related to the word laqueus, which means noose or snare, and from which we get the word lace. So elicitus means to entice or lure out. My dictionary defines elicit as a verb that is used with an object, and it means to bring out or evoke or educe.

Educe? It also means to draw out or bring forth but it came to English earlier, in the 1400s. While it lists elicit as a synonym, it also includes in its primary definition the sense of the object (as with elicit, educe needs an object) being latent or potential – not yet obvious or realized. There is a developmental sense to educe that does not exist in elicit. Educe comes from educere, which has an interesting meaning. Imagine the General at the head of his troops, or the Admiral’s ship at the head of the armada. (We also get the word conduce and the title Duke from this Latin word.) They are “leading out” or “bringing out,” and that is the meaning of educare.

You may have noticed how close the word educare is to educate. Indeed, I did not connect the two until I saw the Latin source word, and if you know the past participle of educare is educatus, you will understand how a few years after educe came into use in English the word educate followed (in the mid-15th century. The words educare and educate both meant to bring up children and to train them. But the meaning of providing schooling didn’t develop until the 1580s.

Before I finish today, I have to say that educe has educed a second meaning: to infer or deduce. To draw a conclusion from data is a relatively recent meaning, and you may remember when it came into use in 1837. I don’t, but I’m a whipper-snapper, a word for another day.

Speaking of words for another day, avid readers of this blog with photographic memories will recall a similar word, evince, which means to show clearly or disprove (or confute, another word for another day). It shares with educe the sense of deduction, but educe has a sense of proving, while evince has a sense of disproving. If you are trying to prove something through deduction, Sherlock, use educe. If you are trying to disprove, use evince. They’re both good words. Now you have been educated, and can elicit illicit scorn with your mastery of these words.