Archive for the ‘Etymology’ Category

The Gubenator

Sunday, April 11th, 2010
With the Tea Party, congressional gridlock and 2010 midterm elections looming, taking a look at our political language provides some interesting insights. The word “govern” itself – derived from the Latin “gubernare” and earlier Greek “kybernan” – originally meant “to steer a ship” and later came to mean “direct or rule.” Not surprising then is the metaphor of America’s ship of state, which at the moment anyway, seems to be veering off course.
With the 1550s the word “politic,” originally from the Latin “politicus,” meaning “citizen of the state,” came into use. We are amused by the emergence of “politician” or “politico” as a derogatory term around 1630; it seems those who govern are forever “scorned,” a word from the Old French “escarn” itself derived from “escorner” meaning to “break off horns” or treat with contempt.
Thus it is a “leader,” from “laedan,” Old English meaning “to guide,” today generates not confidence but distrust, a word built from “dis” meaning “lack of” and “trust” derived from the Old Norse “traust” meaning “confidence.” Leaders today are too often viewed as “con men,” a term originating from 1849 and based upon the way money is handed over by victims to those who intend to rob them. The present public sentiments seem to be strongly anti-incumbent, an interesting development given the root meaning of “incumbent” from 1410 – “holder of a church position.” It appears nothing is sacred in politics today, particularly the senate.
Derived from the Latin “senatus” meaning the “council of elders,” the designation senator also has its roots in “senex” or “old man” which is the root of, dare I say it, “senile.” Senility aside, politics world-wide is a male-dominated phenomenon, and in large part involves the domination of women. “Women” is a designation of gender which comes to us from Old English. Accordingly, it is no surprise that “women” itself is a linguistic alteration of “wifmen” from which “wife” arises. The root “wif” is attributed by some to Pre-Germanic language use of “wiban” which itself may be related to Pre-Indo-European roots meaning “to wrap,” as in veiled. Given the recent disclosures of marital infidelity among some politicians, keeping secrets in wrap it not so easy accomplished these days.
In any event, these guys in office – “guy” incidentally, originated around the 1830s and meant “a poorly clothed person,” a reference to Guy Fawkes who in 1605 attempted to blow up the English Parliament – enjoy ready public disdain … there is the “dis” again, combined with “dain,” from Old French “deignier” meaning to “treat as worthy” which is itself related to Latin roots through “dignus” meaning “worthy,” having lost all dignity and decorum. “Decorum” can trace its history back to the Pre-Indo-European base root “dek,” meaning “to be suitable.”
Court attendants of the 1300s were also suitable, and the roots of “suit” again attest to our observance of political patriarchy. Originally associated with outfits for the livery, the word “suit” is from the original Latin “sequi” meaning “to attend.” Curiously, the word “dress” began with Latin as well, “directus” designating things as “direct or straight.” Only later was “dress” applied to women’s clothing, particularly as adornment, around 1630. The spectacle of the “trophy wife” adorning the arms of today’s powerful “suit” bespeaks to the history of language.
This brings us full circle back to president, chief, and boss. Of all these, “boss” tells the tale best, harkening back to 1300 Old French “boce” meaning “buton, protuberance, hump or swelling.” The “boss” is one of power, decorated with all sorts of buttons, real and imaginary, and “bossy,” not surprisingly, means “domineering.” Some think “boss” is more correctly derived from “baas,” a Dutch word meaning “master.” “Baas” seems to have been adopted as the title of the captain of a ship. Ah yes, the ship of state, and our all too many captains; it makes perfect sense!

With the emerging Tea Party, congressional gridlock and 2010 midterm elections looming, a look at our political language provides some interesting insights. The word “govern” itself – derived from the Latin “gubernare” and earlier Greek “kybernan” – originally meant “to steer a ship” and later came to mean “direct or rule.” Not surprising then is the metaphor of America’s ship of state, which at the moment anyway, seems to be veering off course.

With the 1550s the word “politic,” originally from the Latin “politicus,” meaning “citizen of the state,” came into use. We are amused by the emergence of “politician” or “politico” as a derogatory term around 1630; it seems those who govern are forever “scorned,” a word from the Old French “escarn” itself derived from “escorner” meaning to “break off horns” or treat with contempt.

Thus it is a “leader,” from “laedan,” Old English meaning “to guide,” today generates not confidence but distrust, a word built from “dis” meaning “lack of” and “trust” derived from the Old Norse “traust” meaning “confidence.” Leaders today are too often viewed as “con men,” a term originating from 1849 and based upon the way money is handed over by victims to those who intend to rob them. The present public sentiments seem to be strongly anti-incumbent, an interesting development given the root meaning of “incumbent” from 1410 – “holder of a church position.” It appears nothing is sacred in politics today, particularly the senate.

Derived from the Latin “senatus” meaning the “council of elders,” the designation senator also has its roots in “senex” or “old man” which is the root of, dare I say it, “senile.” Senility aside, politics world-wide is a male-dominated phenomenon, and in large part involves the domination of women. “Women” is a designation of gender which comes to us from Old English. Accordingly, it is no surprise that “women” itself is a linguistic alteration of “wifmen” from which “wife” arises. The root “wif” is attributed by some to Pre-Germanic language use of “wiban” which itself may be related to Pre-Indo-European roots meaning “to wrap,” as in veiled. Given the recent disclosures of marital infidelity among some politicians, keeping secrets in wrap it not so easy accomplished these days.

In any event, these guys in office – “guy” incidentally, originated around the 1830s and meant “a poorly clothed person,” a reference to Guy Fawkes who in 1605 attempted to blow up the English Parliament – enjoy ready public disdain … there is the “dis” again, combined with “dain,” from Old French “deignier” meaning to “treat as worthy” which is itself related to Latin roots through “dignus” meaning “worthy,” having lost all dignity and decorum. “Decorum” can trace its history back to the Pre-Indo-European base root “dek,” meaning “to be suitable.”

Court attendants of the 1300s were also suitable, and the roots of “suit” again attest to our observance of political patriarchy. Originally associated with outfits for the livery, the word “suit” is from the original Latin “sequi” meaning “to attend.” Curiously, the word “dress” began with Latin as well, “directus” designating things as “direct or straight.” Only later was “dress” applied to women’s clothing, particularly as adornment, around 1630. The spectacle of the “trophy wife” adorning the arms of today’s powerful “suit” bespeaks to the history of language.

This brings us full circle back to president, chief, and boss. Of all these, “boss” tells the tale best, harkening back to 1300 Old French “boce” meaning “button, protuberance, hump or swelling.” The “boss” is one of power, decorated with all sorts of buttons, real and imaginary, and “bossy,” not surprisingly, means “domineering.” Some think “boss” is more correctly derived from “baas,” a Dutch word meaning “master.” “Baas” seems to have been adopted as the title of the captain of a ship. Ah yes, the ship of state, and our all too many captains; it makes perfect sense!

From theiscollection.com

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15 milliseconds of fame

Sunday, March 14th, 2010
Andy Warhol famously predicted that everyone would have their “15 minutes of fame.” With today’s technology, it’s more like “15 milliseconds of fame,” but it’s fame, nonetheless. Being famous, simultaneously curse and blessing, is something most of us imagine but precious few of us achieve.
The Latin fama, meaning “talk, rumor or report,” the basis of our word “fame,” was derived from the Sanskrit base bha, “to speak, tell or say,” the same root used in various ancient languages associated with the voice or sound. As ancient language differentiated, in some dialects the “bh” sound changed to a “ph” sound and eventually led to both “fame” and “fate.” Perhaps some are simply destined to be admired by others. One fact is undeniable; our gossipy tongues have been wagging about others for a very long time. In Roman mythology the goddess Fama was the personification of rumor, a version of the older Greek goddess Ossa or Pheme (there’s that “ph” again). Ossa, it was told, was a messenger of Zeus, who apparently enjoyed spreading rumors. Who knew tabloids are the voice of god?
The most famous among us become “celebrities,” which as a word began with the Old French celebrité meaning “solemn rite or ceremony” and which was itself derived from the Latin celibritatem and celeber, “multitude” and “populous,” respectively. Thus it is that celebrities are honored with Academy Awards and Golden Globes and when in their dotage are paid to endorse adult Pampers and Metamucil.
We call our most famous and acclaimed celebrities “stars,” which is a relatively recent designation circa 1824 meaning to “perform the lead part” in a play or drama. One is tempted to associate “star” with the word “stare” for this is certainly a prime activity of our star-fixed preoccupation. “Stare” comes to us through its Old English roots starian, “to look fixedly at” which itself flowed from the Pre-Germanic language star, “be rigid.” All these words reflect an ancient Proto-Indo-European base root, ster, meaning “strong, stiff or rigid.” For some inexplicable reason, Brad Pitt comes to mind. But whatever our physical reaction to stars, the word itself is unquestionably related to the celestial stars (Sanskrit, tãrã), the sparkling awesome beauty of the heavens.
Today we are all atwitter about being famous, literally, and going beyond Warhol’s keen observation one must ask why? The internet (blah, blah, blah) has bestowed a public voice to millions, and we’ve all become town criers. To be sure, some voices rise above the others in an unpredictable and often surprising way, but for the most part, claim to fame rests upon thin ice. Grandiose answers to “How many friends do you have on Facebook?” and “How many people follow your Tweets?” are not, ultimately, a substitute for substance. Perhaps the pursuit of fame is to simply confirm our own existence.
Certainly fame is not all it’s cracked up to be. Tiger Woods, perhaps the most famous sports hero of modern times, has come crashing down unhandsomely, now more renown (from Old French renomer, “to make famous”) for the prodigious power of his putz (from the Yiddish, pots, “penis”) than his putter. Before him lay strewn the darkened reputations of other burned out stars whose careers went super nova before becoming asterisks (* from aster, Greek for star) in footnoted Hollywood history.

Andy Warhol famously predicted that everyone would have their “15 minutes of fame.” With today’s technology, it’s more like “15 milliseconds of fame,” but it’s fame, nonetheless. Being famous, simultaneously curse and blessing, is something most of us imagine but precious few of us achieve.

The Latin fama, meaning “talk, rumor or report,” the basis of our word “fame,” was derived from the Sanskrit base bha, “to speak, tell or say,” the same root used in various ancient languages associated with the voice or sound. As ancient language differentiated, in some dialects the “bh” sound changed to a “ph” sound and eventually led to both “fame” and “fate.” Perhaps some are simply destined to be admired by others. One fact is undeniable; our gossipy tongues have been wagging about others for a very long time. In Roman mythology the goddess Fama was the personification of rumor, a version of the older Greek goddess Ossa or Pheme (there’s that “ph” again). Ossa, it was told, was a messenger of Zeus, who apparently enjoyed spreading rumors. Who knew tabloids are the voice of god?

The most famous among us become “celebrities,” which as a word began with the Old French celebrité meaning “solemn rite or ceremony” and which was itself derived from the Latin celibritatem and celeber, “multitude” and “populous,” respectively. Thus it is that celebrities are honored with Academy Awards and Golden Globes and when in their dotage are paid to endorse adult Pampers and Metamucil.

We call our most famous and acclaimed celebrities “stars,” which is a relatively recent designation circa 1824 meaning to “perform the lead part” in a play or drama. One is tempted to associate “star” with the word “stare” for this is certainly a prime activity of our star-fixed preoccupation. “Stare” comes to us through its Old English roots starian, “to look fixedly at” which itself flowed from the Pre-Germanic language star, “be rigid.” All these words reflect an ancient Proto-Indo-European base root, ster, meaning “strong, stiff or rigid.” For some inexplicable reason, Brad Pitt comes to mind. But whatever our physical reaction to stars, the word itself is unquestionably related to the celestial stars (Sanskrit, tãrã), the sparkling awesome beauty of the heavens.

Today we are all atwitter about being famous, literally, and going beyond Warhol’s keen observation one must ask why? The internet (blah, blah, blah) has bestowed a public voice to millions, and we’ve all become town criers. To be sure, some voices rise above the others in an unpredictable and often surprising way, but for the most part, claim to fame rests upon thin ice. Grandiose answers to “How many friends do you have on Facebook?” and “How many people follow your Tweets?” are not, ultimately, a substitute for substance. Perhaps the pursuit of fame is to simply confirm our own existence.

Certainly fame is not all it’s cracked up to be. Tiger Woods, perhaps the most famous sports hero of modern times, has come crashing down unhandsomely, now more renown (from Old French renomer, “to make famous”) for the prodigious power of his putz (from the Yiddish, pots, “penis”) than his putter. Before him lay strewn the darkened reputations of other burned out stars whose careers went super nova before becoming asterisks (* from aster, Greek for star) in footnoted celebrity history.

Reprinted from TheIsCollection

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Take the money and…

Sunday, February 14th, 2010

Money is on everybody’s mind these days; we’ve spent too much and saved too little, it seems. Money is about trust – trust that our medium of exchange will retain value and be accepted by others. When money was made of precious gold (if not money it easily becomes something pretty to wear), trust was mixed with gold’s inherent value. Nowadays, our money is printed on paper or stamped into cheap metal coins.

It was the coin that first was called “money,” derived from Old French moneie and before that from Latin, moneta, meaning “mint or coinage.” The term “money” was later adopted for the paper bill, a less expensive but considerably less durable form of “currency” (a term applied to money by John Locke in 1699 who noted its circulation). Our American dollar is an adaptation of the German taler, a word that evolved from a silver coin minted in 1519 near Joachimstal in northwest Bohemia. To our founding fathers, the non-British origin of “dollar” was reason enough to adopt the term.

The dollar sign may be derived from an image of the Pillars of Hercules, a reference to one of the 12 extraordinary tasks he was forced to perform. The Herculean pillars were later used by European royalty in their coat of arms. Reduced to a single pillar, the dollar sign bears some resemblance to the symbolic medical Caduceus, perhaps a reminder that health is wealth.

In matters “fiduciary,” from the Latin, fiduciaries (derived from fidere, “to trust”) we return full circle to the heart of the issue. Our dollars say “In God We Trust” and if Wall Street has taught us anything about money, God may be the only one we can trust. For a while our trust was placed in kings, but now “cash” (a word introduced by the French, caisse, meaning “money box”) is king. The lack of money makes us grouchy, a term likely derived from “Grouch Bag,” an American noun meaning a “purse for carrying hidden money.”

When it comes to hidden money, “interest” is perhaps our best example, which is why it’s disclosed in the smallest of print. As a word, “interest” comes to us once again from French, interesse, meaning “having legal concern of importance.” Its application to the loan of money is related to risk and the compensation thereof. Accordingly, some lenders get “cold feet,” an American phrase most likely borrowed from an Italian Lombardy proverb (avegh minga frecc i pee) meaning “to have cold feet,” ie, no money for shoes.

Some terms related to money are falling out of fashion, such as “pony up,” a reference to the slang use of the Latin legem pone, the title of the Psalm for March 25th, the first payday of the year in the 16th century. “Pay” is from Old French paiier, from the Latin pacare “to please or satisfy.” In England of 1387 “pay” became associated with punishment. We all know how that feels, I suppose, particularly on tax day.

Perhaps the most interesting quality of money is its lack of inherent value. Money is a token (Old English tacen, Dutch teken, and Old German zeichen for “sign or symbol”) and exists on a metaphysical level. Thus it is that from time to time, like a “phantom” (fantum, Old French for “illusion”), it simply vanishes into thin air.

Reprinted from TheIsCollection.com

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Our world of words

Monday, January 18th, 2010

Though each of us begins life as aware and sensory beings, language is not something we are born with. While most contemporary linguists believe that humans are born with a “hard-wired” grammatical architecture, words themselves are particular to each specific culture or family in which the newborn is raised. Regional dialects? Fuggedaboutit!

By the time we are six-months old, words establish meaning. While verbal communication skills are not well developed, feelings and memories have been connected to repeated verbalizations, facial expressions and the tone of voice of parents or siblings. At one-year old, most babies are already using some words with precision.

Language is an abstraction of direct sensory experience (seeing, hearing, feeling, etc.), and eventually forms the basis of personal memory and thought. In time, we are immersed in an ocean of linguistic waves that form a fluid psychological symbolic map of our world. Through communication with words, we establish shared conventional associations and convey ideas to others. Thus a greater level of cooperation is possible than through gesture, guttural sounds, chirps or whistles alone, and highly complex abstract word-based thinking has provided the gateway to dramatically transform reality. Technology, mathematics, physics, and all elaborations of the spoken and written word are the fruits of verbal articulation.

The words we use today are not entirely the same as those English words used even 100 years ago. As cultures shift and change, language evolves and must continuously adapt in order to continue to convey changed meaning and fresh experience. Elizabethan English would be difficult for many of today’s English speaking Americans to understand easily, and our American English would be nearly indecipherable to an Elizabethan – think “Google it!” Nonetheless, the very ease with which we use words often obscures the rich and deep underlying root meaning they contain.

Why are some words deemed obscene and objectionable and why do other words stimulate curiosity? Is grammar necessary, are the rules of grammar fixed, and if so, why? Who fixed them and who made them the boss?

Let’s examine the word “language” itself. Not surprisingly it is derived from the Latin “lingua” meaning “tongue.” It is through our tongue that we first experience the world, and with our tongue that we learn to form words that allow us to convey the various flavors of existence. As babies, we literally “taste” the world, subjecting virtually everything to an oral evaluation. This oral fixation extends naturally to the mouth and lips, among the most sensitive and sensuous of  body parts. Anthropologists propose that human society first organized around food and mealtimes, and today, cookbooks are among the most reliable best-sellers. Eating has become our national pastime – garlic fries, anyone?

All words emerge from the mouth, and mouth metaphors are plentiful. When a boy I was told to, “keep a civil tongue in your mouth, young man.” If I spoke harshly, I was advised to “bite your tongue!” More than once, my “dirty” mouth was washed out with soap. We “lick” our enemies and “savor” victory, “chew” on problems that are too much to “swallow,” and when we “taste” defeat, it “sucks!”

We use language to construct our world – recasting of experience in symbolic form – and like the babies we all once were, our linguistic oral fixation continues.

Reprinted from www.theiscollection.com

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