Making a case for making up words

To the three people in my DMs who pointed it out – yes, I’m not a huge fan of calendars. I don’t have a “posting schedule”, neither does it seem likely I ever will. I am however, characteristically hypocrite. And if it isn’t already apparent, my love for “calendars”, I’m going to make it so by squeezing another write-up out of it.

“Calendar”, as we saw, is derived from the PIE “kele-”. One meaning of it is “to shout”, out of which we got a word like “calendar”.

A Roman Caldarium, in Bath, England. Yes, the city is named after the Baths found there. 

The other meaning that “kele-” has, is “to warm”. So, if you have come across the “how long do you have to yell at a cup of coffee to heat it up” experiment, you now know PIE did it first.

“kele-”, when seen in the context of heat, is spelt as “calare” or “calor” in Latin. Hence, the amount of heat that is required to raise the temperature of a glass of water by one degree Celsius, is “Calorie”. To measure it, you can use a “calorimeter” (“meter-” means to “measure” in Latin).

Like “calendarium”, on the hot side of the “kale-” family, we have “caldarium”. If the former was where “all the calling-outs were stored”, the latter is where “all the hot (water) was stored”, So, a caldarium, is a hot-bath. This water may be warmed up in a “cauldron”. If you take too hot a bath though, you can get a “scald” (It’s broken down as “ex + cald”, something you get “out of a hot water”).

My favourite word to come out “kele-” though, is the opposite of “calare”. A “non” “calare” if you will. If you put those two roots together, and add any of the usual suffixes that English words end with, you will find “non-calare-ant”. Now add some 1066 Norman finesse, and you have “non-chalance” – literally “no heat”, or “indifference”.

Yes. All words are made up.

To Etymology, With Love

From the very sound of it, the subject matter of this piece is something that is seemingly reserved for the elite echelons of philology. Well, I do not belong amongst that scholarship. I study etymology for the love of it. An ‘amateur’, in a literal sense of the word. My only qualifications are that I love English, words, and history. At times, I like to amuse myself by accompanying a word on its journey through civilizations, usage, and crack jokes at its expense.

‘Etymology’, a branch of what is called historical linguistics, is the “ology of etym”. Which means the ‘study’ of ‘original meanings’. Realistically, it could be the origin of words; or cultural tropes like why do the British curl their little pinky while drinking tea; of phrases, and catchphrases; sayings, and idioms; of names, stories, customs, and even superheroes / villains. The subject, by its sheer implication, is comparable to the Fields of Elysium, without the hassle of the theistic red tape.

The Wanderer, Georg von Rosen (1886)

To study etymology, is to wander. To look. 

Truly. 

Let’s take a look at the above few sentences. I used the terms ology, etym, and amare (from which we derive ‘amateur’). If I were to ask you where else have you seen these terms your mind would probably jump right to the plethora of words which denote ‘studies of’, most ending in ‘ology’ – biology, chronology, mythology, and others.

Don’t stop here. Let your mind wander. Look. 

Do you see the -log- stuffed between the ‘o’ and ‘y’? Think, and place it somewhere. Do you see it in ‘logic’, in ‘logarithms’, and in ‘logo’? That’s because -log is a root, derived from Ancient Greek logos (words, or speech, or computation). When you “reason with words” you use ‘logic’. A device of logic in arithmetic becomes a ‘logarithm’. And a sign to represent a word becomes a ‘logo’.

But it is not mere terms which carry meanings. At least, not if you are looking. 

Look at ‘amateur’ for instance. As we saw, it is derived from Latin amare (love). Ever wondered what the name of your friend ‘Amy’ means?

That was an illustration of rudimentary understanding of etymology. Which, as far as I am concerned, is all an average person needs to actually use it in every-day life. Etymology is a complex branch of philology (or the study of knowledge). What I have been referring to as ‘terms’, namely -ology, and etym-, are called ‘roots’. English is a piping hot stew of words taken from languages all over the world. Piping hot, for the reasons that it is still constantly being stirred – changing in taste, and colour. English borrows from Ancient Greek, Latin, French, Sanskrit, German, to name a few. You can ask if it really is ‘English’ anymore, but all you’d be actually doing is setting yourself up for a colonial punchline.

To the students of etymology, the language of origin of these roots is of extreme importance. Apart from helping with the chronology of a word, they can help with its modern pronunciation, and spelling. The information may also be useful in making a “traditionally correct word” (whatever that may be). For example, take a look at the word ‘monogamy’. It is derived from the Ancient Greek roots mono- (one), and gamy (marriage). If you exchange the Ancient Greek mono with its Latin counterpart in uni, you get ‘unigamy’. Which prima facie, seems and sounds unnatural. It is important to point out here that there do exist what we call “hybrid words” which ignore this rule of both the prefixes and suffixes belonging to the same parent language. But then, there are also words which are simply made up (supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, for example), and belong to no singular, or any for that matter, parent language in particular, so I am doubtful as to the extent to which this information is relevant to you and me. 

But there are people who find beauty between the ink. Those who prefer to read extensively on this highly sophisticated study of origin of words. Pointing out with painful precision, the exact inflections and changes that a word has gone through, during various periods in time. I like to think I am one of them. But I also understand that such a reading of the subject is not for everyone. And, that it is not the only way to engage with this subject. Etymology can be your wife, your mistress, or just your summer love.

For someone to appreciate the meaning in their surroundings, they should not need footnotes. A lover is allowed to be reckless. If, in your wanderings, you come across a thought, as simple as “whether ‘tic-tac-toe’ is related to ‘tactics’”, you should follow that thread. Ideally it should be right? It is one game I would definitely say needs ‘tactics’ to win. So, look for the truth, even if it sounds too simple to be true. You’d be surprised at how simple the world really is once you start to question its literal meaning. The worst outcome would be that your hypothesis would be proven wrong. But it is fine – nobody is keeping score (hopefully).

Keep looking. Keep pointing out those simple patterns and recurrences of ‘roots’ that most would look right past. Tic-tac-toe may be far from ‘tactics’, but taxis ARE related to taxes (both are derived from a root which means ‘burden’. While the former ferries about a burden, the latter is a burden placed by the government on you), coronations WILL lead you to carnations (the flower is shaped like the crown of a king), and black and bleach are more similar than they may first seem (both are derived from a Germanic root which means ‘absence’). The best places to hide are always in plain sight. Beware though, this can make you come across as supercilious. You are essentially walking around shouting, “I see what you did there”, to the most random of the things (just remember to do this bit with a smug, otherwise what’s even the point).

Yggdrasill, an illustration

When Odin the All-Father went about his search for Wisdom, he was advised by the Norns, the Fates in Nordic Mythology, to wander. It is from here that we get the avatar of Odin we call “The Wanderer”. He walked through the roots and branches of the Tree of Life – Yggdrasill. The Tree that connects the Nine Realms in Norse Mythology. He walked from Helheim to Niflheim, to Midgard, walking all across Yggdrasill in search of wisdom. At the end of his journey, what led him to the wisdom he sought was the realization that true wisdom lied in the wandering itself. ‘Yggdrasill’, he realised, was derived from Old Norse Yggr (one of the many names of Odin), and drasill (a steed, or a mount). The realization, that he did not have to walk the Tree, but had to let the Tree lead him to his destination, was right in front of the All-Seeing, All-Father, all along. All he had to do was look, and he had clarity. That is when he became Odin the Wanderer, from Odin the Wise.

So, wander. And keep looking. Etymology is for you to wield as you wish.

Guest Post #3: A Look inside an Etymologist's Brain

I came across @langophilia 's Adrian today, and he had something amazing to share – how historical linguistics work.

Here, he threads together the evolution of a word, from the earliest script of Sumerians, to more contemporary ones. It's a beautiful insight on how the mind of an etymologist works, and how they perceive articles, which may at first seem mundane to untrained eyes.⁣

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"In today‘s Kosovo Albanian language use we might often hear the word ‘gjygym’ which translates to teapot. The word was borrowed from Ottoman Turkish during the Ottoman reign over the Balkan Peninsula. In Ottoman Turkish the word was گوگم (güğüm) and it was already a loan from Ancient Greek κουκκούμιον (koukkoúmion)or κούκκουμα (koúkkouma).⁣

An antique "gjygym". For Hindi/Sanskrit speakers, you may know this as a "gagri".

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The Ancient Greeks also took the word from Classical Syriac ܩܘܩܡܐ (qūqəmā) which meant pot in their language. However, this was also a loan from Imperial Aramaic ‫𐡒𐡅𐡒𐡌‬‎ (qwqm), which too, was borrowed from Akkadian 𒂁𒆪𒆪𒁍 (kukkubu, quqquba), referring to a smaller container used as an alabastron, libation jar, or drinking flask. ⁣

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This word is in turn suspected to have been taken or developed from the Sumerian word 𒂁𒃻𒋫𒆸 (gugguru), which was a tall earthen vessel with a narrow opening."⁣

On calling out Calendars

Before there was the air raid siren of an Apple alarm tone, there were roosters to wake us up in the morning, by shouting, or “calling out” the break of dawn. As primates usually do, we copied this practice of calling out the time.⁣⁣You see, the Priests during the Roman times, used to “call out” or “declare” every new moon from the Roman Capitol. This was so the people could be made aware of the number of days till the “nones” (a Christian Feast), and was called the “calares” (derived from the PIE root “kale-”). ⁣⁣
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This was also relevant as these “calares” reminded people of the number of days left before they had to clear their debts and fill up the account book, called the “calendarium”.⁣⁣
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A page out of the Roman "Calendar" etched with days of religious importance.

These “calares”, gave rise to “calendars”. So, a calendar is literally something that is an “account book” (of number of days). Just to show they could make life more miserable for everyone, the Roman Catholic priests went ahead and invented pressing deadlines.⁣⁣
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Also, full moon reminds me, Beware of the Ides of March.⁣⁣

On why broken NY Resolutions can still be kept

A vast majority of the followers of Hinduism believe that taking a dip in the Holy River of Ganga can wash away all their sins. The piety touches its yearly acme in the month of “Magha”, marked by swarms of devotees from all across the world; all of humanity lining up for a 10-second dip in the water that can purge away their trespasses. ⁣⁣

Halfway across the world, perhaps synchronously (but one can only guess), another group of people made an almost similar divine discovery. Romans too had a dedicated ceremony for a “purification process”. This was a festival of honour, ritualistic purification and washing – called Februa (which literally means the “purification”). ⁣

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This time of the year, therefore came to be called “February” in the Roman Calendar, and then in the Gregorian Calendar, coinciding with the month of "Magha" in the Hindu calendar.

The point of all this exposition, is that The Orientals and Occidents, all came together to give you a chance of washing away your mistakes and start the year anew. ⁣

"The Magh Mela at Allahabad", the Graphic, 1888.

So, if January was especially bad for you, it was only because it was meant to be. And history has got you covered. That’s why February exists – a time to purify.⁣

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Refresh those resolutions you broke, restart that diet plan, and renew that gym membership, because etymologically, January of any year is just its probation period.⁣

On how to break NY Resolutions minus the guilt

The new year bought with itself old shenanigans – of covidiots, indifference, and a to-do list for the first week of January repurposed from the previous decade. ⁣⁣
“Resolution” is derived from Latin “resolvere” which means to “break into parts, or loosen”. Now, to solve a problem, it needs to be “broken down into parts” only then can it be finally “determined”. ⁣
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This determination or “resolve” became what is traditionally taken to mean a “Resolution” in the 1780s. The Babylonians made promises to Gods to return debts at the beginning of the calendar year. So did the Romans, who made promises to the two-faced god of doorways, Janus. ⁣
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A folio from Minnesänger's Codex. It depicts the "Vow of the Peacock", a medieval tradition wherein every New Year the knights restored their ideals of chivalry by swearing over a peacock feather.

All said and done, turn to Etymology when you skip that gym regimen on January 2nd, or have your second pizza of the day, three days after swearing off junk (like me). ⁣
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Because as far as we are concerned, Resolutions are, literally, meant to be "broken".⁣
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On Tactics and Tic-Tac-Toe

If we keep tugging at “-tag” (which still means “touch” in PIE), we reach Medieval Rome. Romans are famous for arranging two things – stabbings, and people to do those stabbings. They called the latter “tactics”. Or the science related to arrangement of military forces (well, technically it could be an arrangement of anything, but it is mostly used in the military context). ⁣

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Could be said that they had a “tact” for such skirmishes (it means “touch”, so if you can handle anything well, you’re said to have the tact for that thing). Except while confronting that Gaul village perhaps, even little Dogmatix rendered them tactless.⁣
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Now, if you were to touch things lightly, you would cause a peculiar sensation, a tactickle if you may, spelt as “tickle” for what I can only say are aesthetic reasons. That said though you can make a “lighter” version of anything by adding “-icle” at its end. A tiny piece of ice? An icicle. Small part in time? A chronicle. The smallest part? A particle. ⁣ ⁣

The Testudo, or the Tortoise, an intrinsic Roman military tactic which protected the legions against the incoming barrages from flanks and above, while allowing attacks from front. ⁣

Too bad that doesn’t work with our calendars. Nothing deserves an “-icle” more than this bloody year. And in the true spirit of 2020, let’s raise our glasses to disappointment, that even though it is one of the games that require exquisite planning, strategy, and even clairvoyance some would say, “tic-tac-toe” does NOT share its roots with “tactics”.⁣
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It just refers to the tic and tac sound that is made when marking the Xs and Os. Cheers.⁣
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On taxis and taxes.

 

Taxonomy is the science of classification within the science of life. It is derived from Greek roots “taxis” which means an “arrangement”, and “nomi-“ which is used to refer to a “method” (for example, the method of managing the “home”, or an “eco” as some might prefer, is called economy). “Taxis” has been carried about a lot in English. A set of things (usually rules) arranged “together”, become a syntax. And if that’s not heroic enough we have people who are into arranging skins. We call them taxidermists, and they are what made Jurassic Park, and Jaws possible.

 

“Taxis” is in turn derived from a Proto-Indo European root “tag” which means “touch”. That is where we get the game of Tag (which I found has variants including British bulldog, Poison, Octopus tag, Duck, Duck, Goose, and even a John Green version in Kiss Chase). “Touching”, in all senses, can leave a mark. It’s a burden, a strain, especially one made by the government. That, is called a “tax” – quite literally, a “burden”. This is also why we call carrying a heavy thing from one place to another, “taxiing”, and thusly, a “taxi”. 

 

Beatles' the Taxman, from the '66 album Revolver. George Harrison wrote the song as a protest against excessive taxes levied by the then UK government.

 

When that burden is in the form of a labour, it’s called a “task” (a spelling infliction of “tax” in Latin). So, technically a “taxing task” is redundant (and a redundant task is taxing).

On the saurus and thesaurus

 

While a pterosaur is a “saur”, it’s not of the “dino” variety. There is such a thing as paleo-pedantry, and we make sure we own it.

 

“Dinosaur” comes from an Ancient Greek root “deinos-“, which means “terrible”, and “saur”, which means a lizard. One could argue that all lizards are terrible, but we’re sticking with objective complaints here. Like why is Bulbasaur a “saur”, but not Charmander? And why did a book of words ever come to be called a “thesaurus”? On the former, since I chose Squirtle (which is objectively the best), I do not care much about it. For the latter though – the answer is spellings.

 

You see, “treasure”, which is Latin for, well “treasure”, is spelt in Greek as “thesaurus”. And when a book came along which had a “hoard, or treasure” of words in it, it came to be called a “thesaurus”. It wasn’t like a usual dictionary, which demands you to look up an exact word. This was a treasure because here you stumbled upon a word – for an emotion, or noun, or a form of emotion or noun – which you did not know existed. Which I think is beautiful. In fact, you can call any treasure a “thesaur”, and any treasurer, a “thesaurer” if you so dare. 

 

Now, with no remorse for that digression, and keeping up with the Latin-Greek spelling tussle, the root “deinos-” in Latin is spelt as “dire”. Which means anything “dreadful” or “fear inducing”. This terminology was given by Sir Richard Owen. He was a palaentologist, who came across a fossil, and when asked what was the fossil of, he said “it seemed of a terrible lizard”. And as the case usually is, with people trying to sound smart in English by not speaking in English, he called it “dinosaur” (well, actually he coined “dinosauria”, an entirely new taxonomic group, but even I can see that that’s unnecessary information).

 

"Owen Riding His Hobby" by Frederick Waddy, drawn in 1873, during the peak of Owen-Darwin feud. Owen's reputation dwindled in his later years as he stood firm on his stance of "immutability of species", and refused to accept that species evolve.

 

And I guess that’s another reason to study etymology – to call out the gatekeepers.