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.

The words of a Feather

 The Ancient Greek root of “fly or wings” is “pter-“. It is derived from the PIE “pet-“ which also means “to fly/related to wings”. ⁣
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Before machines, the air was the path of huge lizards with wings for arms. These were pterodactyls (“dactyl” in Greek means “fingers”). Some also call them pterosaurs. but even before those lizards, it was the “old flying thing” that ruled the skies. No really, the Indys and Laras came across a really old fossil of a bird, and decided to call it “a really old bird”. Or “archaeopteryx”. ⁣
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H. J Draper's Lament of Icarus, showing a dead Icarus after he flew too close to the Sun, surrounded by lamenting nymphs. ⁣
⁣Touted to be a parable of a university student finishing too close to the submission deadlines, surrounded by their lamenting grades. ⁣

With all due respect to Doyle and Spielberg though, do note that a pterosaur probably looked nothing like the two would have us believe. All pop-culture is based on the Rule of Cool, and anyone who says a T-Rex was not fat and fluffy (like a chicken perhaps?) does not know their herpetology (“herpet” is Greek for reptile), and palaeontology (“palaeon” in Greek means “old”). ⁣
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The remaining others who are without wings are either called “apterous”, or sometimes (unironically), Icarus.⁣

On waltzing with Lord Helix

It was only too late that I realised the exit was pre-mature. “Wel-“, it turns out, has more words that it rolls out. Is it something to dance about? No. But we have “waltz” (a dance that involves lots of turns and whirls) anyway.

 

Lord Helix. Also called "the Lord and Savior", "the Almighty Helix" and "the Holy Helix". Known for spawning off the "Church of Helix" religion. ⁣

Now if you dance around with “wel-“ to Latin, it mutates to “hel-“. So, a “spiral-like thing” becomes a helix. That gives us words like helicity, helicometry, and helical (Yes, I too think that some of these words belong to the category of those which exist simply because they can). One of the more interesting ones though, is the word “helicopter”. It’s composed of roots “heli-“ + “-pter” (spiral + to fly). So, it literally is something that flies using a spiral action. That said though, “wel-“ has outlived its welcome. Raise a potion to Lord Helix, and let’s HM Fly off from here.⁣⁣

Why revolutions need wallets

 

The realization of a struggle, is what we call a revolution. “Revolution” is made up of “re-“ which is Latin for “again”, and “volvere”, derived from PIE “wel-” which means to “turn”. So, it literally is a “turn of events”.

 

The most interesting root here is the PIE “wel-“. It forms a part of surprisingly many words. A act of bringing about a new turn of events is a revolt. It is successful though only when people become a part of this turn, or are “involved” in it. When successful, this “rolls out” a new chapter of society making it “evolve”. A revolt needs to be targeted though. Bringing together too many issues can result in it becoming “convoluted” (“con-“ in Latin means “together”). 

 

 

These revolts may not always end “wel-“ though. Often, they are curbed by an instrument, that turns a cylinder to reload, called a “revolver”. Other elements involved could be the substance found behind huge safes, which open by turning huge handles, called “vaults”. Those, which one keeps folded in “wallets”.

 

That is when one should turn to other things. For example, “wel-“ gives its name to a part of machine that folds or turns, called a valve, and a machine that works by turning (wheels perhaps?) called a Volvo. The curving, arched part of a building, and the jump you make rolling over that part shouting “PARKOUR!” are both called vaults, with the latter serving as a really cool exit too.

On the Agony of Antagonists

 

While we’re in the world of stages, let’s take a look at the players too. The first one is quite literally called the protagonist. “Protos” is the Greek root for “first”, or “principal”, accounting for words like prototype, protozoa, protean (the first son of Oceanus, who became the god of sea. He could change his form at will, and thus, the word), protein (the first discovered “quality”), protocol, etc.

 

The other root that forms “protagonist” is “agon-” which in Ancient Greek means “contest, or a struggle”. We can break up “agon-” further into a PIE root “ag-“, which is more aptly translated to “move, or to drive”. So the primary person who drives ahead a contest, or an event, like a drama, is a protagonist. Their side-kick is the deuteragonist, and the one who works against this idea of “moving it ahead” is the antagonist (I don’t think I can justify the irony here). 

 

Original Picture: Evan Augistini, Deadline

 

 

Whatever it is that needs to be “moved” is thus, the “agenda”, and the means through which it moves on, is the “agent” or an “agency”. If it gets confusing, as to where it is that one is actually “moving” the plot, like that of Rowling’s Cursed Child, it leads to “agitation”.

 

As we saw, this “agitation” only takes a slight push from PIE to Greek, to turn into a struggle, which may cause “agony”. It can get worse though, and result in antagonization, especially if you’re hell-bent on perpetrating hate speech. #transRightsMatter

Theorizing about Theatre

 The word “theatre” is derived from Greek roots “thea-“, which means “to view”, and “-re” which is a prefix added much later by the British (the original Greek word was theatron). Thus, a theatre where you can look “all around” you, is called an amphitheatre (“amphi-“ means around, or “on both sides”). ⁣

Herdy Lamarr, a Hollywood actress touted "the world's most beautiful woman", who co-invented the "frequency-hopping spread spectrum". Her invention was instrumental in securing the air superiority by the Allies in the Second World War.

When you take a look at something, it is natural that you begin to create a mental image of it, relating it with one thing or another (as I’ve been trying, too hard apparently, with these posts). This process of taking a look, is called “theorizing”. And whatever you come up with then, is a theory – literally “an explanation borne out of looking at something”. When you’re able to make others see this theory as well, effectively proving it “for all to see”, it solidifies into a theorem. ⁣
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Trust etymology to render the “STEM v. Arts” debate redundant.⁣
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