"Disloyal" and a Primer on Gentleman by C. S. Lewis: Twelfth Week

 My word this week is "disloyal." This is a common enough word today, but it is what Johnson says about its possible usages that is interesting. The lexicographer gives four usages:

1. Not true to allegiance; faithless; false to a sovereign; disobedient.

2.  Dishonest; perfidious. Obsolete.

3. Not true to the marriage-bed.

4. False in love; not constant. The three latter senses are now obsolete.

Johnson relates that only the first usage was in use in his day. The last three had fallen out of use. The obsolescence of a word over a period of time is also commented on by C. S. Lewis in his preface to Mere Christianity.   

Here Lewis explains that the word gentleman once meant "something recognisable; one who had a coat of arms and some landed property." The term merely described a state of being of the man and was not describing one who possesses honorable character. The latter meaning is certainly the normal usage in contemporary speech.  How did the change come into being? Lewis declares that it was the desire to be charitable, to spiritualize the word that brought the change. Spiritualizing the word not only changed its meaning but also changed its fundamental character from objective to subjective. Gentleman became a means to express praise, with the decision to give or withhold the praise a matter of personal approval because of what one perceives gentlemanly behavior to be. Lewis says this destroyed the utility of the word. Saying more about the viewpoint of the praiser rather than an objective consideration of the object at hand, gentleman became a "useless word." Sufficient words for praise already existed and the new use rendered the old objective use untenable without voluminous explanation. 

Trading objectivity for subjectivism in lexicography is a fallacy in fundamentals. The very nature of words are changed. Just as objectively describing the material possessions of a person is fundamentally different from describing their character; so is gentleman as a term of praise compared to a term describing what a man owns. The dichotomy is irrefutable. One is not the same as the other; neither can it be. 

This is why it is so important to understand that word meanings can and often do change over time, but being able to recognize whether the change is small and nuanced or is gross and a shift in identity from objective to subjective. Not seeing and comprehending this shift can wreak havoc in determining context, identifying properties, and discovering the truth. Substantial* and perhaps even intellectually fatal mistakes are sure to follow. This impediment defeats the would-be scholar even before he begins and instills a frustration and disheartedness that careful teaching and practice would have eliminated or kept from happening from the beginning. Little could be more important to the textual student and teacher alike.

Until next week.

John

* Case-in-point: One will need to delve into the connection between substance and substantial to understand how and why "Substantial" was chosen to convey the intended meaning of the sentence. I would encourage the reader to use this as a starting point of discovery to a better understanding of this topic.

The Subtle Artifice of the Wheelwright: Eleventh Week

 

The word of interest this week is “dishing.” If one were to suppose that the term means to produce a dished shape, that would but a part of the story. Johnson gives this definition, “Concave; a cant term among artificers.” There are certainly two words in the definition that are not likely to be in the common vocabulary of most people. “Cant” and “artificer” are words likely strange to most contemporary ears but certainly less so in Johnson’s day. Considering the possible usages for “cant” given by Johnson, and the context of the entry for “dish,” the meaning is language specific to a particular profession or trade. “Artificers” means, again according to Johnson and in the given context, those who make things – especially tradesmen or artists. “A cant term among artificers” then is a term specific to a given trade and used by its workers.

Interestingly, Johnson’s example for “dishing” comes from Mortimer’s 1708 practical treatise, The Whole Art of Husbandry; Or, The Way of Managing and Improving of Land, page 280. Here Mortimer describes the advantages of having a wagon or cart wheel concave from the rim to the hub on the outside of the wheel. This, of course causes the inside of the wheel to be convex from the hub to the rim. Mortimer suggests that the concave cross-section of the wheel (toward the outside) is helpful in strengthening the wheel when it invariably falls into uneven areas or holes as it turns. The movement on such occasions, according to the author, is toward the outside of the wheel. This pushes the hub toward the outside, in turn pushing the spokes against the fellies which are restrained by the iron rim encircling the outside of the wheel. This directional movement to the outside tends to tighten the components of the wheel rather than loosen them because it has the effect of increasing the diameter of the wooden wheel against the inside of the iron rim.

 

The drawing above is from James Burgess’ 1881 book, A Practical Treatise On Coach-Building Historical and Descriptive, page 37. The “dishing” of the wheels is seen if one observes the angle of the spokes relative to the hub when looking at the cross-section.

The shape and working properties of wagon, carriage, and cart wheels would have been rather ubiquitous in the eighteenth century, as are car wheels and their working properties are rather ho-hum today. Wagons, carriages, carts, and similar conveyances were the only forms of wheeled transportation in Johnson’s day. Far from being crude and poorly designed, the art of the wheelwright (an artificer of wheels) was highly and subtly engineered to marry the greatest strengths of wood and iron to produce objects graceful, strong, long-lasting, and terrifically utilitarian.

Johnson’s little entry for “dishing” bespeaks of the some of the best eighteenth-century design and craftsmanship. The word “artificers” nicely captures the “art” of the wheelwright – whose work seems a mystery to the ignorant but radiates its genius in useful simplicity.

Below is another drawing from Burgess, page 57, that shows the parts of a wheel. The term “nave” identifies the same part which is called a “hub” in the text of the post.

 

I am providing links on the right to both books mentioned, for those who wish to consult the original sources.

Until next week.

John

The Long Form "s" and a Difference With a Signification: Tenth Week

 

This week I would like to touch upon a subject yet unmentioned in this blog, though it is a matter obviously noticeable when reading Johnson’s dictionary. The matter to be considered is what the uninitiated might consider just an old printing style, irrelevant today. That, however, would not be the case. The long “s” found in Johnson was typical typography of the eighteenth-century. Please consider this image from the dictionary: 

The letters that appear to be an “f” in the red boxes are actually different forms of the long “s.” They differ from an “f” in that they either do not have a crossbar at all or only a half crossbar. Once this is known it is not difficult to see the words with “s” letters, though practice is required to become proficient with the mental substitution. Applying the substitution, we have: “n.s.,” “dissent,” “disagrees,” and “disagreement.” One will quickly discern that the long “s” was not used at the end of words, abbreviations in Johnson were excluded. The form was used at the beginning of words and anywhere before the last letter.

One may ask why eighteenth-century printers used such a form. The Printer in the Eighteenth-Century Williamsburg, by The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, relates that the form originated with early German printers – remember movable type was established in the West by the German, Johann Gutenberg, in the mid-fifteenth century. In trying to emulate hand-written script, the printers developed the flowing style of the long “s.” Later, English printers adopted the same form, and the long “s” became a standard part of eighteenth-century English and American typography. The form was popular until about 1800. Two very well know texts that used the long “s” are the 1611 King Janes Version Bible and the Declaration of Independence. Simply knowing how to read the long “s” form in the documents makes them less intimidating. This in turn brings one closer to the time and context of such great texts, increasing appreciation for and understanding of the labors and scholarly insights of those who wrote them.

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Of a different note, but of a similar consequence, is a brief comparison between Johnson’s lexicography and that of a modern dictionary. Our test word is “discord,” and Johnson allows this of the word: 

1.      Disagreement; opposition; mutual anger; reciprocal oppugnancy.

2.      Difference, or contrariety of qualities. 

A more modern dictionary, The Pocket Oxford Dictionary from 1935, gives this definition: 

1.      Holding of opposed views, strife; harsh noise, clashing sounds, want of harmony between notes sounding together.

2.      Be at variance (with). 

At first blush, the two offerings seem to be practically identical. The substance is the same, but the difference is in the details. When Johnson offers “mutual anger,” “reciprocal oppugnancy,” and “contrariety of qualities” the words “mutual,” “reciprocal,” and “contrariety” emphasize the shared conflict inherent in “discord.” There could hardly be “discord” if only one person or one thing were involved. The Oxford definition does not highlight this quality, missing the essence of the word. Being able to capture the word’s essence, while couching the nuance in an accurate definition, is the quality that sets great dictionaries apart from those of lesser quality. 

Until next week.

John

From Disco to Disciple : Ninth Week

My chosen word for this week is “disciple.” Johnson defines it this way, “A scholar; one that professes to receive instructions from another.” The etymological trail of the word is interesting, but Johnson gives us only the first step. He states that “disciple” comes from the Latin word discipulus. Upon consulting the Lewis and Short lexicon, A Latin Dictionary, one finds discipulus defined as “a learner, scholar, pupil, disciple.” Johnson and Lewis and Short use very similar definitions. However, Lewis and Short offer a longer trail to follow, deepening our understanding. This is accomplished through the etymology.

The Latin dictionary writes that discipulus is formed from disco and “the root of puer, pupilla.” Thus far, the train of words leading to “disciple” are: discipulus, disco, and the root of puer or pupilla. Should any be imagining a young John Travolta and wondering if disco has anything to do with the clipped English word spelled the same way: Indeed, it does not! As it happens, the English noun “disco” is a shortened form of the French loan word discothéque, which carries the general meaning of a place were recorded music is played for dancing.

What then does disco mean in Latin? Lewis and Short give this usage: “to learn, to learn to know, to become acquainted with, etc.” This dovetails nicely with one part of disciple – the aspect of learning. However, the learning subject remains, being found in the other two words forming the base for discipulus. These can be considered as a unit. Puer has the general meaning of “child,” and pupilla the meaning of “orphan” or “ward.” Taken together, the result is one, typically a youth, who is under the authority and responsibility of another.  In sum, disco, puer, and pupilla describe a learner under the responsibility of a teacher. This combination equates exactly with discipulus and in turn, disciple – the learning follower and devotee.   

The path from Latin discipulus to English “disciple” might very simply be said to begin with discipulus, be taken into French as disciple, and end by being incorporated without alteration of spelling into English as “disciple.” This, of course, is a gross oversimplification of a process involving multiple generations of time and miles necessary for its development.

Simple it may be, but the idea is the basis for proving the reasoning behind the language. Anyone can make up words and pronounce their designated meanings. Is that language? I say no. Language has to have logic behind it. There is more to what we speak and write than mere tradition. Without reason, a language can only be subjective and, when considered critically, must be subject to changes based on the whims of the user. One of the foundational pillars of communication is its capacity for consistent repetition among its users. The lack of repetitive ability is a source of division. One of the great historical divisions between ethnic groups is the barrier of uncommunicable language.

One can hardly think of a more important subject among human beings than communication. Imagine what sort of existence human beings would have if they could not communicate with one another. I dare say, human survival as a whole depends on language of some sort. What is more, societal advancement beyond rudimentary survival requires a precisely reasoned language capable of subtle expression and flexible enough to expand with the inventive and poetic minds of mankind. Casting away or neglecting the importance of human communication is to disregard a basic and beautiful part of what it means to be human. The antidote begins by recognizing the importance and value of understanding how our language came to us.

Until next week.

John

I have added a link to the Lewis and Short Latin dictionary from Internet Archive. You can find it in the links area on the right side of the page. Enjoy!

From Disasters to Candy, A Different World in the Eighteenth Century : Eighth Week

One interesting word this week is “disaster” used as a verb. Johnson says the verb “disaster” comes from its noun form and has two usages: “To blast by the stroke of an unfavorable star,” and, “To afflict; to mischief.” The noun form “disaster” has the same usages as the verb, just tailored to the substantive use.

The first usage is obviously connected to astrology for it considers times of ill-favor to be the work of an angry star or planet. The second usage is how it is commonly considered – a time of calamity, often as the result of natural forces, such as hurricanes or floods. What seems the most unfamiliar use of “disaster” is as a verb – an action done to its object. The Oxford English Dictionary gives several examples of historical use of “disaster” as a verb. A line from M. Cutler’s 1778 journal is apt, “The French fleet was so disastered they could by no means afford us assistance.” The meaning is easy to ascertain, even without more context. The French fleet was so damaged or afflicted by some sort of crisis that it did not have the capacity to give aid to others on the sea. To modern ears it might seem humorous to her a man say, “I’m disastered,” rather than, “I’m ruined.” Though the meanings are the same, the one is common and the other uncommon.

Another interesting word from this week is “disbud.” Johnson gives, “With gardeners” as its source – hardly a strong or convincing etymology. The meaning given is, “To take away the branches or sprigs newly put forth, that are ill placed.” Johnson cites this as coming from a dictionary and is labelled with the “Dict.” designation. Johnson used this notation when he did not have a quotation to prove its literary use. Today one would likely say or write that they had pruned the plant in question to secure its best possible growth.

The formation of “disbud” seems to the simple annexation of the negative prefix “dis” to the object removed, with a literal meaning of “no bud.” The two entries before “disbud” show similar joining characteristics, “disbench” and “disbranch.” The first word means to remove from a seat and the second to remove a branch. Again, the negative prefix is simply added to the object of removal.

Yet another “dis” word of interest is “discandy.” Johnson says this means, “To dissolve; to melt” and is the combination of “dis” and “candy.” Of the verb “candy,” Johnson writes that its basic meaning is “To conserve with sugar” or “To form into congelations.” “Congelations” refers to that which is turned into a solid. Thus, Johnson says to “discandy” is “to melt.”

Sadly, for all those lovers of sweets who may be perusing Johnson, there is no noun sense of “candy” referring to hard or chocolate sweets modern readers associate with candy. Because Johnson does not include “candy” as it is normally thought of does not mean that candy did not exist in his day. However, cane sugar was an expensive commodity in the eighteenth century and not usually found in common American homes or only in small amounts and reserved for special occasions. Other types of sweeteners could be found like honey or maple syrup – sugars more directly related to the farms and woodlands of America. How different the eighteenth century was compared to contemporary times, even with an item as ubiquitous as candy.

Until next time.

John

English in the Hands of the Barbarous - Probably Not What You are Expecting: Seventh Week

 

This week “disannul” is my word of choice. Not for its meaning so much as Johnson’s comments about the word. The lexicographer states that the word comes from adding “dis” to “annul.” The prefix is used to indicate a “negative signification” according to Johnson. Even today, “dis” is a very commonly used prefix, in such words as: “disarm” or “disjoin,” which words Johnson also cites. Given the prefix’s well-known usage, it is easy to understand that to “disannul” would be to not annul, but Johnson warns us that it was not so used. He offers several quotations using “disannul” to indicate what “annul” means. Because of this redundancy, Johnson laments that those using “disannul” do so without, “… knowing the meaning of the word annul.” He then passes sentence on the word and its users by declaring, “It ought therefore to be rejected as ungrammatical and barbarous.” “Disannul” then is cast away as an ignorant barbarism, unworthy of use.

This is akin to a double negative, such as, “I don’t have nothing.” This is actually saying, “I do not have no thing,” awkward and equal to saying one does have a thing – the opposite of the original intent of the speaker. This is why Johnson says using “disannul” is “barbarous.” This use is nicely explicated by the first entry for “barbarism,” “A form of speech contrary to the purity and exactness of any language.” The author is stating that “disannul” is an impure form of English.

Some may be initially put off by Johnson’s use of “barbarous,” thinking he is using the word as it is commonly – to indicate monstrous, uncivilized or greatly cruel behavior. Here it is not the case, though his dictionary does give those possible usages. Johnson is actually harkening back to the Greek word βάρβαρος (barbaros). To the ancient Greeks, this word had the basic descriptive meaning of any person unacquainted with the Greek language or Greek culture – a non-Hellenist. The Romans, great Hellenists in their own right, borrowed from the Greeks in their word barbarous: indicating one not Greek or Roman – a foreigner. From Latin into French, the barbarous made its way into English, with meanings close to its Greek and Latin progenitors. The sticking point is how “barbarian” or “barbarous” is typically considered in modern usage.

This last notion is worthy of consideration as an argument for the usefulness to humanity of greater awareness of words and their meanings. As mankind’s greatest and most common form of communication, words spoken and written would seem to be something greatly cherished and nourished. Sadly, in this age of texting, emojis and tiny soundbites, deep and nuanced word meanings are given short shrift (by the way, the journey from to give shrift to short shrift is a microcosm of philological nuance worth investigating). Messages measured in seconds do not lend themselves to serious lexical consideration or the introspection of the sender. If the height of one’s literary aspirations does not exceed popular social media formats, the culture that begets such a minimized regard for human communication is creating an environment highly conducive to language corruption at best or at worst the death of the artisanry of wordcraft. This author fears such a society could not summon to the page the elevated prose of the King James Bible or the Declaration of Independence – words that changed the history of mankind for all time.

Until next time.

John

Vipers and Electric Lights -- Out of the Darkness and Into the Light: Sixth Week

My word for this week is “dipsas.” Johnson defines this as a Latin word, from the Greek διψαν (dipsan), meaning: “A serpent, whose bite produces the sensation of unquenchable thirst.” We might more properly state that “dipsas” is a Latin word brought directly into English, both spellings being identical. Further, a correction to the etymology should be noted: the Greek word from which the Latin derives is διψάς (dipsas), therefore, the Latin is an obvious transliteration of the Greek. Moreover, the Greek likely comes from διψάω (dipsaō) meaning: thirst, thirsty or parched; rather than διψαν (dipsan) as Johnson explains. On to history and context.

 

Johnson's attributive quote is from Milton's Paradise Lost. Concerning the fall of Satan and his angels, Milton wrote:

                                          . . . thick swarming now

    With complicated monsters head and tail,

    Scorpion and asp, and amphisbaena dire

    Cerastes horned, hydrus, and ellops drear,

    And dipsas . . . (Book X, lines 22-26; emphasis, mine)

It is quite interesting how this passage from Milton shadows a verse from the Hebrew Bible at Deuteronomy chapter eight verse fifteen. Here Moses is recounting the earlier event chronicled in the Book of Numbers, chapter twenty-one verses five and six. The Numbers account tells how the Israelites murmured against God, yet again, and God sent biting serpents among them and many died for their sins. The verse from Deuteronomy speaks of, “fiery (biting) serpents,” “scorpions,” and “drought.” Israel wandered about in the wilderness suffering many times because they refused to trust and obey God. They were in a place of suffering because of their sins. Milton paints a similar scene with Satan and his angels in a place of dire suffering because of their sins. Milton writes of the, “scorpion,” “asp” and “dipsas” among several other “dire” and “drear” things, describing the place into which Satan fell. Sin, Satan, sinners and suffering paint the passages from both Moses and Milton. 

Bringing additional weight to the comparison between Milton's and Moses' passages is that Jerome’s Vulgate uses the Latin “dipsas” at Deuteronomy chapter eight verse fifteen for the Septuagint’s Greek word δίψα (dipsa) and the original Hebrew word צמּאון (tsimmâ'ôn) and translated as “drought” in the King James or Authorized Version. The idea is first described by the Hebrew then the Greek translation. From the Greek comes the Latin as a transliteration which is then brought letter by letter into the English of Milton and subsequently recorded and defined by Johnson. The context of the words begins with a parched land, a land thirsty for the dew of heaven which begot a descriptive name for a snake that leaves the victims of its venom with an insatiable thirst. This progression outlines the history of word development: start with the common and well understood (dry land) then use the known to describe and name the lesser known by the use and value of association (dipsas, Coluber Viperas). 

So, what have we accomplished by this post? We have engaged in a very detail limited and space constrained word study. Despite the brevity of the work, it is still useful as an introduction – an introduction I hope will whet the reader’s intellectual curiosity of how words work across an interconnected web of differing times, locales and purposes.

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On a slightly different note, some may find the circumstances in which I began writing this blog post interesting – as they were quite Johnsonian. As Johnson surely did all the work of his lifetime without the aid of electric lights, so I began my work on this post. Johnson’s dearth of electricity was a product of his times, mine was the consequence of necessary repairs made to the meterbase and riser on my house. The local electric provider, FPL, had to shut off the power to my house and disconnect the lines running from the electric pole to the parts needing repair. The process began at nine o’clock this morning and power was finally restored about twelve hours later. Luckily, I did not have to spend the entire day without electricity – I was able to accomplish some of my work at a local library branch. Deprivation properly considered leads to gratitude, which is always a worthy lesson to learn.

Until next time. 

John

NOTE: Greek and Hebrew transliterations are placed parenthetically after the original words.