The word Luddite presents an interesting case of a word. It’s a word that was used for over a century, albeit rather rarely, to refer to a specific historical series of events. Then, in the late 1950s use of the word’s exploded, but with a subtle shift in its original meaning.Read the rest of the article...
A Tawdry Comic
Dinosaur Comics is one of my favorites, often riffing on linguistic issues. Today we get a double bonus: etymology and Anglo-Saxon history.
The short answer is that we don’t know for sure where the word dog comes from. Canis may be familiarus, but its name is something of a mystery.
The word docga does go back to Old English, but it appears only three times in the extant corpus of pre-Conquest writing, once in a gloss, and three times as part of a place name. The genitive plural form docgena glosses the Latin canum, and is used twice in the description of property boundaries in a charter: doggene ford (dog’s ford) and doggene berwe (dog’s hill). The place name doggiþorn (dog-thorn) appears in another charter. In the twelfth century, the surname Dogheafd (Doghead) is recorded, and several other surnames that use dog as an element date to the post-Conquest era.Read the rest of the article...
Review: Curzan’s The Secret Life of Words
I’ve been a bit leery of The Great Courses , a line of products that offers downloadable lectures by university professors. The idea combines two things that I have problems with: the whole massive open online course (MOOC) idea and paying for internet content.
MOOCs, or at least the way they’ve been touted as the savior of higher education, are problematic for a lot of reasons, but none of them apply to The Great Courses. One thing that MOOCs are good for is offering course content to those who simply want to learn—an open university. As to the second, I listen to a lot of audio podcasts—when I’m walking the dog or riding the subway into work. And there’s a lot of great audio content that is free (that is offered at no charge by the creator; I’m not talking about pirated stuff), so paying for content seems wasteful. And to one living on a grad student’s stipend, free is important. But it’s not just a personal problem; The Great Courses offerings are expensive, often running $200 or more for a course.Read the rest of the article...
OxfordWords Blog: Jazz & Baseball
I’ve done a piece on the OxfordWords Blog on the origins of jazz and the word’s connection to baseball. There is no new breakthrough or original contribution here—I’m standing on the shoulders of giants—but if you’re not familiar with how jazz got its name, it should be of interest.
The word gospel has a rather straightforward etymology. It’s an alteration of the Old English godspell, a compound of god (good) + spell (news, account). In Old English usage the meaning was not restricted to the four books of the Christian Bible that detail the life of Christ—although it was used in that restricted sense too—but the word could also be used to refer to the body of texts that professed Christian doctrine. And even though the word is made up entirely of Germanic roots, the word was influenced by Latin and Greek.Read the rest of the article...
The day before Good Friday is often called Maundy Thursday, but that term is a bit mysterious to most modern English speakers. Outside of the name of the holiday, maundy isn’t a word we much use anymore. The word comes to us from the Anglo-Norman, the dialect of French spoken in post-Conquest England, mandet or mandé, and ultimately from the Latin mandatum (commandment).Read the rest of the article...
Good Friday is the day that Christians commemorate the crucifixion and death of Jesus Christ, which leads many people to ask “what’s so ‘good’ about it?” That’s a fair question, and the answer is that good has been used to designate a number of religious holidays. In Old and Middle English, the adjective god (good) could mean ‘pious, devout, morally perfect,’ so the good in Good Friday is a linguistic relic meaning ‘holy.’Read the rest of the article...
Fæhða Gemyndig: Hostile Acts vs. Enmity
This article of mine was published in the journal Neophilologus in March 2015 (online; print publication date is TBA). It’s behind a paywall, but the copyright conditions allow me to make an earlier draft available, which can be downloaded here.
The topic is pretty esoteric and will probably not be of interest to most of you, but if you’re so inclined to read it, knock yourselves out.
This article systematically examines all sixty-seven instances of the word fǣhþ in the Old English corpus and proposes that instead of the traditional definition of “feud, hostility, enmity,” the word more usually means (1) a specific hostile act or offense, especially homicide, (2) the punishment inflicted for such an offense, or (3) general violence or mayhem. It also examines the lexicographic history of the word and why the traditional definition has lingered despite being problematic. The analysis begins with the word’s use in Anglo-Saxon law codes, where it has a more concrete and precise definition than in poetry and because in poetic works fǣhþ is often used with verbs commonly found in legal usage, such as stǣlan (to accuse, charge with a crime). From the legal codes the analysis moves on to other prose and poetic works, where the word is often used more figuratively, encompassing concepts such as sin—offenses against God—and other unsavory acts. This re-examination of fǣhþ’s meaning usefully checks the impulse to translate it as “feud” in contexts that do not support the idea of perpetual or ongoing hostility, while still allowing translators to deliberately choose to use “feud” or “enmity” where the context justifies it. Recognition that fǣhþ usually means “hostile act” also opens new interpretations of its poetic uses, such as how a connotation of crime affects the view of characters who commit it, the emphasis on injury it introduces, and the legal associations the word brings into the poems.
Copyright 1997-2015, by David Wilton