doctor

Illustration of Chaucer’s physician-pilgrim at the start of “The Physician’s Tale” from the Ellesmere Manuscript of The Canterbury Tales

Illustration of Chaucer’s physician-pilgrim at the start of “The Physician’s Tale” from the Ellesmere Manuscript of The Canterbury Tales

13 December 2020

There are some who claim that those with PhDs are not “real” doctors, and that only physicians can properly lay claim to the title of doctor. And some PhDs who know Latin hit back by saying that doctor means teacher, and that they are the “true and original” doctors, while those with mere MD degrees are Johnny-come-lately wannabes. My own doctoral advisor was known to express the latter opinion. Both of these positions are wrong. When we’re speaking English, the title of doctor can rightly be applied to both.

In classical Latin, doctor does indeed mean teacher. The word is a nominal form of the verb docere, to teach. And in antiquity, this was the only meaning of the word. But this would change in the medieval era.

Writing in the sixth century, Gildas, in his De excidio et conquestu Britanniae (On the Ruin and Conquest of Britain), uses doctor in the teacher sense, specifically to refer to teachers of theology:

Sed videamus quid Christi verus discipulus Magister Gentium Paulus, qui omni ecclesiastico doctori imitandus est, sicut et ego Christi, in tali negotio praeloquatur in prima Epistola dicens.

(But let us see what Paul, the true disciple of Christ, teacher of the Gentiles, who is emulated by every ecclesiastical doctor, just as I do of Christ, first says about so great a work, writing in his first epistle.)

Nearly seven hundred years later, we see physicians start to be accorded the title of doctor. Writing in the thirteenth century, the poet Michael of Cornwall (or at least we think it’s him) says:

O doctor Cincy,     medicorum qui quasi sol es,

(O doctor Cincy, who of medicine is just like the sun, you alone restrain

So, in medieval Latin, and in particular Anglo-Latin, doctor could refer both to a scholar and to physician. And when the word appears in English in the fourteenth century, we again see both meanings, which makes sense; English borrowed both meanings from Anglo-Latin.

In what may be the first known use of the word in English, Robert Manning of Brunne in his Handying Synne of 1303 uses the word to refer to teachers of theology:

Seynt Gregory telþ þarfore a tale
Pat telþ many one, what grete & smale.
He telþ mo hymself alone
Þan alle be doctours do echone.

(Saint Gregory tells therefore a tale, that many a one, both great and small, tell. He himself, alone, tells more, than every one of all the doctors.)

We see the English word doctor applied to physicians by the late fourteenth century. The “General Prologue” to Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, written c. 1387, uses it to describe the physician-pilgrim. The passage is also noteworthy in that it describes the physician’s education and practice, which includes astronomy, which would not be part of a modern MD’s ambit. It also distinguishes the physician from a theologian both by marking him as a doctour of phisik and by stating that he knows little about the Bible:

With us ther was a doctour of phisik;
In al this world ne was ther noon hym lik,
To speke of phisik and of surgerye,
For he was grounded in astronomye.
He kepte his pacient a ful greet deel
In houres by his magyk natureel.
Wel koude he fortunen the ascendent
Of his ymages for his pacient.
He knew the cause of everich maladye,
Were it of hoot, or coold, or moyste, or drye,
And where they engendred, and of what humour.
He was a verray, parfit praktisour:
The cause yknowe, and of his harm the roote,
Anon he yaf the sike man his boote.
[...]
His studie was but litel on the Bible.

(With us was a doctor of medicine;
In all this world there was no one like him,
To speak of medicine and surgery,
For he had been taught astronomy.
He cared for his patients very many times
In (astronomically suitable) hours using his natural magic.
He knew well how to calculate the position of the planet
In the sign of his patient.
He knew the cause of every malady,
Were it of hot, or cold, or moist, or dry elements,
And where they were engendered and by which bodily humor.
He was a truly perfect practitioner:
The cause and source of the harm known,
Straightaway he gave the sick man his remedy.
[...]
His study of the Bible was but a little.

At about the same time, an English translation of Lanfranco of Milan’s Chirugia magna (Science of Surgery) also uses doctor to refer to a physician, but in this case without marking it as a doctor of medicine (although the context makes that clear):

Þerfore I folowynge þe doctryne of rasis, auicen, & galion & of oþere doctouris, & also experimentis þat I haue longe preued, I seie þat it is nedeful þat a woundid man in þe bigynnynge absteyne him fro wiyn, & namely if þat þe wounde be in þe heed eiþir in ony partie of a senewe.

(Therefore following the doctrine of Rasis, Avicenna, Galen, and of other doctors, and also experiments that I have long tested, I say that it is needful that in the beginning a wounded man abstain from wine, particularly if the wound is either in the head or in any part of a nerve.)

And also from the late fourteenth century, John Trevisa’s translation of Bartholomæus Anglicus’s De proprietatibus rerum uses doctor to refer to a scholar of neither theology or medicine, specifically to Plato. But in the same passage, he also uses it to refer to Dionysius the Areopagite, a first-century, Christian bishop of Athens:

Plato of Athenes was doctour of alle þe prouynce of Attica þat was Grecia. Demoustenes with noble spekynge made þis cite haue a grete name duryng longe passyng of tyme, as Salustius seith. But passyng alle oþere Denyses doctour of þat cite, Paules disciple, makeþ mencioun of þis cite and maked it famous, for by his grete witte and wysedom he made fayre and hiȝeliche nyȝe alle þe parties of þe worlde, as Epiphanius seith in commendacioun of þe wyse doctour Athenes, and Ysyder seith pe same.

(Plato of Athens was the doctor of all the province of Attica, that was Greece. Demosthenes with noble speech gave this city a great name during the long passage of time, as Salustius tells us. But surpassing all others, Dionysius [the Areopagite], doctor of that city, Paul’s disciple, makes mention of this city and made it famous, for by his great wit and wisdom he made [it known] honorably and quickly to nearly all the parts of the world, as Epiphanius says in commendation of the wise doctor of Athens, and Isidore says the same.)

So, for over six hundred years, doctor has been in use as a label and title for both scholars and physicians, and in English use at least, neither one can lay claim to being the first or original meaning. Not that it matters, as meaning is determined by use, not etymology. The connotation of the word has shifted, however. Once, the unmarked doctor referred to a teacher, especially one of Christian theology; whereas now the unmarked word refers to a physician unless the context makes the type of doctor clear. This shift is undoubtedly due to the fact that during the course of their lives, most people will have more contact with physicians than with university professors.

Calls for only physicians to be labeled as doctors are also rather pernicious, in that they are usually directed at women or scholars of color. Female or BIPOC PhDs are more likely to be criticized for using the title, and are more likely to be called Ms. or Mrs. than white, male scholars are to be called Mr.

Discuss this post


Sources:

Chaucer, Geoffrey. “The General Prologue.” The Canterbury Tales. c. 1387, lines: 1.411–38. Harvard’s Geoffrey Chaucer Website.

Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources. R. E. Latham, D. R. Howlett & R. K. Ashdowne, eds. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2013, s.v. doctor. Brepols: Database of Latin Dictionaries.

Gildas. De excidio Britanniae. Joseph Stevenson, ed. London: Samuel Bentley, 1838, § 97, 104. Internet Archive.

Lanfranco of Milan. Lanfrank’s “Science of Cirurgie.” Robert V. Fleischhacker, ed. Early English Text Society, O.S. 102. London: K. Paul, Trench, Trübner and Co., 1894, 1.3.10, 73. (Oxford, Bodleian Ashmole MS 1396. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Lewis, Charlton T. and Charles Short. A Latin Dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1879. s. v. doctor. Brepols: Database of Latin Dictionaries.

Mannyng, Robert. Handlyng Synne, Idelle Sullens, ed. Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies 14. Binghamton, NY: Center for Medieval and Early Renaissance Studies, SUNY Binghamton, 1983, lines 11,011–14, 274.

Middle English Dictionary, 2019, s.v. doctour, n.

Oxford English Dictionary, second edition, 1989, s.v. doctor, n.

Russell, Josiah Cox and John Paul Heironimus. The Shorter Latin Poems of Master Henry of Avranches Relating to England. Cambridge, MA: Mediaeval Academy of America, 1935. 157. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Trevisa, John. On the Properties of Things: John Trevisa’s Translation of Bartholomæus Anglicus De proprietatibus rerum, vol. 2 of 3. M. C. Seymour, et al, eds. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975, 15.8, 729. HathiTrust Digital Archive. (London, British Library, Additional MS 27944.)

Image credit: San Marino, Huntington Library, MS EL 26 C 9, f. 133r.

happy as a clam

A clam (Spisula solidissima) on a Cape Cod beach, emotional state undetermined

A clam (Spisula solidissima) on a Cape Cod beach, emotional state undetermined

11 December 2020

To be happy as a clam is an Americanism meaning to be contented, comfortable, and not desiring more. It’s an odd phrase because we don’t generally consider clams to be sentient or capable of an emotion like happiness. But reading the early uses of the phrase makes the metaphor behind them clear.

The phrase dates to at least 1833 when it appears in James Hall’s novel Harpe’s Head; a Legend of Kentucky:

Having been in the habit of waiting on all occasions for Mrs. Lee to go foremost, it never occurred to him to be discontented, while she seemed satisfied. He was as happy as a clam. His horses thrived, and his corn yielded famously; and when his neighbors indignantly repeated their long catalogue of grievances, he quietly responded that King George had never done him any harm. But no sooner did that good lady take the patriot side, and incautiously drop a rebellious expression in his hears, than he began to examine the case with different eyes.

In December of that same year, it appears again in a racist joke told in the pages of Atkinson’s Casket. The joke is reprinted in any number of papers throughout the United States, and this joke may have been a major popularizer of the phrase:

A man being overtaken by a shower, sought shelter from the rain in the house of a negro fiddler. On entering, her found the negro in the only dry spot in the house—the chimney corner—as happy as a clam, fiddling most merrily.

On 23 January 1836, the phrase again appears in the Trenton, New Jersey Emporium and True American, only this time in expanded form that gives the reason that a clam would be happy. Again, the article is a humor piece that is reprinted in many papers. The Trenton paper credits the Boston Courier as having printed it first, but I cannot find that original use (if it is indeed the actual original and not itself a reprint):

I must leave off, for can’t say any more, only that if I was once more safe at home, I should be as happy as a clam at high water, as the sailors say.

Despite what this article says, there’s no reason to think the phrase is nautical in origin. Sailors would not, as a rule, have much to do with clams, which are generally found in the mud of the shallows, a place that sailors generally would not want to be.

Another use of the high-water extension appears in the anonymous novel The Clodpole Papers in 1844. Again, the use emphasizes contentment with one’s lot:

In this way he went on a few years, until he bought a small farm, got married to Patience Plodwell, the daughter of a forehanded old farmer in the down of Digwell, and settled down in life, as happy as a clam at high-water mark.

And few years earlier, The Knickerbocker of March 1838 had given an extended account of clams and the phrase:

Reader, have you a sympathy for clams? “Happy as a clam,” is an old adage. It is not without meaning. Your clam enjoys the true otium cum dignitate. Ensconced in his mail of proof—for defence purely, his disposition being no ways bellicose—he snugly nestleth in his mucid bed, revels in quiescent luxury, in the unctuous loam that surroundeth him, or, with slow and dignified motion, worketh nearer the surface, as the summer suns warm the roof of his mud-palace, or sinketh deeper within, from the nipping frosts of winter.

A philosopher, the world may wag as it will, what is it to your clam. His world is within. He is not active, but contemplative. A. Diogenes in his tub, he careth not for an Alexander, save that he would keep out of his sunshine. A recluse, he hath his own little cell, built for him by nature, from which he may shut out all the world, opening at times its cautious doors, merely to receive his simple nourishment. Yet is he not the hermit he would appear. Your true clam is gregarious. He liveth in communities; in a sort of reserved sociability with his neighbors. A bond of sympathy connecteth him, even through his shell-work walls, with all his species. Who can tell how many affections—passions, even—your clam may possess? It would be matter of curious speculation.

Otium cum dignitate means ease with dignity. It’s a quote from Cicero, who used it in a speech on behalf of his friend and fellow senator Publius Sestius:

Quid est igitur propositum his rei publicae gubernatoribus, quod intueri et quo cursum suum derigere debeant? Id quod est praestantissimum maximeque optabile omnibus sanis et bonis et beatis, cum dignitate otium.

(What then is the mark used by these helmsmen of the republic, that they should look to and steer their course? It is the most excellent and most desirable by all sensible and good and happy men, tranquility with dignity.)

For Cicero, both otium and dignitas had two meanings. Otium could mean a private life of ease, especially after having served the state, and it could also mean peace within the state. And dignitas could mean both personal honor, but also the honor and integrity of the state. Of course, Cicero was not considering clams when he was defending Sestius. Perhaps Rome would have avoided civil war and dictatorship if he had.

Discuss this post


Sources:

“A Good Reason.” Atkinson’s Casket, December 1833, 571. HathTrust Digital Archive.

Cicero. Pro Sestius. In Vatinium. Gardner, R., ed. Loeb Classical Library, LCL 309, Cicero 12. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1958, 168, 302–04.

The Clodpole Papers. Baltimore: Parsons and Preston, 1844, 10. HathTrust Digital Archive.

Hall, James. Harpe’s Head; a Legend of Kentucky. Philadelphia: Key and Biddle, 1833, 46–47. HathTrust Digital Archive.

“The Humorist: The Oakwood Letters.” Emporium and True American (Trenton, New Jersey), 23 January 1836, 1. NewsBank: America’s Historical Newspapers.

J.P.P. “Clams!” The Knickerbocker, 11.3, March 1838, 208. HathTrust Digital Archive.

Oxford English Dictionary, second edition, 1989, s.v. clam, n.2.

Photo credit: Ashley Delvento, 2018, licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International license.

handicap

10 December 2020

Handicap is a word without an obvious origin. It’s used in sports, notably horse racing and golf, and it is used to refer to a person’s physical or mental disability, although the use of the word in this context is no longer considered appropriate. The meaning in these contexts is clear, but why this particular combination of phonemes should come to mean these seemingly disparate things is not clear.

Handicap originally referred to a means of leveling an unequal competition or exchange. The method is, perhaps, best described in this passage from the 1751 Sporting Kalendar, which is also an early extant use of the term in reference to horse racing:

A Handy-Cap Match, is for A. B. and C. to put an equal Sum into a Hat., C. which is the Handy-Capper, makes a Match for A. and B. which when perused by them, they put the Hands into their Pockets and draw them out closed, then they open them together, and if both have Money in their Hands, the Match is confirmed; if neither have money it is no Match: In both Cases the Hand-Capper [sic] draws all the Money out of the Hat; but if one has Money in his Hand, and the other none, then it is no Match; and, he that has the Money in his Hand is intitled to the Deposit in the Hat.

If a Match is made without the Weight being mentioned, each Horse must carry ten Stone.

But the method is considerably older. An early form is described in William Langland’s poem Piers Plowman. From the C-text version of the poem, written c. 1390. This description doesn’t have the hands or the hat, but it does involve choosing an umpire to decide how to equalize an exchange of goods. The method acquired the name new fair, after the London market held on Soper’s Lane (present-day Queen Street, Cheapside) that developed a reputation for being a haunt of thieves and disreputable characters before being shut down in 1297. In Langland’s account, Clement the Cobbler wishes to exchange his cloak for Hicke the Ostler’s hood. The umpire deems the hood worth more, and Clement must buy Hick a cup of beer to make up the difference, and if any complain about the exchange being unfair, they must buy a round of drinks for those present:

Clement the coblere cast of his cloke,
And at the newe fayre nempnede hit to sull.
Hicke the hakenayman hit his hod aftur
And bade Bette the bocher ben on his syde.
There were chapmen ychose this chaffare to preyse,
That ho-so hadde the hood sholde nat haue the cloke
And that the bettere thyng, be arbitreres, bote sholde the worse.
Tho rysen vp in rape and rounned togyderes,
And preisede this penworths apart by hemsulue,
And there were othes an heep, for on sholde haue the worse.
They couthe nat by here consience acorden for treuthe
Til Robyn the ropere aryse they bisouhte
And nempned hym for a noumper, that no debat were.

Hicke the hostiler hadde the cloke
In couenaunt that Clement should the coppe fill
And haue Hickes hood the hostiler and holde hym yserued.
And ho-so repentede hym rathest sholde aryse aftur
And grete syre Glotoun with a galoun of ale.

(Clement the cobbler cast off his cloak,
And at the new fair offered it for sale.
Hicke the hackneyman offered his hood in exchange,
And asked Bette the butcher to be on his side.
There were merchants chosen to appraise these goods,
So that whoever had the hood should not also have the cloak
But that the better thing, according to the arbiters, that the lesser should be compensated.
Who rose up in haste and whispered together,
And themselves appraised it openly as a pennyworth.
And there were others in the crowd, for one was bound to come off the worse.
They, in truth, could not by their conscience agree
Until Robin the roper arose and they begged,
And named him the umpire, that there would be no dispute.

Hicke, the ostler, had the cloak
On the condition that Clement fill the cup
and have Hicke the ostler’s hood and hold himself well served.
And whoever regretted first should rise after
And greet Sir Glutton with a gallon of ale.)

The name handicap is applied to the game by 1653, when it appears in George Daniel’s Idyllia:

Ev'n those who now command, The inexorable Roman, were but what One step had given: Handy-Capps in Fate.

And Samuel Pepys makes mention of a game called handicap in his Diary of 19 September 1660, but it’s not clear if this refers to some version of the exchange game or a card game of that name:

Here we were very merry and had a very good dinner—my wife coming after me hither to us. Among other pleasures, some of us fell to Handycapp, a sport that I never knew before, which was very good. We stayed till it was very late and it rained sadly; but we made shift to get coaches and so home and to bed.

And in his 1666 The English Rogue Described, Richard Head details how the subject of his book uses the exchange game to evade the authorities:

I thought it high time to put my Plot in execution, in order thereunto I demanded what difference he would take between my Hat and his, his Cloak and mine, there being small matter of advantage in the exchange, we agreed to go to handicap. In fine, There was not any thing about us of waring cloaths but we interchanged, scarce had I un-cased my self, and put on my Friends cloaths, but in came one that had dogged me, attended by the Constable, with a Warrant to seize me, who they knew by no other token but my Boarding-Mistresses Sons garments, I had stolen for my escape. They forthwith laid hold on my Companion, (finding them on him) telling him, He should severely suffer for the wrong he did his Mistress, in the abuse of her house. Full of horror and amazement, he beseeched them not to carry him before his Mistress, knowing how much he had offended her, she would have no mercy on him; this confirmed their belief, that they had found out the Offender. The more he intreated, the more deaf and inexorable were they; and whilst they were busied about their mistaken Criminal-Prisoner, I took an occasion to give them the slip, knowing that a little further discourse would rectifie their Error.

And as we’ve seen, the idea of giving the lesser side an advantage was applied to horse racing in the eighteenth century, and the general idea of handicap as some form of hindrance or disadvantage is in place by the latter half of the nineteenth. From the British Medical Journal of 7 September 1872:

Other minor discrepancies need not be specially noticed in this place, but they have the effect of raising the mortality from zymotic disease in a single year from 60 to 77; an excess of 17, which, when dealing with numbers so small, is a serious handicap in the race for priority on the health-lists of England.

And some fifteen years later, handicap is used to refer to person’s physical disability. From the American Annals of the Deaf of October 1888:

For a good half of the time I am forced to other than oral communication from others in order to understand them—either gesture or writing. So that, after all these years, I am still at more or less disadvantage, for the handicap of deafness is a perpetual one.

By this time, handicap was completely divorced from the original idea of competitors signaling acceptance of a wager using hands and a cap. Because the origin is not apparent, some have speculated that the word comes from disabled people begging for money, that is from holding out their cap in their hand, an inventive, but incorrect, stab at the word’s origin.

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Sources:

Chamberlain, William Martin. “The Experience of a Lip-Reader.” American Annals of the Deaf, 33.4, October 1888, 273. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Head, Richard. The English Rogue Described (1666). London: Francis Kirkman, 1668, 148–49. Early English Books Online (EEBO).

Langland, William. Piers Plowman (C Text, 2008). Derek Pearsall, ed. Liverpool: Liverpool U Press, 2014, 136–37, 6.376–93 (Passus 7 in some editions). San Marino, Huntington Library, MS 143.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, June 2013, s.v. handicap, n., handicap, v.

Pepys, Samuel. The Diary of Samuel Pepys, vol. 1 of 11. Robert Latham and William Matthews, eds. Berkeley: U of California P, 1970, 248. HathiTrust Digital Library.

Pond, John. The Sporting Kalendar. London: G. Woodfall, 1751, xxi–xxii. Eighteenth Century Collections Online (ECCO).

Wilson, Edward T. “Sanitary Statistics of Cheltenham for the Years 1865–71 Inclusive.” British Medical Journal, no. 610, 7 September 1872, 270. JSTOR.

hack (verb) / hacker

9 December 2020

The verb to hack means, of course, to cut or chop, but it also has developed a sense of to gain unauthorized access to a computer system. The connection between the two senses isn’t obvious when you look at the two ends of the word’s history, but when you fill in the gap between the two, the word’s semantic development becomes clear.

Old English had the verb ahaccian, meaning to cut, and we believe that the form *haccian also existed, although that form isn’t attested in any of the extant manuscripts. And ahaccian only appears once, in a homily about the legend of the seven sleepers. The homily was once attributed to Ælfric, but today most scholars don’t believe that he wrote it:

man sette heora heafda swilce oþra ðeofa buton ðam port-weallon on ðam heafod-stoccum, and ðær flugon sona to hrocas and hremmas and feala cynna fugelas, and þara haligra martyra eagan ut ahaccedon

(They set their heads, like those of others who were thieves, outside the town walls upon head-stakes, and immediately rooks and ravens and birds of many kinds flew there and hacked out the eyes of the holy martyrs.)

We do see the hack form in Middle English. From a twelfth century hagiography of John the Baptist:

þo cneu seint iohan þat gif he wolde þolen þat king drige his unriht he mihte liuen and ben him lief and wurð ac gif he wolde folgen ri(h)twisnesse he shoulde þerfore his lif forleten and swo did atten ende. for þat a maiden bad te kinge his heued. and he hit bad of acken. and hire bitechen. and he þat eðeliche deað admodliche þolede. and þer mid bigat eche life en blisse.

(Then Saint John knew that if he should suffer the king to commit his sin he might live and be loved and honored by him, but if he should follow righteousness he would therefore lost his life and that last. For a made bade the king for his head, and he bade it hacked off and given to her, and he that readily and meekly suffered death and therewith obtained eternal life in bliss.)

And in the thirteenth century we see hacker as a personal name, probably referring to a reaper or other agricultural worker. In records of the county of Sussex, England from 1296 we see the names Johanne Hakyere and Willmo Hakyere.

But a hacker could also be an agricultural implement, similar to a hoe. From John Trevisa’s late fourteenth-century translation of Bartholomæus Anglicus’s De proprietatibus rerum (On the Properties of Things):

And for scharpenesse and prikkynge vnnethe þornes beth yfalle or yrooted out of þe grounde wihtoute hook, bille, hakker, or som oþer egge tool.

(And because of sharpness and pricking, thorns are not easily cut or rooted out of the ground without a hook, bill, hacker, or some other edged tool.)

And that’s where things stood for several hundred years. But in early nineteenth-century America, hack began to be used as a noun meaning a try or attempt at something. We see the same semantic development in to take a cut at or to take swing at something. From Joseph Plumb Martin’s 1830 memoir of his Revolutionary War experiences:

We remained the rest of the day and the following night, expecting to have another hack at them in the morning, but they gave us the slip.

And in the 1950s, students at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology began to use the word as a verb meaning to work on or play with a technical system. From the minutes of M.I.T.’s Tech Model Railroad Club from 5 April 1955:

Mr. Eccles requests that anyone working or hacking on the electrical system turn the power off to avoid fuse blowing.

The use of both working and hacking here indicates the M.I.T. students differentiated the two actions, with hacking being more playful and experimental.

In subsequent years M.I.T. students began to use the verb to hack and hacker to refer to manipulating the school’s telephone system in order to make free long-distance calls or otherwise create mayhem and to those who did so. From the school’s newspaper, The Tech, of 20 November 1963:

Many telephone services have been curtailed because of so-called hackers, according to Prof. Carlton Tucker, administrator of the Institute phone system.

[...]

The hackers have accomplished such things as tying up all the tie-lines between Harvard and MIT, or making long-distance calls by charging them to a local radar installation. One method involved connecting the PDP-1 computer to the phone system to search the lines until a dial tone, indicating an outside line, was found.

[...]

Because of the “hacking,” the majority of the MIT phones are “trapped.” They are set up so tie-line calls may not be made. Originally, these tie-lines were open to general use.

And from M.I.T. the word spread to the wider tech world, and as technology evolved, from analog telephone switches to digital computers and the internet.

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Sources:

Ælfric. Ælfric’s Lives of Saints, vol. 1 of 3. Early English Text Society, O.S. 76 and 82. London: Oxford UP, 1885, 492. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Dictionary of Old English: A to I, 2018, s.v. a-haccian.

Hudson, William. The Three Earliest Subsidies for the County of Sussex. Sussex Record Society, 10. London: Mitchell Hughes and Clarke, 1910, 101. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Lichstein, Henry. “Telephone Hackers Active.” The Tech, 83.24, 20 November 1963, 1.

Martin, Joseph Plumb. A Narrative of Some of the Adventures, Dangers, and Sufferings of a Revolutionary Soldier. Hallowell, Maine: Glazier, Masters and Co., 1830, 96. Gale Primary Sources: Sabin Americana.

Middle English Dictionary, 2019, s.v. hakker(e n. and hakken, v.

Morris, R., ed. “De Sancto Iohanne babtista.” Old English Homilies of the Twelfth Century. London: N. Trübner, 1873, 139–141. HathiTrust Digital Archive. Cambridge, Trinity College, MS B.14.52.

Onorato, Joseph and Mark Schupack, Tech Model Railroad Club of M.I.T.: The First Fifty Years (Cambridge, MA, 2002), 66.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, December 2016, s.v. hacker, n., hack, n.1, and hack, v.1.

Seymore, M.C., et al, eds. On the Properties of Things: John Trevisa’s Translation of Bartholomæus Anglicus De proprietatibus rerum, vol. 2 of 3. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975, 1047. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

hack / hackney

A map of London showing the borough of Hackney in red

A map of London showing the borough of Hackney in red

8 December 2020

(For the computing sense, see the hack / hacker entry.)

In present-day parlance, a hackney or hack is a taxi, and something that is hackneyed is trite and unoriginal. The word comes from Hackney, a borough of London a few miles north of the City of London.* Hackney was once marshland or wet meadow, grassland that was periodically flooded by the River Lea. In the medieval period, the area was often used as pastureland for London horses, especially those kept for hire. The placename means Haca’s island and comes from the Old English personal name Haca + ig (island, esp. fenland island), a reference to a dry area in the marshland.

In the earliest uses, a hackney is a light, riding horse, the kind that might be hired for a day’s travel, as opposed to a heavy war or farm horse. The earliest known appearance of hackney in this sense is actually in Latin. It appears in the accounts for the household of Henry de Lacy, Earl of Lincoln, for 24 May 1299 to 7 June 1299. The word also appears in Anglo-Norman French, although this is a bit later than its appearance in English. Despite the first appearance in this Latin record, the word obviously first arose in English and this Latin citation is just the oldest to survive:

In expensis Lakoc cum uno hakeney conducto de Lond' usque Canterbire pro tapetis cariandis ii s.

(In expenses, Lakoc with one hired hackney from London up to Canterbury for a worn cloth, 2 shillings.)

Lakoc is undoubtedly the name of the person in the household who incurred the expense.

While the denotation of hackney here is horse, the context is that of a hired horse—conducto is an adjective meaning hired or leased. Other early uses are not in the context of a rental, but the association seems to have been there from the beginning.

The oldest known English use is from about the same time. It appears in the romance Bevis of Hampton, found in the Auchinleck manuscript, Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, Advocates MS 19.2.1. The poem was written c. 1300 and the manuscript dates from c. 1330:

King Ermin seide in is sawe,
That ner no mesager is lawe,
To ride upon an hevi stede,
That swiftli scholde don is nede.
"Ac nim a lighter hakenai
And lef her the swerd Morgelai,
And thow schelt come to Brademonde
Sone withinne a lite stounde!"
Beves an hakenai bestrit
And in his wei forth a rit
And bereth with him is owene deth,
Boute God him helpe, that alle thing seth!

(King Ermin said in his speech,
That no messenger is ever allowed
To ride upon a heavy steed,
Because it is necessary to ride swiftly.
“But take a lighter hackney
And leave here the sword Morgelai,
And you shall come to Brademonde
Soon within a little while!”
Bevis mounted a hackney
And he rode forth
And bears with him his own death,
Unless God, who sees all things, helps him.)

And we see the word again in the sense of a hired horse in the C-text of William Langland’s Piers Plowman, written c. 1390, San Marino, Huntington Library, MS 143:

Ac hakeneys hadde thei none bote hakeneys to huyre;
Thenne gan Gyle to borwen hors at many gret maystres
And shop that a shereue sholde bere Mede
Softliche in sambure fram syse to syse,
And Fals and Fauel fecche forth sysores
And ryde on hem and on reues righte faste by Mede.

(But of hackneys they had nothing but hackneys for hire;
Then Giles went to borrow horses from many great masters
And arranged that a sheriff should bear Mede
Softly on a lady’s horse from assize to assize,
And Falsehood and Deceit fetched forth jurymen’s [horses]
And rode on them and on reeves’ [horses] very close to Mede.)

This sense of a hired horse would eventually transfer to a hired coach and later to a taxi, both horse-drawn and later automotive.

The clipping hack, meaning a hired coach or taxi appears in the early modern era. The Faversham Borough records of 1571 contain a reference to a hackeman. And Aphra Behn’s 1676 play The Town-Fopp contains a use of hack, meaning a hired coach:

But 'faith Sir, you're mistaken, her Fortune shall not go to the maintenance of your Misses, which being once sure of, she, poor Soul, is sent down to the Countrey house, to learn Housewifery, and live without Mankind, unless she can serve her self with the handsom Steward, or so—whil'st you tear it away in Town, and live like Man and Wife with your Jilt, and are every day seen in the Glass Coach, whil'st your own natural Lady is hardly worth the hire of a Hack.

As anyone who has ridden in a taxi can attest, hired horses, coaches, and cars are not always in the best condition. Continual use and mistreatment ages them before their time. So, it is only natural that hackney and hackneyed would come to mean old, tired, worn out. This adjectival sense dates to at least 1590 when it appears in a work by Richard Harvey, an astrologer and theologian known for his harsh critiques of those he disagreed with:

He is a boone companion for the nonce, a secrete fosterer of illegitimate corner conceptions, a graue orator for ruffianly purposes, a busie bookeman to helpe the sworde, a rebuker of play, and yet making a play of himselfe and all thinges, a rauening woolfe in sheepes wool, a bloudy massacrer and cutthroate in iesters apparrell, a poste vpon hackney sillogismes to haue silly ones geue him the way.

That’s how what was once an exurb of London became associated with trite and tired language.

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* For those unfamiliar with the geography, the City of London or the City is the immediate environs around St. Paul’s Cathedral. Cities were once defined as the parish around a cathedral. The City of London is associated with St. Paul’s, the City of Westminster with Westminster Abbey, etc. What we today call London is much larger.

Sources:

Anglo-Norman Dictionary, 2008, s.v. hakeney.

Behn, Aphra. The Town-Fopp (1676). London: T.N. for James Magnes and Richard Bentley, 1677, 8. Early English Books Online (EEBO).

Harvey, Richard. A Theologicall Discourse of the Lamb of God. London: John Windet for W. Ponsonby, 1590, 119. Early English Books Online (EEBO).

Herzman, Ronald B., Graham Drake, and Eve Salisbury, eds. “Bevis of Hampton.” Four Romances of England: King Horn, Havelok the Dane, Bevis of Hampton, Athelston. Kalamazoo, Michigan: Medieval Institute Publications, 1997,  lines 1251–62.

Langland, William. Piers Plowman (C Text, 2008). Derek Pearsall, ed. Liverpool: Liverpool U Press, 2014, 75, lines 2.178–83 (3.175–80 in Skeat’s edition).

Middle English Dictionary, 2019, s.v. hakenei(e, n.

Mills, A.D. A Dictionary of English Place-Names. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1991, 152.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, December 2016, s.v. hackney, n. and adj., hack, n.2.

Woolgar, C.M. Household Accounts from Medieval England, vol. 1 of 2. Records of Social and Economic History, New Series 17. Oxford: Oxford UP for the British Academy, 1992, 166. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Image credit: Nilfanion, 2016. Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.