Luddite

A hand-colored etching presumably depicting Ned Ludd, May 1812

2 May 2025

The word Luddite presents an interesting case. It’s a word that was used for over a century, the early nineteenth century, albeit rather rarely, to refer to a specific historical series of events. Then, in the late 1940s, use of the word exploded, but with a shift in its original meaning. 

The word has its roots in the early days of the industrial revolution, as mechanization began to be put to widespread use in the English textile industry at the turn of the nineteenth century. Up to this point, textile workers had been highly skilled craftsmen who commanded high wages and respectable social status. Being a textile worker was a good living. But the owners of textile mills, like capitalists everywhere, continually sought to reduce the wages of their workers, but until the advent of mechanization they were rather unsuccessful—the skilled weavers were essential to their business. Beginning in the late eighteenth century, however, machines had reached a level of sophistication where they could do the jobs of those highly skilled and highly paid workers. Out of this situation emerged the Luddites.

The Luddites take their name from Ned Ludd, or Lud, an almost certainly fictional character, a weaver who in 1779 allegedly destroyed several textile machines in Leicestershire. There is no strong evidence to demonstrate that such a disturbance actually happened, much less that Ned Ludd was a real person. References to Ned Ludd and the movement bearing his name would not appear until several decades later.

Starting in 1811 there were a series of riots at English textile mills in which the workers destroyed the machines that were taking their jobs. The loosely organized, underground movement professed that “Captain Ludd” or “King Lud” was their ringleader. It was a useful bit of propaganda, but it’s unlikely that there was a single leader of the movement, and far less that a person named Ned Ludd was the leader. These original Luddites were not opposed to technology per se; they were protesting the loss of their jobs. At issue was economic disruption, not distrust or dislike of machines.

The earliest reference to Ned Ludd that I have found is in the Times of London for 16 December 1811

On Wednesday, the 11th inst. was committed for trial at the Assizes, John Ingham, a workman employed by Mr. William Nunn, lace-manufacturer, for feloniously writing and sending a letter, signed “Ned Lud and Co.” directed to William Nunn and Co. threatening to break and destroy their frames, and injure his person and that of Thomas Clarke,. [sic] concerned in such manufacture; and, on the same day, William Parkes and George Shaw, for entering a dwelling-house, on the 25th of November, and breaking five stocking-frames.

And the earliest use of Luddite that I have found is also from the Times six weeks later, on 30 January 1812

About two o’clock on Sunday morning, an express arrived from Ruddington, stating that 1[3?] frames had been destroyed at that place, and that the Luddites were engaged in their mischievous work when the messenger came away. On Saturday and Sunday nights, not fewer than 60 frames were destroyed. Ludd has declared his intention of destroying all frames without exception. Five armed Luddites stopped a carrier about a mile from Mansfield turnpike; and having collected from his waggon every article obnoxious to them, set fire to the same.

 And Luddism is in place by that September. From the Hull Packet of 15 September 1812:

Our correspondent in Huddersfield, under date of the 10th inst. says:—“Several persons have been apprehended on various charges of Luddism, and are now in custody here.

Luddite continued to be used to refer to this historical labor movement through to the mid twentieth century. When people spoke of Luddites, they were referring specifically to those who destroyed the textile machines in the early nineteenth century. The word was also not especially common, which is not surprising given its limited meaning in reference to the specific historical events.

But starting in the late 1940s, Luddite started to be used to refer to those who objected to new technologies generally. There is this from the Houston Chronicle of 15 February 1947 that uses the term not to refer to the historical Luddites but to an anti-technology attitude:

I’m not suggesting that we assume a Luddite attitude toward atomic energy but even the most receptive enthusiasm for a new device requires more regard for social consequences than a Marxist is willing to assume.

And with this new, anti-technology meaning came an increase in the word’s use. Google Ngram shows a 300-fold increase in the word’s use from 1960 to 2000. A sudden rise from a steady, low level of use over the previous century and a half.*

The change can be attributed to two factors: the new, computer revolution and the shift to a more general meaning, which made the term more useful—Luddite no longer just referred to a specific and rather obscure event of a century past but to contemporary attitudes toward the increasing intrusion of new technologies into people’s lives.

I also found this in the Washington Post from 20 October 1947. It uses Luddite in the historical sense, but the context is technologies for distributing music and their impact on the musicians’ labor market. Although the specific technologies in question are no longer phonographs and juke boxes, but rather internet streaming systems, the context is the same:

The point of principle upon which Mr. J. Caesar Petrillo has declared war to the death against the phonographs and juke boxes of these United States is an interesting modern variant of Luddism. The Luddites, as you remember, were the handweavers and other artisans of Yorkshire, Lancashire, Derbyshire and some other parts of England who, in the early nineteenth century, undertook to destroy the machines which had thrown them out of work and reduced them to destitution. It is not apparent that many members of Mr. Petrillo’s American Federation of Musicians are now in danger of starving because mechanical music has destroyed the market for their special skills; but Mr. Petrillo is making sure that there never will be such a danger.

For more on the original Luddites, NPR’s Planet Money podcast has an episode that nicely encapsulates the history of the movement.

* = Google Ngram results should be taken with a grain of salt. The data set is rife with metadata and OCR errors. But when Google Ngram shows a marked shift like this one, the trend is probably valid, even if the exact numbers may be somewhat off.

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Sources:

“According to Letters Received Yesterday from, Nottingham.” Times (London), 30 January 1812, 3/1. Gale Primary Sources: The Times Digital Archive.

Google Books Ngram Viewer. s.v. luddite.

“Hull, Sept. 14, 1812.” Hull Packet (England), 15 September 1812, 3/4. Gale Primary Sources:  British Library Newspapers.

“King Ludd: 1947 Model.” Washington Post, 20 October 1947, 6/3. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

“Nottingham Riots.” Times (London), 16 December 1811, 3/3. Gale Primary Sources: The Times Digital Archive.

Oxford English Dictionary Online. Second Edition, 1989. s.v. “Luddism, n.” “Luddite, n. (and adj.).”

Sokolsky George E. “The Case Against David Lilienthal.” Houston Chronicle (Texas), 15 February 1947, 2/3. Readex: America’s Historical Newspapers.

“When Luddites Attack.” NPR: Planet Money, 6 May 2015.

Image credit: Walker and Knight, 1812. British Museum. Wikimedia Commons. Public domain image.

dog / hound

Dexter, a beagle, photo by Lori Cheung, 2006

30 April 2025

The short answer is that we don’t know for sure where the word dog comes from. Canis may be familiaris, but its name is something of a mystery.

The word docga does go back to Old English, but it appears only four times in the extant corpus of pre-Conquest writing, once as a standalone word in a gloss, and three times as part of a place name. In a manuscript copy of Prudentius’s Liber Peristephanon, the genitive plural form docgena glosses the Latin canum. The word 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.

Other than that one appearance in the gloss of the Latin, dog isn’t used to refer directly to the animal in any extant writing before the early thirteenth century, when it is used several times in the work Ancrene Riwle (also known as Ancrene Wisse). This text is a guide for anchoresses, women who withdrew from society, even monastic society, living as hermits within a monastery or church. This particular passage is a description of the devil:

I.þis deþes bite; for his teeþ beoþ attri. As of a wood dogge. Dauid I.þe psauter. Clepeþ him dogge.

(Surely, [it is] death’s bite. His teeth are venomous as of a mad dog. David in the Psalter calls him dog.)

Ancrene Riwle appears in many manuscripts. This quotation is taken from the Vernon Manuscript, which was copied c. 1400. The original work was probably written before 1200.

Cognates of dog appear in a number of European languages, but these are all much later, and it seems that they are all borrowed from English. The word isn’t related to any other Germanic words, so its origin is a mystery. However, it does follow a pattern that we see with two other animal words, pig (*picga) and stag (*stacga). Pig, which has a reconstructed Old English form of *picga or *pigga only appears as a compound in a gloss, where picbred (pig food) glosses the Latin glanx, glandis (acorn). Pig isn’t recorded as a standalone word until the thirteenth century. Similarly, stag isn’t recorded until the twelfth century but is assumed to have existed earlier.

There is, however, a plausible suggestion as to why dog (and pig and stag) is so rare in extant Old English writings. It could have been a hypocoristic term, that is, a term used as a nickname or by small children. And since almost all surviving Old English writing was written down by monks and nuns for specific religious or legal purposes, such informal words simply do not appear in the extant corpus.

The more common Old English term for a dog is hund. This word has a common Germanic root—Hund is the modern German word for dog, for example. And the Old English word survives as hound, although today that word has specialized to refer to a hunting dog, especially one that tracks prey by scent. So docga shows a similar semantic development as *picga, which has largely supplanted swin, or swine, the more common Old English word.

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Sources:

Dictionary of Old English: A to Le, 2024, s.v. docga, n.

Liberman, Anatoly. Word Origins . . . and How We Know Them. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2005, 116–17.

Middle English Dictionary, 4 March 2025, s.v. dogge, n.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, November 2010, s.v. dog, n.1.

Zettersten, Arne and Bernhard Diensberg, eds. The English Text of the Ancrene Riwle. Early English Text Society 310. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000, 103. Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Eng. poet. a. I. (Vernon MS). Archive.org.

Photo credit: Lori Cheung, 2006.

grotesque

Michelangelo, 1530, studies of grotesques

28 April 2025

To present-day English speakers, grotesque is probably most familiar as an adjective meaning incongruous, absurd, or having distorted and ugly features. But it can also be a noun meaning a style of decorative art with distorted or caricatured human or animal forms and a piece of work in that style. The noun sense is the older one.

The English word is first recorded in the 1560s, a borrowing from the early modern French crotesque, which in turn is from the Italian grottesca. The Italian root, grotta, means grotto, so a grotesque is literally a style or piece of art appropriate to grottos. Exactly how grottos came be associated with such art is uncertain, but a plausible explanation is that it comes from excavations of buried ancient Roman architecture that had such works on their walls.

We first see the word appear in English in inventories of the valuables possessed by the Scottish royal court made during the reigns of Mary Queen of Scots and James VI. The first, from 1561, reads:

Item, twa paintit broddis the ane of the muses and the uther of crotescque or conceptis.

(Item: two painted boards, one of the muses and the other grotesque or ornamental.)

The second, from 1578, reads:

Ane litle pece of broderie werk grotesque

(A little piece of grotesque embroidery work)

The modern adjective, in the sense of something distorted or disfigured, appears several decades later. From John Hall’s 1650 Paradoxes:

And if wee looke somewhat more nicely into the thing it selfe, we shall finde that the sluggish Name of content never came from any other forge then the dull multitude (who though they be masters of words) are commonly enemies of reason, and therefore ought to bee accounted one of those Grotesco Maximes, and willy-with-wishes, that doe so disfigure and misguide the life of man.

And here is another early example from John Dryden’s 1687 poem The Hind and the Panther:

Such Doctrines in the Pigeon-house were taught,
You need not ask how wondrously they wrought;
But sure the common Cry was all for these
Whose Life, and Precept both encourag'd Ease.
Yet fearing those alluring Baits might fail,
And Holy Deeds o're all their Arts prevail:
(For Vice, tho' frontless, and of harden'd Face
Is daunted at the sight of awfull Grace)
An hideous Figure of their Foes they drew,
Nor Lines, nor Looks, nor Shades, nor Colours true;
And this Grotesque design, expos'd to Publick view.

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Sources:

Dryden, John. The Hind and the Panther. London: Jacob Tonson, 1687, 131. ProQuest: Early English Books Online (EEBO).

Hall, John. Paradoxes. London: John Walker, 1650, 45. Gainesville, Florida: Scholars’ Facsimiles and Reprints, 1956. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

“Inventair of the Jowellis Plenissingis Artaillierie and Munitioun Being Within the Castell of Edinburgh Pertening to Our Soverane Lord and His Hienes Derrest Moder” (1578). In A Collection of Inventories and Other Records of the Royal Wardrobe and Jewelhouse. Edinburgh: 1815, 239. Google Books.

“Inventairis of the Movables Pertening to the Quenis Grace Dowriare and Regent and to Our Soverane Lady the Quene” (1561). In A Collection of Inventories and Other Records of the Royal Wardrobe and Jewelhouse. Edinburgh: 1815, 130. Google Books.

Oxford English Dictionary, second edition, 1989, s.v. grotesque, n. and adj.

Image credit: Michelangelo, 1530. British Museum. Wikimedia Commons. Public domain image.

conclave

White smoke from the Sistine Chapel signaling the election of Pope Benedict XVI in 2005

25 April 2025

In present-day parlance, a conclave is a gathering of a group of people, especially one held in private, and particularly that of the cardinals of the Roman Catholic Church for the purpose of selecting a new pope. The English word comes from either, or both, the French conclave and the Latin conclave, a locked room or chamber, con- (together) + -clavis (key). By 1245, in Anglo-Latin, and perhaps in other Latin dialects, it could also refer to a papal conclave.

The earliest known use of conclave in English is to a papal conclave in John Gower’s 1393 Confessio Amantis. The relevant passage is about the selection of Celestine V in 1294 after a two-year deadlock among the cardinals following the death of Nicolas IV in 1292:

And thus whan that he passed was,
The cardinals, that wolden save
The forme of lawe, in the conclave
Gon for to chese a newe pope.

(And thus when he died, the cardinals who wanted to maintain the form of law, in the conclave proceeded to choose a new pope.)

Forme of lawe is a reference to the papal bull Ubi periculum, promulgated by Gregory X in 1274 that had established the papal conclave, including its rules of seclusion, for choosing the next pope. But the papal bull had not been enforced, with the popes between Gregory and Celestine being chosen in open election.

Use of conclave to refer to other private gatherings dates to the mid sixteenth century, at first to gatherings of an ecclesiastical nature and by the nineteenth century to secular gatherings as well.

But early English usage also had the sense of a locked room. While this sense is recorded in English after the papal sense, it is likely that both borrowed at the same time, with the gap accounted for by a lacuna in the extant manuscripts. The earliest surviving example of the locked room sense is from a pilgrim’s guide to Rome (sort of a medieval Fodor’s guide) from c. 1450:

A noþir litil chapel is by and on þe auter stand to elde pileris of ston whech pileres þei sey stood in þat conclaue at Nazareth wher gabriel told our lady þoo first heuenely tydyngis.

(Another little chapel is nearby and on the altar stands two old pillars of stone; they say those pillars had stood in that conclave at Nazareth where Gabriel told our lady the first heavenly tidings.)

The Oxford English Dictionary (in an entry written in 1891) has a citation of conclave in the sense of a locked room from the Coventry Mysteries from before 1400, but this is erroneous. When the entry was written, these mystery plays were thought to have originated in Coventry, but more recent scholarship puts them no earlier than 1425 (the extant manuscript dates to 1468) and with an origin in East Anglia. The collection of plays is now generally referred to as the N-Town Plays. The passage, which expresses the antisemitism typical of medieval England, reads:

Pylat ful redyly the body doth hem graunt,
Than thei with reverens do put it in grave.
The Jewyes more wyckyd than ony geawunt,
ffor Crystes ded body kepers do thei crave,
Pylat sendyth iiij. knytes that be ryth hardaunt,
To keep the blody in his dede conclave.

(Pilate did full readily grant him [Nicodemus] the body, so they could with reverence put it in the grave. Because the Jews, more wicked than any giant, asked the attendants for Christ’s dead body, Pilate sent four knights who were very courageous to keep the body in its dead conclave.)

So conclave exhibits several changes in meaning over the centuries, from the original sense of a locked room—a sense that eventually became archaic—to a private meeting of cardinals to elect a new pope, to any ecclesiastical meeting, to just any meeting.

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Sources:

Capgrave, John. Ye Solace of Pilgrimes: A Description of Rome (c. 1450). C. A. Mills, ed. London: Oxford UP, 1911, 71. Archive.org.

Gower, John. Confessio Amantis (1393), second edition, vol. 2 of 3. Russell A. Peck, ed. TEAMS Middle English Text Series. Kalamazoo, Michigan: Medieval Institute Publications, 2013, Book 2, lines 2810–13.

Halliwell, James Orchard, ed. Ludus Coventriæ. London: Shakespeare Society, 1841, 15. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Latham, Ronald E., David R. Howletter, and Richard K. Ashdowne, eds. Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources, Oxford: Oxford UP, 2013. Brepols: Database of Latin Dictionaries.

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

Middle English Dictionary, 4 March 2025, s.v. conclave, n.

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

Photo credit: Vdp, 2005. Wikimedia Commons. Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

chauvinism

Nicolas Toussaint Charlet, c. 1825; lithograph of two veterans in Napoleon’s army breaking up a duel between two conscripts; the caption reads “Je suis Français, tu es Français, il est Français, nous sommes tous Français, Chauvin, l'affaire peut s'arranger” (I am French, you are French, he is French, we are all French, Chauvin, the matter can be resolved)

25 April 2025

Today we usually associate chauvinism with sexism, the belief that men are superior to women, but this is a relatively recent development in the word’s history. The original sense of the word was jingoism or superpatriotism, the blind, bellicose, and unswerving belief that one’s country is always in the right.

Chauvinism is an eponym, or a word formed from a person’s name, in this case Nicholas Chauvin. It is a near certainty that Chauvin never actually existed. He is a fictional character created to lampoon jingoistic patriots. The tales would have it that he was born in 1780 in Rochefort, France and served ably and well in Napoleon’s army, even being promoted to general, decorated, and granted a pension by the emperor himself.

That was fiction. What is factual is that after the Napoleon’s exile to St. Helena in 1815 the name Chauvin began to be applied to those soldiers who idolized the former emperor and expressed a desire to return to the good old days of the empire. Most famously, the name was given to a ridiculous character in the Cogniard brothers’ 1831 play La Cocarde Tricolore (The Tricolor Cockade), who uttered the line, “je suis français, je suis Chauvin” (“I am French, I am Chauvin”).

Chauvinism and chauvinist soon crossed the channel and began to be used in English by the mid nineteenth century. The following appeared in the 17 May 1851 issue of Littell’s Living Age, a Boston periodical that reprinted items from other American and British newspapers and magazines:

Between the saying of Anteroches and that of Cambronne there is a great gap; we find that the revolution has passed through it. The gentleman, refined even to exaggeration, has disappeared, and we have instead the rude language of democracy—“La garde meurt et ne se rend pas”—this is heroism, no doubt, but heroism of another sort. Never did the chauvinism of this present time light upon a more cornelian device, but do you not see in it the theatrical affectation, the melo-dramatic emphasis of another race?

The quotation “la garde meurt et ne se rend pas” (the guard dies and does not surrender) is attributed to Pierre Cambronne, a general in Napoleon’s Imperial Guard who allegedly uttered the line when the British demanded his surrender at Waterloo. The line was almost certainly invented after the fact—especially given that Cambronne did indeed surrender and lived for another twenty-seven years. An alternative, and more plausible, version of what he said is simply, “Merde!”

But quickly the term began to be applied to superpatriots from other countries, not just France. The following item about Romania appeared in London’s The Examiner on 6 June 1868:

It is this nucleus of a party of parliamentary self-government which the Bratiano Government now endeavours to destroy by rousing a kind of Rouman “Chauvinism.” The cry at Bucharest, among the adherents of the Cabinet, is for the enlargement of the frontiers of the new State—even if it has to be done with Russian aid!

The association with sexism would not appear until the twentieth century. The phrase “Male Chauvinism” appears as a section header in an article in New York’s Daily Worker of 5 March 1932. And both male chauvinism and female chauvinism appear in the Christian Science Monitor of 7 August 1935:

William H. Adler, we find, is apparently wrong for the first time … Of our suggestion that a Woman’s Who’s Who smacks of female chauvinism, he says: “This means the reviewer considers the female cause a lost one … or does it?” No, it doesn’t … Both Webster and Oxford define chauvinism as jingoism, and mention no connotation of hopelessness … Perhaps the change of scene has affected Mr. Adler’s etymological sensibility … He has lately removed, temporarily, from Shanghai to London … We hope he goes back by way of Boston.

Another correspondent objected to this same comment … She inquired pointedly if in reviewing “America’s Young Men” we had suggested that it smacked of male chauvinism … She had us there—we hadn’t … Still, we believe our main point stands—that men and women should receive recognition without discrimination.

But male chauvinist may be a decade or more older, just unrecorded. There is this story from the New Yorker of 13 April 1940 that refers to an event that had allegedly occurred some fifteen years earlier in McSorley’s Ale House:

One night in the winter of 1924 a feminist from Greenwich Village put on trousers, a man’s topcoat, and a cap, stuck a cigar into her mouth, and entered McSorley’s. She bought an ale, drank it, removed her cap, and shook her long hair down on her shoulders. Then she called Bill a male chauvinist, yelled something about the equality of the sexes, and ran out.

While there is no particular reason to doubt that the incident happened, whether or not the phrase male chauvinist was uttered is in question.

While there are these older uses, male chauvinism came to the fore with second-wave feminism of the 1960s and 70s, often with the added epithet of pig. Here is the earliest example of male chauvinist pig that I have found. From an article about political protests in Canada that appeared in the Kitchener-Waterloo Record of 9 August 1969:

The placards represented various views. One read “Keep the state out of the nations bedrooms—allow abortions.” Another was “OUR PET is a male chauvinist pig.”

This association with sexism became so strong that often the male is simply dropped.

But chauvinism is not exclusively applied to sexists. It is also used in other contexts, but almost always with a modifier. In April 1955 an article in the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists decried the attitudes of those who professed a belief that their nation was superior to others in the field of science:

Even though scientists did not go as far as to confuse scientific knowledge with national ideological doctrine, they did, nonetheless, often make it a point of patriotic honor to practice a certain kind of scientific nationalism and almost indeed a scientific chauvinism.

And in his 1973 book The Cosmic Connection, astronomer Carl Sagan referred to oxygen chauvinism in our perceptions of what extraterrestrial life might look like

Oxygen chauvinism is common. If a planet has no oxygen, it is alleged to be uninhabitable. This view ignores the fact that life arose on Earth in the absence of oxygen. In fact, oxygen chauvinism, if accepted, logically demonstrates that life anywhere is impossible.

(The Oxford English Dictionary has a citation of Sagan using the phrase human chauvinism in this book, but I cannot find that phrase, or even the page number on which it allegedly appears, in any edition of the book I have access to.)

All in all, chauvinism is a pretty successful eponym, considering it’s named after someone who never lived.

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Sources:

Carney, Tom. “Pelted with Paper and Banana Peel.” Kitchener-Waterloo Record (Ontario), 9 August 1969, 2/2. ProQuest Newspapers.

Dubarle, Daniel. “Observations in the Relations between Science and the State.” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, 11.4, April 1955, 141–44 at 142/3. Google Books.

Hutchins, Grace. “11 Million Women Are a Big Factor in the Struggle of Toilers Against Bosses.” Daily Worker (New York), 5 March 1932, 4/7. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

Mitchell, Joseph. “Profiles: The Old House at Home.” New Yorker, 13 April 1940, 23/3. New Yorker Archive.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, June 2000, s.v. male chauvinism, n.; second edition, 1989, s.v. chauvinism, n.

“The Political Examiner.” The Examiner (London), 6 June 1868, 1/2. Gale Primary Sources: British Library Newspapers.

Sagan Carl. The Cosmic Connection: An Extraterrestrial Perspective. New York: Anchor Press/Doubleday, 1973, 44. Archive.org.

Sloper, L.A. “Bookman’s Holiday.” Christian Science Monitor (Boston, Massachusetts), 7 August 1935, Magazine Section 11/1. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

“A Wreck of the Old French Aristocracy.” Littell’s Living Age (Boston, Massachusetts), 17 May 1851, 308–11 at 310. Gale Primary Sources: American Historical Periodicals from the American Antiquarian Society

Image credit: Nicolas Toussaint Charlet, c. 1825. British Museum. Wikimedia Commons. Public domain image.