Category: words

Back in the spring, I put out a request on Facebook. I implored readers to submit their favorite English words or phrases whose meanings hinge on an archaic or little-known definition. I was inspired by a mini-uproar over the Church Militant website. While that name sounds belligerent, the concept of the church militant has been part of Christian theology for millennia, as evidenced by the Latinate ordering of noun and adjective. While militant does indeed come from the Latin milites (footsoldier), in the church militant Christian “soldiers” struggle against evil on Earth until they join the church triumphant (Heaven). The vast majority of practicing Christians understand the church militant struggles against temptation, sin, and despair more than political foes. However, the website and organization seem to espouse a different philosophy, and the New York Times never misses a chance to fire a shot in their tireless crusade against violent Christian extremists.

(The best comparison I can make, based on my limited knowledge of Islamic theology, is to jihad. The Times has spent many pixels and type blocks emphasizing that for the majority of Muslims, jihad means a struggle against temptation, sin, and despair, not blowing up buses.)

I used militant as my springboard because Christians understand it (in the context of church militant) as a synonym for “struggle” or “labor.” Once upon a time, this was the secondary definition of the word and except in church militant, that meaning is now dead. Another such word is prove, as in “the exception proves the rule.” No, that aphorism doesn’t mean an exception ratifies the rule — rather, it tests the rule. Read in this manner, the phrase actually makes sense! The outmoded definition also survives in “the proof (read: test) of the pudding is in the eating” and proving ground, a place where machines, munitions, and ideas are tested.

So on to the submissions. David from D.C. wants everyone to know about the word panic. Originating with the Greek god Pan, it used to mean “wild and uncontrolled,” because Pan would sometimes cause herds to stampede. That birthed the phrase panic fear, which eventually shed the second word but retained the whole meaning of an “uncontrollable fear or anxiety.”

Harvard PhD Jeff (yes, we have the most learned readers) offered us an espresso, or as some in the Anglophone world misstate it, expresso. “Expresso” is etymologically correct, as espresso literally translates to “express.” So why is an espresso an “express”? Because it’s made quickly? According to Jeff and other sources, it draws on an older meaning of express: made to order. However, still other sources claim another, obsolete meaning of express: to press out. Considering how espresso is prepared, both theories have merit. By the way, the “press out” meaning is not entirely archaic — nursing mothers sometimes need to squeeze their breasts to express milk.

Jeanne submitted begs the question, but in this case begs is more of a mistranslation than an archaic definition. This phrase deserves its own article, and Lex has promised to write one.

At this point, loyal reader Anne the English Teacher chimed in with a subject that keeps her up at night — words that perhaps we shouldn’t use because of their politically incorrect origins. She started with denigrate (“to blacken”) and wondered why those who are not white supremacists would use such a sinister word. Again, I think this issue deserves its own article. And here it is.

— Otto E. Mezzo

A few days ago, I reported on reader CLG’s (aka Cliggie Smalls) brush with timely used as an adverb. Her friend Elizabeth joined in the rant:

There is a related word of which I have an irrational hatred. It just sounds wrong. I first learned of its existence when I was still working in NY — my idiotic manager used it in a memo and I was convinced she was making it up (or at best, using her automatic Word synonym generator) since she used to have a very strange use of language in general.

That word is timeous. 

Never heard of it? If you’re on the Yankee side of the pond, you probably haven’t. According to the OED, it’s Scottish in origin. And it’s pronounced time-us, kind of like the gland.

Here’s where it gets interesting. Commenter Ruth on Gaertner-Johnston’s blog (to which I referred in the timely article) says of timeous:

I thought you might be interested to know that we use it fairly regularly in formal writing in South Africa (we generally follow the British style of English). The document I’m currently working on reads that my company “requires timeous notification of …” 

Indeed, Merriam-Webster adds South Africa to the short list of localities that employ the word. Please note, though, that timeous is not an alternative to timely as an adverb. Like timely, timeous is an adjective, with timeously being the adverb form.

I encourage you to read all the comments on the Lynn Gaertner-Johnston’s Business Writing article on timely. You will also note that the use of timely as an adverb is archaic, so unless you’re writing writs of marque and reprisal, just knock it off.

— Otto E. Mezzo

See also: Timely

References: http://www.businesswritingblog.com/business_writing/2007/01/timely_or_on_ti.html
https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/timeous
https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/timely

I had occasion to use the word agendum recently and it felt good. Here is the sentence:

I have worked as a journalist and a documentarian, and I can attest the worst thing either can do is to approach a story with an agendum*.

The asterisk is there to explain why I used agendum instead of the more commonly seen agenda — namely, it didn’t feel right to write “an agenda.” Most writers don’t have this conundrum because most writers don’t think of agenda as plural, which it is. “What is the agenda for today’s meeting?” is considered correct. “What are the agenda?” just sounds strange. And yet, when it came time to type an agenda, something held me back.

There are several plural words we commonly use as singular: media, data, graffiti, and paparazzi come to mind. Most style guides insist you treat data as plural (“The data show irregularities,” not “The data shows irregularities.”) But honestly, when was the last time you spoke of a datum? For that matter, when have you ever ordered a panino instead of a ham and pesto panini?

How about this one: news? Looks plural to me, and yet we use it as singular — “The news is not good.” Like media (as in the news media), news is a collective noun. It suggests a flock of birds or a herd of cattle. And yet, the AP, the New York Times and most news organizations treat news as singular but media as plural. (For the record, they universally treat data, criteria, and agenda also as plural.)

The Grey Lady, in a characteristic huff of elitism, explains its treatment of media thusly:

The term is often seen doing duty as a singular. But The Times, with a grammatically exacting readership, will keep it plural for now; the singular is medium.

However, those of us in the corporate trenches serve a different readership, one less exacting. If I hammer my students with one rule of writing, it’s this: write to your audience. I had this boom lowered on my own head recently, when I used raison d’être in a meeting. My associates looked at me as if I was from Mars, and I sheepishly explained that raison d’être is French for “reason for being.” Why didn’t I just say “reason for being?” they asked. Yes, why didn’t I? So I could sound superior? What was that about elitism?

So what to do in the business world? I still defend the mantra that words have meaning. However, I also understand the confusion most readers have with collective nouns (see news, above). Data, media, and criteria are still safely defended as plurals, so I recommend holding the line on them. However, agenda is now singular in the corporate world. That’s the way it is; agendum has been lexicided. If your bosses correct you when you correct them on leverage or i.e. vs. e.g. (both have happened to me), I sympathize. However, unless you’re writing for the New York Times readership, discretion is the better part of valor. We all have an agenda. Mine is staying employed.

— Otto E. Mezzo

References: http://archives.cjr.org/language_corner/cultured_plurals.php

A few months, ago, we asked for your favorite words and terms borrowed from the military. Reader Larry shared this Telegraph article with us, which offers up some revealing tidbits about phrases conjured up during the Great War:

Among the list of everyday terms found to have originated or spread from the conflict are cushy, snapshot, bloke, wash out, conk out, blind spot, binge drink and pushing up daisies.

A snapshot was a hastily aimed rifle shot. Lousy actually meant “infested with lice.” (Think about that when you want to quit your lousy job. You’re not an exterminator, are you?) Crummy follows the same pattern, only with crumbs instead of parasites. Binge and cushy reflect the crashing together of cultures in the trenches. Binge was a term apparently restricted to Lancashire, but spread quickly among troops. Cushy comes from khush (the Hindi word for pleasure) and originated with Indian soldiers serving with Britain.

My favorite revelation is the euphemism gone west for dying in battle. In the U.S.A., we talk of a situation going south when everything goes wrong. I don’t know why south is our compass heading for failure, except that south is “down” on a borealocentric map. It could also relate to being sold down the river, which for a slave in the American South meant a harsher life. The river they spoke of was the Mississippi, and downriver was due south.

Going south is a synonym for going pear shaped, which is the preferred term across the pond. Indeed, the Royal Air Force gets the credit for the term, but no one quite knows why. The two best explanations we’ve heard are: pear shaped refers to women, which are bad news; pear shaped refers to a poorly executed aerial loop – not round, not elliptical, but flat at the bottom. I think I’ll take the latter, as I don’t know many women who fancy themselves as troublesome or shaped like a Bartlett.

Sticking with the theme of bad things happening, Anne, our stalwart reader and teacher from North Carolina, added to the conversation thusly:

To “buy the farm,” meaning to die (which then becomes go out of business, cease to function, etc.) was a WWI term. A lot of young rural soldiers joined the army, each planning to use his pay to marry his sweetheart after the war and buy a little farm somewhere. The phrase became a cliché when one or more of them died, and their comrades mourned that perhaps he had bought the farm now (perhaps in heaven?).

As with much slang, dispute exists on the origins of buy the farm. World Wide Words cites Anne’s etymology as one of the more plausible sources. Snopes points out that to buy as a euphemism for dying dates back even further. Hence, to buy the farm means to lay claim to a piece of land – i.e., your grave.

– Otto E. Mezzo

References:
“The trench talk that is now entrenched in the English language,” The Telegraph
“Sold down the river,” Grammarphobia
“Go pear-shaped,” Not One-Off Britishisms
Fraser’s Phrases: “It’s All Gone Pear-Shaped,“ BBC America
To buy the farm,” World Wide Words
“Buy the Farm,” Snopes.com