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By: Alice,
on 3/23/2016
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Last week, I discussed the role of taboo in naming animals, a phenomenon that often makes a search for origins difficult or even impossible. Still another factor of the same type is the presence of migratory words. The people of one locality may have feared, hunted, or coexisted in peace with a certain animal for centuries. They, naturally, call it something.
The post ‘Vulpes vulpes,’ or foxes have holes. Part 2 appeared first on OUPblog.
By: Alice,
on 2/13/2013
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By Anatoly Liberman
The questions people ask about word origins usually concern slang, family names, and idioms. I cannot remember being ever asked about the etymology of house, fox, or sun. These are such common words that we take them for granted, and yet their history is often complicated and instructive. In this blog, I usually stay away from them, but I sometimes let my Indo-European sympathies run away with me. Today’s subject is of this type.
Guest is an ancient word, with cognates in all the Germanic languages. If in English its development had not been interrupted, today it would have been pronounced approximately like yeast, but in the aftermath of the Viking raids the native form was replaced with its Scandinavian congener, as also happened to give, get, and many other words. The modern spelling guest, with u, points to the presence of “hard” g (compare guess). The German and Old Norse for guest are Gast and gestr respectively; the vowel in German (it should have been e) poses a problem, but it cannot delay us here.
The hostess and her guests
The related forms are Latin
hostis and, to give one Slavic example, Russian
gost’. Although the word had wide currency (Italic-Germanic-Slavic), its senses diverged. Latin
hostis meant “public enemy,” in distinction from
inimicus “one’s private foe.” (I probably don’t have to add that
inimicus is the ultimate etymon of
enemy.) In today’s English,
hostile and
inimical are rather close synonyms, but
inimical is more bookish and therefore more restricted in usage (some of my undergraduate students don’t understand it, but everybody knows
hostile). However, “enemy” was this noun’s later meaning, which supplanted “stranger (who in early Rome had the rights of a Roman).” And “stranger” is what Gothic
gasts meant. In the text of the Gothic Bible (a fourth-century translation from Greek), it corresponds to
ksénos “stranger,” from which we have
xeno-, as in
xenophobia. Incidentally, by the beginning of the twentieth century, the best Indo-European scholars had agreed that Greek
ksénos is both a gloss and a cognate of
hostis ~
gasts (with a bit of legitimate phonetic maneuvering all of them can be traced to the same protoform). This opinion has now been given up;
ksénos seems to lack siblings. (What a drama! To mean “stranger” and end up in linguistic isolation.) The progress of linguistics brings with it not only an increase in knowledge but also the loss of many formerly accepted truths. However, caution should be recommended. Some people whose opinion is worth hearing still believe in the affinity between
ksénos and
hostis. Discarded conjectures are apt to return. Today the acknowledged authorities separate the Greek word from the cognates of
guest; tomorrow, the pendulum may swing in the opposite direction.
Let us stay with Latin hostis for some more time. Like guest, Engl. host is neither an alien nor a dangerous adversary. The reason is that host goes back not to hostis but to Old French (h)oste, from Latin hospit-, the root of hospes, which meant both “host” and “guest,” presumably, an ancient compound that sounded as ghosti-potis “master (or lord) of strangers” (potis as in potent, potential, possibly despot, and so forth). We remember Latin hospit- from Engl. hospice, hospital, and hospitable, all, as usual, via Old French. Hostler, ostler, hostel, and hotel belong here too, each with its own history, and it is amusing that so many senses have merged and that, for instance, a hostel is not a hostile place.
Unlike host “he who entertains guests,” Engl. host “multitude” does trace to Latin hostis “enemy.” In Medieval Latin, this word acquired the sense “hostile, invading army,” and in English it still means “a large armed force marshaled for war,” except when used in a watered down sense, as in a host of troubles, a host of questions, or a host of friends (!). Finally, the etymon of host “consecrated wafer” is Latin hostia “sacrificial victim,” again via Old French. Hostia is a derivative of hostis, but the sense development to “sacrifice” (through “compensation”?) is obscure.
The puzzling part of this story is that long ago the same words could evidently mean “guest” and “the person who entertains guests”, “stranger” and “enemy.” This amalgam has been accounted for in a satisfactory way. Someone coming from afar could be a friend or an enemy. “Stranger” covers both situations. With time different languages generalized one or the other sense, so that “guest” vacillated between “a person who is friendly and welcome” and “a dangerous invader.” Newcomers had to be tested for their intentions and either greeted cordially or kept at bay. Words of this type are particularly sensitive to the structure of societal institutions. Thus, friend is, from a historical point of view, a present participle meaning “loving,” but Icelandic frændi “kinsman” makes it clear that one was supposed “to love” one’s relatives. “Friendship” referred to the obligation one had toward the other members of the family (clan, tribe), rather than a sentimental feeling we associate with this word.
It is with hospitality as it is with friendship. We should beware of endowing familiar words with the meanings natural to us. A friendly visit presupposes reciprocity: today you are the host, tomorrow you will be your host’s guest. In old societies, the “exchange” was institutionalized even more strictly than now. The constant trading of roles allowed the same word to do double duty. In this situation, meanings could develop in unpredictable ways. In Modern Russian, as well as in the other Slavic languages, gost’ and its cognates mean “guest,” but a common older sense of gost’ was “merchant” (it is still understood in the modern language and survives in several derivatives). Most likely, someone who came to Russia to sell his wares was first and foremost looked upon as a stranger; merchant would then be the product of semantic specialization.
One can also ask what the most ancient etymon of hostis ~ gasts was. Those scholars who looked on ksénos and hostis as related also cited Sanskrit ghásati “consume.” If this sense can be connected with the idea of offering food to guests, we will again find ourselves in the sphere of hospitality. The Sanskrit verb begins with gh-. The founders of Indo-European philology believed that words like Gothic gasts and Latin host go back to a protoform resembling the Sanskrit one. Later, according to this reconstruction, initial gh- remained unchanged in some languages of India but was simplified to g in Germanic and h in Latin. The existence of early Indo-European gh- has been questioned, but reviewing this debate would take us too far afield and in that barren field we will find nothing. We only have to understand that gasts ~ guest and hostis ~ host can indeed be related.
There is a linguistic term enantiosemy. It means a combination of two opposite senses in one word, as in Latin altus “high” and “deep.” Some people have spun an intricate yarn around this phenomenon, pointing out that everything in the world has too sides (hence the merger of the opposites) or admiring the simplicity (or complexity?) of primitive thought, allegedly unable to discriminate between cold and hot, black and white, and the like. But in almost all cases, the riddle has a much simpler solution. Etymology shows that the distance from host to guest, from friend to enemy, and from love to hatred is short, but we do not need historical linguists to tell us that.
Anatoly Liberman is the author of Word Origins…And How We Know Them as well as An Analytic Dictionary of English Etymology: An Introduction. His column on word origins, The Oxford Etymologist, appears here, each Wednesday. Send your etymology question to him care of [email protected]; he’ll do his best to avoid responding with “origin unknown.”
Subscribe to Anatoly Liberman’s weekly etymology posts via email or RSS.
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Image credit: Conversation de dames en l’absence de leurs maris: le diner. Abraham Bosse. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons.
The post ‘Guests’ and ‘hosts’ appeared first on OUPblog.
Posted on 8/11/2009
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What do a wheel rut, a flash of lightning and a dining table have in common?
Medical Terminology. Ever think about how a doctor in New York can speak to a doctor in Japan about medical matters. They use the same medical words. I found this fascinating, and hope you will, as well.
I’m also a Jeopardy fan. For those of you unfamiliar with this TV format, a contestant is presented with the answer, and must deliver the definition to win a prize.
So…..here it is. It’s a medical jeopardy. Here are 127 questions.
If you’re in the medical or health care field, chances are you’ll have no trouble with most of these, The object here is to present to you the oddities of linguistic evolution.
WARNING: DO NOT USE THE MATIERIAL IN THIS ARTICLE AS PRIMARY SOURCE MATERIAL (although you might be tempted). This is simply because much of what is known about language derivatives is assumed - not fact.*
Answers are presented on the last page.
1. FINE POWDER: from the Arabic “al” (the) and koh l “fine impalpable powder.”
2. RUT MADE BY A WHEEL: From the Latin, “orbita.”
3. TO MAKE STICKY: From the Latin, “viscare.”
4. PERTAINING TO THE FORUM: From the Latin “forum.”
5. CAUSE OF DWARFISM: Long bones do not grow. From Greek “a” absence, “chondrus” (cartilage) and “plassein” (to form).
6. BULK OR MASS; From the Greek, “ongkos.”
7. TO INCREASE: From the Indo-European, “aweg.”
8. INSENSITIVITY TO PAIN: from the Greek “an” (without) and algesis (sense of
pain).
9. KNOT or KNOB: From the Latin, “nodus.”
10. AN AIR DUCT: From the Greek “aer” (air) and “tereo” (I keep).
11. NOSE or SNOUT: From the Greek, “mukter.”
12. A SHEPHERD’S PIPE: From the Greek, “syringx.”
13. DULL TO PERCEPTION: from the Indo-European root, “dheubh,”
14. ONE-HALF OF THE SKULL: From the Latin, “hemicrania.”
15. LIKE A STRAIGHT SWORD: From the Greek, “xiphos.”
16. TO BLOCK or PLUG: From the Latin, “obsterix.”
17. TO BOIL OUT: From the Greek, “ek-“ (out) and “zeein” (to boil).
18. CRECENT-SHAPED: From the Greek, “meniskos.”
19. A PRICK OR PUNCTURE BY A NEEDLE: from the Latin “acus” (needle) and
“punctum” puncture.
20. FLASH OF LIGHTNING: From the Latin, “fulgor.”
21. BREAST-LIKE: From the Greek, “mastos” and “eidos.”
22. THORN or PRICKLY BUSH: From the Latin, “spina.”
23. PRODUCE OR BRING FORTH: From the Greek, “gennao.”
24. ONE WHO HEALS: From the Anglo-Saxon, “laece.”
25. DRY, ACRID: From the Indo-European, “ters.”
26. TRANSPARANT STONE or CRYSTAL: From the Greek, “hyalos.”
27. CHEW: From the Anglos-Saxon, “ceowan.” (noun)
28. LIGHT GREENISH-YELLOW: From the Latin, “galbinus.”
29. WITHOUT WEIGHT or LIGHT: From the Sanskrit, “ laghu.:”
30. A CUTTING UP: from the Greek “ana” (up or through) and “tome” (a cutting).
31. GATEKEEPER: From the Greek, pyle.”
32. A COVERLET or CLOAK: From the Latin, “pallium.”
33. MINT: From the Latin, “menthe.”
34. WITHOUT A NAME: From the Latin, “innominatus.”
35. A DINING TABLE: From the Greek, “trapeze.”
36. CENTER OF WHEEL HUB: From the Anglo-Saxon, “ nafe.”
37. A TRENCH OR ABYSS: From the Old English, “grynde.”
38. AN OFFSHOOT: from the Greek “apo” (from) and “physis” (growth).
39. ATTACK or INJURY: From the Latin, “laesia.”
40. SERVICE or ATTENDANCE: From the Greek, “therapeia.”
41. BELONGING TO A WALL: From the Latin, “parietalis.”
42. SEEING FOR ONESELF: from the Greek “auto” and “opsis” (seeing).
43. JUICE, SAP, RESIN OR GUM OF A TREE: From the Greek, “opos.”
44. SILVERY SWELLING: From the Greek, “glaukos” and “oma.”
45. TO STRETCH: From the Greek , “teinein.”
46. TO DISGRACE, TO FALL SHORT OF: from the Latin “degenerare.”
47. PIMPLE: From the Greek, “pomphos.”
48. A NUT OR ACORN: From the Latin. “glandulus.”
49. TO SCRAPE OR SCRATCH: From the Latin, “radere.”
50. LARGE STONE IN FRONT OF DOOR TO KEEP IT SHUT:
From the Greek, “thyreos.”
51. FLAME OR HEAT: From the Greek, “phlegma.”
52. PAUNCH or BELLY: From the Greek, “gaster.”
53. FUNNEL: From the Latin, “infundere.”
54. YOKE CONNECTING TWO ANIMALS: From the Greek, “zygon.”
55. TO PLEASE: From the Latin, “placere.”
56. TO BEND OR TURN: From the Latin, “flectere.”
57. EARTH OR LAND: From the Latin, “humus.”
58. HEALING OINTMENT: From the Anglo-Saxon, “sealf.”
59. TO SEND FLUID IN: From the Greek, “en” (in) and “ienai” (to send).
60. TO DYE, STAIN, CORRUPT or BOIL: From the Latin, “inficere.”
61. A PRUNING: from the Latin “amputatio.”
62. WORKING WITH THE HANDS: From the Greek, “ cheirourgia.”
63. A FLOWING SEED: From the Greek, :”gone” and “rheos.”
64. RELATING TO THE SPHINX
65. HOLY or CONSECRATED: From the Latin, “Sacer.”
66. TWELVE FINGERS: from the Greek, “dodek-daktulon.
67. STIFF or STRONG: From the Anglo-Saxon, “stark.”
68. A COCK’S SPUR: From the old French, “argot” (rye plant infected by fungus.”
69. AFFLICTED WITH SPOTS: From the Old High German, “masa” and
Middle English, “mesel.”
70. TO BE ASHAMED: From the Latin, “pudere.”
71. TO WIND OR CURVE: From the Latin, “sinuare.”
72. A CIRCULAR OR FLAT STONE: From the Greek, “discos.”
73. PAIR OF FOLDING or DOUBLE DOORS: From the Latin, “valvae.”
74. A TURBAN: From the Latin, “mitra.”
75. LACK OF NOURISHMENT: from the Greek “a-“ (without) and trophe
(nourishment).
76. FORTY: From the Latin, “quadraginta.”
77. MASS OF MOLTEN IRON: From the Latin, “strictura.”
78. A STING OR ITCH: From the Latin, “urtica.”
79. TO TEACH: from the Latin, “docere.”
80. TO SWELL or RIPEN: From the Greek, “ orgainein.”
81. TO TAKE AWAY COLOR: From the Old French, “desteindre.”
82. WITHOUT PULSE: from the Greek “a” (without) and “sphyxis” (pulse).
83. CORRUPT MATTER: From the Greek, “Pyon.”
84. LIE ON OR BROOD: From the Latin, “incubare.”
85. LOVE, HONOR, DESIRE: From the Sanskrit, “wan” and “van.”
86. MORE, SHIFT, CHANGE or ALTER: From the Latin, “mutare.”
87. TO APPRAISE: From the Latin, “taxare.”
88. OPEN SPACE, COURTYARD OR PARK: From the Latin “area.”
89. POUCH: From the Norman French, “poque.”
90. A TAILOR: From the Latin, “sartor.”
91. WALKING HOSPITAL: from the French “hopital ambulant.”
92. BARK OF A TREE: From the Peruvian Indian, “kina.”
93. LITTLE BEAK: From the Anglo-Saxon, “nib.”
94. TO WEAVE: From the Latin,”textere.”
95. BOWL or SHELL: From the Nordic, “Skal.”
96. RUPTURE or HERNIA: From the Greek, “kele.”
97. TO ROLL OR TURN AROUND: From the Latin, “volvere.”
98. A BLOW OR STROKE: From the Latin, “ plege.”
99. SORE THROAT: from the Latin “angere” (to choke or throttle).
100. LITTLE BALL: From the Latin, “pilula.”
101. POUCH OF LEATHER: From the Latin, “scorteus.”
102. WHORL, EDDY or TORNADO: From the Latin, “Turbo.”
103. CLEAR WATER: From the Latin, “lympha.”
104. LITTLE NET: From the Latin, “rete.”
105 ANYTHING SCOOPED OUT: From the Greek, “skaphe.”
106. ROUGH: From the Greek, “traxus.”
107. LOSS OF MEMORY: from the Greek “a” (without) and “mensis” (memory).
108. A SQUEAKING: From the Greek, “trismos.”
109. A COOKING: From the Latin, “pepsis.”
110. UNCUT or INDIVISIBLE: from the Greek “a-“ (without) and “temnein” (to cut).
111. PEAR-SHAPED: From the Latin, “pirum” and “forma.”
112. A HOOK: From the Latin,”uncus.”
113. DIFFERENT WORK: from the Greek “allo” (other or different) and “ergon (work).
114. SEAT OF REASON OR PASSION: From the Greek, “phren.”
115. TO WRING OUT: From the Old French,”expraindre.”
116. A FOOTPRINT: From the Latin, “vestigium.”
117. BLADDER or BAG: From the Latin, “vesiculum.”
118. SMALL ENDOCRINE GLANDS ON KIDNEYS: from the Latin “ad” (toward) and
“renes” kidneys.
119. A POUNDER: From the Latin, “pistillum.”
120. TO ACCUSTOM: From the Anglo-Saxon, “wenian.”
121. TUB or TROUGH: From the Greek, “pyelos.”
122. ARTICULATION OF ULNA AND HUMERUS: A punster’s definition.
123. PERTAINING TO NATURAL LAW: From the Greek, “physikos.”
124. THE TASTE OF ACID: from the Latin “acidus” (sour, tart).
125: A PUSH OR IMPULSE: From the Greek, “osmos.”
126. SPROUT, BUD or OFFSHOOT: From the Latin, “germen.”
127. A COW: From the Latin, “vacca.”
*Thanks to:
Stedman’s Medical Dictionary , 26th Edition
Dorland’s Illustrated Medical Dictionary, 24th Edition
Gray’s Anatomy (any library edition).
The Language of Medicine, 4th edition, Davi-Ellen Chabner
Medical Meanings, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1984
—————————————————————————————————————-
1. Alcohol2. Orbit
3. Viscus
4. Forensic
5. Achondroplasia
6. Oncology
7. Waist
8. Analgesia
9. Node
10. Artery
11. Mucus
12. Syringe
13. Deaf
14. Migraine
15. Xyphoid
16. Obstetrics
17. Eczema
18. Meniscus
19. Acupuncture
20. Fulguration
21. Mastoid
22. Spine
23. Gene
24. Leech
25. Thirst
26. Hyaline
27. Jaw.
28. Jaundice
29. Lung
30. Anatomy
31. Pylorus
32. Palliate
33. Menthol
34. Innominate
35. Trapezius
36. Navel
37. Gum
38. Apophysis
39. Lesion
40. Therapy
41. Parietal
42. Autopsy
43. Opium
44. Glaucoma
45. Tendon
46. Degenerate
47. Papule
48. Gland
49. Rash
50. Thyroid
51.Phlegm
52. Gastric
53. Infindibulum.
54. Zygomatic
55. Placebo
56. Flex
57.. Human
58. Salve
59. Enema
60. Inflammation.
61. Amputation
62. Surgery
63. Gonorrhea
64. Sphincter (interesting story)
65. Sacrum
66. Duodenum
67. Starch
68. Ergot
69. Measles
70. Pudenda
71. Sinus
72. Disc
73. Valve
74. Mitral
75. Atrophy
76. Quarantine
77. Stricture
78. Urticaria.
79. Doctor
80. Orgasm
81. Stain
82. Asphyxia
83. Pus
84. Incubate
85. Venereal/Venus
86. Mutate
87. Taste
88. Areola
89. Pox
90. Sartorius
97. Ambulance
92. Quinine
93. Nipple
94. Tissue
95. Skull.
96. Keloid.
97. Vulva
98. Plague
99. Angina
100. Pill
101. Scrotum
102. Turbinate.
103. Lymph
104. Reticulum
105. Scaphoid
106. Trachea
107. Amnesia
108. Trismus
109. Pepsin
110. Atom
111. Piriform
112. Uncinate/unciform
113. Allergy
114. Phrenic
115. Sprain
116. Vestige
117. Vesicle
118. Adrenal
119. Pestle
120. Wean
121. Pelvis
122. Funny Bone (gotcha!)
123. Physician/physics
124. Acrid
125. Osmosis
126. Germ
127. Vaccine
Posted on 8/11/2009
Blog:
Time Machine, Three Trips: Where Would You Go?
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Image via Wikipedia
What do a wheel rut, a flash of lightning and a dining table have in common?
Medical Terminology. Ever think about how a doctor in New York can speak to a doctor in Japan about medical matters. They use the same medical words. I found this fascinating, and hope you will, as well.
I’m also a Jeopardy fan. For those of you unfamiliar with this TV format, a contestant is presented with the answer, and must deliver the definition to win a prize.
So…..here it is. It’s a medical jeopardy. Here are 127 questions.
If you’re in the medical or health care field, chances are you’ll have no trouble with most of these, The object here is to present to you the oddities of linguistic evolution.
WARNING: DO NOT USE THE MATIERIAL IN THIS ARTICLE AS PRIMARY SOURCE MATERIAL (although you might be tempted). This is simply because much of what is known about language derivatives is assumed - not fact.*
Answers are presented on the last page.
1. FINE POWDER: from the Arabic “al” (the) and koh l “fine impalpable powder.”
2. RUT MADE BY A WHEEL: From the Latin, “orbita.”
3. TO MAKE STICKY: From the Latin, “viscare.”
4. PERTAINING TO THE FORUM: From the Latin “forum.”
5. CAUSE OF DWARFISM: Long bones do not grow. From Greek “a” absence, “chondrus” (cartilage) and “plassein” (to form).
6. BULK OR MASS; From the Greek, “ongkos.”
7. TO INCREASE: From the Indo-European, “aweg.”
8. INSENSITIVITY TO PAIN: from the Greek “an” (without) and algesis (sense of
pain).
9. KNOT or KNOB: From the Latin, “nodus.”
10. AN AIR DUCT: From the Greek “aer” (air) and “tereo” (I keep).
11. NOSE or SNOUT: From the Greek, “mukter.”
12. A SHEPHERD’S PIPE: From the Greek, “syringx.”
13. DULL TO PERCEPTION: from the Indo-European root, “dheubh,”
14. ONE-HALF OF THE SKULL: From the Latin, “hemicrania.”
15. LIKE A STRAIGHT SWORD: From the Greek, “xiphos.”
16. TO BLOCK or PLUG: From the Latin, “obsterix.”
17. TO BOIL OUT: From the Greek, “ek-“ (out) and “zeein” (to boil).
18. CRECENT-SHAPED: From the Greek, “meniskos.”
19. A PRICK OR PUNCTURE BY A NEEDLE: from the Latin “acus” (needle) and
“punctum” puncture.
20. FLASH OF LIGHTNING: From the Latin, “fulgor.”
21. BREAST-LIKE: From the Greek, “mastos” and “eidos.”
22. THORN or PRICKLY BUSH: From the Latin, “spina.”
23. PRODUCE OR BRING FORTH: From the Greek, “gennao.”
24. ONE WHO HEALS: From the Anglo-Saxon, “laece.”
25. DRY, ACRID: From the Indo-European, “ters.”
26. TRANSPARANT STONE or CRYSTAL: From the Greek, “hyalos.”
27. CHEW: From the Anglos-Saxon, “ceowan.” (noun)
28. LIGHT GREENISH-YELLOW: From the Latin, “galbinus.”
29. WITHOUT WEIGHT or LIGHT: From the Sanskrit, “ laghu.:”
30. A CUTTING UP: from the Greek “ana” (up or through) and “tome” (a cutting).
31. GATEKEEPER: From the Greek, pyle.”
32. A COVERLET or CLOAK: From the Latin, “pallium.”
33. MINT: From the Latin, “menthe.”
34. WITHOUT A NAME: From the Latin, “innominatus.”
35. A DINING TABLE: From the Greek, “trapeze.”
36. CENTER OF WHEEL HUB: From the Anglo-Saxon, “ nafe.”
37. A TRENCH OR ABYSS: From the Old English, “grynde.”
38. AN OFFSHOOT: from the Greek “apo” (from) and “physis” (growth).
39. ATTACK or INJURY: From the Latin, “laesia.”
40. SERVICE or ATTENDANCE: From the Greek, “therapeia.”
41. BELONGING TO A WALL: From the Latin, “parietalis.”
42. SEEING FOR ONESELF: from the Greek “auto” and “opsis” (seeing).
43. JUICE, SAP, RESIN OR GUM OF A TREE: From the Greek, “opos.”
44. SILVERY SWELLING: From the Greek, “glaukos” and “oma.”
45. TO STRETCH: From the Greek , “teinein.”
46. TO DISGRACE, TO FALL SHORT OF: from the Latin “degenerare.”
47. PIMPLE: From the Greek, “pomphos.”
48. A NUT OR ACORN: From the Latin. “glandulus.”
49. TO SCRAPE OR SCRATCH: From the Latin, “radere.”
50. LARGE STONE IN FRONT OF DOOR TO KEEP IT SHUT:
From the Greek, “thyreos.”
51. FLAME OR HEAT: From the Greek, “phlegma.”
52. PAUNCH or BELLY: From the Greek, “gaster.”
53. FUNNEL: From the Latin, “infundere.”
54. YOKE CONNECTING TWO ANIMALS: From the Greek, “zygon.”
55. TO PLEASE: From the Latin, “placere.”
56. TO BEND OR TURN: From the Latin, “flectere.”
57. EARTH OR LAND: From the Latin, “humus.”
58. HEALING OINTMENT: From the Anglo-Saxon, “sealf.”
59. TO SEND FLUID IN: From the Greek, “en” (in) and “ienai” (to send).
60. TO DYE, STAIN, CORRUPT or BOIL: From the Latin, “inficere.”
61. A PRUNING: from the Latin “amputatio.”
62. WORKING WITH THE HANDS: From the Greek, “ cheirourgia.”
63. A FLOWING SEED: From the Greek, :”gone” and “rheos.”
64. RELATING TO THE SPHINX
65. HOLY or CONSECRATED: From the Latin, “Sacer.”
66. TWELVE FINGERS: from the Greek, “dodek-daktulon.
67. STIFF or STRONG: From the Anglo-Saxon, “stark.”
68. A COCK’S SPUR: From the old French, “argot” (rye plant infected by fungus.”
69. AFFLICTED WITH SPOTS: From the Old High German, “masa” and
Middle English, “mesel.”
70. TO BE ASHAMED: From the Latin, “pudere.”
71. TO WIND OR CURVE: From the Latin, “sinuare.”
72. A CIRCULAR OR FLAT STONE: From the Greek, “discos.”
73. PAIR OF FOLDING or DOUBLE DOORS: From the Latin, “valvae.”
74. A TURBAN: From the Latin, “mitra.”
75. LACK OF NOURISHMENT: from the Greek “a-“ (without) and trophe
(nourishment).
76. FORTY: From the Latin, “quadraginta.”
77. MASS OF MOLTEN IRON: From the Latin, “strictura.”
78. A STING OR ITCH: From the Latin, “urtica.”
79. TO TEACH: from the Latin, “docere.”
80. TO SWELL or RIPEN: From the Greek, “ orgainein.”
81. TO TAKE AWAY COLOR: From the Old French, “desteindre.”
82. WITHOUT PULSE: from the Greek “a” (without) and “sphyxis” (pulse).
83. CORRUPT MATTER: From the Greek, “Pyon.”
84. LIE ON OR BROOD: From the Latin, “incubare.”
85. LOVE, HONOR, DESIRE: From the Sanskrit, “wan” and “van.”
86. MORE, SHIFT, CHANGE or ALTER: From the Latin, “mutare.”
87. TO APPRAISE: From the Latin, “taxare.”
88. OPEN SPACE, COURTYARD OR PARK: From the Latin “area.”
89. POUCH: From the Norman French, “poque.”
90. A TAILOR: From the Latin, “sartor.”
91. WALKING HOSPITAL: from the French “hopital ambulant.”
92. BARK OF A TREE: From the Peruvian Indian, “kina.”
93. LITTLE BEAK: From the Anglo-Saxon, “nib.”
94. TO WEAVE: From the Latin,”textere.”
95. BOWL or SHELL: From the Nordic, “Skal.”
96. RUPTURE or HERNIA: From the Greek, “kele.”
97. TO ROLL OR TURN AROUND: From the Latin, “volvere.”
98. A BLOW OR STROKE: From the Latin, “ plege.”
99. SORE THROAT: from the Latin “angere” (to choke or throttle).
100. LITTLE BALL: From the Latin, “pilula.”
101. POUCH OF LEATHER: From the Latin, “scorteus.”
102. WHORL, EDDY or TORNADO: From the Latin, “Turbo.”
103. CLEAR WATER: From the Latin, “lympha.”
104. LITTLE NET: From the Latin, “rete.”
105 ANYTHING SCOOPED OUT: From the Greek, “skaphe.”
106. ROUGH: From the Greek, “traxus.”
107. LOSS OF MEMORY: from the Greek “a” (without) and “mensis” (memory).
108. A SQUEAKING: From the Greek, “trismos.”
109. A COOKING: From the Latin, “pepsis.”
110. UNCUT or INDIVISIBLE: from the Greek “a-“ (without) and “temnein” (to cut).
111. PEAR-SHAPED: From the Latin, “pirum” and “forma.”
112. A HOOK: From the Latin,”uncus.”
113. DIFFERENT WORK: from the Greek “allo” (other or different) and “ergon (work).
114. SEAT OF REASON OR PASSION: From the Greek, “phren.”
115. TO WRING OUT: From the Old French,”expraindre.”
116. A FOOTPRINT: From the Latin, “vestigium.”
117. BLADDER or BAG: From the Latin, “vesiculum.”
118. SMALL ENDOCRINE GLANDS ON KIDNEYS: from the Latin “ad” (toward) and
“renes” kidneys.
119. A POUNDER: From the Latin, “pistillum.”
120. TO ACCUSTOM: From the Anglo-Saxon, “wenian.”
121. TUB or TROUGH: From the Greek, “pyelos.”
122. ARTICULATION OF ULNA AND HUMERUS: A punster’s definition.
123. PERTAINING TO NATURAL LAW: From the Greek, “physikos.”
124. THE TASTE OF ACID: from the Latin “acidus” (sour, tart).
125: A PUSH OR IMPULSE: From the Greek, “osmos.”
126. SPROUT, BUD or OFFSHOOT: From the Latin, “germen.”
127. A COW: From the Latin, “vacca.”
*Thanks to:
Stedman’s Medical Dictionary , 26th Edition
Dorland’s Illustrated Medical Dictionary, 24th Edition
Gray’s Anatomy (any library edition).
The Language of Medicine, 4th edition, Davi-Ellen Chabner
Medical Meanings, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1984
—————————————————————————————————————-
1. Alcohol2. Orbit
3. Viscus
4. Forensic
5. Achondroplasia
6. Oncology
7. Waist
8. Analgesia
9. Node
10. Artery
11. Mucus
12. Syringe
13. Deaf
14. Migraine
15. Xyphoid
16. Obstetrics
17. Eczema
18. Meniscus
19. Acupuncture
20. Fulguration
21. Mastoid
22. Spine
23. Gene
24. Leech
25. Thirst
26. Hyaline
27. Jaw.
28. Jaundice
29. Lung
30. Anatomy
31. Pylorus
32. Palliate
33. Menthol
34. Innominate
35. Trapezius
36. Navel
37. Gum
38. Apophysis
39. Lesion
40. Therapy
41. Parietal
42. Autopsy
43. Opium
44. Glaucoma
45. Tendon
46. Degenerate
47. Papule
48. Gland
49. Rash
50. Thyroid
51.Phlegm
52. Gastric
53. Infindibulum.
54. Zygomatic
55. Placebo
56. Flex
57.. Human
58. Salve
59. Enema
60. Inflammation.
61. Amputation
62. Surgery
63. Gonorrhea
64. Sphincter (interesting story)
65. Sacrum
66. Duodenum
67. Starch
68. Ergot
69. Measles
70. Pudenda
71. Sinus
72. Disc
73. Valve
74. Mitral
75. Atrophy
76. Quarantine
77. Stricture
78. Urticaria.
79. Doctor
80. Orgasm
81. Stain
82. Asphyxia
83. Pus
84. Incubate
85. Venereal/Venus
86. Mutate
87. Taste
88. Areola
89. Pox
90. Sartorius
97. Ambulance
92. Quinine
93. Nipple
94. Tissue
95. Skull.
96. Keloid.
97. Vulva
98. Plague
99. Angina
100. Pill
101. Scrotum
102. Turbinate.
103. Lymph
104. Reticulum
105. Scaphoid
106. Trachea
107. Amnesia
108. Trismus
109. Pepsin
110. Atom
111. Piriform
112. Uncinate/unciform
113. Allergy
114. Phrenic
115. Sprain
116. Vestige
117. Vesicle
118. Adrenal
119. Pestle
120. Wean
121. Pelvis
122. Funny Bone (gotcha!)
123. Physician/physics
124. Acrid
125. Osmosis
126. Germ
127. Vaccine
By: Rebecca,
on 10/22/2008
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About two hundred years ago, the languages of Eurasia were for the first time divided into families and groups. The largest family, which received the name Indo-European, stretches from Norway to Ceylon, and few languages in this gigantic area do not belong to it (Finnish, Estonian, and Basque are such). No one knows for sure who the people we call the Indo-Europeans were, where their homeland was, and how they succeeded in enforcing their language on the inhabitants of such an enormous territory. For a language to be recognized as Indo-European, it has to possess certain features pertaining to sounds, grammar, and vocabulary. In the process of evolution, a language may lose most of those features and then it will stop being Indo-European despite its heritage. Not that convincing examples of such a process have been cited, but the situation is not unthinkable. If we look at English, we will see how far it has deviated from its original state. I will skip the facts of phonetics because they are too technical and concentrate on grammar.
One of the most conspicuous features of the Indo-European languages is its conjugation. But what do we have in English? I go, we go, you go, they go. In the present, at least one ending has survived (he/she/it goes, with -s that not too long ago supplanted -th, still memorable from the Authorized Version of the Bible and Shakespeare), but in the preterit all endings are gone: I went, he/she/it went, we went, you went, they went. It is enough to look at the grammar of Latin and even of any modern Romance language or at the conjugation of the Slavic languages, to observe the wealth of verbal endings. From this point of view English can hardly be called Indo-European.
Another feature we hardly ever notice is the wiping out of the line between nouns and adjectives. I have once written about the collapse of the distinction between adjectives and adverbs (do it real quick and the like). Our British correspondents noted that this process is far more advanced in American English. Yet the examples collected in books on historical grammar show that it began in British dialects. I was especially amused by a sentence in a student’s paper she sings beautiful, though even such an extreme case of dropping -ly is not new (in German, this usage is the norm: sie singt gut “she sings good,” that is, “well”). But in addition to what one can find in books on the history of English, I now have my own collection of examples from Dickens’s short tales, including beautiful as an adverb. All of them occur in dialectal speech. It even seems that when Dickens ran into this usage, he enjoyed it, for he overdoes this feature in The Chimes: we shall be ready immediate, I was easy satisfied, and so forth.
Such sentences attract our attention at once. But adjectives have come close not only to adverbs but also to nouns, and we take this situation in stride. In early Indo-European, nouns could be used attributively and carry a special accent in that position; one need not call them adjectives. Now let us take two English nouns: stone and tomb. They can be combined both ways. A stone tomb is a tomb made of stone, while a tombstone is a stone forming part of a tomb. Latin bonus “good” and hortus “garden” have the same endings, but English stone and tomb have no endings at all, each can describe the other, and this free play of morphemes resembles the state typical of some languages of Southeast Asia. To be sure, there is a difference between stone and stony: stone refers to the material rather than quality and cannot have the degrees of comparison. A still stonier look is possible. Stone lacks the ability to express such nuances (a tomb is either made of stone or not); yet its ability to modify another noun is remarkable. This is the reason we have trouble with spelling: Apple Valley is two words, apple tree, if hyphenated, pretends to be one and a half, and applesauce is a single unit. The New American Oxford Dictionary gives both townhouse and town house. Obviously, solutions must sometimes be arbitrary.
The stone tomb ~ tombstone situation is responsible for some confusion. What place is a best steak house? Is it the best possible house for steaks or a house in which we get the best steaks in the world? The stress pattern is informative but hardly decisive in all such cases. We simply know the right answer. More often the adjective defines the word that follows. Thus Merry-Widow hat (the widow is merry, not the widow hat) and Jewish-Community Center (a center for the Jewish community, not a community center that has the distinction of being Jewish). Yet Third World country is Third-World country, but Second World War (called World War Two in American English) is Second World-War, not a war waged by the “Second World.” Here, too, we don’t make mistakes mainly because we know the right answer from experience. A similar group is a new Oxford dictionary. Ignorant of a place called new Oxford but aware of Oxford dictionary, we segment the phrase correctly. Would we be equally certain about A New Brighton Dictionary in the title? And what about old curiosity shop? Can’t an obscure college professor be a professor from an obscure college? Finally, what is a small animal farm? Is it a farm where small animals are kept or a small farm for animals? Again there will be some differences in the stress pattern depending on the meaning, but they are hardly as clear as between White House and white house or New York and Newark. (Incidentally, foreigners who order tickets to Newark by telephone and stress both elements of the town’s name are invariably sent to New York.)
There was a theory that once upon a time words were “pure stems.” Perhaps they were. No one recorded the birth of human language. We find Indo-European with a mind-bogglingly ramified system of endings (Sanskrit and classical Greek are good examples). The complexity of grammar has nothing to do with the level of material culture, so that the hope to find the lost world of “primitive” language in Australia or on the banks of the Yenisei River has proved to be an illusion. English does so well without endings that in some way it resembles the hypothetical state of “pure stems,” but it is the end, not the beginning of the history of English. The same may hold for Chinese, whose grammar is sometimes cited as an example of such a “primitive” state. Almost devoid of morphology, English can afford the luxury of distinguishing between tombstone and stone tomb and of formations like also-rans (not the “rans” who were also somewhere but also-ran in the plural), New Englander (not an Englander who is brand-new, but an inhabitant of New England, with New England being treated as a unit and adding a suffix), gold medalist (gold-medal with a suffix), stand-offishness, and many more of the same type. But as always, there is a price to pay. Thanks to this freedom, we struggle with ambiguities like Third World War versus Third World country and have to decide which is really good in a best steak house: the house or the steak (one cannot have everything).
Does it feel good to speak Indo-European? The question is irrelevant. Aesthetic criteria are inapplicable to sounds, endings, and syntax. Nasal vowels, progressive tenses, and fixed word order are sweet or jarring only in the mind of the observer. There is no progress in language, just growth. At any moment, it is a precious tool that can be made to produce beautiful music, and blessed are those who know how to do it.
Anatoly Liberman is the author of
Word Origins…And How We Know Them as well as
An Analytic Dictionary of English Etymology: An Introduction. His column on word origins,
The Oxford Etymologist, appears here, each Wednesday. Send your etymology question to
[email protected]; he’ll do his best to avoid responding with “origin unknown.”
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English is Indo-European by descent, not by typology. The family of Cowans to which I belong descends from a John J. Coen who immigrated to Philadelphia from Ireland, but few or none of us live in Philadelphia, some of us are black, and some others are even named “Leyfert”. There is no reason to expect a line of descent to have the properties of a natural kind.
Say, I don’t quite understand how we can have black Cowans nowadays, Mister. Wasn’t it because African slaves would get their names after their masters? What does all this have to do with Prof. Lieberman’s post this week? That Old English would be MORE Indo-European than contemporary English is? Is that it? Actually, I think Old English is yet another language, which was somehow created by Latin-speaking Christian missionaries to faciliate their preachings to the illiterate inhabitants of the British Isles. For one thing, these missionaries were the ones who brought literacy to the British territory, weren’t they?
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