by Mark Rosenfelder

Yonagu • Chicago • 2013

© 2013 by Mark Rosenfelder.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, except for review purposes.

Kindle edition 1.0

Contents

Introduction              6

How to              14

Fantasy Frequency Wordlist              34

All about classes              48

Using etymologies              81

Metaphors              91

Derivation              96

Thematic section              111

Animals              113

Art              127

Astronomy              135

The body              138

Buildings              148

Clothing              154

Color              157

Conflict              164

Containers              167

Dimensions              169

Directions              177

Effort              181

Elements              183

Emotion              195

Events              199

Existence              202

Food              204

Government              211

Grammar              220

Kinship              225

Knowledge              235

Law              238

Life and health              241

Light              246

Locatives              250

Love              257

Measurement              259

Metals              261

Mind              263

Movement              276

Nature              284

Numbers              287

Physical acts              290

Physics              293

Plants              301

Possession              308

Religion              312

Shape              317

Sensation              321

Sex              327

Sin              329

Society              332

Speech              338

Substances              342

Time              360

Tools              369

Trade              374

Valuation              379

War              383

Water              389

Work              393

Index              396

Introduction

For those who didn’t read the back cover, this book is a guide to understanding and creating lexicons.

I’ve written two books, The Language Construction Kit and Advanced Language Construction, that focus on grammar. If you want to know what sounds can be made, how case works, what you can do with verbs, what’s a pidgin, how to create logographs, or how to wrangle morphosyntactic alignment and master polysynthesis, that’s where you go. Arguably the sounds and the way the morphology and syntax work are the heart of the language, what makes it itself.

But as every language learner eventually finds out, with some dismay, there’s also the 800-pound gorilla of the vocabulary. For the conlanger, this raises new questions— or it should:

•              How many words do I need?

•              Which ones should I create first?

•              Am I just making a complicated cipher of English?

•              How are new words created in natural languages?

•              What structure does the lexicon have?

•              What do I need to know about things to make words for them?

This book answers all these questions, and where that’s not enough, it asks its own questions and then answers those.

How not to do it

Suppose you need to translate this sentence:

The king’s court rejected the new queen for her faith.

You find you don’t have any of the content words, so you fire up your word generator and get:

dlatla
atlesi
učitlo
iprikoga
speti
briiau

and match them up to the terms you need:

dlatla              king
atlesi              court
učitlo              reject
iprikoga              new
speti              queen
briiau              faith

With a little grammatical manipulation you have

Učitlo-ño-e atlesi dlatla-ič speti-s iprikoga-s briiau-ke.

reject-impfv-3s court king-gen queen-acc new-acc faith-abl

The king’s court rejected the new queen for her faith.

Now, this is not terrible conlanging. In fact, for your basic roots, you’re just going to have to make them up! But you shouldn’t be creating a new root every time you need a new word.

Let’s look at some of the missed opportunities and future problems here.

•              ‘King’ is dlatla, ‘queen’ is speti. That matches English, but in many languages the terms would be related (Spanish rey, reina, Russian король, королева) or the same (Mandarin wáng).

•              ‘Court’ has a historical metaphor built into it. It’s borrowed from Old French cort, from Latin cohors— literally ‘cattle-yard’. It was used for ‘military attendants, bodyguard’. This must have been jocular at first— picturing the officer’s retinue as a herd of cows— but it became quotidian and then formal.

Does this mean you should re-use a word meaning ‘farmyard’? No, but the idea is that political words are a chance to do some conworlding. What did the people surrounding the king look like to your people?

•              Do they use the same word for the king’s court, the judge’s, and the basketball player’s?

•              ‘Reject’ is a Latin compound: ‘throw back’. It could be a basic root, but probably you should build it from something simpler.

•              The commonest words tend to be short, so a four-syllable word for ‘new’ might not be the best choice.

•              ‘Faith’ is used in the sample as a stand-in for ‘religion’. Believing is a key part of Christianity, but not necessarily other religions. What’s the key element of your con-religion?

As so often in English, we have a triplet— faith from Old French, belief from Old English, religion from Latin. Most languages don’t borrow so broadly as English; you should watch out for such multiples and not reproduce them without a good reason.

Beyond this sample sentence, what happens when you need related words, such as these?

novel (= story), novelty, newspaper

kingdom, regal, royal

courtier, courtesan, courtesy

faithful, fidelity, believe, religious

The main point is, please don’t reach for the word generator and decide that ‘novel’ is etrapi, ‘novelty’ is klado, ‘newspaper’ is peižga. At the least, try to derive these from your word for ‘new’. Better yet, think of different derivations for your words.

That’s where this book comes in. It’s full of etymological examples, subtle relationships between words, real-world information, and ways languages besides English do things.

Why not a dictionary?

When you need a new word, your first thought may be to use a dictionary— either one for your native language, or for a language you’re borrowing from. That’s great as far as it goes. But there are two main disadvantages.

•              You may just reproduce the etymology you find in the dictionary. Not a bad thing, but it’s good to think about alternatives.

•              The lexicon has a structure: words are largely defined by how they relate to other words. Creating a language, you’re really creating a web of words as well as a system of metaphor. Again, if you don’t spend any effort on this, you’ll just duplicate English.

Every word is a conworlding opportunity. You’re deciding what’s important to your people and how they see the world. If the word involves technology or culture, you have to think about who first came up with it in your world and how it got to the language you’re working on.

Another problem: very often to create a word you need to understand the real-world referent. Why is there a class of chemicals called oxides? What characteristics of an elm would make a good name? At what technological level does glass appear? Your general knowledge and even the dictionary may not be enough for such questions.

How does this book help?

This book is arranged thematically. Each section concentrates on one semantic field, giving words you might want to create, how multiple languages created them, interesting divergences from English, and just enough encylopedic information to help out.

For instance, the section on color briefly explains the order languages tend to develop color terms, how perceived colors depend on our eyes, and how color might work for other species or planets. It also talks about other color groups you might want to think about: skin and hair color. Finally, it points out relationships that might not be obvious, e.g. to the words jaundice, rouge, bear.

The book also presents a specially created frequency list designed for fantasy/sf[1] worlds. This will help answer the perennial question, “Which words are the most useful?”

Many sections would easily expand into a whole chapter! Often that chapter is available in my earlier book, The Planet Construction Kit, and I’ll point you to it, or to other books.

What else have you got?

The following chapters offer some general help on wordcrafting:

•              A how-to chapter giving step by step instructions

•              When to create alternatives and synonyms

•              Building metaphor systems

•              Thinking in terms of roots, derivations, and compounding

Following the thematic section is an index of all the words referred to, in case you’re not sure which of the thematic sections a word lives in.

Apology to Prof. Levi

My college linguistics professor used to say that “the lexicon is not an encyclopedia.” I think this was a corollary of the ’70s idea of independence of the language organ, and the desirability of doing syntax with only syntactic facts. I’m afraid I’ve departed from it, though Prof. Levi’s old friend George Lakoff is partly to blame. In cognitive linguistics, the boundaries between language and everything else have grown fuzzier.

Some of the encyclopedic information may not be to your taste, too. That’s fine; this is a reference work, and you can skip what you don’t need. The more scientific sections are intended for those with present-day or sf conworlds.

Anyway, I have to satisfy my inner 13-year-old, who would have hated being given (say) a list of the nine most important phyla of Animalia.  Gimme ’em all, dammit!

Typographical conventions

If I’m talking about a word, English or foreign, it’ll be in italics, while a gloss or etymology will be in ‘single quotes’. For example, etymology derives from Greek ‘true-word’.

Following Lakoff’s convention, metaphors are named in ALL CAPS.

The word-lists have special typography to indicate frequency; see p. 45.

For how to read the etymological summaries, see p. 78.

‣             A quick reference to another page or book is printed in sans-serif, like this.

Greek and Cyrillic

Aspiring linguists should already know the Greek alphabet, at least if they were paying attention in math class. For reference, here’s the alphabet with the classical (5th century BC) phonetic values as given by W. Sidney Allen in Vox Graeca:

σ appears as ς at the end of a word.

For the purposes of this book no harm will be done if you pronounce θ φ χ with their post-classical fricative values [θ f x]. But Πλάτων would look at you funny.

And if you know the Greek alphabet, there’s little excuse for not reading Cyrillic. Here are the basic Russian values:

Russian actually has two series of consonants, regular (‘hard’) and palatalized (‘soft’), and these are marked not by modifying the consonants but by changing the normal vowels а э ы о у to я е и ё ю. That is,даis /da/ andдя is /dʲa/. The second series is also used for the diphthongs j + V, as in союз ‘union’.

These rules sometimes aren’t enough, and that’s where the unlabelled letters come in. The soft sign ь marks the previous consonant as palatalized when there’s no following vowel, as in читать ‘to read’. The hard sign ъ similarly marks a consonant as unpalatalized; it’s rarely necessary except in foreign words, such as Нъю-Йорк ‘New York’.

Thanks to palatalization, transliterations of Russian are either inaccurate or ugly; thus my preference for citing forms in Cyrillic.

Date conventions

For brevity I often write 5C for “the 5th century AD”, i.e. the 400s, and likewise -13C is “the 13th century BC”, i.e. the 1200s BC.

Web resources

URLs have a shorter half-life than books, so I’ve placed all links on a single site I can make sure will stick around:

http://www.zompist.com/resources/lex.html

What’s Almea?

I expect most readers already know about my own conworld, Almea, and its languages, such as Verdurian and Xurnese. If not, be aware that I sometimes use examples from Almea to illustrate approaches you can take.

For all too much information on Almea, see www.zompist.com.

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to the readers who went through the manuscript and offered great feedback: John Cowan, John Baker, Samuel Lereah, Michael Kerns, Phillip Krohn, Sally Burr, Vincent Guerin, Timothy Hawk, and my wife Lida.

Thanks to the following correspondents and ZBB members who suggested words that diverge from English: John Baker, Ugo Lachapelle, clawgrip, Finlay Chalmers, Serafín, Yosi Bellman, Chuma, Qwynegold, Jyri Lehtinen, Eric Aniag, Ars Lande, Yaali Annar, Miłosz Andrzej Mazurkiewicz-Dubieński, Imralu, Anaïs Ahmed, James M. Li, Hans-Werner Hatting, Corundum, Daniel von Brighoff, Ulrike Meinhof, Campbell Nilsen, Aaron Toivo, Soren, John Cowan, Chris de Lisle, Mart van de Wege, Christian Cordeus, Elizabeth Bowen, Pekka Karjalainen, Sacemd Westen.

Thanks to my father, Charles Rosenfelder, for some of the pictures on the cover, and for buying all my books.

A book of this nature offers a myriad opportunities for transcription errors— the web resources page will have an Errata section. (If there are no errors, the preceding statement will be listed as false.)

Mark Rosenfelder

November 2013

How to

If you’re the type of person who hates to read instruction manuals, and just grabs the Allen wrench and assembles their Hjärnblödning cabinet the way you like, skip to the next chapter.

This one is for people who like to see a detailed plan of attack. It’s organized as a series of questions.

How do I create a word?

When I need a word for a conlang, I try to go through this process:

•              Could I get by without it? Maybe I’m making a distinction just because English does (like vs. love, look vs. stare, come vs. go, foot vs. leg, and I can just add another gloss to an existing definition.

•              Do I already have a near-synonym? If I need rapid and I already have fast, why not use that?

•              On the other hand, I may want to avoid English homophones. I may have already created a word for case in the sense of ‘situation’, but I may want a different word for the sense of ‘lawsuit’ or ‘declensional category’.

•              Can I build it from existing roots? The no-brainer is changing parts of speech— if I have to howl I should be able to easily form a howl or howling. Note that for historical reasons English something obscures this: sight vs. see, time vs. temporal.

But you should have other basic derivations: people, place, collection, repetition, causatives, negatives, etc. For instance:

priest = ‘god-man’

library = ‘book-place’

Locatives greatly extend your vocabulary: e.g.

climb = ‘go up’

private = ‘in house’

And of course if you have n roots, you have n2 possible two-root compounds!

disgust = ‘hate-vomit’

city = ‘hill-fort’

•              Can I use a metaphor?

skull = ‘bowl’

succeed = ‘pass through’

•              Did I create this word already in another language? You should always consider this with technological and cultural terms, but in general people like cool words and can borrow almost anything.

•              How did other languages do it? I often look up the word in a dictionary or two to see how they derived the word. You can simply use this book, which contains thousands of natural-language etymologies.

•              Consider how your people feel about the referent. Is it virtuous or shameful, nice or nasty? Words often express a judgment (as in how we name the right hand), and despised things (swine, ass) lend their names to other things we dislike.

•              Creating a new root is always possible— and you’ll be doing it a lot— but it should be the last resort.

Does it sound like you need a lot of extra knowledge to make all that work? You do, but that’s why I’ve written this book! The introductory chapters tell you what you need to know about derivation, etymology, classes, metaphor. And the bulk of the book gives plenty of examples and helpful explanations in each semantic field.

It could easily be twice as long! But the idea isn’t to give you every possibility; it’s to show how words work, where they come from, how they change, to spark your own creativity.

Won’t re-using roots be boring?

If you follow my advice, you might (say) end up with a whole slew of words based on a simple root like go:

enter = ‘go in’              attack = ‘go after’

sail = ‘boat-go’              companion = ‘goes with’

return = ‘go back’              visit = ‘go see’

come = ‘go’ + benefactive              road = ‘going place’

suitable = ‘go’ + reflexive              lead = ‘make to go’

wander = ‘go’ + iterative              remain = ‘un-go’

Couldn’t this make the language seem a little wan or repetitive? Esperanto sometimes feels this way, with compounds like patrino ‘mother’ = ‘female-father’ and malbona ‘bad’ = ‘un-good’.

One answer is that the speakers of a language don’t really pay attention to even very transparent etymologies. Words like undergo or become or today or grandmother are perceived as just normal words. Most of the time we’re talking about referents using our words; it takes a small effort to focus on the words themselves— an effect relied on by cheap comics (“why do we park on the driveway and drive on the parkway?”).[2]

Many languages rely on native roots far more than English. German learned words are often very straightforward: ‘communicate’ is ‘share with’, ‘avoid’ is ‘move away’, ‘instant’ is ‘eye-glance’. Rather than directly borrowing a Romance root, German often calques it: ‘chance’ is ‘to-fall’, ‘resist’ is ‘stand against’, ‘preside’ is ‘fore-sit’, all matching the Latin verbal root.

But there are a few techniques that can reduce the repetition.

First, you can choose derivational processes that make the derivation less obvious.

•              The simplest is an infix, e.g. Kebreni -su-, which means ‘made of X’:

siva ‘sand’ > sisuva ‘sandy’
ḣeda ‘stone’ > ḣesuda ‘stony’

•              Triliteral root systems can have this effect— Arabic KTB gives kitāb ‘book’, kutubī ‘bookseller’, maktab ‘office’, miktāb ‘typewriter’, kātib ‘writer’, ʔiktitāb ‘registration’, etc.

‣             For creating triliteral roots, see p. 100.

•              As English trains our eyes to look at the first part of a word, prefixes make a word look more different than suffixes (standing is obviously a form of stand; understand seems farther off). Swahili, whose morphology is almost all prefixing, is exotic to us. Of course, if your native language is Swahili, it’s English that seems strange!

Or you can use the trick used by English and Japanese: hide the derivations by borrowing from another language. Alley, allure, gangplank, ambient, exit, comity, transit, obituary, acrobat, ion, basis, vademecum, vamoose all directly use ‘go’, but in another language.

Sound change is also a great obscurer. Follow was once a compound fulgangan ‘full-go’. We can form the future with going to, but it’s barely recognizable in gonna and almost baffling in I’m’a.

Old Chinese had a number of productive derivational processes that have been completely obscured by sound change.

(As a reminder, the * means ‘unattested’ in citations from reconstructed languages like Old Chinese and Proto-Indo-European.)

Nominalizer -n:

*ʔwa ’bend’ > *ʔwâns ‘wrist’              yū > jīn

*ŋaʔ ‘speak’ > *ŋan ‘speech’              yǔ > yán

Terminative -ŋ:

*wa ‘go’ > *waŋʔ ‘arrive’              yú > wǎng

Iterative s-:

*ran ‘drip’ > *srâ ‘flow’                            lián > shān

Causative s-:

*laŋ ‘be sick’ > *slaŋ                            yáng > shāng

Finally, etymology can be obscured by semantic change. E.g. you would hardly guess that can, learn, wit, ignore, and nice are all based on words for ‘know’.

Wait, why can’t I just make up roots?

What would happen if you just used a machine-generated root for everything in the lexicon?

The world will continue to rotate, yes, but what you'll have on your hands is likely to have several deficiencies.

•              It will be far harder to learn than it ought to be. It’ll have too many roots, none of which offer keys to the rest of the vocabulary.

•              It will have no personality, no quirks of its own— no distinctive metaphors, no cultural allusions, no amusing or clever etymologies.

•              It won’t reflect your conworld’s history: there won’t be subsets of the lexicon pointing to the various cultures that provided your people’s technology, or military traditions, or government, or philosophy.

•              It will have a lexical structure, but it will be that of English (or your native language, if it’s not English). It won’t sound like English, but it will closely imitate it in ways you’re not even aware of.

In short, it won’t be a naturalistic language— and it will probably be too difficult and too anglocentric to make a good auxlang or loglang, too.

Which words do I do first?

Creating a respectable vocabulary takes time, so I create words as I need them, and intersperse grammar writing with bouts of word-building.

Geographical terms are always a good place to start, as you’ll need them for maps.

‣             See Nature and Water.

You’ll come up with lists of pronouns, auxiliaries, adpositions, and numbers as part of the process of writing the grammar. Writing sample sentences will give you a subset of useful words, too.

‣             See Grammar for a list. But use the LCK and ALC to actually work through the grammar!

There are several word lists in the LCK (pp. 260-9); I’ve sometimes worked through the Swadesh list, repeated for convenience on p. 46.

To get the most out of your wordbuilding time, you should create the commonest words first. To help in this, I’ve created a 1500-root frequency list based on fantasy and science fiction texts.

‣             See the Fantasy Frequency Wordlist, p. 34.

Another approach is to look at what words are most used in etymologies. If a word is used a lot in derivations, it’s probably worth having it in your own language.

‣             See the Etymology Frequency List, p. 89.

But I’d also like to impress upon you that you shouldn’t just think in terms of creating words. You should think about creating entire semantic fields.

Why should I think about semantic fields?

Good question! The bulk of this book is organized by semantic field— things like Animals and Emotions and Tools.

First, as Frédéric Saussure pointed out, words are defined by how they relate to other words. A continuum of meaning like hot, warm, cool, cold may be divided differently in another language. Words like break and cut help define each other— prototypically both involve something being divided, but only the latter involves an edged object. If you define words in alphabetical or frequency order, you’ll miss these interrelationships— with the result that you’ll reproduce the relationships of your native language.

A corollary: what words exist is affected by culture. If (say) you just create a word for aunt when you run into it, you may never stop to think about how the kinship system for your culture works. Similarly, you might define words for pink and brown without realizing that many languages don’t bother with these words. The semantic field sections of the book will mention things like this.

Second, languages have classification systems— e.g. certain animals are grouped together as birds; certain social behaviors are categorized as sins. Some categories seem pretty natural— though they might differ if your people are not human— but most can vary by culture, which means they’re an opportunity for conworlding.

‣             See the Classes chapter, p. 46.

And thirdly, there’s often real-world knowledge that’s relevant to coming up with terms in a given area. You can’t name chemical substances, for instance, without knowing something about them— what they look like, what they’re used for, where they were found and at what tech level. Each of the thematic sections tells you what you need to know to create words in that area.

How do I use the word lists?

Let’s look at just one example— words related to fear, from the Emotions section.

Fear—fear, afraid, worry, terror, dread, anxious, nervous, desperate, alarm, panic, shy, coward

The typography gives frequency information. So this tells you that you should probably have a word for fear, but that you can go a long time without panic.

You could of course create an equivalent for each of these words. But that’s simply using the English vocabulary at one remove. How can you avoid this?

•              Divide up the semantic space differently. There’s a gradation from mild worry through anxiety, alarm, fear, and ending in panic and terror. You can combine steps, or introduce finer distinctions.

•              Think about how these words are differentiated. For instance, besides level of fear, some of these words mix in something else:

°              dread — the particular horror of the unknown or the uncanny

°              coward — the contempt bolder men feel for the fearful

°              nervous, shy— fear of social awkwardness rather than physical harm; nervous implies agitation while shy is compatible with outward calm

°              desperate — fear combined with rashness

Ideally, rather than copy English words, you’ll think of your own concepts. Perhaps:

°              fear mixed with disgust

°              helpless fear, as when one is trapped or outnumbered

°              fear plus foolishness (being afraid of nonexistent things, or being misled by a demagogue)

°              fear tempered by the satisfaction of having predicted the situation

How do I use your etymologies?

For most of the high-frequency words, I give etymologies for English and often for half a dozen other languages. For instance:

arrow—OE arwe ‘bow-thing’
• Gk τόξευμα < ‘shoot’ • Fr flèche < ‘feather’ • Sw pil < ‘javelin’ • OCS strela < ‘beam of light’ • Cz šip ‘thorn’ • Farsi tīr ‘sharp’

The immediate purpose is to give you a bunch of ideas for when you need to create the word ‘arrow’. I’ve gone through some very large volumes finding these things to make it easier for you (and for me, on my next language). Just grab one!

A little more abstractly, the list should help jump-start your own creativity. How else could you express the concept of ‘arrow’?

If you get stuck, ask questions like these:

•              What are some related words? Maybe they got repurposed (‘javelin’, ‘dart’, ‘bolt’), maybe the word can express their relationship (‘bow-thing’, ‘skirmisher-weapon’).

•              If it’s a physical object, what does it look like? (‘thorn’, ‘needle’)

•              What’s it made of? (‘feather’, ‘ashwood-thing’, ‘obsidian’)

•              What’s it used for? (‘shoot’, ‘pierce’, ‘ranged-killer’)

•              What striking attributes does it have? (‘sharp’, ‘pointy’, ‘long’, ‘whooshing’)

•              Can you get there by a metaphor? (‘beam of light’, ‘finger’)

•              Perhaps a broader term narrowed to just this meaning? (‘weapon’, ‘stick’)

•              Is the thing associated with a particular person or culture? (‘nomad-tools’, ‘of Diana’)

Any of these are good choices. There are few wrong answers, but at the least, avoid anachronisms— e.g. an arrow is the archer’s equivalent of a ‘bullet’, but that couldn’t be used before the invention of the gun. (But it could work for a futuristic language!)

‣             There’s a whole chapter on etymologies, p. 78.

What can I do with categories?

See the Categories chapter (p. 46) for an explanation of the concept.

An easy place to start is supercategories— that is, words that group together disparate things, like carnivore, fish, vegetable, sin, crime, planet, art, game, job. Each of these is really a little conworlding exercise. What do your people include in the concept? Some examples:

•              Is robbery a crime? A society where you can grab anything at all seems unlikely, but the limits need not be the same as in our culture. The idea of ‘robbery’ presupposes the idea of ‘property’, and a culture may find it absurd to claim certain things as property, like ‘air’. The powerful often take things that aren’t theirs— grazing areas, countries, slaves— and come up with reasons why this isn’t ‘robbery’.

•              Are whales fish? You may think that science gives us the answer, but science isn’t the boss of language, and even scientists haven’t always agreed that genetic descent is the best way to classify life.

•              Is lesbianism perversion? Not in my conculture Verduria— not out of progressivism, but because it’s considered a harmless way to keep girls and women from messing around with men.

•              In our culture, defining something as art gives it a certain cachet. There may be complicated reasons we do or don’t apply the term to dressmaking, industrial design, or storytelling. Similarly, Adam Smith pointed out that few jobs require more variety and depth of knowledge than farming, but because it was so common it was hardly regarded as a profession.

•              You might have considered planet to be out of place on my list, but in fact it’s an excellent example! The original definition as a ‘wandering’ light in the sky would exclude the Earth and include the Sun and comets. The idea of ‘a big satellite of the Sun’ was challenged by the discovery of Ceres and then by thousands of asteroids. If you’re looking at sheer size, the moon Ganymede is larger than Mercury. There’s no natural class here; all we can do is pick a definition that suits our needs.

On a more sophisticated level, all words are categories. Some may be pretty obvious, like dog, but words like anger, child, hair all group some things together and exclude others, and you can think about how your people might group things differently.

The discussion in each section of the book will give you more ideas and things to think about.

Classes may also be grammaticalized. One example is gender, discussed in ALC pp. 124-134; another is measure words, discussed below, p. 78.

Many older conlangs were based on classification systems; for more on this see p. 73.

How do I create a whole lexicon?

One word at a time. I don’t think there’s any shortcut to producing a large quality lexicon. Just plug away at it, in between working on the grammar, the sample texts, or other aspects of your conworld.

My rule of thumb is that a language doesn’t feel done until I have at least 1500 entries; it starts to feel respectable once there are 2500 or so; and once it has over 6000 it’s impressive. To put it another way, if you have 500 words, almost every sample sentence will require inventing a new word; with 2000 you’ll need a few per sample text; and with 6000 it’ll be fairly rare to stumble over a word you don’t have.

For almost all of my languages I keep only a lexicon sorted in romanized form. This keeps related words together and prevents making accidental homophones. Since I work on the computer, it’s easy enough to search for a particular English word.

I created a subject dictionary for Verdurian, organized by topic, much like the word lists in this book. This was great for forcing myself to fill out the categories, and to work out how the Verdurians think about things.

Which words can be borrowed?

Almost anything can be borrowed. However, of the first fifty items in the Fantasy Frequency Wordlist, just one was borrowed (they); of the first 200, just 20 were borrowed— and English is a copious borrower.

So very common words are the least likely to be borrowed. But they’re not exempt; note that these borrowings include such everyday words as get, seem, run, want, face, move, place.

Words for technologies are often borrowed; see the Technology chapter in the PCK for a timeline. Think about which of your cultures is expert in different areas, and at what time period. E.g. for English we could list:

Greek—philosophy, art, religion, math, science

Latin—government, linguistics, science

Norse—various everyday words

French—feudalism, heraldry, war, diplomacy, literature, fashion, cuisine

Italian—banking, accounting, architecture, music

Spanish—intermediary for Arabic and Native American terms

German—mining, philosophy

Hebrew—religion

Arabic—math, astronomy, clothing, chemistry

For Japanese, the table would look like this:

Chinese—everything premodern

Portuguese—Christianity, early trade products

Dutch—trading products, shipping terms

German—medicine, science, mountain climbing

English—modern life

If people move to a new area— as when English speakers moved to North America, South Africa, India, and Australia— they’ll borrow local terms for animals, plants, cooking, and interesting geological features.

Don’t neglect the lure of coolness. For centuries the language of culture and sophistication for most of Europe was French; today, for much of the world, it’s English. Marginal groups can be the source of cool words as well.

Recall that words drift from their original meaning, so don’t restrict borrowings to specific domains. Compare the original and present-day meaning of these words:

triumph

rite honoring a Roman general

a great success or victory

shack

a thatched cabin (Nahuatl)

a rough cabin

tycoon

a Japanese feudal lord

big business magnate

yen

an addiction (Chinese)

a yearning or interest

check

threaten the king in chess

test, verify

bungalow

a Bengali house

a small one-story house

swastika

Sanskrit ‘well-being’

a symbol of evil

profanity

sacrilege

swear words

cabal

the Jewish Qabbālāh

a conspiracy

cherub

a mighty angel of God

a cute baby

‣             The “Putting it all together” chapter of ALC explains the borrowing strategies I used for Almea.

How do I change meanings?

So you have a proto-language and every word in your main language derives from the parent. Good! Only, in every case it means the same thing. Bad!

The best way to get a feel for meaning change is to look at a bunch of actual etymologies. Browse the wordlists in the book. Check your dictionary, or look up etymological sources online.

Leonard Bloomfield listed eight types of semantic change. (My examples give only the glosses, as we’re not focusing on the shape of the words here.)

Narrowing

meet > fight

young person > girl

pleasing > joke
wild animal > deer
food > meat

Widening

occur by chance > happen

divide > judge

nestling > bird
kill > harm

Metonymy

embrace > kiss

nape > neck

chair > hips

pulpit > the clergy

Synecdoche (part/whole)

board > floor

enclosure > garden

bench > bank

swelling > grave

Hyperbole

evil > fierce

crippled > boring

run > walk

terrorist > dissident

Litotes
(understatement)

hit > kill

kiss > have sex

right-size > fire people

neutralize > imprison
breeze > storm

Degeneration

boy > knave

farmer > evil person

blessed > foolish

matron > slut

Elevation

same clan > well-born

man > baron

foolish > fond

hut > house

I’d add a few more categories. Metaphors can be simple (ball > eye, bowl > skull) or sophisticated (fall > happen, look > idea, straighten > govern, debt > sin).

‣             I could talk about metaphor like a gushing stream— see p. 91.

Another common process I’ll call a resultative: refer to a process using an early stage of it (kiss > have sex, prepare > wear), or a preliminary physical action (stretch > hold) or a prerequisite (be able > help).

Then there’s reification, turning an attribute into a thing, which allows it linguistic agency and near-personhood. For instance, we ask what kind of thing something is— we just want a description. It’s natural to then reify this as a class or category— its kind. An author’s style, the mood of the electorate, a culture’s standards of beauty, a smoker’s addiction are all complex patterns of behavior that are reified into a single active thing.

‣             See the case study on nature, p. 65.

Why do meanings change? Many people feel that words are degraded or destroyed in the process... why would anyone do that?

I don’t think linguistics knows for sure, but we can get a hint by looking at why we ourselves use new expressions— that is, why we use slang.

People just like novel, vivid, or exaggerated terms. We don’t logically need a new term for ‘good’, but every generation or region seems to invent one: bully, nifty, aces, lovely, gone, groovy, bodacious, fantastic, awesome, nice, sweet, wicked.

Slang dates, of course— dig a Mark Twain character (in Roughing It) asking a parson to conduct a funeral in 1860s Nevada:

Yes. That’s it— that’s our little game. We are going to get the thing up regardless, you know. He was always nifty himself, and so you bet you his funeral ain’t going to be no slouch— solid silver door-plate on his coffin, six plumes on the hearse, and a nigger on the box in a biled shirt and a plug hat— how’s that for high? And we’ll take care of you, pard. We’ll fix you all right. There’ll be a kerridge for you, and whatever you want, you just ’scape out and we’ll tend to it. We’ve got a shebang fixed up for you to stand behind, in No. 1’s house, and don’t you be afraid. Just go in and toot your horn, if you don’t sell a clam. Put Buck through as bully as you can, pard, for anybody that knowed him will tell you that he was one of the whitest men that was ever in the mines. You can’t draw it too strong.

Like a maple tree, slang sends out a thousand seeds; most of them die, but a few take root. Things have been cool for almost a century; that one might be a keeper. Some of Twain’s terms could still be used today, though not always with the same meaning (his nifty meant ‘smart, fine’). Men have been guys and dudes for 150 years. Children have been kids for three hundred years. If people like the new term enough, it will become the standard word (Latin testa ‘pot’ > Italian ‘head’), perhaps itself to be replaced later on.

Words don’t change immediately; there’s a period of overlap where both meanings can be encountered. For the people involved this causes less confusion than you might expect— the context or tone or cultural knowledge serve to indicate the intended meaning. It can be a nightmare for future historians and critics, though.

The process isn’t restricted to slang, of course. Take literally: people just can’t be stopped from using it as a mere intensifier: “I literally coined money.” That’s a quotation from 1863.

The irony is that the ‘correct’ meaning is itself a semantic change. It derives from Latin littera ‘letter’; under Charlemagne there was a reform to read Latin literaliter, according to the letters, as opposed to substituting the greatly changed vernacular pronunciation. The term was extended to literature (a man in 1593 is described as ‘literally wise’, that is, learned in literature) and to word-for-word reporting or translation, before reaching its modern meaning of ‘truly, non-figuratively’.

The point is, people are constantly ‘misapplying’ words, for all sorts of reasons: to be vivid, to come at something from a new angle, to surprise, to amuse, to express something new or difficult. Your con-people should be doing this too.

There are words that seem to resist change. A sampling of words that basically meant the same thing in Old English: arm, bare, begin, body, cold, daughter, die, far, gold, grin, head, kiss, knife, land, mean, name, new, red, shadow, small, star, think, time, tree, water, word, yard, young.

Is it that common words don’t change as much? Well, here’s some words that had a different meaning in Old English: bad (‘worthless’), breath (‘odor’), can (‘know’), cloud (‘rock’), dear (‘glorious’), fast (‘firm’), fear (‘peril’), load (‘journey’), lose (‘perish’), nice (‘foolish’), pretty (‘tricky’), pull (‘pluck’), soft (‘agreeable’), walk (‘roll’), with (‘against’).

The bottom line is that you can get away with changing pretty much any word or leaving it alone.

How do I make a proto-language?

In my view, an ancestral language is just a language. That’s because language, to the best of our knowledge, goes back at least 50,000 years— that is, at least five times the time depth of the longest-attested language families. For all that time, languages must have been pretty much what they are today.

What does change, of course, is technology. Your proto-language should be appropriate to its people’s tech level.

•              Recall that agriculture, markets, cities, governments, and even high numbers are inventions. If the proto-language is spoken by hunter-gatherers, it shouldn’t have words like harvest, republic, temple, coin, glass, highway.

Depending on the particulars of your language, you can of course leave out stuff you’d put in a complete grammar. You could work with nothing but a wordlist. However, I’d try to work out at least some of the morphology. You can make satisfying fusional morphologies by applying sound change and analogy to an agglutinative parent; see the LCK pp. 163-91.

You can probably leave out most of the syntax section— though the more you work out, the more you can use. (Even if the syntax changed a lot, there may be remnants— as for example we still have SOV in French when the object is a pronoun.)

(Language arguably did get more complex with the invention of writing— not because the grammar got nastier, but because old words as well as dialectal variation can be kept around indefinitely.)

If you’re curious what words to include so they make a good basis for the daughter language to build on, see the Etymology Frequency List, p. 89.

Do I need synonyms?

My copy of Roget’s Thesaurus has quite a few words for angry. Let’s take a look:

angry, angered, indignant, irate, wroth, wrathful, mad, sore, riled, ill-tempered, infuriated, raging, furious, savage, storming, fuming, rabid, vexed, pissed, incensed, provoked, annoyed, irritated, aggravated, peeved, resentful, maddened, inflamed, bristly, cholerous, offended, aggrieved, seething

Do you need all that? No. In fact, I advise that you avoid synonyms most of the time. There are some near-synonyms on the Fantasy Frequency List; feel free to combine them. Life is short, especially if you want to fill a world with half a dozen languages.

Besides, if you concentrate on breadth in the lexicon, you’ll find that you’ve got quite a few synonyms already through the magic of metaphor. If you have words for storms, fire, cooking, insanity, pain, spines, and wild beasts, you’ve got a good bit of the above list. Technical terms like bile (= choler) and rabies can be applied here. Of course, you should try to use your own metaphors rather than just re-use all of English’s.

You may also find you have alternatives already thanks to a healthy morphology. Angered is just the participial cousin of angry; wroth/wrathful are related, as are furious/infuriated. If your adjectives can have diminutives, you can double your word count, forming words like angryish for irritated.

It’s a nice touch to supply some slang terms; again, the easiest way to form these is to use existing words (like pissed).

For your main language, maybe you want to imitate this kind of richness. Recall, though, that English is a weird mixture— a magpie of a language that is not representative of all languages. On the other hand, that gives us a clue: borrow a lot. Wrath is native; we borrowed ire from French, irate from Latin, anger from Norse. So if you want lots of synonyms, make your people linguistic borrowers (which means creating languages they can borrow from, and a history that inclines them to do it).

Beyond that, of course, many of the words in the list mean something slightly different:

furious —great anger on the edge of being uncontrolled

irritated—a mild anger, often at a small (but persistent) thing

resentful—angry out of a feeling of being treated unfairly

sore—with hurt feelings, seen in a somewhat disparaging way

The take-away point is that the additional terms add nuance, allowing writers to be more expressive.

Languages seem to avoid exact synonyms, but words are distinguished by more than meaning:

•              Region: e.g. Boston’s T vs. New York’s subway vs. Chicago’s el vs. London’s tube.

•              Register: among the anger words, ire and wrath are now fairly hifalutin, angry is neutral, mad (for Americans) colloquial, and pissed off slangy.

•              Domain: e.g. the substance known as sodium chloride in the lab is salt in the kitchen. The kitchen, for that matter, is called the galley at sea.

•              Collocations. Some words are preferred with particular other words— e.g. place and set are similar in meaning, but you have to place a bet and set the table. Sometimes an earlier sense can remain indefinitely, protected by such a collocation— e.g. you can still hold fast to something, though fast in general has changed from ‘firm’ to ‘quick’.

•              Derivations. Even if two words are interchangeable, like snake and serpent, their derivations aren’t: the musical instrument can only be a serpent, while the plumber’s tool can only be a snake.

•              Attitude: e.g. the same person may be bargain-conscious when we approve of his spending habits, miserly when we don’t.

I’m not going to provide a list of all the words you might want to create, because a) that would be a big book, and b) you already have that book, it’s a dictionary. But remember the lesson of this book: ask yourself Can I vary this a little (or a lot) from English? Every language is likely to have a word meaning angry, but when it comes to these nuanced terms, there’s going to be more variation.

What if it’s not perfect?

On my board or in my mail, I run into people who seem to be paralyzed by the choices involved in conlanging. Where do they start? What if they get it wrong?

I think this is one of those problems whose solution seems too simple to accept: Just make a choice. Throw a dart at the page; flip a coin. It’s art, so there is no wrong answer. It’s not even like drawing the human figure, where fidelity to the model can be criticized. It’s more like drawing a dragon— who’s to say that your idea of a dragon is wrong?

I don’t mean that you can’t make a poor conlang. I had the advantage of doing my early work off the net, so you can’t see it. I suppose my obituary will mention Verdurian, which is the first Almean conlang I made, and definitely not the best. (If you’re curious, what bothers me is that I borrowed a lot of French and Russian words too closely. I wish I’d had this book available, so I could look at their etymological sources instead!)

You can always revise the language later. Or just relegate it to a less important nation, or make it a proto-language! Deriving a new language from a parent is liable to produce a much better product, as you can produce irregularities in an organic fashion with sound change, and you have the time depth to play with grammaticalization and etymology.

Since we’re talking about lexicons, I’ll mention a neat trick for words you’ve come to dislike: instead of deleting them, repurpose them as synonyms. Languages are such huge things that it’s a pity to simply throw out work.

E.g., going back to the initial example in the book: we had dlatla for ‘king’, speti for ‘queen’. We decide that we shouldn’t have a separate root for ‘queen’; we make it dlatlaŋ instead. But maybe speti can be kept as an alternate word, originally meaning ‘wife’, that was sometimes used for the queen. Or perhaps it can be used for ‘prince’ or ‘consort’ or some other term we don’t have yet.

I emphasize linguistic knowledge and real-world knowledge a lot, but I also want to underline that you never have to use it! Your conlang doesn’t have to be artistic, it just has to please you. And please don’t think you need a real-world model for every word or etymology.

What should a good lexicon entry look like?

Probably you have a lot of lexicon entries that look like this:

care - rasfolžer

To be honest, lots of mine look like that too. But a glance at almost any natlang dictionary should show that this 100% interchangeability is very rare.

Here’s the current entry for care in my English-Verdurian dictionary:

care - affection rasfolže; painstakingness arastát; meeting of needs cumasát; worry itësi, orivura

care for cumásuir

take care of agolec

I don’t care Řo sen troge

He can die, for all I care Epe šuščan sam sen trogan

I’m beginning to care for these children Debutai rasfolžer ci-imfáti

Rachel is caring for John Raheli cumásue Ihanon

Would you please take care of this? Ut urave agolec eto

Take care crossing the street Leleno še rekan soa prosiam

Would you care for a cup? Esce e dy vuleu taš?

The main things to note:

•              Different senses are distinguished in the main entry.

•              Translations are given for common short phrases— collocations. Very often the sense of a word may match between two languages, but the other words you normally use with it don’t. For instance, question corresponds to French question, Spanish pregunta. But where we ask a question, in French on pose une question, and in Spanish uno hace una pregunta.

•              Full sentences show how the word is used and offer more nuances (e.g. the use of leleno ‘see’ in the imperative Take care...)

Here’s a simple example from the Verdurian-English side:

orto - toe; protruding part of a baseboard or pedestal; (slang) slow student [HORTO]
pere orto big toe
ďun orto second toe
co-pav orto third toe
pav orto little toe
trogan so el ortam do the impossible

The organization is the same, but note that I always include the etymology if I have one. (For Verdurian I use the convention, borrowed from Romance philology, that words in the parent language are cited in CAPS.)

The last idiom shows off what I think is a neat little bit of conworlding. Almeans have only four toes, so indeed trogan so el ortam ‘to touch the middle toe’ is to do something impossible!

Fantasy Frequency Wordlist

What words do you need?

You can create words as needed, or work through the lists in the LCK. But it can be useful to have a frequency list— a list of the most common words.

I’ve compiled a frequency list based on fantasy and sf works. It has two advantages over wordlists you might find online:

•              It’s oriented toward creating fantasy and sf worlds, so it’ll be appropriate for most conlangs.

•              The entries are roots, not individual words. E.g. know stands not only for knows, knew, known, knowing but for knowledge and knower.

The method

Here’s how the list was created.

•               I assembled a corpus of over 1.1 million words. This consisted of a bunch of my own writing, plus online-accessible stories by William Morris, Lewis Carroll, Frank Baum, Kenneth Grahame, Edith Nesbit, H.G. Wells, Edgar Rice Burroughs, H.P. Lovecraft, Aldous Huxley, Olaf Stapledon, Fritz Lieber, Cyrus Kornbluth, Andre Norton, R.A. Lafferty, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Suzette Haden Elgin, Mary Gentle, Molly Brown, Neil Gaiman, Connie Willis, Cory Doctorow, and Charles Stross.

•              I used a program to find the words, remove affixes, maintain counts, and then sort the words by frequency.

•              I removed proper names and interjections, and corrected for words too obviously boosted by the choice of source material. (E.g. scarecrow only appeared in the Baum book.)

Grammatical words

I considered removing grammatical words— articles, pronouns, numbers, conjunctions, modals. These are highly dependent on English, and you’ll be creating equivalents for them as you work through the morphology and syntax anyway.

However, I decided to leave them in, for several reasons:

•              They tell us something about language— it’s interesting to see just how much of our texts consists of these words.

•              The boundary line isn’t that clear. Prepositions seem to add content— except perhaps for words like of and to. If must is removed, what about need?

•              Once I’d combined lexemes (e.g. I, me, my, mine, myself are all counted as I), they don’t overwhelm the list anyway.

But I urge you to skip over them if you’re working through the list. Don’t create a word for the just because it happens to be the most frequent word in English. Think about whether you want articles at all, and if so whether they work as they do in English. But all that’s covered in the LCK and ALC.

A note on numbers: I left out thirty, forty, fifty, because they’re almost always no-brainer derivations; for more see Numbers. (60/70/80/90 didn’t make the list.)

Caveats

The corpus isn’t long enough to trust in the tail. E.g. roots like hazel, oats, pyramid, shallow, torment, wiggle all appeared 7 times— but they might well have appeared 12 or 0 times in a different corpus. But it doesn’t matter, since I’ve applied a cutoff of 64 appearances.

It’s a matter of judgment when a derivation has branched off enough to count as a separate root. I separated gentle and gentleman, for instance, and love / lovely, and apart / apartment.

In some cases this affects whether a root makes the list. E.g. signal and signify don’t make the cutoff, but they’d easily clear it if they were combined. (But sign made it, so I’m not too worried about them.)

For our purposes the English lexicon has two major disadvantages:

•              Some annoying homonyms. Without a good deal of work I couldn’t distinguish pairs like

bear — animal / tolerate

lie — untruth / recline

leaves — pl. of leaf / 3s of leave

left — not right / past of leave

found — past of find / establish

well — interjection / water source / comparative of good

•              English makes some distinctions that arguably distort the list— e.g. both small and little are common words, and probably should just be one word in your conlang.

I haven’t used the list slavishly when conlanging, and neither should you. Naturally, if you need a word that’s not on the list, create it!

The list

Without further ado, here’s the Fantasy Frequency Wordlist.

Here’s the top fifty words, with their frequencies:

THE

67664

BE

38472

AND

36157

OF

30282

I

28158

A

28063

HE

27395

TO

26694

YOU

16424

IT

15814

IN

15723

THEY

14366

NOT

14121

HAVE

13869

THAT/THOSE

13095

SHE

12742

WITH

8107

WE

7884

AS

7820

FOR

7814

DO

7752

BUT

7446

SAY

7036

ON

6922

AT

6069

THIS/THESE

5162

FROM

4574

ALL

4251

THERE

4127

ONE

3952

BY

3834

WHAT

3767

SO

3637

SOME

3587

OUT

3534

GO

3464

OR

3430

WILL

3387

KNOW

3357

SEE

3303

NO

3301

UP

3228

COME

3203

IF

3123

THEN

2967

INTO

2882

LIKE

2808

WOULD

2785

COULD

2773

WHICH

2762

These fifty words total 553,087 instances, or just over 50% of the corpus.

And here’s the next 150 words, each of which occurs at least 620 times. They make up a further 12.5% of the corpus.

LOOK

THINK

WHEN

WHO

CAN

NOW

MAKE

ANY

MAN

GET

TIME

MORE

ABOUT

DOWN

TAKE

OTHER

BACK

WEAR

GOOD

ONLY

HAND

OVER

LONG

THAN

TELL

VERY

WAY

LITTLE

BEFORE

WELL

LIFE

EYE

JUST

HERE

HOW

THING

THROUGH

TWO

EVEN

FIND

GIVE

ASK

FEEL

WHERE

AFTER

FIRST

FACE

HEAD

AGAIN

EVERY

SEEM

OWN

GREAT

TURN

STILL

DAY

OFF

WANT

AWAY

UPON

TOO

DOOR

OLD

MOVE

MUCH

MUST

PEOPLE

THOU

NEVER

THOUGH

RIGHT

NEW

STAND

LIGHT

SPEAK

YEAR

DEAD/ DEATH

HEAR

TRY

REAL

CITY

LAST

OPEN

BEGIN

MIGHT

SIDE

WHY

AGAINST

ANOTHER

LET

HOUSE

WORK

SHOULD

WHILE

ROOM

THREE

RUN

ONCE

PLACE

WOMAN

BECAUSE

WORLD

END

MIND

MOST

UNTIL

NOTHING

WORD

ARM

NIGHT

VOICE

LEFT

AROUND

WAR

HOLD

DARK

MEAN

KEEP

CLOSE

WITHOUT

CALL

FAR

MOMENT

YET

SMALL

EACH

MANY

FOOT

SUCH

TOWARD

COURSE

POINT

SIT

TALK

FALL

ENOUGH

WALL

HIGH

BEHIND

UNDER

FRIEND

MAY

NEED

STAR

LAND

ALMOST

WATER

BODY

NEAR

BRING

(Life includes live; give includes gift; move includes motion; and though includes although.)

Here’s the next 300 roots, each of which occurs at least 248 times:

follow

child

build

put

half

human

walk

watch

kind

few

(a)sleep

god

same

sure

sudden

strange

along

grow

air

lead

ever

young

stop

across

hard

between

round

also

love

lay

reach

late(r)

become

leave

white

pass

quite

wait

home

return

serve

true

power

set

always

name

red

shall

break

understand

answer

laugh

black

wonder

meet

heart

slow

strong

green

hour

large

horse

king

ring

use

help

ship

smile

part

fear

among

sound

happen

show

lord

believe

fight

four

deep

next

kill

silent

cry

boy

fire

together

send

lose

perhaps

bad

full

present

care

soon

remember

floor

start

die

second

clear

both

draw

animal

lady

step

low

rest

simple

learn

wish

stone

rather

father

appear

girl

certain

sun

possible

office

ground

since

change

play

order

big

least

explain

hundred

minute

breath

eat

hair

shake

above

short

cold

else

catch

question

son

space

shoulder

wood

free

less

party

whole

blood

indeed

tip

sea

direct

alone

guard

lie

(un)able

inside

story

sword

line

matter

color

travel

read

bright

gold

beauty

carry

final

force

morning

past

prince

quick

enter

system

already

cover

please

five

tree

suppose

peace

earth

ride

dream

machine

planet

control

continue

touch

colony

river

sort

finger

either

within

leg

mouth

easy

listen

pull

differ

expect

magic

table

spirit

hope

reply

bed

save

wise

reason

window

entire

fly

however

decide

interest

ear

nature

blue

act

distant

ready

stay

add

surprise

cut

burn

nor

gray

sense

thousand

person

realize

rise

soft

form

forward

idea

alien

drop

army

horror

remain

wide

front

hang

hide

mountain

moon

outside

beside

safe

sing

bear

escape

bit

creature

ten

weapon

metal

shadow

enemy

master

maybe

drive

fair

street

quiet

six

center

chief

forget

throw

soldier

top

pain

several

clothes

discover

raise

rule

suggest

edge

hot

road

rock

skin

fact

figure

complete

glad

sight

heavy

write

state

rose

except

The first 500 roots, above, make up 74% of the corpus.

Here’s the next 400 roots, each of which occurs at least 122 times:

strike

dance

shut

trouble

happy

sign

case

danger

south

week

crowd

pick

sky

instant

whisper

hall

roof

twenty

fast

anger

teach

train

attack

notice

number

ago

pay

(a)wake

fool

silver

country

fill

blow

book

dear

instead

palace

poor

duke

council

dress

none

commit

secret

whatever

wild

field

lean

spend

(in)visible

beyond

choose/ choice

society

mother

wave

group

command

doubt

early

mere

difficult

art

consider

battle

below

general

thick

attention

glance

huge

destroy

offer

(e)special

fine

food

maid

age

create

whether

wrong

brother

chance

cross

express

hunt

language

plan

prison

repeat

wind

climb

direction

faint

level

memory

straight

stretch

eight

hill

perfect

push

chair

lift

month

rich

thank

settle

box

gate

noise

roll

shape

defend

judge

lip

lot

self

town

advance

glass

visit

dry

during

family

grass

plain

allow

business

sharp

shout

warm

nod

shoot

brain

marry

north

support

empty

intend

thus

alive

mad

study

tire

agree

hate

miss

paper

process

approach

evident

race

receive

fellow

further

imagine

queen

bow

exact

loud

neck

warn

actual

afraid

giant

tear

curious

hole

shit

swing

circle

dust

search

deal

lock

narrow

thin

history

knife

often

seven

succeed

stream

captain

charge

empire

hop

immediate

size

bare

monster

pretty

bend

knee

tin

garden

sick

chamber

comfort

pale

piece

yellow

manage

problem

cosmos

damn

flash

pause

tall

respect

important

inform

tale

clean

probable

smell

weak

west

arrive

attempt

check

gun

accept

message

report

fit

remake

sweet

usual

evil

hurry

pocket

proud

speed

tea

trade

drink

third

view

boss

cause

guess

hurt

odd

press

slight

spring

agent

beast

corner

position

slip

spear

brown

mark

scream

bank

boat

fail

member

vision

worry

east

recognize

stick

conquer

dog

loose

produce

promise

valley

radiate

spread

blind

finish

intelligent

island

music

particular

cat

cloud

condition

path

serious

tight

tooth

fish

law

nose

century

gaze

picture

respond

terrible

ugly

cave(rn)

exist

money

throat

track

village

experience

haste

jump

quarter

rush

somewhat

demand

middle

paint

seat

temple

threat

beneath

gentle

object

swift

wife

arrow

base

cheek

effect

forest

game

sorry

surface

therefore

ahead

bug

forth

revolt

beat

bone

cheer

flesh

passage

castle

couple

desert

dim

mar

mile

bird

fuck

gather

join

sigh

tone

trust

belong

companion

frighten

journey

smoke

station

suspect

cast

luck

mighty

shine

blink

protect

scene

tiny

win

bind

hunger

joy

kiss

oppose

pleasant

born

calm

flat

single

steel

store

community

govern

ought

shock

worth

dine

dozen

familiar

flower

heat

local

marble

march

prepare

hit

refuse

resist

tower

bottom

glow

plant

stuff

main

We’re now up to 900 roots making up 81% of the corpus.

And here’s another 600 roots, each of which occurs at least 62 times:

subject

desire

effort

purpose

record

require

steal

ancient

bottle

court

evening

excite

rag

satisfy

stair

today

cool

dare

manner

observe

pleasure

afternoon

car

company

nice

stage

trick

active

snake

terror

confuse

hesitate

remind

concern

science

admit

busy

explore

honor

iron

onto

prove

situation

struggle

anxious

disappear

egg

firm

folk

include

necessary

physical

police

spot

steady

wander

wash

weigh

contact

converse

drift

future

helium

occupy

welcome

boot

civilize

duty

fresh

fur

mass

sand

adventure

assure

drag

occasion

twist

unless

vast

account

corridor

creep

elder

extreme

naked

seek

slide

statue

trail

beg

block

daughter

describe

neither

nobody

wing

belt

claim

eager

maintain

sir

survive

arrange

band

content

grip

individual

mistake

mount

range

square

treat

violent

weary

increase

public

trap

worship

awful

bar

breast

devil

grin

hell

job

note

practice

priest

raid

reflect

slave

surround

tongue

common

defeat

develop

meat

murder

murmur

normal

pursue

wine

burst

coat

examine

kick

neighbor

provide

snow

suffer

thrust

buy

camp

detail

lone

nine

relate

remove

school

screen

smooth

bomb

deem

leap

match

cease

craft

insist

invite

letter

obvious

relief

rough

scout

tar

vanish

absolute

communicate

crawl

explode

ill

muscle

test

tunnel

wrist

argue

assist

capture

enormous

exclaim

freeze

sad

wound

accord

conscious

count

cup

emerald

fat

flame

gesture

mouse

pack

protest

utter

baby

bread

character

chest

fashion

grab

pink

proper

rare

reveal

signal

suit

twice

universe

ally

bother

delight

display

farm

ghost

heal

lack

military

skill

stupid

complain

divide

gentleman

medical

noble

post

proceed

shift

shrug

victory

ancestor

aunt

bag

guide

majesty

map

million

rabbit

row

brief

claw

double

jewel

nation

silk

trip

unite

yard

audience

complex

convince

grace

hat

ruin

supply

sweat

twelve

uncle

ceiling

cell

chapter

descend

glory

grave

image

organize

pilot

rain

snap

swim

hotel

nervous

result

sex

soul

throne

chain

dirt

emotion

extend

mechanical

permit

sister

contain

crack

dawn

educate

gain

limb

nought

occur

pray

scar

startle

various

advise

bush

caution

fortune

limit

politics

religion

sail

shudder

trace

baron

broad

brush

enjoy

favor

generate

glare

impatient

pity

scarce

tonight

avoid

desk

female

hero

kitchen

knock

meal

opposite

peer

possess

solid

squad

sweep

admire

bore

desperate

dull

fade

fling

key

mirror

opportunity

pair

passion

patient

sink

swallow

venture

authority

brave

curse

declare

due

flitter

grasp

kid

operate

ray

separate

spy

strip

absent

beam

bolt

culture

determine

energy

engine

gleam

grandmother

meter

obey

page

peasant

perceive

pile

represent

stiff

tomorrow

wet

address

barbarian

comment

demon

event

fog

insect

load

major

mental

mutter

plate

rapid

responsible

roar

robe

term

tube

clever

confident

feature

galaxy

invade

lake

link

lunch

mission

mystery

nasty

origin

polite

pool

share

stride

tremble

upper

accompany

apart

astonish

depart

globe

heap

summer

task

triumph

aim

arch

aware

blade

board

harm

male

pace

patch

perform

stable

structure

whistle

class

dread

faction

fist

ignore

inch

material

measure

merchant

program

reside

scale

sell

spider

stare

stir

stomach

tail

amid

bridge

collect

fix

float

handle

interrupt

labor

prefer

rate

remote

witch

amuse

attract

cloth

cook

fancy

fate

fruit

intense

mix

overhead

progress

switch

abrupt

assume

balance

constant

expand

fierce

flow

gasp

greet

impress

practical

pure

royal

scrap

shiver

waste

combat

design

dwell

echo

equip

fleet

forever

instruct

misery

parent

preside

rank

risk

treasure

value

wrap

cruel

duck

hook

idiot

indicate

kilometer

locate

recover

taste

accomplish

adult

aside

bitter

compare

custom

discuss

engage

frown

gravity

joke

meanwhile

motor

populate

powder

twin

announce

area

cloak

correct

current

forehead

lamp

native

panel

puzzle

queer

sob

yell

behave

breakfast

concentrate

mention

mess

pattern

propose

storm

winter

annoy

blast

hail

hiss

hollow

ice

orbit

significant

silly

total

whip

alarm

amaze

bath

brilliant

delicate

fold

husband

purple

rope

string

swear

wheel

bless

bury

curtain

false

gap

relax

shame

wizard

frame

launch

loyal

pour

That makes 1500 roots; if you created all those words, you’d have a very respectable lexicon and a good chance of handling quite a lot of fantasy-and sf-related material.

These 1500 roots make up 87% of the corpus.

There is an electronic version of this list on the web resources page (p. 12).

Word priorities

To make word priorities clear, I’ve used this typographical scheme for all the wordlists in the book:

•              The first 200 roots are in BOLDFACE CAPS.

•              The next 300 are in bigger type.

•              The next 400 are in boldface.

•              The remaining 600 roots are in normal type.

•              Finally, nice-to-have words (those not on the above lists) are in italics. There are over a thousand of these. The index itself makes a handy word-list for the most ambitious conlangers.

Again, if you need a word, don’t be held back by these categories, just create it!

The Swadesh list

For convenience, I’ve listed the 200-item list created by Morris Swadesh, also found in the LCK. Words not in the Fantasy Frequency List are italicized.

Words in Swadesh’s earlier 100-item list are in bold.

Adjectives

Numbers              one, two, three, four, five

Colors              black white red green yellow

Oppositions              good, bad               long, short

new, old               wide, narrow

warm, cold              thick, thin

dry, wet              fat, heavy

sharp, dull              left, right

near, far              many, few

big, small              all, some

Miscellaneous              round, full, dirty, right (correct), rotten, smooth, straight, other

Nouns

Substances              earth, water, stone, fire, sand, smoke, ashes, dust, ice, salt

Time              night, day, year

Weather              rain, cloud, snow, fog, wind

The sky              sun, moon, star, sky

Geographical              mountain, road, woods, lake, river, sea

Body parts              head, neck, hand, foot, skin, knee, breast, belly, back, leg, fingernail

The head              ear, eye, hair, mouth, nose, tongue, tooth

Internal              blood, bone, heart, meat, liver, guts

Animals              bird, dog, fish, louse, snake, animal, worm

tail, egg, claw, feather, horn, wing

Plants              tree, leaf, bark, seed, root, flower, fruit, grass, stick

People              person, man (male), woman, child

Family              father, mother, wife, husband

Miscellaneous              name, fear, rope

Verbs

Life and death              die, kill, sleep, live

Movement              come, walk, fly, swim, float, turn

Body position              stand, sit, lie (down), fall

Mouth actions              eat, drink, bite, blow, breathe, suck, spit, vomit

Perception              see, hear, smell

Cognition              know, think

Speech acts              say, sing, laugh, count,

Daily life              play, hunt, throw, wash, sew, wipe

Conflict              fight, hit

Tool usage              cut, tie, dig, stab

Manipulation              give, hold, push, pull, rub, scratch, squeeze

Physical states              burn, flow, freeze, split, swell

Grammatical words

Conjunctions              not, and, because, if

Prepositions              at, in, with

Personal pronouns              I, thou, we, he, you (pl.), they

Demonstratives              this, that

Locatives              here, there

Question words              what, who, how, when, where

All about classes

A lot of this book is about creating classes or categories. Words are classes— to create a word bird is to define a class which some things in the universe belong to and some don’t. And words are arranged in class hierarchies— e.g. a robin is a bird, and a bird is an animal.

As Steve Martin observed, people who speak another language have a different word for everything. At a deeper level, they also have a different classification system for everything. One of the purposes of this book is to help you think about how to create such a thing.

Classification is the subject of George Lakoff’s Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things. That’s the best place to go for more information, though you may or may not be interested in his detailed demolition of traditional logic-based theories of categorization.

Six types of class

We often tie ourselves into knots when thinking about meaning, and one reason, I think, is that we insist on treating all words the same way. Let’s look at some of the ways we can look at defining words, and some of the problems.

Algorithm

The easiest type of words to think about are those defined by a formula or algorithm. These are widely used in science and technology:

radius— the distance from the center of a circle to its circumference

compiler— a program which transforms human-readable code into applications directly executable by a computer

iamb— a metrical unit composed of an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed one

velar— having a point of articulation at the velum

momentum— the product of mass times velocity

hydrogen— an atom whose nucleus contains just one proton

sucrose— a molecule C12H22O11

planet— a body which orbits a star, is large enough to be nearly round in shape, and is the dominant gravitational object in its orbit

In terms of the dots-for-referents diagrams I used in the LCK (p. 100), these might be pictured like this:

With a word defined algorithmically,

•              There is no internal variation. Either the word fits or it doesn’t.

•              Referents without the formula are of no help in learning the word.

•              The word is learned by explicitly passing on the formula, and if you don’t know the formula you don’t know the word.

•              The linguistic signals of prototypes (below) don’t work. It doesn’t make much sense to say “Strictly speaking line A is a radius” or “Technically, this molecule is sucrose.”

•              However, roughly can be used as a signal that the formula doesn’t quite match: The island is roughly triangular.

So far so good, but the trouble is that people of a pedantic mindset, like logicians and lexicographers, prefer formulas and try to apply them to everything. Most everyday words do not have clear thick boundaries.

Family resemblance

Logicians once hoped that any word could be defined by a set of shared features. Ludwig Wittgenstein explains why this doesn’t work, focusing on the word game:

Consider for example the proceedings that we call “games”. I mean board-games, card-games, ball-games, Olympic games, and so on. What is common to them all? — Don’t say: “There must be something common, or they would not be called ‘games’”–but look and see whether there is anything common to all. — For if you look at them you will not see something that is common to all, but similarities, relationships, and a whole series of them at that. To repeat: don’t think, but look! —

Look for example at board-games, with their multifarious relationships.

Now pass to card-games; here you find many correspondences with the first group, but many common features drop out, and others appear.

When we pass next to ball-games, much that is common is retained, but much is lost.— Are they all ‘amusing’? Compare chess with noughts and crosses. Or is there always winning and losing, or competition between players? Think of patience. In ball games there is winning and losing; but when a child throws his ball at the wall and catches it again, this feature has disappeared. Look at the parts played by skill and luck; and at the difference between skill in chess and skill in tennis.

Think now of games like ring-a-ring-a-roses; here is the element of amusement, but how many other characteristic features have disappeared! sometimes similarities of detail.

And we can go through the many, many other groups of games in the same way; can see how similarities crop up and disappear.

And the result of this examination is: we see a complicated network of similarities overlapping and criss-crossing: sometimes overall similarities.

I can think of no better expression to characterize these similarities than “family resemblances”; for the various resemblances between members of a family: build, features, colour of eyes, gait, temperament, etc. etc. overlap and criss-cross in the same way. –And I shall say: ‘games’ form a family.

(Philosophical Investigations, §66-67)

Was Wittgenstein right? Do the lexicographers actually fail at this? The American Heritage Dictionary (AHD) defines game as “A way of amusing oneself; a diversion.” That does fail to capture important points (such as rules and competition) and also fails to exclude other amusements (such as opera, cocktails, web browsing, and masturbation).

A better attempt is made by the philosopher Bernard Suits in The Grasshopper: “playing a game is the voluntary attempt to overcome unnecessary obstacles.” That’s not bad, though what’s the obstacle in playing the lottery, or dodgeball? Suits’s definition also fits conlanging or stamp collecting or dancing, none of which are exactly games.

Maybe you can come up with something cleverer. But that misses the point, which is that we don’t learn the word game from definitions, no matter how clever. We learn it by playing a bunch of games and being told that they are ‘games’.

You can evade the whole issue by just defining a word in your conlang that glosses as ‘game’. That’s not a bad thing, but is every cultural practice in your conworld a copy of English? Is there any other word that has the complexity of game or judge?

Once you start noticing words like game, you’ll see them all over. What’s a woman, for instance? None of these attempted definitions quite work:

•              Has breasts or a womb. (These might have been removed.)

•              Can bear a child. (Many women are infertile, too young, or too old.)

•              Has XX chromosomes. (People with androgen insensitivity live as females but are XY, and there are other variations. Plus, other species have other chromosome types.)

•              Has a vagina. (Certain intersex conditions are not clear-cut; plus, transgender women may not yet have had surgery.)

•              Prefers men. (Duh, lesbians.)

•              Acts like a woman. (You can be as butch as you like and still be female.)

•              Identifies as a woman. (Works for transgender people, but many people just don’t worry what sex they identify as.)

This is very distressing for some people, who want their boundary lines thick and clear— but you can only have that when you have consensus on a useful formula.

Often a word is formulaic in science, but not in ordinary language. Biologists find it useful to define female, and their criterion is that the female is the sex that creates larger gametes. That’s fine for biological work, but it doesn’t mean that biology has the last word when it comes to culture, law, or religion! It just means that biology has found that definition useful as a technical term.

Our culture reveres dictionaries— though the ordinary type has only existed for a few centuries. Many books and articles begin with a definition— elaborate, gerrymandered, and mostly forgotten in Chapter Two. If an author has to create a definition, they’re not working from the social consensus; they’re just following an eccentric procedure for saying what they want to talk about!

Prototype

Many common words— biological kinds, emotions, personality types, simple actions and attributes, tools, colors, and more— show prototype effects. Characteristics of these words:

•              There is significant internal variation.

•              Some referents are better examples than others. Linguistic signals include That’s a real bird; he’s a man’s man; that’s a proper risotto.

•              There is often a best example or model member. E.g., the prototype bird, for Americans, is probably something like a robin or a sparrow.

•              There are valid edge cases. Linguistic signals include Technically a tick is an arachnid. Strictly speaking that’s legal.

•              There are close but invalid edge cases: Technically rabbits are not rodents.

•              The word can be learned by generalizing from multiple examples.

Clumpy space

The semantic space— the sea of possible referents— can be visualized as diffuse but clumpy. Some clumps are obvious enough that most cultures will have them as concepts, with similar boundaries, but others are messier.

E.g. dogs are a pretty obvious clump, and most languages have a word for them. (To my knowledge, no language with access to both cats and dogs fails to distinguish them.)

On the other hand, the distinction between love and like is much fuzzier. English happens to distinguish them, French doesn’t:

We learn many of these words as children, not from definitions but from examples. If there’s a dog in the family, the child quickly learns that it’s doggie— but she hasn’t learned the word yet, only one referent.

She soon encounters dogs in the neighborhood, stuffed dogs, dogs in pictures. At first she may extend the concept incorrectly— e.g. she uses doggie for a stuffed lion, or she fails to recognize that the chihuahua next door is a doggie like her family’s own beagle.

Eventually, of course, she uses the words as everyone else does. (Though perhaps her prototype is still the family dog. When my niece Lisa was a toddler, she drew pictures of cats without tails. Quite reasonably, since her family cat was a Manx!)

Prototype effects

Prototype effects have been extensively studied since the work of Eleanor Rosch. They include:

•              Gradability: Respondents can provide judgments on how good an example of a class a particular member is.

•              Reaction time: Respondents are given statements like A chicken is a bird and asked if it’s true or false. Response times are shorter for prototypical members.

•              Example production: Respondents are more likely to name the prototype when asked to list members of the class.

(I might add that if you ask a cartoonist to draw it, they’ll probably draw the prototype. From this we can learn that the prototypical hunk of cheese is Swiss, with really big holes.)

•              Asymmetry in reasoning: New information about a prototypical member is more likely to be generalized to marginal members than the reverse. E.g. Lance Rips found that subjects assumed that a disease would readily spread from robins to ducks, but not the reverse.

Prototype effects should not be confused with graded categories. The idea is not that robins are 100% birds, chickens 50%, and penguins just 20%. They’re all birds, but some are better examples than others.

Cloud relations

The boundaries between prototype-words live in tension with all the other nearby words. And the boundaries can shift.

For instance, over the history of English, dog moved from being just one breed to refer to the whole species:

Similarly, girl once referred to any child, male or female, and came to be applied only to females:

Often a narrower word grabs some set of referents from another. E.g. a chair is anything you can sit on, minus stools which are backless and benches / couches which are multi-person and hard or soft respectively.

Map division

For some semantic spaces, a prototype plus the pressure of nearby words might be all you need. Continua, for instance: the heat continuum can have two nodes (hot / cold) or four (hot / warm / cool / cold) or some other number. You don’t need a formula for the boundary, just a general rule to use the term closest to the prototype.[3]

A two-dimensional example is color, as colors are defined not only by hue but by saturation. E.g. orange and brown pick out the same hue, but orange is more saturated.

It’s not uncommon for a term to be used only within one domain. E.g. blond can be used of hair or wood and not much else. Lukewarm is fine for drinks but not the weather. Scrambled is mostly applied to eggs. Almost anything can be beautiful but only a few things (people, clothes, landscapes, pictures) can be pretty.

Prototypes and formulas

Many words seem to have prototypes and formulas. Birds, for instance, aren’t just an assemblage of things-like-robins. They have a conceptual unity: feathers, a body plan with wings in place of arms, beaks, no teeth, egg-laying, and flight. (This is really a Wittgensteinian family resemblance: some birds lack feathers or can’t fly, and very early birds did have teeth.) As a bonus, they form a valid cladistic class— they have a common ancestor.

Similarly, though chair has prototype effects, chairs can also be defined as things made to sit on. A few things you can sit on are not chairs because they’re named by other words (e.g. sofa, car seat), but if you can’t sit on it at all, it’s pretty much disqualified from chairhood.

Some words are learned as prototypes and are redefined as formulas. Father is first learned, no doubt, as a name. The logical next step is that the child applies the word to the adult male in other households; but they don’t yet understand the relation to parenthood— as Barbara Partee noticed when she was asked by young children if she had a ‘father’— she eventually realized that they were asking if she had a husband. The adult usage is defined with a formula, but retains prototype effects— we might call one man more fatherly than another, or say he’s a real father.

Function

Some things don’t even make sense except in terms of another object. A glove, for instance, would be a baffling construction if we had never seen a hand.

These are just a special case of formulas, but I point them out because they’re not the prototypical example of nouns. An alien could probably work out an idea of horse given enough examples of horses, but no number of keys would explain that word, till he’d been shown a lock.

Script

Some actions are best thought of as scripts. (Lakoff calls them ICMs, for idealized cognitive models, though in more recent work he uses the catchier frames) A fairly complicated procedure has to apply for them to make sense. Consider what it means to judge.

•              Person J presides over a formal meeting whose purpose is to settle a dispute between two parties A and B.

•              J has specific cultural authority to make such decisions, involving much training and experience.

•              Party A, who brought the suit, must explicitly accept J’s authority. (A may be the state rather than a private party.)

•              B need not accept J’s authority, but J has the cultural power to compel B to follow her dictates anyway.

•              J must be engaged in the formal meeting, rather than (say) discussing the case at home in bed with her husband.

•              The parts of the procedure which involve investigation and argumentation are over.

•              The judgment is a formal statement which requires certain performative or ritual elements. (E.g., it must be delivered in court, must be audible, must be recorded, must not be followed by the words “... Ha, I’m just horseshitting you.”)

•              J’s decision will have practical effects on A and B which can be practically enforced. (There may or may not be a way to formally challenge it.)

This too is a formula, but a particularly elaborate and culturally determined one. An alien trying to record the meaning of judge would not really have succeeded unless he got it all down.

Scripts can vary by time or place, or require subjective judgment calls, or cultural rules. This is troublesome for the necessary-and-sufficient-condition crowd, but ordinary speakers have no problem with such words... at least, under close to prototypical situations!

Many words have a nice clear formula, but it sounds pedantic or odd to insist on it in all cases. A bachelor, for instance, is an unmarried adult male. But it doesn’t sound right to say that a widower, or a monk, or a man with a long-term girlfriend, is a bachelor. Part of the script for bachelorhood is that the man is in the market for marriage. Someone who for whatever reason is not marriageable is not felicitously described as a bachelor.

Lakoff captures this with the idealized in ICM. A model doesn’t have to match reality precisely. In fact, we can refer to multiple, conflicting ICMs, discussing which is appropriate— his term is framing the situation. A simple example:

Peter isn’t stingy, he’s thrifty.

Thrifty has a frame which includes the tenet Saving money is good; stingy has one that says Saving money is bad. The sentence is an implicit comment on which ICM better applies to Peter. This is hard to handle in traditional theories of meaning, which have no place for human subjectivity, much less direct evaluation of competing frames.

Polytypes

Why is it that many people don’t believe in male superiority, and yet make a point of saying they aren’t feminists? Pretty obviously they are not applying a formula or an ideological checklist. I’d say that they are contemplating the entire perceived history of feminism— Gloria Steinem and Bella Abzug and Susan Brownmiller and Hillary Clinton, lesbians in birkenstocks, Women’s Studies programs, some blog post that’s in the news— and comparing themselves to that.

This isn’t simply a prototype, as it’s composed of multiple people, behaviors, symbols, and quotations. It’s close to the traditional idea of stereotype, but it’s not always negative, so instead I’ll call it a polytype.

Words for political movements are usually polytypes— e.g. fascist and socialist are used for little more than ‘political things I hate’. Cultural movements (Romantic, Impressionist, pop, punk, geek, otaku) are polytypes. Attempts at definitions are always gerrymandered and quickly forgotten; they are usually introduced by enumerating examples.

Many terms of value are polytypes— cool, hip, elegant, weird, kitsch, tacky, lame, compelling, exciting. With some of these, there’s the added complication that a statement seemingly about the world is really about our own experiences— after all, nothing is a cliché when you hear it the first time.

It’s often said that race is a social construct. I hope you linguists and conlangers understand that all words are social constructs. But my point is that race is far from a ‘natural kind’; it’s a polytype.

•              Much of the reason we think it’s clear is because we’re really thinking about prototypes— e.g. George W. Bush vs. Clarence Thomas. Plenty of real-world people aren’t easy to classify, and many people have passed for black or white depending on where they lived and who they associated with.

•              The determination varies by region. The same person might be called black in the UK and Asian or Middle Eastern or Hispanic in the US.

•              It varies over time. To most Americans today, Italians and Jews are white; in 1880 people felt vehemently that they were not.

•              Americans are hypersensitive, in a strange princess-and-the-pea way, to any hint of black descent. I’m half-German and half-Norwegian in descent, but no one would insist that I’m therefore 100% German. But someone half-black and half-white... or far less black than that... registers to many people as black.

If you point all this out, many people will insist that no, it’s perfectly clear to them. This can be explained as a prototype effect: they have an idea of a prototypical white or black man, and as the prototypes seem easily distinguished, they think the classes are, too. They also may not have much experience with edge cases that wouldn’t fit their prototypes as well.

Saying that a word doesn’t fit a formula, or is a social construct, doesn’t mean it’s useless. Race words still communicate information. But they don’t handle edge cases well, and generalizations based on them are notoriously bad— which is why we talk about stereotypes.

Connotations and frames

With stereotypes and value words, we get into the territory of the speaker’s emotions and attitudes. Very often the speaker is less interested in conveying a fact than in reporting his feelings about it . And this is lexicalized in a wide swath of words: good, evil, sin, crime, horrible, pleasant, adorable, lazy, greedy, bitch, brat, asshole, jerk, moocher, chauvinist pig, wetback, unprofessional.

When you’re creating a word, you might ask yourself, what do they call it when they’re angry?

Bertrand Russell jocularly spoke about “irregular verbs”, such as:

I am firm, you are obstinate, he is a pig-headed fool.

I am righteously indignant, you are annoyed, he is making a fuss over nothing.

I have reconsidered the matter, you have changed your mind, he has gone back on his word.

Or, from the BBC show Yes, Minister:

I give confidential press briefings, you leak, he's been charged under Section 2A of the Official Secrets Act.

Lexicographers rarely acknowledge the issue— e.g. the AHD defines frivolous as “unworthy of serious attention, trivial”, which misses the point that it’s a word for slapping down other people’s behavior. If we approve of the pastime, it’s a hobby or relaxation or art.

Words that simply communicate an attitude are simple enough; more complex are words that— without our quite knowing it— help put across an entire perspective— a frame. Lakoff talks about this in Don’t Think of an Elephant and Moral Politics.

Lakoff uses the example of tax relief. The word relief implies a metaphor: TAXATION IS A DISEASE. Relief is always positive; opposing relief makes you a bad guy. The phrase helps put across the idea that taxation is always bad; it’s a brilliant piece of conservative political framing. Liberals even adopted the term, helping to spread the frame.

A liberal example would be civil rights. It’s hard to be against rights! Rights are things you’re supposed to have; the word itself declares how right that is. This was a more successful framing than talking about integration (which was easily opposed— many people just didn’t like mixing races) or racism (1950s opponents of civil rights were explicitly white-supremacist, so the term was simply descriptive, and didn’t offer a competing frame).

Or there’s piracy to describe downloading music for free. This is framing because there’s no social consensus that doing so is bad, much less a crime. The intent is to equate downloading with looting and murder on the high seas. This may not be as successful a frame, partly because pirates are viewed as romantic rogues more than as criminals— old villains inspire more affection than hatred.

As partisans have already internalized their frames, their terms don’t always appeal to the undecided. The communists were famous for prose overheated to the point of ridiculousness (imperialist running dog, democratic people’s republic, paper tiger, petty bourgeois lackey), and modern rightwingers’ invocation of treason or socialism is just as foolish— fun for the converts, silly to anyone else.

The French have a useful term for the fervid, stereotyped drivel of the politician: langue de bois, literally ‘wooden tongue’.

For the conlanger, the lesson is to think about your conpeople’s beliefs, fears, and obsessions. What frames and metaphors do their belief systems use? What do they fight about so intensely that even the terms they use are loaded?

If you’re inventing controversies and the terms to go with them, recall that the terms with bite imply a split in the community. People invent terms for abuse for minorities, but when 90% of the people agree with you there’s no real fight. E.g. Mounia and Joausi face an invasion by the Ombutese. It’s likely that there would be invective for the Ombutese, but almost no one supports the enemy, so there’s no need for clever propaganda against the Ombuto-lovers. Much more controversial is the idea that the two nations must unite to fight the enemy; the arguments between pro- and anti-union movements would produce interesting terms.

Time drains invective of its force. Tory was once a term for Irish bandits, Whig for a band of Scottish insurgents. They were applied jocularly and then proudly to the major British political parties.

Basic categories

Not all categories are created equal. Some are basic-level, a concept explored by Roger Brown in Social Psychology.

There’s an animal living next door, and you want to refer to it. Do you call it a thing, an animal, a mammal, a carnivore, a canine, a dog, a terrier, or a fox terrier?

For most purposes you’d say it’s a dog; that’s the basic-level category. Other examples include cat, oak, gold, water, chair, car, red, happy, sit. Words at this level have some common traits:

•              The words tend to be shortest and most frequent.

•              If you ask for names of things (e.g. you take your informant around the village and point to things), they’re the easiest to elicit.

•              They’re learned first: a child learns dog before she learns supercategories like carnivore or subcategories like terrier.

•              They’re perceived holistically, as a gestalt. To perceive lower categories you have to look at picky distinctive details; higher categories often can’t be perceived directly at all, but are abstracted. (You can’t really see that something is a ‘piece of furniture’; you see that it’s a chair or a bookcase or whatever, and deduce it.)

•              We have distinctive actions or functions for basic-level words— e.g. a chair is to sit on, a bookcase is to store books on, a dresser is for keeping clothes.

•              The things themselves have distinctive behaviors. E.g. dogs bark and wag their tails; cats meow and barf in your shoes.

As an illustration of the first point, compare the words for ‘dog’ and ‘animal’ in various languages:

English

dog

animal

French

chien

animal

Russian

собака

животное

Greek

σκυλί

ζῶον

Hindi

kuttā

jānvar

Arabic

kalb

hayawan

Swahili

mbwa

mnyama

Turkish

köpek

hayvan

Indonesian

andjing

binatang

Finnish

koira

eläin

Japanese

inu

dōbutsu

Mandarin

gǒu

dòngwù

Non-basic terms are more likely to be borrowed— e.g. animal, hayvan, dōbutsu are all borrowings (from Latin, Arabic, Chinese respectively).

For the conlanger, basic-level words are the most useful to create; not only are they common, but they’re the building blocks for other levels of categorization.

Brent Berlin calls these natural kinds. This is an unfortunate term, as it’s fairly evident that these categories are ‘natural’ for human beings. If we were dolphins we wouldn’t need a word for chair at all, and we’d distinguish between all sorts of marine rather than land animals.

Berlin has observed that different languages tend to agree on creating basic terms at the level of the genus— examples include oak, maple, pine, rose, dog, cat, raccoon, human. This isn’t an accident; Carl Linnaeus based his system on the most easily perceived and understood level, the genus, and worked upwards and downwards from that.

On the other hand, are Heptathela, Liphistius, and Ryuthela ‘natural kinds’? Undoubtedly not— not to us humans. They’re three of the 3700 genera of spiders; here the basic-level term is spider (biologically a ‘class’).

Basic-level categories arguably vary by culture, as well. For the modern urban-dweller, as Berlin points out, it may well be that tree and flower are the basic-level categories.

Defining a system

The bulk of this book presents various categories and ways to classify them— emotions, animals, materials, artworks, etc.

What makes a good classification? Let’s start with a purposely bad one:

Esas ambigüedades, redundancias y deficiencias recuerdan las que el doctor Franz Kuhn atribuye a cierta enciclopedia china que se titula Emporio celestial de conocimientos benévolos. En sus remotas páginas está escrito que los animales se dividen en (a) pertenecientes al Emperador, (b) embalsamados, (c) amaestrados, (d) lechones, (e) sirenas, (f) fabulosos, (g) perros sueltos, (h) incluidos en esta clasificación, (i) que se agitan como locos, (j) innumerables, (k) dibujados con un pincel finísimo de pelo de camello, (l) etcétera, (m) que acaban de romper el jarrón, (n) que de lejos parecen moscas.

These ambiguities, redundancies, and deficiencies recall those which Dr. Franz Kuhn attributes to a certain Chinese encyclopedia which is titled The Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge. In its remote pages it is written that animals are divided into (a) those belonging to the Emperor; (b) embalmed ones; (c) tame ones; (d) suckling pigs; (e) sirens; (f) fantastic ones; (g) wild dogs; (h) those included in this category; (i) those which shake as if mad; (j) innumerable ones; (k) those drawn with a very fine camel-hair brush; (l) others; (m) those which just broke the vase; (n) those which look like flies from far away.

—Jorge Luis Borges, “El idioma analítico de John Wilkins”[4]

Borges was critiquing a conlang, by the way, that of John Wilkins, an example of the sort of universal classification that was popular in the 17th century. (For more on Wilkins see p. 73). These are fun to work out, but pretty useless at the highest levels.

The ‘Chinese’ encyclopedia is invented, but he also mentions the catalog of the Institut International de Bibliographie in Brussels, whose 1000 categories include the following:

262. The Pope

268. Dominican schools

282. The Roman Catholic Church

283. The Sabbath

294. Hinduism, Buddhism, Shinto, and Taoism

298. Mormonism

How could we do better?

•              The subdivisions should ‘make sense’— they either form a useful clump, or can be defined with a formula.

Ideally, the category supplies what Wittgenstein couldn’t find for ‘game’— a common element or organizing principle. This might depend on our scientific knowledge. Compare the successive definitions of acid:

°              having a sour taste (ultimately from Latin acer ‘sharp’)

°              able to corrode metals (especially important with the medieval discovery of the mineral acids)

°              turning litmus paper red (known to Robert Boyle, late 1600s)

°              containing oxygen (Lavoisier’s idea— incorrect, but the source of the word oxygen)

°              delivering H+ ions (Arrhenius, 1884)

°              donates a proton (Brønsted & Lowry 1923)

°              accepts a pair of electrons (Lewis 1923)

•              They divide up the semantic space fairly equally. A good subset of emotions might positive vs. negative, or they could be associated with the four flavors sweet, sour, sharp, bitter. A pretty bad subset would be “righteous indignation” vs. “everything else”.

As we’ll see under Animals and Plants, modern biological classifications based on genetic descent are very often of the latter type, which is fine for talking about genes but isn’t very useful for ordinary people!

People’s interests change over time, of course— in 1895, when the Brussels institute was founded, multiple pedantic distinctions within Christianity vs. a single classification for South and East Asian religions might well have fit the books on hand.

•              The same item shouldn’t fall into multiple categories. E.g. what would the Celestial Emporium do with a tame suckling pig which just broke a vase?

•              Definitions should use the same sort of criteria. E.g. a classification of plants shouldn’t be partly based on form and partly on how humans use them. A classification of languages shouldn’t be partly based on cognacy and partly on region— as early ones often were.

But note that you can have several classifications of the same semantic field! For plants, in fact, we have a genetic taxonomy and terms based on use, such as weed or herb. For languages we have family groupings and also typological categories.

Classifications also suggest cultural values. Here are some examples, in the form of questions:

•              What’s the prototypical art form? Is it restricted to the elite (painting, opera) or something anyone can enjoy (epic poetry, dance)?

•              Which emotions are the good ones? Does your culture value compassion, honor, piety, or valor the most?

•              Which of these are animate: plants, bacteria, rivers, fire, planets, books?

•              If your language grammaticalizes humans, what happens with gods, babies, corpses, dolls, talking animals in fables, robots, or newly discovered aliens?

•              Which sexual practices are immoral?

•              Which social classes are the best? (Noble and aristocrat originate as compliments; villain, churl went from class designators to insults.)

•              Are bankers, merchants, and lawyers viewed as respectable professionals or as despicable parasites?

A case study: Nature

Lakoff talks about radial categories— words whose senses radiate out like a tree. The concept is best explained with an example; let’s look at the lexeme nature (with its derivations, especially natural).

We get the word from French nature, which gets it from Latin nātūra. If we look at various senses of the word— the leaves of the tree, so to speak— they seem inexplicably various, even contradictory:

•              Particularly talented: He’s a natural.

•              Particularly idiotic: Love is like a great natural...

•              Relating to the landscape: I like nature more than cities.

•              Given citizenship by the state: naturalized.

We could throw up our hands and just list these separate senses, but if we think of the senses as a tree, they all relate.

1. The root sense is the character or quality of something— what it’s like. At one point in Gaul, Caesar sent to know quālis esset nātūra montis, what was the character of the mountain. What he wanted was a description.

1.1. An individual hill has its particular character; the class of hills can also be said to have a character.

John Daus, 1560: “Aristotel, Plinie, and suche other like, haue wrytten of the nature of Plantes, Herbes, Beastes, Metalles and Precious stones.”

1.2. An individual man has a particular character, what he’s like— this sense is close to temperament:

Harriet Martineau, 1833: “My brother has it not in his nature to feel jealousy.”

1.2.1. The nature of certain individuals happens to be similar— they have a certain temperament in common. We can reify that collective quality, and then compare it to the temperaments of others.

Temple, 1668: “There are some Natures in the World who never can proceed sincerely in Business.”

1.3. In Old and Middle English, the obvious translation of nature/natura was cynd/kind. This had a back-effect when Englishmen applied other senses of kind to nature. Kind could mean ‘offspring’ (it’s related to kin), and one meaning of kindly was ‘by birth’. This was applied to natural:

Shakespeare, 1591: “Whom should he follow but his natural king?”

KJV, Paul to Peter: “We, who are Jews by nature, and not sinners of the Gentiles...”

1.3.1. One’s natural children were those begotten rather than adopted.

1.3.2. What you get at birth is your genetic inheritance, as opposed to your culture or upbringing— often expressed as the opposition of nature vs. nurture.

1.3.3. Presumably related to the birth process is the old sense of nature as the female genitals:

R. Androse, 1569: “Take the nature of a female Hare made into pouder.”[5]

1.3.4. Privileges the state gives at birth may be granted by law instead. We still speak of naturalization as the process of granting citizenship.

1.4. A behavior which follows from a person’s character is natural— it’s what is to be expected. This is a very common meaning with the adverb, naturally. Compare French naturellement which often has the meaning ‘of course’.

Temple Bar, 1890: “It comes quite natural to a poor woman to sit up the night with a sick neighbour.”

1.4.1. English ‘kind’ shares the idea of ‘type, character’. A frequent meaning shift is from class X to only the better examples of X— a ‘man of character’ means a man of good character, and similarly ‘kind’ came to mean ‘proper, fitting’, and then to a particular kind of proper behavior— affection or family feeling. This too was applied to the word nature.

Hartshore, 1841: “There’s often more nature in people of that sort, than in their betters.”

Hamlet’s father describes his own murder as “strange and unnatural”, which includes both of these senses: it was abnormal and unexpected, and also defied family affection, as it was a fratricide. Similarly Lady Macbeth prepares for a murder by banning “compunctious visitings of nature”.

1.4.2. Another disapproved departure from the norm is perversion. The natural is thus reduced to sexual propriety, though this sense is largely used in the negative:

KJV, Paul: “And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another...”

1.5. Nātūra was the usual translation of Greek φύσις, which also meant ‘kind, character’. But the Greek philosophers had also used φύσις with a rather surprising sense, to refer to everything. Parmenides wrote a poem on φύσις, normally translated as On Nature; we could also render this About Everything.

Now, as C.S. Lewis remarks, “‘Everything’ is a subject on which there is not much to be said.” Almost as soon as the concept was invented, it was demoted, by contrasting it with something else— God, the heavens, Grace, chaos, the human world. Logically all these things are part of Everything, but all these demotions are more interesting to talk about than the original sense.

1.5.1. Aristotle defines φύσις as that which is subject to change— that is, Everything minus the unchangeable, which meant either the eternal truths of mathematics, or the unmoved Mover, God. (This was not the same as the gods, who were part of φύσις.) Thus nature comes to mean the created world in general— in modern terms, everything made of matter and energy.

1.5.1.1. One powerful derivational process is what Lewis calls the methodological idiom. Aristotle had to define φύσις, but once he’d written a book on it, the things-of-φύσις — the φυσικά — are now a discipline. Physics—or Latinized, natural philosophy— thus comprises the things in Aristotle’s book: the elements, motion, causation, optics, chance. This term has now mostly been taken over by science, though we can still occasionally speak of naturalists in the sense of ‘scientists’, and one of the leading journals of science is called Nature.

1.5.1.1.1. Over the centuries chemistry and biology have been subtracted from physics, giving the modern meaning.

1.5.1.1.2. Most of natural philosophy, for centuries, went way over most people’s heads. But they had an interest in one practical application— medicine. Thus a physician became a term for a healer.

1.5.1.1.3. An almost comic usage of the methodological idiom is to contrast physics with what came after it in Aristotle’s œuvre— which happened to be discussions of God, unity, being, cause, and potentiality. These were τὰ μετὰ τὰ φυσικά, the things after Physics— in short metaphysics. Today this can mean anything from ontology to various versions of the supernatural.

1.5.1.2. The senses of the material and the ordinary can be combined, contrasting with the supernatural— miracles, angels, ghosts.

1.5.2. Aristotle’s φύσις included the heavenly bodies, but they seemed far above the realm of ‘mutability’, close to God. In the medieval period nature was therefore restricted to the sublunary world:

Chaucer, ~1400: “Eche thing in [Nature’s] cure is under the Mone that mai waxe and wane.”

Pliny the Elder’s Historia Naturalis covers more or less everything in this category, including art, geography, and engineering. Later the term natural history tended to exclude the works of humanity— though ethnology, the study of people not like us, still got in.

1.5.2.1. Rather than being just a collection of things, nature could be reified into a sort of spirit or force immanent in the created world, or in a particular object. The sense of vital power or strength was retained for a long time:

John Dryden, 1672: “Reason’s a staff for age when nature’s gone.”

Nature [journal], 1890: “The fungus.. as it goes destroys the ‘nature’ of the wood.”

1.5.2.2. This vital spirit soon developed into a personified Mother Nature, a potent female allegorical figure still invoked today.

1.5.2.2.1. The domain of medieval Nature was the whole earth, but often the boring bits— the rocks and the air— were left out; Nature was life.

1.5.2.2.1.1. When we speak of “Nature, red in tooth and claw” (Tennyson, 1850) we’re restricting the idea further to animal life. We talk about “when nature calls” when a particularly low animal urge asserts itself.

1.5.3. In Christianity, God is the creator of Nature; but Nature has become estranged from God. Thus Nature comes to mean the fallen world, contrasted with Grace.

KJV, 1 Cor: “But the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God...”

KJV, 1 Cor: “It is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.”

The original Greek is not φυσικός but ψῡχικός, belonging to ψῡχή, the animal spirit, the non-rational part of the soul.

1.5.3.1. This sense may combine with the expectable (1.4) to refer to excusable frailty. “It’s only natural”, we say to paper over some sin.

1.5.4. An ancient idea is that the world was created not ex nihilo but out of something basic and simple— disorder or chaos. Nature is thus what is not chaos; Milton describes the Abyss as “the womb of Nature and perhaps her grave”. The idea that the world had to be organized or set out is also the metaphor behind the Greek κόσμος (related to cosmetics).

1.5.5. Partly from the sense of ‘the sublunary world’, but also influenced by 1.3 (birth) and 1.4 (the expected), we get the natural as what is not interfered with, mostly by man. Thus a natural cotton is undyed; the natural behavior of a dog is to poop on the rug; Aristotle advises studying biological specimens in their ‘natural condition’ (κατα φυσιν), i.e. good undamaged examples. The interference may be framed as negative (in which case the natural is unspoiled, pure) or as positive (in which case it’s primitive, raw, or unrefined).

1.5.5.1. Our technological civilization has a love/hate relationship with its own artifice. One of our luxuries is to value things with minimal technological processing— e.g. natural foods. Natural childbirth does its best to avoid doctors and hospitals.

1.5.5.2. The processing can also be abstract or procedural, so that natural means simple, without complications. In mathematics the nonnegative integers are natural numbers. In music a natural is a note that’s neither sharp nor flat.

1.5.5.2.1. Base e logarithms are called natural. They’re easier to calculate with and less arbitrary than base 10, which we use simply because we have ten fingers.

1.5.5.2.2. A recent science article asked “Is nature natural?” It was referring to a modern debate over whether the fundamental constants of physics are readily derived from basic theory— as electromagnetism flows neatly from Maxwell’s equations. (The ‘unnatural’ alternative is that there exists an infinite froth of universes each with its own set of constants, most of which wouldn’t allow stars to form; in this view we just happen to live in the tiny percentage of habitable universes.)

1.5.5.3. A death without violence or accident is said to come from natural causes. Of course violence (and accidents) are part of ordinary biological life, but evidently we classify them as ‘interference’.

1.5.5.4. One salient form of interference is training or education. So a natural talent is one who is untrained yet capable. Being talentless is just as natural in this sense, but as in 1.4.1 (natural affection), the word is being used to refer only to positive examples.

1.5.5.5. If we frame interference or artificiality as unnatural, the greatest artificiality is urban life. Thus nature is identified with the countryside. Farmland is highly organized by centuries of human activity, but to the city dweller it’s the epitome of getting back to nature. In the quote below, the poet equates Nature with British landscapes rather than, say, sand deserts or lava flows:

James Thomson, 1730: “At large, to wander o’er the vernant earth / In various hues, but chiefly thee, gay Green! Thou smiling Nature’s universal robe!”

1.5.5.6. A slightly different opposition is within human society, between our primordial nature (whether our character as human beings, or our biological inheritance) and what governments and institutions give us. We might call this the pre-organized. It has two branches, depending on whether the writer approves or disapproves of the interference.

1.5.5.6.1. If we worry that law and governments are inherently corrupt, then nature is a sort of primitive human state of grace. The OED defines natural law as “doctrines based on the theory that there are certain unchanging laws which pertain to man’s nature, which can be discovered by reason, and to which man-made laws should conform; freq. contrasted with positive laws.”

1.5.5.6.2. Or if we consider that humans need a good deal of civilizing, then a state of nature is barbarity— “nasty, brutish, and short” (Hobbes). Samuel Johnson suggested that a man whose father’s killer gets off on a technicality may conclude “I am among barbarians who refuse to do justice. I am therefore in a state of nature and consequently... I will stab the murderer.” (The barbarians he was speaking of were the Scots.)

1.5.5.6.3. One salient indicator of the primitive is that he doesn’t wear clothes. Thus a naturist is a nudist.

1.5.5.7. Rather than the complications of urban civilization in general, we may concentrate on the vices of sophistication. Here the natural is what is simple and without affectation. E.g. Milton has Adam and Eve in Paradise eating frugally: they didn’t “burden nature”. The French au naturel may be used for things cooked simply or not at all, or left unadorned or unclothed.

1.5.5.8. In older thought what is most human, what most distinguishes us from the animals, is reason. This may be the source of the old sense of a natural as an idiot:

Shakespeare: “Love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.”

1.6. Especially in the Renaissance, realism became a value in art. Realism can be thought of as depicting things as they are— that is, their nature. 19th century critics spoke of naturalism in approval of more realistic painting or literature.

1.6.1. A painting may capture a realistic but instantaneous image of the world— thus the French term (occasionally borrowed into English), nature morte, literally ‘dead nature’— a still life.

What do I do with that?

If you liked this extended discussion, I recommend C.S. Lewis’s Studies in Words, which expands on the story and covers a dozen or so other words in similar detail. You can also browse any word in the Oxford English Dictionary, which teases out all the senses of a word and their historical relationships, in far more detail than your desk dictionary.

But perhaps nature is a special case, and most words are nowhere near this complicated? Nah, this is pretty common. Look at the meanings of nice or mean or tree or run in your dictionary, or Lakoff’s fifty-page analysis of the word over in Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things.

It can be fun to imitate this process directly. E.g. in my conlang Xurnese, the word ende ‘path’ is fraught with meaning.

•              The root meaning is ‘path, way, trail’; in the parent language, Axunašin, it’s a nominalization of en ‘to, toward’.

•              It’s a root metaphor in the Endajué religion— the way to live, the way things go. The name of the religion itself derives from ende dzu ez ‘the path between all’.

•              To be off the Path is a serious thing, the closest thing in Endajué to damnation. Thus tegendi ‘pathless’ is one of the harshest insults (much harsher than sexual references), and end’ eš ‘against the path’ is the strongest of curses.

•              Ende is commonly used for ‘morality, correct behavior.’ The metaphor is used in other ways— to lose the path, ende pope, is to ‘go astray, go wrong’; misustri ‘muddy’ is used for ‘morally difficult’.

•              Endevaus, ‘point the way’, is to advise or mentor.

•              To wish someone well, or say goodbye, you can tell them Oyes ende yu šu— “May your path be pleasant.”

•              It can also be used for methods or skills, as in the Jueši endi, the Ways of War.

•              The physical disciplines of Endajué were also called endi.

•              The traditions or ways of a group are its éndex (a collective of ende). Sub-meanings are ‘culture’ and ‘precedent’.

•              The ‘way things go’ is also applied to the whole universe, and thus ende can be used in many of the senses of nature. (But not all, as the ideas of ‘type’ and ‘by birth’ are not present.)

•              A path implies direction and movement, so ende can be used for ‘purpose, progress’.

Now, as ever, you can just imitate English and sweep the whole mess under the carpet. You translate nature as (say) kest and you’re done. But this isn’t very naturalistic. (Quick, which sense is that?) E.g. my Russian dictionary gives these possibilities for ‘nature’: природа, натура, нрав, характер, свойство, качество.

At the very least, try to distinguish some of the different senses of the English word and give different equivalents for each. Ideally, think about what the core senses are, and follow a few of the branches.

This is one reason that for my most developed language, Verdurian, I maintain an English-Verdurian lexicon: it makes it easier to keep track of the different translations of an English word.

Puzzling over etymologies, or foreign dictionaries, can help. This book is designed to help you learn to analyze senses, contrast words, create metaphors, think about how a word can work in a way unlike English. But ultimately it’s a way of seeing— you learn to be conscious of how meanings radiate and change.

Classifications of everything

It can be fun to classify everything. Indeed, to learn the categories of things is to learn about the things, which is another reason that natural philosophy was an early term for science. How your people classify the world is a glimpse into their cosmology and philosophy.

As modern science developed, not a few savants believed that we’d be well ahead if we could just classify everything correctly. As John Wilkins (a bishop and one of the founders of the Royal Society) plainly put it:

Yet this I shall assert with greater confidence, That the reducing of all things and notions, to such kind of Tables, as are here proposed (were it as compleatly done as it might be) would prove the shortest and plainest way for the attainment of real Knowledge, that hath been yet offered to the World.

—An Essay Towards a Real Character and a Philosophical Language (1668)

Here’s his overall classification, encompassing 40 Genera:

General

Transcendental things

I General Bα

II Mixed Relation Ba

III Relation of Action Be

Words

IV Discourse Bi

Special

V Creator Da

Creature (i.e. things created)

Collectively:

V World Da

Distributively

Substances

Inanimate:

VII Element De

Animate

By species:

Imperfect vegetative

VIII Stone Di

IX Metal Do

Perfect vegetative (Plant)

Herb:

X Leaf Gα

XI Flower Ga

XII Seed-vessel Ge

XIII Shrub Gi

XIV Tree Go

Sensitive

XV Exanguious Zα

Sanguineous:

XVI Fish Za

XVII Bird Ze

XVIII Beast Zi

By parts:

XIX Peculiar Pα

XX General Pa

Accidents (i.e. attributes)

Quantity

XXI Magnitude Pe

XXII Space Pi

XXIII Measure Po

Quality

XXIV Natural Power Tα

XXV Habit Ta

XXVI Manners Te

XXVII Sensible Quality Ti

XXVIII Sickness To

Action

XXIX Spiritual Cα

XXX Corporeal Ca

XXXI Motion Ce

XXXII Operation Ci

Relation

Private

XXXIII Oeconomical Co

XXXIV Possessions Cy

XXXV Provisions Sα

Publick

XXXVI Civil Sa

XXXVII Judiciary Se

XXXVIII Military Si

XXXIX Naval So

XL Ecclesiastical Sy

The bulk of Wilkins’s book is an expansion of each of these categories, plus general discussion. (So, yes, it was the 17th century equivalent of this book.) Under Animals he takes the time to calculate the number of animals that would fit into Noah’s Ark, not neglecting the provisions for both animals and crew. To our relief, he concludes that the dimensions of the Ark were sufficient for its purpose.

Borges notes that Wilkins divides metals into imperfect (cinnabar, mercury), artificial (bronze, brass), dross (filings, rust), or natural (gold, tin). It was such earnest naïvetés that led him to postulate the Celestial Emporium (p. 62).

Wilkins then creates a symbolic code for representing each category; the top level looks like this:

The bishop must have been a trial to his typesetter.

Finally he outlines a phonetic equivalent. The first two letters specify the Genus, as given above. (Personally I find it inelegant that the first letter doesn’t correspond to his higher-level categories. E.g. D ends up referring to God, the world, elements, stones and metals.)

Subclassifications add more letters:

De

Element

Deb

Fire

Debα

Flame

Ti

Sensible Quality

Tid

Colour

Tida

Redness

Go

Trees

Gob

Pomiferous Trees

Gobα

Deciduous; Visible Blossoms; Esculent when ripe; More round: Apple

The most successful work along these lines was the taxonomy of Carl Linnaeus, published over the period 1735-58. His system, much adapted, is still used today. One reason his system caught on was perhaps that the names it provided didn’t depend on the higher-order classification. Wilkins’s system would have been completely upended if science turned out not to support the category of Pomiferous Trees.

The classifying impulse can be said to have given us modern chemistry as well— Lavoisier emphasized finding irreducible elements, while Mendeleev’s periodic table suggested the ultimate structure of atoms.

Peter Roget’s Thesaurus (1852) included a classification, whose top-level categories (in a modern edition) are these:

Abstract Relations

Existence

Relation

Quantity

Order

Number

Time

Change

Eventuality

Causation

Power

Space

Space in General

Dimensions

Structure, Form

Motion

Physics

Physics

Heat

Light

Electricity and Electronics

Mechanics

Physical Properties

Color

Matter

Matter in General

Inorganic Matter

Organic Matter

Sensation

Sensation in General

Touch

Taste

Smell

Sight

Hearing

Intellect

Intellectual Faculties and Processes

States of Mind

Communication of Ideas

Volition

Volition in General

Conditions

Voluntary Actions

Authority; Control

Support and Opposition

Possessive Relations

Affections

Personal Affections

Sympathetic Affections

Morality

Religion

The Dewey Decimal Classification, used in many libraries, has this overall shape:

000

General works

100

Philosophy and psychology

200

Religion

300

Social sciences

400

Language

500

Science

600

Technology

700

Arts and recreation

800

Literature

900

History and geography

Fun fact: A really pedantic library could store all its fiction under the appropriate number: 813.

The problem with such classifications is ultimately that there’s no consensus on what the top levels are. Classifying physical things is barely doable, but there’s little consensus on the supercategories for shape, number, rotate, and speech.

Plus, even if you create a system that works to your satisfaction, no one will want to hear about it. That’s why the thematic sections of this book are listed alphabetically!

Chinese classifications

Chinese comes with no less than three built-in categorization systems.

Radicals and phonetics

The vast majority of hànzì (Chinese characters) are formed by combining two graphemes, the radical and the phonetic (ALC p. 56).

The 214 traditional radicals form a comprehensive but maddeningly inconsistent classification of almost all words. Often the system works— e.g. here’s some of the hànzìthat use the水 ‘water’ radical:

水

shuǐ

water

汁

zhī

juice

汗

hàn

sweat

江

jiāng

river

池

chí

pool

讯

xùn

flood

汐

xī

tide

汤

tāng

hot water

沤

òu

soak

泛

fàn

flood

没

mò

sink

泳

yǒng

swim

The phonetics, of course, suggest the sound of the word. E.g.汐 has the phonetic夕 xī ‘evening’. Something that sounds like xī but has a meaning associated with water— if you know Chinese, that points you nicely to ‘tide’.

Well, it also points you to溪 xī‘brook’, whose phonetic is奚 xī ‘what’. It’s just bad luck that there are two ‘water’ terms pronounced xī— though fairly common bad luck as Mandarin has ferociously merged syllables. In Middle Chinese these pairs were distinct:汐/夕 were pronounced *zjäk;溪/奚 were *kʰiei and *ɣiei. The latter pair illustrates that phonetics don’t have to be identical; they often just rhyme— e.g. the phonetic for汗 hàn is干 gàn ‘trunk, work’.

Even more precisely, they rhymed, and the initial was at thesame place of articulation, 2000 years ago when the system was devised. Sometimes they’ve diverged spectacularly, as in this set:

Mandarin

Old Chinese

也

yě

*laʔ

also

池

chí

*d-lai

pool

地

dì

*lâih

earth

他

tuō

*lhâi

other

施

shī

*lhaiʔ

spread

But this is rare, and we can say that the system more or less works… till we look at some of the other words that have the water radical:

汇

huì

gather

汉

Hàn

Chinese

汲

jí

extreme

沧

cāng

dark blue

沦

lún

fall

沃

wò

fertile

沟

gōu

groove

注

zhù

stay

法

fǎ

follow

沽

gū

trade

沮

jŭ

stop

治

zhì

control

There’s a story behind many of these, of course— e.g. Hàn was originally the name of a river; cāngis the color of water (etymologically the same as苍 cāng the color of the sky). But of course etymology is hidden to the speakers; the lesson is that a classification system embedded in the language is going to be ruined by sound and meaning change.

Measure words

The other classification system is part of the spoken language— the measure words, used in expressions like sān tiáo máojīn‘three towels’. The measure word条 tiáo simply means ‘strip’, and we use it as a measure word in English too: a strip of cloth, a strip of paper. Textbooks will tell you that tiáo is used for “long and narrow things”— which is more or less true, but consider this list of words that use tiáo as their measure word:

bèizi

quilt

chuán

ship

chuángdān

sheet

diànxiàn

wire

gǒu

dog

hé

river

huángguā

cucumber

jiāng

river

jiē

street

kùzi

trousers

lù

road

qúnzi

skirt

shéngzi

cord

shǒujīn

towel

tǎnzi

blanket

wéijīn

scarf

wéiqún

apron

xiāoxi

news

yìjiàn

idea

yú

fish

Like many linguistic categories, this is a radial category (p. 65). E.g. there’s a subcategory of flat square things (quilt, sheet, blanket, towel, apron), presumably because some of these can be long and narrow. Once trousers are in (either because they’re strip-like or sheet-like), that invites in the related skirt. Dog and idea are mysteries!

Using etymologies

I’ve provided etymologies for all the words on the Fantasy Frequency List. The idea is to give ideas on how words are constructed as well as how their meanings change over the centuries.

To save space and keep the book readable, I’ve boiled what is often a complex and contested story down to a line or two. First, let’s talk about how to decode it. Here’s an example:

second— Lt secundus ‘following’ > ‘2nd’ > ‘2nd division by 60’

• Fr deuxième ‘two’

That is, second derives from Latin secundus, which is a participle derived from sequī ‘follow’. The sense ‘second’ is a narrowing of meaning from ‘following’. You can divide an hour or a degree of arc by 60, then do it again; the second such division gave its name to the measurement.

The • symbol separates different roots. Here the idea is that the French word for ‘second’ is not related to second, but derives straightforwardly from the word for ‘two’.

(French, Latin, and Greek words are often relevant to other English roots. E.g. cloth cites Latin textum and French étoffe, which underlie textile and stuff.)

My major sources are Carl Darling Buck’s 1500-page Dictionary of Selected Synonyms in the Principal Indo-European Languages and the Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd edition, both good places to go for more information. For French I’ve used the Larousse Dictionnaire étymologique, for Latin the Routledge dictionary, and for Chinese Axel Schuessler’s Etymological Dictionary of Old Chinese.

Languages

The source language may use these abbreviations:

IE

Indo-European

Gk

(Classical) Greek

ModGk

Modern Greek

Lt

Latin

Fr

French

It

Italian

Sp

Spanish

Rum

Rumanian

Rom

Romance

OE

Old English

ME

Middle English

ModE

Modern English

Ger

(Modern High) German

Sw

Swedish

Norse

Old Norse

OCS

Old Church Slavonic

Cz

Czech

Pol

Polish

Rus

Russian

Lith

Lithuanian

Ir

Irish

Skt

Sanskrit

Qu

Quechua

Ch

Chinese (citations are Mandarin)

Romance means that the word is shared among the Romance languages but isn’t classical Latin (at least, not in a way obvious to etymologists).

I’ve tried to give the language where the given derivation was transparent. E.g. auctor ‘author’ was a simple person nominalization in Latin, from augēre ‘grow, increase’; it wasn’t in French, where the verb had been lost.

It’s generally a safe bet that the immediate source for a Latin or Greek word was French. Often the initial borrowing was more French (autour, dette), which was later corrected to look more Latin (author, debt).

I usually cite French words in their modern spelling— which is a pretty good phonemic system for 12th century French anyway. But of course the source for many English words was Norman French, and this is occasionally worth pointing out— e.g. to explain carry from carier rather than modern charrier.

I use ME or ModE where the earliest citation in the OED is from those periods. Sometimes a word may be older and just not show up in the literature; e.g. spot has cognates in other Germanic languages (so it must date back to OE) but isn’t attested till 1200 (so it’s marked ME).

Germanic refers to pre-OE developments in the Germanic family; it doesn’t mean German. I occasionally refer to Low German which may refer to any of the coastal Germanic languages, including Dutch.

If an entry is marked uncertain, it means that the further etymology is unknown or disputed. You don’t need an etymology or a semantic change for every word in your conlang— just most of them!

Glosses

If a word has no gloss, the primary meaning can be assumed to be pretty close to the English— e.g. sound derives from Latin sonus, which means ‘sound’.

It’s something of an art to write glosses; the goal here is to summarize the word’s meaning as briefly as possible in a way that illuminates the etymology. Don’t mistake the gloss for a full dictionary entry!

For instance, nervous is taken back to Latin nervōsus ‘sinewy’, an adjectivization of nervus ‘sinew’. The full definition of nervus from Routledge’s Latin dictionary is ‘sinew; nerve; bowstring; string (of a lute etc.); fetter; prison; strength, vigor.’ ‘Sinew’ is the root meaning; bowstrings were often made of sinews, and the other meanings are obvious metaphors. Anatomically, nerves look a lot like sinews, and the word nervus had been in use for centuries before Galen demonstrated their connection to the brain.

Or, require points to Latin requīrere ‘seek again’; the aim is to illustrate how the word was formed from re- ‘again, back’ + quærere ‘seek, ask’. But of course requīrere already had other, lexicalized senses: ‘search for, require, question, miss.’

Abbreviations used:

nomn.

nominalization

adjn.

adjectivization

verbn.

verbalization

dim.

diminutive

abbr.

abbreviation

<

derives from

>

develops into

=

interpreted as

||

parallel to

poss.

possibly

prob.

probably

‘’ If a gloss uses an English derived form, it’s intended to suggest a similar derivation in the source language. E.g. ancestor is traced to Latin antecēssor ‘foregoer’, indicating that this is a person nominalization from antecēdere ‘precede’.

> This indicates a semantic change.

A chain of derivations may have occurred in the source languages, the intermediaries, or English. E.g.

quite—Lt quiētus ‘quiet’ > ‘free, clear’ > ‘clean, complete’

Latin quiētus meant ‘quiet, calm, peaceful’; in medieval Latin quitus had taken the meaning ‘undisturbed, free, clear’; in English it became ‘clean, complete’, and finally quite was used for the modern sense of ‘entirely’.

< Read this as ‘ultimately derives from’— it’s a remote connection that would not at all be obvious to speakers.

= I use = mostly for restatements of the gloss that make the transition to the modern meaning clearer. E.g.

explode—Lt explaudere ‘clap out’ = ‘drive off the stage’ > ‘expel with force’

Here ‘clap out’ is how the word was formed, from ex ‘out’ + plaudere ‘clap’; the usage was to drive someone off the stage by clapping. This led to the sense ‘reject scornfully’, which gave the scientists of the 1600s the physical metaphor ‘expel violently’, which became the modern sense.

|| I use || where words are related, but the original meaning is unclear or just complicated. E.g. Ch tǎn ‘dark’ poss. || ‘ripe, black’ indicates that the Chinese word (Old Chinese *tʰəmʔ) may be cognate to words meaning ‘ripe, red’ (e.g. Bahnaric dum) and ‘black’ (e.g. Saek ram), but we don’t know which sense is primary. I’ve left them in because these connections could be just as inspiring to a conlanger as firm attestations.

OE

I’ve used the standard (first-cited) OED form for OE words (be aware that there was both dialectal and scribal variation). This includes two quirks of that august but old-fashioned source:

•              It uses acute accents for long vowels— i.e. á = [a:]. As a corollary, when Tolkien uses acutes he means long vowels too.

•              Actual OE used the glyph ȝ for sounds pronounced [g, dʒ, ɤ, j]. The OED uses g for [g dʒ] and ȝ for [ɤ j]— the distinction is actually Middle English.

OE [æ, y, ð] are pronounced with their IPA values; þ is of course [θ].

Different roots

Most entries cite the derivation of the word in languages besides Modern English. Different languages are separated by the • symbol.

The etymological information here is even briefer; the intention is always to summarize the etymology in order to give you ideas as a conlanger. E.g. for woman, one of the entries is

It donna ‘lady’

This should be taken as short for “The main Italian word for woman is donna whose etymology is (summarized as) ‘lady’.”

My aim is to highlight different ways of constructing the word, so I don’t include multiple examples of the same derivation. E.g. approach comes from French ‘(come) near to’; no need to add Breton tostaat, Ger nahen, OCS približiti, Lith artintis which are also derivations of ‘near’.

If the connection is really remote, I’ll throw in a < sign. E.g. for wave there’s the entry

Lt unda < ‘water’

Latin unda derives from a variant of IE *wed-, the root of water and wet. You can read < as ‘ultimately from’. Latin speakers were likely not aware of this, especially as the Latin word for ‘water’ is different (aqua).

I’ve generally left out words where the derivation is unknown or speculative. E.g. Buck thinks OCS zvězda for ‘star’ might be synaesthetic (e.g. an imitative squeal applied to flickering lights). But it seems to be just a guess, so I skipped it.

I’ve used Latin and Greek a lot as examples, because the words are so useful in understanding English, especially our scientific vocabulary. Nota bene:

•              Latin nouns are given in the nominative singular— e.g. flōs ‘flower’. When the oblique root differs, I give it too— in this case it’s flōr-. The oblique root generally underlies the inherited Romance term (e.g. French fleur) and is used in derivations (floral).

But to save space, I’ll mention only here that the oblique root for words in -tio is -tiōn-, as in nātio ‘birth, race, nation’, accusative nātiōnem. And participles in -ans, -ens have oblique roots in -ant, -ent-.

•              Latin verbs are given in the infinitive, but Greek verbs in the present first person singular. E.g. κάμπτω is really ‘I bend’, not ‘to bend’.

•              I cite Latin words with j and u, following my dictionary. The Romans didn’t use these letters, but then they didn’t have macrons or lower case either.

IE

Take IE glosses with a healthy sprinkling of salt. A word like *nas- can be confidently given as ‘nose’, since it exists with that meaning in almost every IE language. On the other hand, Gk θάνατος ‘death’ is related to Sanskrit dhvan- ‘be extinguished’... which was the IE meaning? Either could be the origin of the other sense, or both could derive from something else.

Or take OE wrecan ‘drive, avenge’ (source of wreak), Lt urgēre ‘press, impel’, Skt vraj- ‘stride, go’, Lith vargas ‘misery’. Pokorny suggests an IE meaning ‘push, drive, pursue’, but this seems to be seeking a linguistic lowest common denominator. Any IE gloss is just a good guess.

As an example of what might go wrong, consider these Romance words:

Fr quitter              leave, give up (source of English quit)

Sp quitar              remove, take away; quitarse leave

Port. quitar              cancel, release

It quitanza              receipt

If we didn’t know Latin, we would probably guess at a root meaning ‘remove’, with developments ‘remove oneself’ = ‘leave’, ‘remove (a debt)’ > ‘cancel’ > ‘receipt (for a cancelled debt)’. Neat and tidy, except that these words derive from Latin quiētus ‘calm, quiet’!

I’ve generally omitted such problematic cases, though sometimes I’ll list cognates and you can make of the semantic relationship what you will.

The American Heritage Dictionary of Indo-European Roots, by Calvert Watkins, is an excellent resource if you want to look further.

Chinese etymologies

You may recall hearing Chinese東 dōng ‘east’ refers to the sun rising through the trees. And that’s true of the character— the (traditional) hànzì is a combination of日 rì ‘sun’ and木 mù ‘tree’. But that’s not the origin of dōng, which Axel Schuessler traces to Old Chinese *tloŋ and relates to Chepang tʰoŋ ‘lighten, be bright’, and possibly to Tibetan tʰon ‘come out’. The Chinese (Ch) etymologies given in the word list, like those of all the other languages, relate to the spoken language.

Due to the writing system, and a 2000-year tradition of defining education as mastery of the ancient classics, Chinese is like hoarders’ apartments, where nothing is ever thrown away.

As an example, looking for admit in the sense of ‘have to recognize’, my Times dictionary suggests承认 chéngrèn. If you look up承 you’ll get definitions like

1.        bear, hold, carry

2.       undertake, contract, take charge

3.       be indebted

4.       continue, carry on, succeed

5.       for, owing to, due to

And if you look up认 you’ll find

1.              understand, recognize, know, realize, make out

2.              acknowledge, confess, admit, own (up to)

3.              adopt, apprentice

Obviously these are Lakoffian radial categories (p. 65), but which sense is primary? This is where Schuessler’s dictionary is invaluable: he indicates the earliest meanings (in this case ‘lift, hold up’ and ‘know’, respectively), and possible Sino-Tibetan cognates or other sources. So the etymology is ‘lift-know’?

Not exactly, because this is just one of many, many instances where Mandarin has constructed a compound out of two synonyms, in order to avoid theambiguity that plagues the single-character lexicon. As we saw,认 already means ‘admit’, but it means a bunch of other things too.承 somewhat arbitrarily narrows down the meaning to ‘recognize, acknowledge, admit’.

All this gets summarized as

• Ch rèn < ‘know’

Again, this is exactly how I treat the other languages (e.g. Fr avouer < ‘vow’), but Chinese is unusual in the wide semantic range of its morphemes, and I want to emphasize that there’s very often a story like this behind every word.

Another example: bare (as in ‘bare feet’) is 赤裸 chìluǒ. If you look up these characters, they both mean ‘bare, naked’. It makes no sense to say that the etymology of bare in Chinese is ‘bare-bare’; it’s another two-synonym compound. But the earliest meaning of赤 is ‘red’, so that’s what’s in the word list.

Sometimes the Mandarin compound is transparent— e.g. alienis外来 wàilái ‘outside-come’. As usual, the absence of < indicates that the derivation is understandable.

Finally, if you know Mandarin or you’re studying it, you’ll find that my glosses often don’t match your dictionary. Again, that’s because I’m giving etymologies. Often the gloss goes back to Old Chinese or even to Sino-Tibetan.

Touristic highlights

Some of my favorite English etymologies are the ones where the meaning has changed quickly and many times:

fast              OE ‘firm, fixed’ > ‘determinedly’ > ‘quickly’

fog              ‘grassy, mossy’ > ‘fleshy’ > ‘murky’ > ‘misty’

nice              Lt ‘not knowing’ > ‘foolish’ > ‘fine’ > ‘kind’

pretty              OE ‘tricky’ > ‘clever’ > ‘admirable’ > ‘pleasing’

Then there’s words that only date back to Middle English, when I’d have expected something older: ago, bad, boy, cut, grab, rabbit, smell, talk, whip, wrap.[6]

I mentioned how homonyms complicate wordlists; what surprised me in researching was how many turn out to be the same etymon after all:

trip               ‘stumble / travel’

lot               ‘chance token / a bunch’

mess               ‘serving / disorder’

might               ‘power / possible’

fair               ‘pretty / just’

In some cases the original sense wasn’t what I would have guessed: dull was ‘obtuse’ not ‘blunt’, leave was ‘let remain’ not ‘go’, worship was ‘value’ not ‘praise’; the root meaning of interest was ‘a share’, not ‘curiosity, concern’.

Etymology Frequency List

Since I have over 3000 etymologies at hand, I thought it’d be fun to see what words come up most often in the glosses. So I ran them through the frequency program.

Here’s all the words that appear more than ten times:

of

to

be

out

in

make

go

with

stand

no, not

one

up

place

from

put

on

by

for

know

together

turn

at

come

back

down

man

bend

cover

do

hand

under

thing

carry

good

stretch

cut

head

look

move

off

run

away

have

light

strong

take

against

all

bright

form

see

seize

sit

before

high

hold

lead

work

as

fall

part

set

strike

care

late

like

long

measure

point

same

seek

side

small

spread

two

face

flat

order

prepare

shine

walk

arm

circle

clear

mark

mind

open

right

sharp

show

straight

water

well

what

wind

again

bear

break

end

firm

fit

give

heart

hide

hit

live

people

swell

throw

time

toward

after

big

build

cause

child

day

divide

draw

dwell

earth

flow

forward

full

hollow

into

low

press

speak

step

think

way

The standout here is ‘stand’, which underlies English assist, constant, distant, exist, insist, instant, resist, rest, stable, stage, stanza, state, station, statue, stay, steady, understand, as well as non-English words meaning admit, always, be, big, brave, build, can, cease, finger, form, happen, help, hour, immediate, last, old, place, rise, room, ship, soldier, tail, thick.

Metaphors

A few decades ago, metaphor was one of those things that linguists promised that they’d take care of eventually, sometime after finishing the legendary complete grammar of a language.

For non-linguists, metaphor is largely something that happens in poetry (my love is like a red red rose) or those amusing snippets from The New Yorker titled “Block That Metaphor!”:

And if history is any guide, the claiming of a scalp this large will only add fuel to a pyre that is already licking at the heels of several even better-known CEOs.

Largely through the work of George Lakoff, however, metaphor has proved to be close to the heart of language— how we understand the world, how the grammar itself works, and above all how words are created.

Lakoff and Mark Johnson cover the subject in Metaphors We Live By, but the best introduction I’ve read is the Metaphors chapter in Guy Deutscher’s The Unfolding of Language.

The ubiquity of metaphor

If you think of metaphor as a marginal thing, it may be useful to look at a sample of ordinary prose, which I’ve purposely taken from a very dry non-poetic source:

The long period of struggle between “nativists” who benefited from a weak throne, and their opponents who pressed for political changes on the Chinese model and sought to strengthen the imperial institution, was drawing to a close. Under Chongzong the adoption of Chinese cultural norms reached new heights. Latent opposition to that policy, however, was not wholly eradicated.

—F.W. Mote, Imperial China 900-1800

I’ve underlined the obvious, open metaphors. The nativists were not worried about the ruler’s actual chair, much less whether it was solidly constructed. Their opponents were not physically pushing on anything; the “imperial institution” was not strengthened like Schwarzenegger; no one was literally underneath Chongzong.

The metaphor for draw here is not ‘sketch’ but the earlier meaning of ‘drag’. But once we open the etymological dictionary, the list of metaphors grows until it encompasses almost every word in the passage:

long— space metaphor applied to time

period— Gk ‘going in a circle’ > ‘cycle’ > ‘stretch of time’

between— the rivals are seen as if playing on a football field

opponent— one who pushes against

change— Lt ‘exchange, barter’, i.e. transfer physical objects

model— an architect’s plan

sought— a physical search extended to a conceptual one

institution— something made to stand up

close— Lt ‘shut (like a door)’

cultural— Lt ‘cultivate (the ground)’

norm— a carpenter’s square

latent— Lt ‘hidden’

opposition— placement against

eradicated— pulled up by the roots

Note that every one of the metaphors I’ve pointed out is from the concrete to the abstract. The physical meanings come first, semantically and temporally. You can’t understand the idea of groping for a political end (strengthening the imperial institution) before you understand searching for a physical object.

Ways to build words

In the literary sense, these are all dead metaphors. No one pictures a carpenter’s square anymore when using the words norm, normal, normality, abnormal, paranormal. You won’t get a poetry prize for comparing your love to a flower. But as you can turn dead plants into thatch, dead metaphors turn into language.

The inventors of words in natural languages faced the same problem as conlangers. You might think they had a wide range of methods:

1              Metaphor

2              Borrowing

3              Derivation (e.g. polis ‘state’ > political, policy)

4              Phonetic symbolism (perhaps the origin of struggle)

5              Make it up from scratch

Borrowing and derivation are extensively used, but they only hide the problem— as we’ve seen, borrowed words are themselves built from concrete metaphors.

Many words originate in phonetic imitation (sob, hiss, jump, fart, laugh, murmur, roar, babble), and by a sort of synaesthesia these can be applied to things that aren’t sounds. E.g. flash was originally onomatopoeia— it was applied to the sound of rushing water, and then to flames, lightning, and gunfire. Hurry was originally an attempt to convey the sound of rapid whirring or whizzing, and was then applied to the sort of rapid motion that produces these sounds— thus the sense ‘commotion’, preserved in hurly-burly. But these are not really alternatives to metaphor but sister processes for moving from the concrete to the abstract.

That leaves creation from scratch. This is the mainstay of the conlanger, but outside slang it’s rather rare in natural languages, even in modern times. One clear example is Murray Gell-Mann’s quark. But as any conlanger knows, creation ex nihilo is tiring— it’s easier to use an obscure model, as in fact Gell-Mann did, borrowing the word from James Joyce.

In any case, the lesson is that just throwing sounds together is just not what natural languages do. That leaves a general method:

•              Create a stock of simple physical words.

•              Extend them to abstract senses using metaphor.

•              Hide the whole process by making most of it occur in a parent or neighboring language.

If you want to fake it— you need a word for art right now, dammit, and haven’t made any other languages to borrow from and don’t feel like taking the time to create a derivation— well, go ahead. I’ve sure done it many times. But I feel bad about it and hope to go back sometime and fill in that missing etymology.

Metaphor in grammar

Perhaps you’re thinking that metaphor may pervade the messy world of lexemes, but the grammar itself is nice and abstract.

Not a chance; metaphor pervades the grammar too.

•              Locatives (including adpositions) are often derived from parts of the body— e.g. (in) back from the back, front from the forehead, Hebrew le-yad ‘to the hand’ = ‘next to’; Mursi tutuo ‘of the mouth’ = ‘in front of’; Nahuatl i-yōllò-co ‘in its heart’ = ‘inside’.

•              With the TIME IS SPACE metaphor, locative expressions become temporal ones: we’re in summer like we’re in a room; an hour is longer than a minute; dawn comes before noon.

•              Mandarin grammatical markers often originated as verbs of motion or transfer: accusative bǎ < ‘grasp’; dative gěi < ‘give’; comitative gēn < ‘follow’; terminative dào < ‘arrive’.

•              Demonstratives are spatial: this points to something near me, that to something farther away. Very often this spatial meaning is extended to form third-person pronouns or articles. Often they form first and second-person pronouns as well— e.g. Japanese anata ‘you’, etymologically ‘over there’.

•              A common way to express the future is with movement verbs: e.g. English I’m going to read it, French Je vais le lire, Zulu bayakufika ‘they’re arriving’, lit. ‘they go to arrive’.

•              Similarly, French je viens de le lire, literally ‘I come from reading it’, expresses the near past: “I just read it.” Irish expresses the same idea with a spatial locative: “I’m after reading.”

•              Many languages express the imperfective using a locative— e.g. Icelandic Ég er að lesa ‘I am in reading’ = ‘I’m reading’. This is another example of TIME IS SPACE.

•              Spanish has two verbs ‘to be’, one referring to a temporary state (Estoy borracho ‘I’m drunk’), the other a permanent condition (Soy borracho ‘I’m a drunk’). The verb estar derives from Latin stāre ‘stand’, using the common metaphor STANDING IS REMAINING, also preserved in such words as state, station, statue, constant, stay, steady.

•              English do is used to form negatives and questions (You don’t know, do you?) and historically the regular past tense suffix -ed is a form of ‘do’. But do is a worn-down ordinary verb; its Indo-European meaning was ‘put, set, lay down’.

•              French faire, from Latin facere ‘make, do, fashion’, is used to form the causative: Il m’a fait rire ‘He made me laugh’. The idea of making a physical thing is used for the more difficult idea of causing someone to do something.

•              In Spanish hacer, from the same source, is used in expressions of time and weather: hace trece años ‘it was thirteen years ago’; hace frío ‘it’s cold’. The semantic shift may be the same as in expressions like “That makes six carloads”, i.e. it amounts to that.

Or consider how languages express the concept of possession— it’s conveyed in terms of simple location, or direction, or holding, or seizing (see Possession, p. 308).

But English have doesn’t mean anything, does it? In fact it falls in the last category; it derives from an Indo-European root *kap meaning ‘seize’, more faithfully preserved in Latin capture.[7]

Even possession is a fairly concrete idea, readily grasped by toddlers. It’s applied in turn to much more abstract ideas:

•              In the Germanic and Romance languages, ‘have’ is used to form the perfect— as in English I’ve read the book. The metaphor here could be stated COMPLETION IS POSSESSION.

•              In early Romance, habere expressed obligation: parabolāre habeō ‘I must speak’. (The same metaphor of OBLIGATION IS POSSESSION has been re-expressed in modern Spanish: Tengo que hablar.) Habere used in this way simplified, and the meaning weakened to simple futurity— parabolāre habeō became simply parlerai (French), hablaré (Spanish), etc.

Derivation

I’ve often emphasized (LCK p. 21, 83; ALC, p. 243) creating a robust derivational morphology. When you create a root (say marry or read), you should make it a habit to create the obvious variants. Here’s a handy list of useful derivations:

nominalization

marriage

verbalization

lecture

adjectivization

marital

participle

married, marrying

person

reader, mari [Fr ‘husband’]

feminine/masculine

esposo/esposa [Sp ‘spouse’ m/f]

place

reading room

thing, tool

lectern

process, study

the art of reading

instance

a reading

negative

unmarried

causative

cause to read

diminutive

little reader; read a little

augmentative

big reader

ability

marriageable

liking, prone to

bibliophile

must be done

prolegomena

+ locative

endogamy

partisan

polygamist

collection

readables

badness

misreading

Derivation should also be your go-to method when you need a new word. Creating a new root is the easy thing to do, and your first thought should be to avoid it, and instead build the new words out of roots you’ve already got.

As an exercise, suppose you just have these fifty words:

back              big              birth              body              breath

day              end              face              fall              field

fold              flat              foot              give              go

good              hand              hang              hear              here

high              hold              house              in              long

make              man              night              not              old

one              out              point              push              see

side              sit              small              spear              stand

sun              talk              there              throw              turn

two              wall              want              water              way

With two-word combinations alone, you could define 2500 more words. For instance:

throw-water              = sprinkle

small-man              = dwarf

two-birth              = reborn

push-fall              = knock down

small-talk              = chat

old-old                            = ancient

How could you express the following words using the above list? These go from easy to hard. There is no right answer, but if you’re stumped, see p. 103.

come              first              woman              swim              king

forward              clothes              prefer              exterior              ocean

temple              palace              kill              meaning              desire

friend              support              noon              mountain              send

earth              reject              kick              sigh              build

soul              child              nation              city              climb

excite              emotion              seek              god              possess

remain              nobody              event              return              simple

slave              skin              stable              handsome              story

wash              east              dusk              defeat              foreigner

warrior              assist              floor              fence              exalted

half              morality              collapse              inject              judge

wait              convert              mercy              digression              hermit

Such compounds may strike you as a little too transparent— though I think it’s only the newfangledness that causes this reaction; there’s nothing odd about existing compounds from these words, like Sunday, backhand, waterway. But you can easily hide the transparency by sound change (wife-man > woman) or by borrowing the compound from another language (small-man = homunculus, in-hanging = impending).

English may keep the words of a compound apart (fruit stand), join them with a hyphen (stand-in), or fuse them (understand). This is just a typographic choice; German prefers fusion (Hoheitsgewässe ‘territorial waters’, Fahrkartenkontrolle ‘ticket inspection’); French avoids it (machine à écrire ‘typewriter’, salle de bains ‘bathroom’). It’s entirely moot in Chinese, which doesn’t put spaces between words. To a linguist, compounds are lexical entries (lexemes) like any other word.

What’s the root?

The wordlists in this book give the simplest form of the root, which in English often means no suffix at all. This may be a noun (hate > hatred, hateful), a verb (decide > decision, decisive), an adjective (wide > widen, width), or several of these at once (love = V + N, cool = A + V, fat = A + N).

Don’t always make the root form the same as in English! Compare these derivations in English and French:

health > healthy

N > A

beauty > beautiful

N > A

draw > drawing

V > N

fly > flight

V > N

born > be born

A > V

sain > santé

A > N

beau > beauté

A > N

dessin > dessiner

N > V

vol > voler

N > V

naître > né

V > A

While we’re at it, don’t always use the same valence (ALC p. 140) as in English. Again, using English and French:

he obeys her

transitive

I looked at him

intransitive

il obéit à elle

intransitive

je l’ai regardé

transitive

In English like is something we do to the thing liked; in Spanish it’s something the thing does to us:

Me gusta la morfología.

1s.dat like-3s.pres the morphology

I like morphology.

It’s common for a root to survive only in derivations— e.g. the underlined roots in hinterland, cobweb, lukewarm, kith and kin, mulberry. These are sometimes called cranberry morphemes, though that’s not quite accurate— that cran is just crane, the bird. A Latin example is the root in consīderāre, dēsīderāre ‘consider, desire’.

These are particularly common with negatives: ruthless, insipid, unkempt, distraught, nonchalant.

Vaguely related

What if you’d like to base one word on another, but none of your processes quite works?

You could have a ‘generally related’ morpheme, like Esperanto -um-: okulo ‘eye’ > okulumi ‘ogle’. Or use reduplication, which lends itself naturally to intensifiers but can be used for almost anything— Spanish chiquitito is especially small/endearing; Mandarin gège rén, reduplicating the measure word, becomes a quantifier, ‘every man’.

Or, just boldly re-use a derivation irrespective of its meaning. Gender woks well for this, as in Spanish naranja ‘orange’ > naranjo ‘orange tree’, French fil ‘thread’ > file ‘line’.

Another process that’s easy to miss is sound symbolism, which creates patterns like English gleam, glitter, glint, glass, glow, gloss or hop, bump, leap, stamp, thump, tamp, trample, German knacken, knarren, knarschen, knuuren, knattern (all words for sounds; recall that both k and n are pronounced), Cuzco Quechua ch’uqchay, ch’unqay, suq’uy, suqsuy, wilq’uy, winq’uy (all verbs of sucking or gulping, making heavy use of aspirates and uvular q).

Words that suggest a sound can be extended to other senses— e.g. flash was first used of liquids, then extended to flames. Hurry was first used of a whirring sound, then for any sort of busy activity, even soundless.

Automatic derivation

Once you have a word— say, basket— it’s automatically available for a number of uses. You could think of these as applying nonce null-morpheme derivations.

•              We can use it for anything that looks like the object. Why are you wearing that basket?

•              It can be used for a toy, a model, or a picture of the object. Magritte could paint a basket and write Ceci n’est pas une corbeille, but he’s just being paradoxical; we have no problem saying that the thing on the canvas is a basket.

•              It can be stretched to cover something it doesn’t quite mean, perhaps if we don’t know the proper word: I put the arrows in my... oh what is it. My arrow basket.

•              It can be applied to the mental domain— e.g. mental baskets could refer to temporary or permanent memories, or to the notion of categories.

•              We can use it as shorthand for people or activities associated with the item. E.g. at arts & crafts hour, we might say The baskets finished first, referring to the people who chose to make baskets.

•              Pretty much anything can be used as an insult—basket case is already lexicalized.

•              For verbs, causatives extend the base meaning (to walk a dog is to make him walk) and its metaphors (walk the batter). Drench was once the causative of drink, but has taken its own path, generalizing the meaning to ‘applying (too much) water’.

We normally don’t think about this, but I think it’s worth pointing out for conlangers, as this sort of nonce extension is surely the first step in lexicalization. Mull over a word and see what you can apply it to.

I also point these automatic derivations out because some lexicographers don’t seem to realize that they are general rules! The AHD, for instance, gives one sense of basket as “Something resembling a basket in shape or function.”

How to create a triliteral system

Hey, let’s create a conlang— I’ll call it Dučian. It’s totally not a triliteral system like Hebrew, Arabic, or Old Skourene (ALC p. 240), just a normal language with fixed roots.

Primitive Dučian

The basic verbal template is

person-modifier-stem-tense

The person prefix is simply the personal pronoun, e.g. ana ‘I’.

Examples of stems include ktum ‘cover’, ptil ‘twist’, cih ‘laugh’, pil ‘be low’. They are fixed stems, as in any respectable language, certainly not triliteral roots, because this is not a triliteral system.

For now we’ll just worry about two tenses. The past tense is -u; the future is the zero morph ø.

So we can build words such as these:

ana-ktum-u

I covered

ana-ptil-u

I twisted

ana-cih-u

I laughed

ana-ktum-ø

I will cover

ana-ptil-ø

I will twist

ana-čih-ø

I will laugh

The modifier slot is used for various prefixes that modify the meaning. For instance, there’s a causative n-, and also the stem can be repeated for an intensive meaning:

ana-n-čih-u

I made someone laugh

ana-čih-čih-u

I laughed a lot, I laughed like crazy

There’s also an adjectivization ša-, so we can form ša-pil ‘low’. This normally takes a case ending— e.g. ša-pil-um ‘low (accusative)’. The modified root can also be used as a new verb ‘make low’— e.g. ana-ša-pil-u ‘I made (something) low’.

The laryngeal mutation

Now that we have a verbal system, let’s mess it up. First we’ll borrow an idea from Ferdinand de Saussure. In the 19th century, Proto-Indo-European had been reconstructed, but its vowels were something of a mess. Saussure posited that the vowel in all verbs was a simple *e, but that this could be followed by a consonant which colored the vowel, and often ended up changing it. For instance, the ew in the root *bhewg ‘flee’ changed to u in Latin— thus fugio ‘I flee’ (cf. fugitive).

Explaining roots with a was more of a trick; Saussure simply suggested an unknown a-coloring consonant X, as in *peXs ‘protect’, seen in Latin pāstor ‘shepherd’. Hermann Möller suggested that X could be a laryngeal, such as the ḥ in Arabic Baḥrain. But X had not survived in any known Indo-European language.

Saussure was vindicated with the discovery of Hittite in the 1920s, which had retained laryngeals in precisely the spots he had predicted— e.g. paḥs ‘protect’.

Let’s apply this idea to Dučian. H is laryngeal; let’s say that final -h turns the previous vowel into a, but intervocalic -h- does nothing. That affects the root čih:

ana-čih-u

I laughed

ana-čah-ø

I will laugh

More destruction

A few more sound changes:

•              When used as a prefix, the pronoun ana is reduced to a. (As an independent, emphatic pronoun, it remains ana.)

•              Final vowels are lost.

The verb forms above thus become:

a-ktum

I covered

a-ptil

I twisted

a-čih

I laughed

a-ktum

I will cover

a-ptil

I will twist

a-čah

I will laugh

Oops, losing the final -u merged past and present. But thanks to the laryngeal mutation, ‘laugh’ isn’t affected. The Dučians may decide that the future of ‘laugh’ was formed by changing the stem vowel to a, and then generalize this pattern to all verbs:

a-ktum

I covered

a-ptil

I twisted

a-čih

I laughed

a-ktam

I will cover

a-ptal

I will twist

a-čah

I will laugh

While we’re at it, let’s say that reduplicated forms are simplified— the final consonant of the first syllable is lost. So the intensive of ‘I laughed’ is now a-či-čih.

Syncope

In ALC (p.174) I mentioned the devastation wrought upon Nishnaabemwin by syncope. The rule there is that every other short vowel is eliminated (except the last):

makizin > mkizin              ‘shoe’

makizinan > mkiznan              ‘shoes’

ni-makizin > nmakzin              ‘my shoe’

Let’s apply a syncope rule to Dučian: the middle syllable of a three-syllable word is deleted. Note the pre- and post-syncope forms:

ša-pil-um

šaplum

low (acc.)

a-ša-pil

ašpil

I lowered

a-či-čih

aččih

I laughed (int.)

The form ašpil ‘I lowered’ looks a lot like the other verbs above, like aktum ‘I covered’. It would be only natural to apply analogy and create adjectives for these parallel to šaplum:

šaplum

low (acc.)

katmum

covered (acc.)

patlum

twisted (acc.)

The intensive aččih is also easily generalized to other roots— e.g. apittil ‘I twisted a lot’.

The end result

What did we end up with? Let’s look at some of the forms for a single root:

aptil

I twisted

aptal

I will twist

patlum

twisted (acc.)

apittil

I twisted a lot

anpatil

I was twisted

We started with an invariable root ptil, but thanks to the vowel mutation and syncope, the only common elements are the three consonants p-t-l. Various grammatical operations are performed by adding various vowels within this frame (as well as using prefixes and suffixes).

In fact Dučian is now a triliteral system like those of the Semitic languages.

This is a simplified view of how Semitic is thought to have developed; it’s based on Guy Deutsch’s analysis in The Unfolding of Language. (Dučian is named for him, with a Saussurian eu > u change.) The actual forms are based mostly on Akkadian. Note that once you have the basic system— triliteral roots plus templates— it’s easy to create new templates, expanding and complicating the morphology.

If you want to create a triliteral system you certainly don’t have to imitate the details above, but I find it a fascinating example of a few relatively simple changes combining to produce a completely new system.

Some possible derivations

Some possibilities for deriving words... if you came up with something different, great!

come

here-go

first

one-way

woman

birth-man

swim

water-go

king

big-spear

forward

face-way

clothes

body-hang

prefer

want-want

exterior

out-side

ocean

big-water

temple

god-house

palace

big-house

kill

end-breath

meaning

point-talk

desire

want-see

friend

side-man

support

stand-back

noon

sun-high

mountain

big-high

send

give-there

earth

water-field

reject

throw-out

kick

foot-push

sigh

long-breath

build

make-house

soul

breath

child

small-body

nation

big-field, birthishness

city

in-walls

climb

high-go

excite

go-go

emotion

push-out, in-talk

seek

see-see, want-hold

god

high-one

possess

hold, in-hand

remain

long-stand, sit-there

nobody

not-body, not-one

event

fall-out

return

back-go

simple

one-fold

slave

house-hand, foot-man

skin

body-wall

stable

standing, long-there

handsome

good-see

story

talk-long

wash

water-push

east

sun-birth

dusk

day-end, sun-sit

defeat

sit-face, make-fall

foreigner

there-man, out-man

warrior

spear-man

assist

give-hand

floor

house-foot, house-flat

fence

field-wall

exalted

held-high

half

one-out-two, small-two

morality

good-way

collapse

fold-small, fall-in

inject

push-in

judge

hear-two-sides

wait

hang-there, long-sit

convert

talk-turn, make-fold

mercy

hold-hand

digression

side-talk

hermit

want-no-man

Word size

As a rule of thumb, you might figure that the length of a word correlates with its importance to your culture’s speakers... or more precisely, to their ancestors.

As a quick test of this idea, here are the major body part terms for French sorted by number of phonemes:

2              œil cou nez dent joue sein hanche main rein peau

(eye neck nose tooth cheek breast hip hand kidney skin)

3              tête bouche langue front cil taille bras doigt poing pouce paume coude pied cœur foie chair

(head mouth tongue forehead eyelash waist arm finger fist thumb palm elbow food heart liver flesh)

4              oreille lèvre gorge menton cheveux poil barbe épaule jambe génou cuisse mollet talon plante vagin anus poumon

(ear lip throat chin hair whisker beard shoulder leg knee thigh ankle heel sole vagina anus lung)

5              visage poignet orteil pénis cerveau

(face wrist toe penis brain)

6              mâchoire moustache intestin bout de sein

(jaw moustache intestines nipple)

7               nombril abdomen estomac utérus

(navel abdomen stomach uterus)

Seems like a fair heuristic, so long as you don’t take it too literally.

Some of these words have synonyms; note that the more colloquial or vulgar term is usually shorter:

abdomen              ventre

visage              gueule

vagin              chatte, con

pénis              verge

Learned terms are often derivations or compound terms, and thus longer. Japanese is an exception, since the native vocabulary has a much more longwinded phonotactics than the many Chinese borrowings.

If a word becomes more common, it tends to be shortened:

omnibus > bus

taxicab > cab

nuclear bomb > nuke

clitoris > clit

personal computer > PC

communist > commie

Chinese requires some caveats. It follows the heuristic, in that long expressions are often abbreviated to two or four characters. However, sound changes have caused so many mergers of syllable types that to ensure comprehension, words sometimes have to get longer— rather as the pin-pen merger in Southern American English has resulted in the disambiguating expression ink pen.

Malleability

It’s hard to spend a lot of time looking at etymology, or the history of the senses of a word, or foreign dictionaries, without concluding that meanings are arbitrary and highly malleable.

To put it another way, our folk theory of meaning tells us that definitions are fixed, natural, and black-and-white. Thus people get bent out of shape when they notice a word being used in a new way.

Politics is full of examples: it disturbs some conservatives when mother is applied to a mother’s lesbian partner, or when rape is applied within a marriage, or when they’re told that race isn’t a simple biological fact. Liberals may be bothered when conservatives refer to a fetus as a child, or to the lack of regulation as freedom, or when children use gay to mean stupid. Both sides may be nonplussed when asked to call a transgender person with a penis a woman.

Sometimes we defer to the experts, even when there’s no need to. In the US, there’s a widespread belief that summer ‘officially’ begins at the solstice, though this is merely the astronomical definition, and not appropriate for meteorology, nor is it universal in English-speaking countries. Likewise, we accept the taxonomist’s assertion that whales are not fish.

On the other hand, people aren’t likely to accept the modern biologist’s view that fish are not a class, and the physicists’ usage of work, force, and power is viewed as an idiosyncrasy, irrelevant to ordinary language.

What’s wrong with the folk theory?

•              As for the fixed part, well, there’s recorded history. Meanings change broadly and constantly, as if speakers were engaging in a conspiracy to make the dictionary obsolete. Speakers not only adapt words to new situations, but insist on changing basic vocabulary— e.g. bringing in new words for head or dog or mountain or noon apparently at whim.

•              The natural part of the folk theory is also disproved by change, but also by comparison to other languages, which divide up semantic space in different ways.

•              Most human languages have no written form and no dictionaries; they aren’t learned through definitions. And the core words of our language are still learned not from books but from other people, by a process of internal generalization from examples. Logicians and lexicographers like formal definitions because they’re easy to work with, but they distort our understanding of how language works.

•              The clear boundaries part is also disproved by experience— people are constantly using words to refer to something outside the dictionary definition— by metaphor, as humorous exaggeration, by interference from another speech variety, or for simple lack of a better term.

•              The traditional view doesn’t have a place for prototypes, family-resemblance words, basic-level categories, radiating meanings, or speaker’s meanings.

Speaker’s meanings

The last term deserves a closer look. C.S. Lewis in Studies in Words talked about word’s meanings and speaker’s meanings. E.g., for the sense of furniture as ‘moveable articles in a house’, the OED cites one Lichefield, in 1582, referring to “All the furniture for his Chamber and Kitchin”. But the common sense of furniture at that time was ‘furnishing’— either the act of equipping, or any sort of provisions or equipment. Lichefield might well have been using the general sense of ‘equipment’, which here happens to match ‘furniture’ in the modern sense.

The thing is, if enough people use a word in a narrowed or expanded way, that generates a new sense, or even takes over the word’s meaning. We can no longer speak, as one Knowles did in 1603, of soldiers “differing… in language, countenance, and manner of furniture”. We’d have to say equipment.

Another example is the contemporary use of girl for older women; it would be completely unsurprising if the word ends up as a synonym for female. Similarly guy is a colloquial term for ‘men’— but women use it among themselves, especially as a vocative (“Hey, guys, should I dump this asshole?”), and it may well turn into a term for ‘people’ or ‘friends’. Lewis gives the example of immorality, which comes to mean lechery because the only type of immorality most people want to talk about is sexual.

This process is baffling if we think of words in terms of their definitions— if girl means ‘young woman’, how could anyone ever use it for an older woman? That’s why I use the named-clump-of-referents idea. Each actual reference is a sort of vote on the ‘meaning’ of the word, and if enough people use the word in a new way, then the boundary shifts.

Let’s take another example. Suppose your friend says It’d be a sin to miss this preacher. What’s going on?

•              The speaker means that it would violate God’s law to skip the sermon.

•              The speaker recognizes that that’s the meaning of sin but is exaggerating as a way of reinforcing the value he puts on going to the talk.

•              The speaker is using a subsidiary sense of sin, namely ‘a pity, a shame’ (which itself originated from such exaggerations).

We don’t always know. What’s more, the speaker may not be able to tell you. Sometimes people are making a proposition clear enough to please a logician. But often they’re no more clear than they have to be. The speaker is communicating that it’d be bad if you didn’t hear this preacher; he doesn’t need to qualify the exact nature of the badness.

(Of course, he might be departing even more from a literal reading— e.g. maybe you both disdain this preacher and it’s pure irony. Perhaps the preacher is named Zinn and he’s making a pun. Perhaps he’s even advising you to aim carefully when you throw the pie.)

Semantic space

My dot diagrams use the metaphor of semantic space. Still, what is that space? It can be quantified when it comes to colors or linear scales, but in domains like furniture it’s just a way of indicating that referents vary in all sorts of ways.

In the ’60s and ’70s, some linguists felt that if we could reduce language to predicate logic, we’d be done. Consider the following sentences:

Sadly, they never saw each other again.

Unfortunately, they never saw each other again.

Regretfully, they never saw each other again.

The three adverbs mean three different things, and yet the overall effect is about the same. We can imagine a speaker using any of the three to express her thought. (And because of such situations, we can imagine a word for ‘poor fortune’ becoming a word for ‘downcast’— this is in fact the story of unhappy.)

But the predicate logic version wouldn’t capture the closeness of these words. If you need a dissertation topic, perhaps you could work on a consistent way to quantify this idea of semantic closeness.

It’s not just emotions that are malleable; we can also describe bare facts in entirely different ways:

They never saw each other again.

That was their last meeting.

The two of them spent the rest of their lives apart.

Would their paths cross once more? It was not to be.

Another way of looking at this is to ask what it would take for a robot to understand that these four sentences describe the same situation. It requires more than understanding perception, and meetings, and trajectories; it requires making connections between them— e.g., knowing that it’s normal (but not absolutely necessary) for participants in a meeting to see one another. It requires extensive, well-integrated real-world knowledge. So much for treating language as arbitrary symbols, apart from the world!

Summary

The linguistic point of view strikes some people as anarchic— inviting or celebrating degradation and barbarity. But to observe how language works is not to take a moral stand on it, any more than a naturalist studying lions is an advocate of chasing down animals and eating them raw. There’s nothing wrong with speaking the standard language and appreciating the meanings and fine distinctions it gives us.

On the other hand, once you’ve understood how malleable meaning is, you can’t really unlearn that and go back to the folk theory of fixed, god-given definitions.

To sum up,

•              People are constantly using words outside the dictionary definition. This may be a nonce usage, but if it’s widely adopted it will shift or extend the word’s meaning.

•              Outside technical terms, definitions aren’t that important anyway: most words learned by generalization with little formal guidance.

•              Words are fluid, changing according to the whim of the speech community.

•              There’s generally nothing in nature which determines the definition of a word. Another language, or the same language in a hundred years, might see things differently.

•              This fluidity is really not worth getting upset over, any more than we’re upset that water doesn’t hold its shape.

Or to boil it down even more, all languages are conlangs— they’re just erratic collective ones.

Thematic section

Some reminders:

•              Sections are alphabetical. Hopefully you’ll soon be familiar with my categories and flip to them quickly; if not, use the index.

•              The typography of words gives frequency information; see p. 45.

•              Non-English words are followed by their etymology, not a gloss. See p. 81 for how to read the etymologies.

ANIMALS

animal—Lt < anima ‘soul, breath’

• Gk ζῷον ‘living’ • Ch dòngwù ‘move-thing’

beast—Lt bestia

• OE déor < ‘breath’ • Ch shòu ‘wild animal’ poss. < ‘hunted’

bird—OE brid ‘young bird’

• Gk ὄρνις < ‘rising’ • Sp pájaro ‘sparrow’ • Ir éan < ‘fly’ • Lith paukštis < ‘young’ • Skt pakṣin- ‘winged’

bug—ModE uncertain

cat—Lt cattus, uncertain

• Gk αἴλουρος ‘quick-tail’ • Lt fēlēs poss. ‘marten’ • Rum pisică < a call for cats • Ch māo imitative

dog—OE docga, originally just one breed

• generic OE hund, Lt canis, Gk κύων < IE *ǩuon- • ModGr σκυλί ‘puppy’

duck—OE duce ‘diving’

• Lt anas anat-, Ger Ente < IE • Sp pata imitative

fish—OE fisc, cognate to Lt piscis

• ModGk ψάρι < ‘dainty’

horse—OE hors < ‘run’

• Lt equus, Gk ἵππος < IE *eǩwo- • Lt caballus ‘work-horse’ • Lith arklys ‘plower’ • Rus лошадь < Turkish alaša ‘pack horse’ • ModGk ἄλογος ‘unreasoning’

insect—Lt insecta ‘cut up’ = ‘segmented’, calque on Gk ἔντομα

• Cz hmyz < ‘crawl’ • Pol owad < ‘annoyer’ • Ch kunchóng ‘many’ + ‘insect, worm’

monster—Lt monstrum ‘(divine) warning, portent’

• Ger Ungeheuer ‘unfamiliar’ • Ch guàiwù ‘strange thing’

mouse—OE mús

* It topo < ‘mole’ • Sp ratón ‘big rat’ • Lith pelė ‘gray’

rabbit—ME, possibly from Flemish

snake—OE snaca < ‘crawl’

• Lt serpens -ent- ‘creeper’ • OE wyrm ‘worm’ • Lith gyvatė ‘animal’ • OCS zmija ‘earth’ • Cz had < ‘harmful, loathsome’ • Ch shé poss. ‘winding thing’

spider—OE spíþra ‘spinner’

+—dragon, troll, orc, werewolf, gnome, elf, vampire, zombie

nest, lair, hive; pollinate, swarm, graze

herd, tame, hunt, stalk

Animal names not in the Frequency List will be found in the tables below.

Taxonomy

Whether you want to create your own creatures, or just make sure you’ve covered everything, it may be useful to look at taxonomy.

Karl Linnaeus organized all life, and the minerals for good measure, in his Systema Naturae (1735). He used the ranks class, order, genus, species, and variety. He proceeded based on anatomical similarity; with Darwin, of course, the idea became to represent lines of descent.

The ranks now used, using the dog and the dogwood as examples:

Dog

domain

eukaryotes (multi-celled organisms)

kingdom

animals

phylum (animals)

division (plants)

chordates

class

mammals

order

carnivores

family

canids (incl. foxes)

genus

Canis (incl. wolves, coyotes, jackals)

species

lupus (gray wolf, dog, dingo)

Dogwood

domain

eukaryotes

kingdom

plants

phylum (animals)

division (plants)

angiosperms (flowering plants)

class

eudicots (two-leafed embryos, three-bulbed pollen)

order

cornales (incl. hydrangeas)

family

cornaceae (incl. tupelos)

genus

Cornus (dogwoods)

species

florida, flowering dogwood— eastern US

Intermediate levels can be created in bewildering detail.

The primary need of researchers is not so much classification as identification; for this the last two ranks are used, in Greco-Latin form: Canis lupus, Homo sapiens, Cornus florida, Escherichia coli.

In the last few decades genetic analysis has been available, and the result is an ongoing revolution and a confusing stew of new and contested names. The best course is to procure a time machine, then acquire the 2050 edition of this book. For a conworlder, however, the important levels are class, order, and genus.

Most ordinary language words correspond pretty closely to the genus level, as with dogwood above. Only for very familiar genera (like Canis) do we have distinct words for separate species.

.The order, for mammals at least, is likely to be a familiar and useful classification— e.g. carnivores, primates, rodents.

When we’re devising classifications, the most useful classes are those with roughly equal numbers. E.g. a useful classification of nations would be by continent, or socioeconomic level; a not-useful classification would be ‘Australia’ vs. ‘All the rest’. Biological classifications, unfortunately, are very often like the latter— e.g. Archaea (below) are tiny relative to the other two domains; placental mammals make up the vast majority of mammals; of these 40% belong to just one class, rodents.

Non-scientific language tidies up biology by ruthlessly combining classes based on how interesting they are to humans. Thus a fairly complicated set of clades are all grouped together as fish, and a large number of phyla are tossed into the worm bucket.

Domains

The top of the biological tree is quite simple:

Bacteria              Single cell, no cell nucleus. The name is from Greek ‘staff’, after the shape of the first ones observed.

Archaea              Single cell, no cell nucleus. The first exemplars were extremophiles, and many archaea use unusual energy sources such as ammonia or hydrogen gas. But not all are exotic; they include the methanogens in your digestive system. They’re distinguished from bacteria by genetics— many of their cell mechanisms are closer to eukaryotes.

Eukarya              Cells with nuclei (hence the name, Greek ‘true kernel’[8]); includes all multicellular life.

Your first question, no doubt, is “what about viruses?” Viruses have genetic material— indeed, they’re just a bit of DNA or RNA plus a capsule to hold it— and thus can evolve and reproduce. But, crucially, they can’t reproduce by themselves— they have to hijack a living cell.

It’s not known whether viruses are decayed versions of full cells, or bits of DNA/RNA that evolved the ability to move between cells, or something that predated other forms of life. Or a bit of all three.

Obviously, the ancient Romans knew nothing about them; vīrus meant ‘slime, poison’. They were discovered by Dmitri Ivanovsky (1892).

Kingdoms

The bacteria and archaea are not usually divided into kingdoms.

The kingdoms of eukaryotes, according to a widely accepted classification by Robert Whitaker (1969):

Protista              protists— unicellular or at least not differentiated into tissues

Plantae              plants— usually multicellular; cell walls contain cellulose; most turn sunlight into energy (photosynthesis)

Fungi              mushrooms, yeast, molds— cell walls contain chitin

Animalia              animals— generally multicellular and moving

As an example of the current flux in taxonomy, here’s a rather different set of kingdoms according to the International Society of Protistologists (2005):

Excavata              flagellate protozoa

Amoebozoa              lobose amoeboids, slime molds

Opisthokonta              animals, fungi, various flagellates

Rhizaria              foramins, radiolarians, and other amoeboids

Chromalveolata              some algae types, kelp, diatoms

Archaeplastida              land plants, green algae, red algae, glaucophytes (another type of algae)

Phylums of Animalia

As you look over the list, you’re going to think, “That’s an awful lot of worms.” But most are trivial. The nine major phyla, accounting for 96% of described species, are boldfaced.

1 Parazoa              ‘alongside animals’              multicellular but no tissues/organs; no symmetry

Porifera              ‘pore bearers’              sponge— sessile as adults, rely on ambient water flow

Placozoa              ‘broad animals’              a single species: a flat undifferentiated mass; moves using cilia

2 Eumetazoa              ‘true over-animals’              animals with symmetric bodies

2.1 Radiata              ‘radiating’              radial symmetry

Ctenophora              ‘comb carriers’              comb jelly

Cnidaria              ‘nettles’              coral, sea anemone, jellyfish, various parasites

2.2 Bilateria              ‘two-sided’              bilateral symmetry

Orthonectida              ‘straight-swimmers’              tiny, very simple parasite

Rhombozoa              ‘rhombus animals’              tiny wormlike parasite of cephalopods

Acoelomorpha              ‘no-coelom shape’              small gutless worm

Chaetognatha              ‘long-hair jaw’              arrow worm— marine, predatory on plankton

2.2.1 Deuterostomia              ‘second mouth’              dent in embryo develops into anus

Chordata              ‘corded’              chordates, with a nerve cord, including all the vertebrates; the others are tunicates and lancelets (both marine)

Hemichordata              ‘half-corded’              acorn worm, sessile pterobranch

Echinodermata              ‘porcupine skin’              five-fold and marine: starfish, sea urchins, sand dollar, sea cucumber

Xenoturbellida              ‘strange turbulence’              simple gutless marine worm

2.2.2. Protostomia               ‘first mouth’              dent in embryo develops into mouth

2.2.2.1 Ecdysozoa               ‘stripping animal’              Periodically molts outer layer of body

Kinorhynca              ‘moving snout’              tiny segmented animals in mud or sand, no circulatory system

Loricifera              ‘lorica bearers’              tiny sediment-dwellers with a little protective case (lorica), discovered only in the 1970s

Priapulida              Greek god Priapus              marine predatory worm

Nematoda              ‘thread-form’              roundworm, with full tubular gut

Nematomorpha              ‘thread shaped’              horsehair worm— larvae parasitic, adults free-living in water

Onychophora              ‘claw bearers’              velvet worm— soft-bodied predator with stubby legs; bears live young

Tardigrada              ‘slow walker’’              water bears— tiny segmented animals found in moss or lichen; can tolerate extreme pressure, temperature, or radiation

Arthropoda              ‘joint-feet’              exoskeleton, segmented body, jointed appendages: trilobites, insects, spiders, horseshoe crabs, crustaceans, centipedes, millipedes

2.2.2.2 Platyzoa              ‘flat animals’              no coelom (fluid-filled cavity alongside gut) or a pseudocoel

Platyhelminthes              ‘flat worms’              flatworms— unsegmented, no body cavity, no circulatory system; includes tapeworm, fluke

Gastrotricha              ‘stomach hair’              hairybacks— microscopic, covered with cilia, and hermaphroditic

Rotifera              ‘wheel-bearer’              rotifers— microscopic, mostly freshwater; named for their wheel-like cilia which sweep food into the mouth

Acanthocephala              ‘thorn head’              thorny-headed worms— parasitic worms with a spiny proboscis for attaching to the host

Gnathostomulida              ‘jaw-mouth’              jaw worms— tiny animals in wet sand and mud; no body cavity; one-way gut; hermaphrodites

Micrognathozoa              ‘small jaw animal’              Just one species— a tiny thing with a complicated jaw structure, restricted to some springs in Greenland

Cycliophora              ‘circle-bearers’              Tiny creatures living as symbionts on the mouthparts of lobsters; discovered in 1995

2.2.2.3 Lophotrochozoa               ‘crest-wheel animals’              first four: a crest of cilia on the larva; remaining phyla: a lophophore, a crest of ciliated tentacles

Sipuncula              ‘small tube’              peanut worms— unsegmented marine worms

Nemertea              after the nymph Nemertes              ribbon worms— mostly marine; known for a proboscis which everts to capture prey

Mollusca              ‘soft things’              Mollusks— mostly marine, very diverse: snail, slug, squid, octopus, nautilus, clam, oyster, scallop, mussel, chiton, and various worms

Annelida              ‘ringed’              segmented worms, of many types, including the earthworm and leech

Phoronida              from a name of the goddess Isis              horseshoe worms—anchored in chitinous tubes underwater, with a crown of soft tentacles covered with cilia, which draw food into the mouth; has a simple set of blood vessels

Bryozoa              ‘moss animals’              Tiny, sessile marine animals, with a crown of tentacles on a goblet-shaped body, itself on a long stalk

Entoprocta              ‘internal anus’              Similar to bryozoa but the anus is inside the crown of tentacles, and they have no coelom

Brachiopoda              ‘arm-feet’              Marine filtering animals with hard shells

Echiura              ‘viper-tailed’              spoon worms— marine worms, unsegmented, with a proboscis poking from the head used to feed

Vertebrates

The original definition of vertebrates was ‘animals with a backbone’, which however produces a problem with hagfish, which have a skull but no spine.

The traditional five classes are of course fish, amphibians, reptiles, birds, and mammals. But the birds are derived from reptiles (and thus taxonomically are reptiles), which along with the mammals derived from amphibians, and everything came from fish.

Plus it turns out fish is not a defensible category. Fish form three or four classes (the hagfish and lampreys are sometimes split):

Agnatha ‘jawless’— jawless fish.

Hagfish, lamprey

Chondrichthyes ‘cartilage-fish’— cartilaginous fish

Shark, ray, chimaera

Osteichthyes ‘bone-fish’— fish with true bones, divided into:

Sarcopterygii ‘flesh-wings’— lobe-finned fish, with very thick fins, directly ancestral to the legs of all other classes of vertebrates

Coelacanth, lungfish

Actinopterygii ‘ray-wings’— ray-finned fishes, with thin fins made of skin supported by spines

All other fish

Amphibians (‘both-life’, i.e. living both on land and in the water) are divided into three orders:

Anura              ‘no tail’              frog, toad (90% of all amphibians)

Caudata              ‘tailed’              salamander, newt, siren

Gymnophiona              ‘naked-serpent’              like snakes, but without scales

An extinct group called labyrinthodonts (‘maze-teeth’, from their elaborately folded dental structure) gave rise to the reptiles.

Reptiles (‘crawlers’) lay eggs with an amniotic sac (which allows them to be laid on land), are cold-blooded, and have scales. They are divided into four extant orders:

Testudines              ‘tortoise-ish’              turtle

Sphenodontia              ‘wedge-tooth’              tuatara

Squamata              ‘scaly’              lizard, snake (largest group)

Crocodilia              ‘pebble-worm’              crocodile, alligator, caiman

Reptiles, like Ozymandias, have fallen far from their former glory. The overall tree relating the modern amniotes with the ancient monsters looks something like this:

1 Synapsida

1.1 Mammals

2 Sauropsida

2.1 Anapsidea— survived by turtles

2.2 Diapsidea

2.2.1 Ichthyosauria

2.2.2 Lepidosauromorpha— including plesiosaurs and placodonts; survived by tuatara, snakes

2.2.3 Archosauromorpha

2.2.3.1 Crurotarsi— survived by crocodiles

2.2.3.2 Avemetatarsalia— includes the dinosaurs proper; survived by birds

Mammals

‘Mammal’ is a very late word, created by Linnaeus from Lt mamma ‘breast, teat’; as bulging mammaries are only characteristic of humans and bovines, the Finnish nisäkäs ‘things with nipples’ is more accurate... except that monotremes lack nipples. Russian млеко-питающее ‘milk-feeding’ covers everything.

There are three divisions of (living) mammals:

Monotremes ‘one-hole’, which lay eggs and have just one opening (cloaca) at the lower end; have 10 rather than 2 sex chromosomes; confined to Australia/New Guinea.

platypus, echidna

Marsupials (< ‘pouch’), whose young are born undeveloped and are carried in a pouch; extinct in Eurasia.

Americas: opossum

Australia: kangaroo, koala, wombat, Tasmanian devil

Placental mammals, which are nurtured during a long period through the mother’s placenta.

The orders of placental mammals are:

Euarchontoglires              ‘true ancestors’ + ‘dormice’

Rodentia              ‘gnawing’              Largest order by number of species

springhare, beaver, gopher, mole rat, guinea pig, capybara, porcupine, hamster, mouse, rat, squirrel, chipmunk

Lagomorpha              ‘rabbit-shaped’              rabbit, hare, pika

Scandentia              ‘climbers’              tree shrew

Dermoptera              ‘skin-wings’              colugo (small gliding animal)

Primates              ‘principal’              monkey, ape, you and me

Laurasiatheria

Eulipotyphla               ‘true fat blind’              insectivores: hedgehog, mole, shrew

Chiroptera              ‘hand-wings’              bat

Perissodactyla              ‘uneven toes’              horse, donkey/ass, zebra, tapir, rhinoceros

Cetacea              ‘whales’              whale, dolphin, porpoise

Artiodactyla              ‘even toes’              camel, pig, giraffe, deer, moose, antelope, cattle, sheep, goat, hippopotamus

Pholidota              ‘scaly’              pangolin (scaly anteater)

Carnivora              ‘meat-eater’              dog, wolf, fox, cat, lion, tiger, bear, seal

Xenarthra               ‘strange joints’              restricted to Americas; slow metabolism

Cingulata              ‘banded’              armadillo

Pilosa              ‘hairy’              sloth, anteater

Afrotheria              ‘African beasts’

Macroscelidea              ‘big hips’              elephant shrew

Afrosoricida              ‘African shrews’              tenrec, golden mole

Tubulidentata              ‘pipe-teeth’              aardvark

Hyracoidea              ‘hyrax-like’              hyrax

Proboscidea              ‘trunked’              elephant

Sirenia              mythological sea-nymph

dugong, manatee

Birds

The orders of birds have imposing names, but almost all are just Greek or Latin for “shaped like <prototypical member>”.

Struthioniformes              ostrich, emu, kiwi

Tinamiformes              tinamou

Anseriformes              duck, goose, swan

Galliformes              chicken, turkey, grouse, quail, partridge, pheasant

Charadriiformes              gull, button-quail, plover

Gaviiformes              loon

Podicipediformes              grebe

Procellariiformes              albatross, petrel

Sphenisciformes              penguin

Pelecaniformes              pelican, heron, egret, ibis

Phaethontiformes              tropicbird

Ciconiiformes              stork

Cathartiformes              vulture

Phoenicopteriformes              flamingo

Falconiformes              hawk, falcon, eagle

Gruiformes              crane

Pteroclidiformes              sandgrouse

Columbiformes              dove, pigeon

Psittaciformes              parrot, cockatoo

Cuculiformes              cuckoo, turaco

Opisthocomiformes              hoatzin

Strigiformes              owl

Caprimulgiformes              nightjar

Apodiformes              swift, hummingbird

Coraciiformes              kingfisher, hoopoe, hornbill

Piciformes              woodpecker, toucan

Trogoniformes              trogon

Coliiformes              mousebird

Passeriformes
(songbirds)              oriole, crow, raven, lark, swallow, martin, warbler, thrush, starling, wren, sparrow, cardinal, tit, robin

On the farm

A farming community won’t be satisfied with just one word referring to Bos taurus. Let’s look at some of the terms relating to cattle:

cattle

generic term (plural)

cow

female adult

bull

male adult

calf

young (under a year)

yearling

young (over a year)

ox

castrated adult male

steer

a young ox [in British usage]

beef

meat from cattle

veal

meat from calves

muck

cattle dung

A similar array could be made for horses, pigs, sheep, goats, dogs, and even deer. This is typical for European languages, but you can also take a more analytical approach— Chinese makes do with various compounds of niú.

There’s also a wide variety of terms for referring to animal anatomy, inside and out, though probably the only parts you need to provide names for are things your people eat.

Horses

In a premodern society, you weren’t a farmer unless you had your own cow, but you were rabble till you had your own horse. A man with a horse was a noble in Latin (eques) as well as French (chevalier). Having a horse made you part of the cavalry, the elite of the army, and imposed a higher standard of behavior (chivalry). The military rank marshal is etymologically ‘horse-servant’.

Naturally, there was a rich terminology relating to horses— equipment (saddle, bit, harness, stirrup, reins), movement (walk, trot, canter, gallop), ages and purpose, anatomy. A sampling:

attaint—a wound on a horse’s leg

barding—ornamental covering for a horse

bayard—a bay-colored horse

bishop—to file a horse’s teeth to hide its age

boggle—to startle at an imagined specter (a bogey)

bronco—a wild or untamed horse

caparison—an ornamental cloth spread over the saddle

cob—a short-legged, stout horse, suitable for heavy riders

colt—a young male horse (older than a foal)

curvet—a leap in which the fore-legs are raised together, followed closely by a spring of the hind-legs

dressage—training of a horse

farrier—one who shoes or treats horses

founder—an inflamed foot, from overwork

gee—a command to a horse to turn right (left is haw)

hackney—a horse of middling quality

hobby—a small or middling horse; then a toy horse or horse costume; then a trivial avocation (a metaphor on riding a toy horse)

jade—an inferior or worn-out horse

kelpie—a Scottish water-demon in the shape of a horse

lunge—a long rope used in training horses

pastern—the part of the horse’s foot between fetlock and hoof

stud—a collection of horses, originally one used for breeding

Types of dung

Muck (above) isn’t alone; the OED offers the following specific types of dung:

button—sheep

crottels—hare

fewmets—deer (and dragons, according to T.H. White)

fiants—badger, fox

frass—insect larvae

grattishing—deer

guano—sea-birds or bats

lesses—boar, bear, wolf

metessing—hawk

purl—horse, cow, or sheep

scumber—dog or fox

spraints—otter

tath—farm animals

treddle—sheep or goats

waging—fox

If you don’t use them in your conlang, they also make good, inscrutable responses in Internet arguments.

Quechua, which lent us guano, also has taha, the dung of llamas, rabbits, or sheep; uccha-khawa, horse’s or ass’s dung; chhuchu, dried burro dung, and warkha, balls of dung on a sheep’s coat.

Kind of gross, to city dwellers; but recall that dung is valuable as a source of fuel or as fertilizer. It can be used directly as a building material, or as a component of adobe or daub (the plaster-like substance used in wattle-and-daub construction). Hunters use it for tracking. Guano can be mined for phosphorus, and was once a key source of saltpeter, used for gunpowder. Sal ammoniac could be produced from camel dung. Tanners used dung to soften hides, though this could also be done with brains.

Dung and urine have been used in medicines. Urea, used in many cosmetics, was isolated from urine, though now it’s produced inorganically. The estrogens in Premarin are still collected the old-fashioned way, from horse urine. Have you heard of honeydew honey? The bees collect sap which has been, um, run through an aphid first. I’ll stop now.

Speciesism

As humans, we’re interested in seeing where we fit in the big picture, so we see increasing detail (more names, more related terms) the closer the animals affect us.

If your conpeople happen not to be mammals, you should be careful not to copy a mammalian worldview! If they’re birds, they should have far more words for other birds than for their remoter relatives the mammals. If they’re invertebrates, they might well group most of the vertebrates together under broad terms as loosely as we talk about ‘worms’ or ‘bugs’.

On your world elves and dragons may well be real; but are there also mythical monsters? That is, in a fantasy world, what do people make up as their fantasy?

ART

art—Lt ars art- ‘skill’ < ‘fit together’ ∥ artus ‘joint’

Ger Kunst < ‘knowledge’ • Lith dailė < ‘beautiful’ • Rus искусство < ‘trial’ • Ch yì < ‘accomplished’ < ‘cultivate’; cognate to Japanese geisha

audience—Fr nomn. of ‘heard’

• Ger Publikum • Ch tingzhòng ‘hear-crowd’

culture—Lt cultūra ‘cultivation, tending’

• Ch wénhuà ‘literature-change’

dance—Fr danser < Frankish *dintjan ‘move to and fro’

• Gk χορεύω < ‘courtyard’ • Sp bailar < Gk βαλλίζω < ‘throw’ • Lith šokti ‘jump’

+—academy, exhibit, gallery

Genres

What genres are recognized as fine art? The Greeks recognized nine Muses; it may be telling that the generic μοῦσα gave her name to one particular art, music. A shrine to the Muses, μουσεῖον, became our museum.

epic poetry

Calliope

history

Clio

love poetry

Erato

song, elegy

Euterpe

tragedy

Melpomene

sacred poetry

Polyhymnia

dance

Terpsichore

comedy

Thalia

astronomy

Urania

The focus is on metrical poetry, with obvious extensions to music, dance, and theater. History slips in as the main ‘none of the above’. Astronomy is an odd choice, not really explained by the fact that Thales wrote a book on astronomy in metrical form.

Calliope has a different meaning now— a deafening steam-powered musical instrument associated with the circus... an example of the gradual demotion of imaginative figures. The muse would be bemused.

Xurno, an Almean country actually ruled by artists, divides art into these categories, which also make up the major ministries of the government:

busumudo—poetry, including epics, oratory, philosophy

dzuzovugudo—drama

aujikalu—music

šukecudo—painting, drawing and enamelling

jadzudo—sculpture, including architecture

rimixau—weaving, including tapestry and clothes-making

cauč—dance

xeracudo—gymnastics

A major shakeup in Xurnese society was the agitation for a Salon of Prose (gejupudo). As an art form this includes what we would call the novel, but the real issue was whether art included scholarship, or science. (How many civil wars are conducted over issues of classification? Quite a few, actually, if you consider divisions based on religions and belief systems.)

Language arts

book—OE bóc < ‘beech’

• Gr βύβλος ‘papyrus’ < city exporting it • Lt liber < ‘inner bark’ • Latvian grāmata < ‘writing’ • Skt grantha- ‘bundle’

brush—Fr brosse ‘(broom made of) small twigs’

• Lt pēniculus dim. ‘tail’ • Sp cepillo dim. ‘bough’ • Rum perie < ‘feathers’• Rus щётка ‘bristle’

chapter—Fr chapitre < Lt dim. ‘head’

• Ch zhāng ‘distinguished, display’

history—Gk ἱστορία ‘inquiry’

letter—Lt littera ‘grapheme’, in plural ‘message’

Grapheme: • Gk γράμμα < ‘write’ • Sw bokstaf ‘book-staff’ • Latvian burts ‘magic symbol’ • Ch wén ‘grapheme’ < ‘soot’

Message: • Gk ἐπιστολή ‘message’ < ‘sent to’ • Sp carta < ‘paper’ • Sw bref < ‘short’ • Lith laiškas ‘leaf’ • Rus письмо ‘writing’ • Ch xìn ‘something entrusted’

mystery—Gk μυστήριον ‘secret rite’ < ‘close (the eyes)’

• Ger Geheimnis ‘secret, private’ < ‘house’ • Ch shén ‘spiritual’

page—Lt pāgina < ‘fixed’

• Gk σελίς ‘deck, block’ • Dutch bladzijde ‘leaf-side’

perform—Old Fr perfourmer < ‘per’ + either ‘form’ or ‘furnish’

• Fr exécuter ‘execute (a task)’, jouer ‘play (a role)’

play—OE pleȝan ‘move energetically’

read—OE rǽdan ‘consider, make out, interpret’

• ModGk διαβάζω ‘carry across’ • Lt legere ‘pick up, gather’ • OCS čitati ‘read, count’ • Ch dú < ‘say aloud’, kàn ‘look’

record—Lt recordārī ‘back to heart’

• Fr rapporter, noter • Ch lù < ‘carve’

scene—Gk σκηνή ‘tent, stage’

stage—Old Fr estage ‘standing place’

story—Gk ἱστορία ‘inquiry’

• Sp cuento < ‘reckon’ • Ch gùshì ‘event-matter’

tale—OE talu ∥ ‘speak’, ‘number’

write—OE wrítan ‘score, write’

• Gk γράφω ‘scratch’ • Lt scrībere < ‘cut, carve’ • Gothic mēljan ‘mark’ • OCS pĭsati < ‘color, paint, adorn’ • Ch xiě ’depict’

+—poem, rhyme, alliteration, rhythm, chant, ballad, refrain, chorus, metaphor

proverb, maxim, oratory

theater, comedy, tragedy, fantasy, romance, epic, myth

pen, pencil, typewriter, ink, script

essay, edit, translate, fiction, manifesto, newspaper, magazine

The oldest of art forms is surely storytelling, which requires only language and an audience capable of wondering what happens next. Adding meter gives you poetry and takes you close to music; divide out the roles and you have drama.

Words for writing reflect the physical technology, and tend to stick around even if the tech changes. E.g. in Germanic ‘writing a book’ meant carving on tablets of beechwood; in Sanskrit you were scratching on palm leaves; in Akkadia it meant pressing a stylus into wet clay. A page was originally a column within a scroll. In Latin you distinguished a volūmen (< ‘roll’) for a scroll, from a cōdex (< ‘block of wood’) for a set of attached pages— originally a joined set of wooden tablets. In French you still write with a feather (plume) on papyrus (papier) even if it’s really a Bic on wood-pulp paper.

For Verduria, I divided literature into these genres:

pomäe

chronicle, myth, legend

racont

tale, story, account

šant

song

cevai

chant

ralinë

drama

kallogi

speech, oratory

onemu

treatise, essay, account, manual

curayora

argument, proof, discourse, manifesto

‣             For different approaches to poetry, see the LCK, p. 160.

In early work on Verdurian, I tried to create words for various aesthetic effects; I defined them using prototypes and associated words, such as:

gažë—Henrik Ibsen—engagé, involved, angry, reforming

paléty—Dorothy Parker—pathos, sadness, empathy

cümorge—Nietzsche—defiant, ridiculing, power-obsessed

ďumäg—Jonathan Swift—Weltschmerz, misanthropic

I don’t think the experiment was successful: it was hard to explain why these particular attitudes needed names, and providing etymologies was a headache. The better approach is through conworlding:

•              We do have a word for satire like Swift’s: Swiftian. So, invent some cultural figures who gave their names to a style, mannerism, or attitude.

•              Artistic movements do have codewords, such as engagé above, a word describing the existentialist’s choice to be involved in the world with other human beings. To create such terms you need to name some movements and consider their views, as well as what they’re reacting against.

To put it another way, the magic in these words is not in their derivation (which tends to be simple— Weltschmerz = ‘world-ache’), it’s in the art and ideology behind them. And those in turn often respond to the historical context— e.g. an unsuccessful revolution may lead to feelings of alienation and disenchantment, or to a new radicalism.

Visual arts

draw—OE draȝan ‘drag’ > ‘attract’ > ‘sketch’

• Fr dessiner ‘design’ • Ch huà ‘paint, figure’

picture—Lt pictūra ‘painting’

• Fr tableau ‘panel’ • Sp cuadro ‘square’ • Ger Bild poss. < ‘fitting’

paint—Lt pingere, cognate to words meaning ‘speckled, write, adorn’

• Breton liva ‘dye’ • Ger malen < ‘mark, spot’ • Rus писать ‘write’ • Skt likh- ‘scratch’

statue—Lt statua < ‘stand’

• Gk ἄμαλγα ‘ornament’ • Ir dealbh ‘form’ • Breton skeudenn ‘shadow’ • OE manlīca ‘man-like’ • Ger Bildsäule ‘picture-pillar’ • Rus изваяние ‘carving’ • Skt pratimā- ‘measure against’ • Ch diāoxiàng ‘carve-likeness’

map—Lt mappa ‘tablecloth’

• Fr carte < ‘paper’ • Ger Plan • Ch dìtú ‘earth-picture’

+—chart, cartoon, film

Japanese uses the same word (kaku) for ‘write’ and ‘draw’, while Mandarin huà (also the final syllable in Japanese manga) suffices for both ‘draw’ and ‘paint’.

Painting can be classified by medium, for instance:

•              Early paintings made heavy use of minerals, e.g. blue from copper oxides, black from soot, red from iron oxide. Greens and yellows were from plant products and faded, which is one reason some ancient art looks like it only uses earth tones.

•              Tempera, which is egg yolk plus an acid such as vinegar or even beer. It’s vivid and permanent, but dark colors and variations of shading are difficult.

•              Enamel, which uses melted powdered glass— very expensive; dates back to ancient Egypt.

•              Fresco, dating back to -15C Crete— painting on fresh plaster. The pigment bonds with the plaster and thus is very lasting.

•              Oils, popularized in the 15C. The pigment is mixed directly with the oil, which allows a luminous transparency of color, a great range of hues, and fine shading.

•              Watercolor, with water as the main medium, plus pigments and substances that add body.

•              Modern substances such as acrylic.

It can be fun to work out a set of schools or styles, parallel to terrestrial terms such as Pre-Raphaelite, Renaissance, baroque, rococo, Romantic, Impressionist, Cubist, Abstract Expressionist. Some of this may just be fashion (e.g. a cycle of elaboration and minimalism), but consider also new technology (perspective; the invention of oil painting; the camera which changed artists’ attitude toward realism) and contact with new cultures (as Western art was influenced in the 19C by Japanese styles, and in the early 20C by African).

Music

beat—OE béatan, uncertain

measure—Fr mesure < Lt mētīrī < IE, cognate to Gk μετρέω, OE mǽd

meter—Gk μέτρον ‘measure’

music—Gk μουσική ‘of the Muse’

• Ch yuè poss. ∥ ‘joy’

note—Lt nota ‘mark’

sing—OE singan

• Gk ἀείδω ∥ ‘sound’ • ModG τραγουδῶ ‘chant tragedy’ • Lt canere < IE

+—melody, lyrics, chord, harmony

Instruments

Ethnomusicologists may use the Hornbostel-Sachs system, which classifies instruments by what is vibrating:

•              Idiophones: the whole instrument

•              Membranophones: a stretched membrane

•              Chordophones: a string

•              Aerophones: a column of air

The Western orchestra is traditionally divided into

woodwind

flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon, saxophone

brass

horn, trumpet, cornet, tuba

percussion

drum, timpani, bells, cymbals, tambourine

strings

violin, viola, cello, bass

keyboard

piano, organ, harpsichord

You might also want words for the vocal ranges of singers, e.g. soprano, alto, tenor, bass in Western music. The male and female vocal ranges actually overlap somewhat, and of course how many divisions you make for each sex is arbitrary.

Performance spaces

David Byrne in How Music Works points out how the choice of performance space influences music. E.g. the Gregorian chant was performed in huge stone cathedrals, where notes linger and thus even the mildest dissonance sounds terrible. Polyphony and more adventurous intervals appeared when the performance space shifted to salons and concert halls.  African music is traditionally performed outdoors, which acoustically favors percussion.

Scales and intervals

Music varies by culture, but the basics are provided by acoustics. If a note has frequency f, a note with frequency 2f is particularly harmonious—in fact we perceive it as the ‘same note’ an octave higher. E.g. if f is 220 Hz, the A below middle C, 2f = 440 Hz, the A above middle C.

The note 3/2f goes well with both. In the A scale that gives us 330 Hz = E; the A-E interval is a fifth. The ratio 4/3 is almost as consonant, giving us 293.3 Hz or D— a fourth. Medieval harmony relied heavily on octaves, fifths, and fourths.

The interval between E and D is 3/2 ÷ 4/3 = 9/8 — a tone. The even closer 16/15 is a semitone. We can now build the A major scale with the sequence tone, tone, semitone, tone, tone, tone, semitone:

The keys on the keyboard are one semitone apart. If you apply the same pattern starting at C you’ll find that you hit only the white keys.

The natural A minor scale is formed with tone, semitone, tone, tone, semitone, tone, tone— which also hits only white keys, but sounds much different:

If you actually tune to these ratios, you’re using just temperament, and you’ll find that you have to retune your instrument when you change keys. This is awfully inconvenient for keyboardists, so it’s perhaps not surprising that when the clavier became popular, there was a switch to equal temperament, where the semitone is defined as (about 1.05946) rather than 16/15 (about 1.06667). Now D becomes 293.665 Hz. The ear is fooled and the keyboardist can play in any key.

Western scales are heptatonic— e.g. C major has 7 notes, C D E F G A B. To play all the keys you need to divide all the tones into semitones, thus the 12 keys on the keyboard, the basic of dodecaphonic or 12-tone music.

English names the keys with letters, but French uses ut ré mi fa sol la si, from the first syllable of each line of a medieval hymn. German uses the letters as in English, except that B is our B-flat, and H is our B-natural.

There are lots of other ways to form scales. Pentatonic (five-note) scales are used worldwide, for instance. Some music uses smaller intervals than the semitone.

All this just touches the surface of music theory, of course, but it’s a good start for conlanging.

ASTRONOMY

STAR—OE steorra, cognate to Lt stēlla, Gk ἀστήρ

• Ir réalta ‘bright thing’ • Ch xīng poss. ∥ ‘clear’

sun—OE sunne

• Ir grian < ‘heat’ • Skt ravi- ‘reddish’ • Ch tàiyáng ‘great-(sun)shine’

earth—OE eorþe

• Lt terra < ‘dried’ • Rum pamînt ‘floor’ • Ir talamh < ‘surface’ • Skt pṛthivī- ‘wide’

planet—Gk πλανήτης ‘wanderer’

• Ch xíngxīng ‘walk-star’

moon—OE móna < IE ‘measure’

• Gk σελήνη ‘brightness’ • Lt lūna < ‘light’ • Pol księżyc dim. ‘prince’ • Skt çaçin- ‘hare’ (from its markings) • Ch yuè poss. ∥ ‘white’, ‘clean’

cosmos—Gk κόσμος ‘order, ornament’, i.e. ‘well-arranged place’

• Ch yuzhòu ‘space-eternity’

universe—Lt ūniversum ‘whole world’ < ‘turned as one’

galaxy—Gk γαλαξίας ‘milky’

• Ch yínhé ‘silver-river’

orbit—Lt orbita ‘wheel track’ < ‘wheel, circle’

+—constellation, nebula, comet, meteor

horizon, zenith, nadir

equinox, solstice, eclipse, nova, opposition, conjunction

‣             For creating your solar system, see the PCK, p. 38.

For fantasy you don’t need much more than sun, moon, star, earth. Most of the other terms above were created after the invention of the telescope, and are thus multisyllabic and Latinate. Zenith and nadir however are reminders of the advancement of the medieval Arabs.

If your culture has been trekking the spaceways for centuries, astronomy and astronavigation are everyday realities, and we can expect shorter and more informal words to develop— as with transport, where we say car, bus, taxi, plane in place of the earlier automobile, omnibus, taximeter cabriolet, aeroplane.

How do you name your planets? Once people actually live on them, they’re not going to call them Alpha Centauri A IV. Westerners named the planets after gods, but the Chinese named them after elements (p. 116). If they were named when they were just points of light, relevant factors may be inner vs. outer planet, color, and brightness. If they’re named by spacefarers, other facts may come into play: ring systems, size, composition, tidal locking, terrain types. If they have inhabitants, we can ask them for their name, but they’re likely to have several!

Similarly, future societies need not define astronomical terms by how they look in the sky— e.g. like clouds (nebulae) or spilled milk (galaxy).

Naming the key locations in an orbit should be straightforward, except that we’ve created specialized terms for when the earth is one of the bodies involved— e.g. apogee for the farthest point in a satellite’s orbit, and perihelion for when the earth is closest to the sun. Astronomers started making terms based on each celestial body— I think my favorite is apomelasma for an orbit round a black hole— but there’s really no need for more than one root. The consensus seems to be to use apoapsis for the farthest point and periapsis for the nearest. (The other body, if massive enough, lies at one of the foci of the ellipse. More equal-massed bodies will have elliptical orbits round a common barycenter.)

The same pedantry threatens to give us selenology, areology, etc., but it’s more accepted to call them all geology.

This comes from Greek γῆ, ‘earth’, but we should be clear about what was being referred to. Greek and Latin had four terms that were translated world in the KJV:

•              γῆ, Lt terra, the earth (as opposed to the heavens). The goddess Gaia represents another form of this root.

•              οἰκυμένη, the inhabited earth, Lt orbis, represented in the ecclesiastical term ecumenical (= universal).

•              αἰών, a generation or era, Lt saeculum. As Christianity posited a new age, the present one became disreputable— thus the term worldly.

•              κόσμος, the universe; Lt mundus.

All of these are frequently used in a demoted sense— John writes that all the κόσμος had gone after Jesus (7:19), when the meaning was only that quite a few had; when Jane Austen mentions “a truth universally acknowledged” she is not venturing even as far as the Moon.

Premodern people are of course not aware of being on a planet at all. Once they are, they have to name it. Earth, Terra, Russian земля, and Mandarin地 dì refer to land or soil. World (like French monde) can refer to the Earth, but retains a more general sense, so that we can speak of other worlds. To a marine species the name of the planet might be Ocean.

In ancient societies, studying the stars helps you with your calendar as well as with navigation. Rain was all-important, so looking at the sky for clues to its intentions was natural; and when planets were given heavy symbolism their approaches could seem fraught with significance— leading to astrology. Planets were linked to temperaments (p. 116)— which gave people new descriptive terms for personality types, and for other things: a constellation was originally the configuration of the planets at one’s birth; a disaster was an ominous astronomical event— a ‘bad star’; being in the ascendant referred to which planet or sign of the zodiac was currently rising above the horizon.

The conjunction of weather and astronomy is neatly illustrated by the words meteor and meteorology. Both derive from Greek μετέωρον ‘celestial phenomenon’, itself from μετέωρος ‘lifted up, lofty’.

The names for astronomical events are straightforward: equinox ‘equal night’ (i.e. equal to the day), solstice ‘sun stands still’ (as it’s slowest then), nova ‘new (star)’, eclipse ‘fail to appear’. For eclipse Mandarin has shí, originally ‘eat’— the celestial body was being eaten by a monster.

THE BODY

ARM—OE arm < IE ‘arm, joint’

• Gk βραχίων ‘shorter’ • Norse handleggr ‘hand-bone’ • Skt bhuja- ‘bend’ • Ch gē < ‘armpit’

BACK—OE bæc

• ModGk ράχη < ‘spine’ • Lt dorsum poss. < ‘turned down’ • Sp espalda < ‘shoulder’ • Lith nugara ‘mountain ridge’ • Skt pṛṣṭha- ‘stands out’ • Ch bèi < ‘carry on back’

BODY—OE bodiȝ prob. < ‘tub’

• Gk σῶμα < ‘swelling’ • Dutch lichaam ‘body-husk’ • OCS tělo ‘surface’ • Skt çarīra- ‘covering’ • Ch shēn poss. < ‘stretch out

breast—OE bréost < ‘swelling’

• Lt mamma < babytalk • Fr sein < ‘fold’ • Sp teta ‘nipple’ • OCS sŭsĭcĭ < ‘suck’ • Rus грудь < ‘big, swell’ • Ch rǔ < ‘suckle’ poss. < ‘drink’

chest—Gk κίστη ‘box, chest’

• Khmer truuŋ < ‘shield’

finger—OE finger poss. < ‘five’

• Lt digitus ‘pointer’ • Cz prst < ‘stand forth’ • Rus палец ‘thumb’ • Skt aṅguli- ‘crooked’

fist—OE fýst

• Lt pugnus ∥ ‘fight’ • Ch quàn ‘curled’

flesh—OE flǽsc poss. < ‘split’

• Gk σάρξ < ‘cut’ • Lt caro carn- ‘share’ • OCS plŭtĭ ‘covering, crust’ • Ch ròu prob. < ‘soft’

FOOT—OE fót < IE *ped-, cognate to Lt pēs ped-, Gk πώς

• OCS noga < ‘claw’ • Skt caraṅa- ‘< ‘move’

HAND—OE hand prob. < ‘seize’

• Ir lámh ‘palm’ • Breton dourn ‘fist’ • OCS rąka ‘collect’ • Ch shǒu poss. < ‘taker’

knee—OE cnéow, cognate to Lat genū

• Sp rodilla dim. ‘wheel’ • Lith kelys ‘leg’ • Ch xī < ‘joint’

leg—Norse leggr ‘bone (of leg or arm)’

• Gk σκέλος ‘bent’ • It gamba ‘hoof’ • Sp pierna < ‘ham’ • Ger Bein ‘bone’ • Skt jaṅghā- < ‘step’ • Ch tuǐ ‘thigh’

limb—OE lim

shoulder—OE sculdur < ‘scapula’

• Fr épaule < dim. ‘sword’ • Ger Achsel ‘shoulder joint’ • Lith petys < ‘flat’ • Ch jiān ∥ ‘arm’

skin—Norse skinn

• Gk δέρμα < ‘tear’ • Lt pellis < ‘cover’ • OCS koža ‘goatskin’

wrist—OE wrist

• Fr poignet < ‘fist’ • Sp muñeca < ‘protuberance’ • Ch wàn ‘thing which bends’

+—nipple, navel, waist, hip, abdomen

thumb, knuckle, palm, elbow

thigh, calf, heel, sole, toe

vulva, vagina, clitoris, penis, testicles, anus

Languages don’t always agree on body part names.

•              Quechua doesn’t distinguish arm/hand (maki). Curiously it does distinguish leg/foot, while other languages don’t— e.g. Russian нога is both.

•              Spanish uses the same word (dedo) for fingers, thumbs, and toes. Russian палец covers both ‘finger’ and ‘thumb’.

•              We have names for the upper and lower leg (thigh, calf) and the lower arm (forearm), but not the upper arm.

•              In French, a hair on your head is a cheveu (usually seen in the plural, cheveux); a hair elsewhere is a poil.

•              Latin divides breast into pectus ‘front of chest’ and mamma ‘mammary’.

•              Japanese has separate words for the upper back (senaka) and the lower (koshi).

English terms for the genitals are all highly marked for register. The anatomical terms are simple descriptors in the original Latin: vulva ‘wrapper’, vāgīna ‘sheath’, pēnis ‘tail’, labia ‘lips’. Slang terms are generally humorously disdainful (rod, dick, snatch), though there’s also slightly ridiculous euphemisms (member, manhood, pearl).

Word for the genitals don’t have to be derived— so far as I can see Quechua raka ‘vagina’ and lani ‘penis’ are basic roots just like simi ‘mouth’ or sinqa ‘nose’.

The head

cheek—OE céace ‘jaw, cheek’

• Lt bucca < ‘blow’ • Ir pluc ‘lump’ • Ger Wange < ‘curve’ • Cz líce ‘face’

ear—OE éare < IE *aus-, cognate to Lt auris, Gk οῦς

• Farsi goš < ‘hear’

EYE—OE éaȝe < IE *okw-, cognate to Lt oculus

• Ir súil ‘sun’ • Rus. глаз < ‘ball’ • Avestan dōiθra- < ‘see’ • Ch yǎn < ‘knob, bulge’

FACE—Fr < Lt facies ‘appearance, form’

• Fr visage ‘seeing’ • OCS lice ‘cheek’ • Rum obraz < ‘form’

forehead—OE forhéafod ‘fore head’

• Gk μέτωπον ‘between’ • Danish pande ‘pan’ • Ger Stirn < ‘spread out’ • OCS čelo ‘rise, hill’ • Ch é < ‘face, confront’

hair—OE hǽr

• Ch tóufa ‘head-growth’

HEAD—OE héafod

• Lt caput, Gk κεφαλή < ‘head, bowl’ • Fr tête < ‘pot’ • OCS glava ‘bald’ • Ch tóu poss. < ‘skull’

lip—OE lippa

• Breton muzell ‘muzzle’ • Lith lūpa ‘hanging flesh’ • OCS ustĭna dim. ‘mouth’ • Rus губа < ‘swelling’ • Ch chún < ‘rim’

mouth—OE múþ prob. < ‘chin’

• Gk στόμα ‘muzzle’ • It bocca < ‘cheek’ • Lith burna < ‘opening’ • Rus рот < ‘projection’ • Skt vadana- < ‘speak’ • Ch kǒu poss. < ‘hollow’

neck—OE hnecca ‘nape’

• Lt collum < ‘round’ • Rum gît ‘throat’ • OE swíra < ‘column’ • Farsi gardan ‘turn’

nose—OE nosu < IE *nas-, cognate to Lt nāsus

* ModGk μύτη < ‘cuttlefish snout’ • Skt ghrāṇa- < ‘smell’

throat—OE þrote < ‘swelling’

• Lt gula < ‘swallow’ • Gk σφαγή ‘narrow’ • Sp garganta imitative • Ch hóu poss. ∥ ‘neck’

tongue—OE tunge < IE *dṇghwā-, cognate to Lt lingua

• Gk γλῶσσα poss. ‘pointy’ • Ch shé ∥ ‘lick’

tooth—OE tóþ < IE *dont-, cognate to Lt dens dent-, Gk ὀδών

• OCS ząbŭ ‘tooth, bolt, tusk’

+—chin, jaw, beard, moustache, eyelash; bald, shave

Japanese ago encompasses both the chin and jaw, and hige is both beard and moustache.

In English the region between the nose and mouth can be called the upper lip; this sounds strange to the Japanese, who call it hana no shita, the area ‘under the nose’.

Yidiɲ has yaniŋ for the side of the face, between the eye and ear.

Body part words seem inordinately prone to metonymy. I don’t think Romance speakers actually confused the cheek and mouth; bocca must have been jocular, though the joke kind of eludes me.

There are complexities in the use of body part words that are so common we hardly notice them. The eye is the eyeball, right? But if your eyes are blue, that refer to the iris only; if your eyes are slanted it refers the shape of the eyelids; and someone with a good eye is being complimented on their vision. A large mouth means something different to a painter and to a dentist.

We all have the same eyes, but what we notice depends on culture. Takao Suzuki points out (in Words in Context) that Turkish writers describing pretty girls concentrate on the features that would not be hidden by a veil— even when they are describing modern women who don’t wear one. E.g., from Ömer Seyyfetin:

She is the most beautiful girl in Istanbul! Large shiny dark eyes... Rich, soft black hair... And incredible fair skin with pure, dreamlike whiteness.

Suzuki goes on to note that Japanese writers describing a face unfailingly mention the nose, while Europeans often omit it. Europeans also deduce character from the shape of the chin or jaw— weak, determined, aggressive— while the Japanese simply describe the shape.

Animals

claw—OE clawu

• Fr griffe < ‘scratch’ • Ch zhuā < ‘grasp’

egg—OE ǽȝ < IE *ōwo, poss. ∥ ‘bird’ (cf. Lt ōvum, avis)

• Latvian uola ‘pebble’ • Lith kiaušis dim. ‘skull’

fur—Fr fourrure ‘lining (of a garment)’ > source of the lining

• It pelliccia ‘of skins’ • Dutch bont < ‘multicolored’ • Rus мех < ‘leather sack’ • Cz kožešina ‘hide’ • Norse loð- ‘hairy’ • Ch máo ‘hair’

hide—OE hýd, cognate to Lt cutis

scale—Norse skál ‘bowl’

tail—OE tægl < ‘fringe, hair’

• Gk οὐρά < ‘stand out’ • Sp rabo ‘turnip’ • Welsh cynffon ‘hind-staff’ • Danish hale ‘shaft’ • Ger Schwanz ‘swing’

wing—Norse vængr < ‘blow, flutter’

• Gk πτέρυξ < ‘feather’ • Lt āla ‘arm joint’ • Ger Flügel < ‘fly’ • OCS krilo ‘go in a circle’

+—beak, bill, feather, fin, hoof, horn, mane, tusk

In Indonesian, bulu means both feathers and fur. Latin penna serves for both ‘feather’ or ‘wing’ (but is commonly pluralized for the latter).

Czech kůže is ‘skin, hide, leather’, but doesn’t cover the skin of fruit (slupka).

The same body part may have a different name for animals:

•              A Spanish speaker’s leg is a pierna; her dog’s leg is a pata. French makes the same distinction— jambe / patte— except that horses have jambes too! Pata/patte also cover ‘paw’…though in Spanish predators known for their claws, like lions, have zarpas.

•              In French, the mouth is bouche, but for animals gueule.

•              The udder is usually distinct from the breast, though Greek μαστός could be used for both. English teat is now restricted to animals.

Body part names can be applied to other species by analogy, but often, for whatever reason, names are changed— e.g. apparently the trunk of an elephant seems too different from a nose to be called that. We call the closing parts of an insect’s mouth mandibles, perhaps to underline the oddness of their closing horizontally rather than vertically.

If your conlang’s speakers are non-human, obviously the basic body part names should be based on their anatomy rather than ours. Note that the ‘back’ of a quadrupedal creature is really the top surface!

Organs and substances

blood—OE blód poss. < ‘burst out’

• OCS krŭvĭ < ‘raw’ • Ir fuil ‘wound’ • Skt rakta- ‘red’

bone—OE bán uncertain

• Ger Knochen ‘knuckle’ • Lith kaulas ‘long hollow thing’

fat—OE fǽtt < Germanic ‘fattened’

• Fr graisse < ‘thick’

heart—OE heorte < IE *ǩerd-

• Rum. inimă < ‘soul’ • Ch xīn ∥ ‘life’, ‘mind’

muscle—Lt mūsculus dim. ‘mouse’

shit—OE (unattested, but supported by cognates)

• Lt cacāre < babytalk, merda prob. < ‘stink’ • ModGk σκατά < ‘separate’ • Welsh tom < ‘mound’ • Danish møg ‘soft’ • Rus кал ‘mud’ • Sw dynga < ‘cover’ > ‘fertilize’

stomach—Gk στόμαχος ‘throat’ < ‘mouth’

Gk κοιλιά ‘hollow’ • Ger Magen < ‘bag-like object’ • Latvian pazirds ‘under-heart’

sweat—OE swǽtan < IE, cognate to Lt sūdor

• Rum. nąduşi ‘swelter’ < ‘no breath’ • OCS potŭ < ‘hot’

tear—OE téar < IE, cognate to Lt lacrima, Gk δάκρυ

• Ch lèi < ‘flowing thing’

+—liver, lungs, womb, kidney, brain, intestines

skeleton, skull, rib, spine, pelvis

spit, snot, urine, semen, fart, menstruation

Many languages use the same word for ‘belly’ and ‘womb’, e.g. OE innoþ, OCS črěvo, Skt jaṭhara-.

Bones and organs are often named for nearby parts (femur ‘upper thigh’, humerus ‘shoulder’) or for their shape (clāvicula ‘little key’, pelvis ‘basin’, mūsculus ‘little mouse’). An ancient or prestige language, if you have one, is good for learned or euphemistic terms.

Primitive humans were presumably familiar with internal organs more from animals than from their own bodies. In any case, organs and body parts also serve as names for cuts of meat— e.g. sirloin = ‘above the loins’. OE hamm ‘back of the knee’ developed into ham ‘salted dried pig thigh’.

Extensions

The basic directions or surfaces may be named from body parts— side, back, bottom. Front derives from the Latin for ‘forehead’.

Names of body parts make good starting points for clothing or armor— e.g. leggings, breastplate, bracers and brassiere (from French bras ‘arm’), collar (< Fr ‘neck’), German Handschuh ‘hand-shoe’ for ‘glove’.

The word for tongue can be used for language; Quechua uses ‘mouth’ (simi) instead.

These terms are also liberally applied to other objects, sometimes rather loosely: chairs have legs though old-style bathtubs only have feet; pliers have teeth; bottles, lakes, and guitars have necks. The OED lists no less than fourteen mechanical or architectural uses of throat.

In Xurnese, I used body parts for the ranks of the army; see Military Ranks, p. 116. Numbers are often based on body parts; see p. 116.

Bodily actions

FEEL—OE félan ‘handle, touch’ > ‘perceive’, prob cognate to Lt palpāre

• Gk ψηλαφάω < ‘pluck’ • Sw känna < ‘know, perceive’

gesture—Late Lt gestūra ‘carrying’

• Ger Gebärde < ‘conduct’ • Ch shǒushì ‘hand-power’

hang—OE hón

kick—ME kike uncertain

lay—OE lecgan

lean—OE hleonian

• Fr pencher < ‘hang’ • Sp inclinarse < ‘bend down’

POINT—Lt pūnctum ‘pricking, dot, point’

• Fr montrer ‘show’ • Sp señalar ‘signal’

reach—OE rǽcan

• Fr atteindre ‘stretch to’

rest—OE ræstan

• Fr se reposer < ‘put back’ • Sp descansar ‘de-tire’ • Ch xiū poss. < ‘shade’

shrug—ME uncertain

• Sp encogerse de hombros ‘shrink shoulders’ • Ger Schulterzucken ‘shoulder-jerk’ • Ch sǒngjiān ‘high shoulder’

SIT—OE sittan < IE *sed-, cognate to Lt sidēre, OCS sěděti

STAND—OE standan < IE *stā-, cognate to Lt stāre, OCS stojati

touch—Fr toucher < ‘knock’, imitative

• ModGk ἀγγίζω ‘approach’ • Welsh cyffwrdd ‘push with’ • Dutch aanraken ‘hit’ • Ger berühren ‘move’ • Rus трогать prob. < ‘snatch’ • Ch chù ‘knock against’

+—slap, scratch, caress, hug

‣             See also Movement, p. 116 and Possession, p. 116.

The prototype for actions, and thus for verbs, are the things the body can do.

Humans are unusual among placental mammals in being particularly helpless at birth— infants have to learn how their body works and how it interacts with the world.

Like the body part names, these words are extremely fruitful for metaphors. The positional words can be used as locatives for just about anything; the limb actions can be used for anything that moves.

We use feel for both the sense of touch and for emotions, but these are different in French (tâter vs. éprouver).

See p. 91 for why stand is almost the only word you need.

English uses sit, stand, lie directly for both a change in state and a position, though it can use the progressive for the latter (be sitting); French prefers different verbs:

sit

s’asseoir

être assis

stand

se lever

être debout

lie

se coucher

gésir, être allongé

Mouth/breath/eyes

blink—ME uncertain

• Fr cligner poss. < ‘close’

blow—OE bláwan < IE imitative, cognate to Lt flāre > Fr souffler

• Gk πνέω ‘breathe’

breath—OE brǽþ ‘odor, smell’

• Lt spīrāre imitative • Fr souffle < ‘blow’ • Latvian elpe < ‘weak, faint’ • Ch hūxī ‘exhale-inhale’

faint—Fr feint ‘feigned’ > ‘sluggish, spiritless’ > ‘weak’

• Ger schwach ‘powerless’ < ‘swaying’ • Ch hūn ‘dark’

frown—Old Fr froignier uncertain

• Ch zhòuméi ‘wrinkled-brow’

gasp—Norse geispa ‘yawn’

glare—Middle Dutch glaren < ‘gray’

grin—OE grin

hiss—ME imitative

kiss—OE cyssan, imitative

• ModGk φιλῶ < ‘love’ • Lt osculārī ‘little mouth’ • Fr embrasser ‘embrace’ • Irish pōgaim < ‘peace’ • OCS lobŭzati < ‘lick’ • Rus целовать < ‘greet’ • Ch wěn ‘(close) lips’

laugh—OE hlehhan < Germanic *klak-, imitative

• Lith juoktis < ‘joke’ • Pol śmiać się < IE ‘laugh, smile’ • Ch xiào poss. < ‘belittle’

nod—ME uncertain

sigh—past tense of OE sícan

• Fr soupirer ‘under-breathe’

smile—ME smīlen < apparently Low German < IE, cognate to Skt smi-

• Fr sourire < ‘under-laugh’ • Rum zîmbi < ‘(show) teeth’ • Breton mousc’hoarzin ‘mask a laugh’

swallow—OE swelȝan

+—yawn, bite, chew, sneeze, drool, choke, vomit, swallow, cough, suck, spit, whistle, snore

‣             See also Speech, p. 116.

Strangely for English speakers, languages often use the same word, or close variants, for laugh/smile.

As the least perceptible material associated with life, breath is the natural metaphor for the soul— spirit, psyche, and Hebrew ruakh are all formed this way. Chinese气 qì is also associated with breath, but in metaphorical form it’s a kind of life force that courses through the body (p. 116).

Mouth actions can be recycled for machinery, pipes, or any sort of opening or consumption. E.g. the wind blows, acid eats away substances; a soufflé is ‘blown up’.

Neat fact: your lips are red because they’re an extension of the lining of your mouth.

Drives

(a)wake—OE wacian < IE ‘lively, vigorous’

• Pol czuwać ‘feel, notice’ • Welsh dihuno ‘un-sleep’ • OCS buditi < ‘perceive, be conscious’ • Ch xǐng < ‘sober, clean’

hunger—OE hungor ∥ Lith kanka ‘pain’

• Gk λῑμός < ‘waste away’ • Ir gorta < ‘burn’ • OCS gladŭ < ‘desire’ • Qu mikuymanta ‘(away) from food’ • Ch è ∥ ‘fast’

sex—Lt sexus poss < ‘cut’ = ‘a division’

• Gk γένος ‘kin, race’ • OCS polŭ ‘half’ • Pol płeć ‘flesh’ • Ch xìng ‘nature, property’

(a)sleep—OE slápan < ‘weak, loose’

• Ir codail ‘be still’ • Ch shuì prob. < ‘droop’

tire—OE tíorian ‘fail, weaken, weary’

• Gk κάμνω ‘toil’ • Lt fatīgāre < ‘enough’ • Sp cansar < ‘turn aside’ • Cz mdlý < ‘slow’ • Rus уставать < ‘cease’ • Ch lèi ∥ ‘weak, faded’

+—thirst, sated

‣             See also Sex, p. 116.

Hunger and thirst, especially, are used for any kind of desire. Conversely, lust once just meant ‘desire’ but has specialized to one type of it.

Cajun French distinguishes échiné ‘tired from lack of sleep’ from lasse ‘tired from exertion’.

BUILDINGS

Like clothing, architecture immediately gives away location in time and space. Although you presumably wouldn’t put a strip mall into a medieval kingdom, it’s easy to create other anachronisms, like dividing a keep into modern living and dining rooms, or decorating the tables with knife, fork, and spoon.

The city

arch—Fr arche < Lt ‘curve’

• Ger Bogen ‘bow’ • Ch gǒng < ‘join the hands’

block—Fr bloc < Germanic

bridge—OE brycg < ‘beam’

• Gk γέφῡρα ‘dam, dyke’ • Lt pons pont- < ‘path’ • Lith tiltas < ‘ground’ • Ch qiáo < ‘cross-bar’

CITY—Fr cité < Lt cīvitas cīvitāt- ‘body of citizens’

• Gk ἄστυ < ‘dwelling’ • Lt urbs poss. ‘enclosure’ • Fr ville < ‘villa’ • OE burg ‘fortress’ • Sw stad ‘place’ • OCS gradu < ‘yard’ • Ch chéngshì ‘wall-market’

gate—OE ȝeat ‘opening’

• Lt porta < ‘passage’ • OCS vrata ‘shut’ • Cz brána ‘defense’ • Ch dàmén ‘big door’

road—OE rád ‘act of riding’ > ‘course’

• Gk ὁδός < ‘walk’ • Lt via poss. < ‘seek’ • Fr route < ‘broken’ • Rus дорога < ‘drawn out’ • Skt mārga- ‘animal (path)’

square—Old Fr esquare < ‘make square’ < Lt quattuor ‘four

• Gk τετράγωνον ‘four-cornered’ • Ir cearnóg < ‘corner’ • Sw fyrkant ‘four-edge’ • Ch fāng ‘side, region’

street—Lt (via) strāta ‘paved way’ < ‘laid down’

• Gk ἄγυια ‘leading’ • Fr rue < ‘wrinkle’ • Sp calle < ‘path’ • Rus улица < ‘opening’ • Skt rathyā- ‘chariot (way)’ • Ch xiàng poss. < ‘village’

town—OE tún ‘enclosure’

• Danish by < ‘dwell’ • Ch yì prob. < ‘shelter’

tunnel—Old Fr tonel ‘cask’ > ‘type of net’ > ‘tube, passage’

village—Lt villāticum ‘of a villa’

• Lt vīcus ‘dwelling’ • Sp pueblo ‘people’ • Rum sat < ‘moat’ • Ger Dorf < ‘field’ • Skt grāma- ‘community’ • Ch lǐ < ‘fence’

+—port, neighborhood, alley, sewer, forum, plaza, courtyard, cemetary, park

For basics on cities, see the PCK p. 114. Recall that for most of history, a place with 10,000 inhabitants was a very respectable city.

Our neat size distinction city/town/village is largely accidental; French does just fine with ville for both city and town. Ville derives from Latin villa ‘country house’; a village is just a collection of villas. That the French word for ‘city’ derives from a small rural settlement suggests how far post-Roman Europe declined from urbanization.

We misread Greek history, making it seem much more urban than it was, by taking πόλις as ‘city’; it was really a small state— the dense settlement that was its capital was an ἄστυ. Latin cīvitas was the citizenry, the community of cīvēs ‘citizens’, thus parallel to πόλις; it only later came to be ‘city’. Mandarin chéngshì ‘wall-market’ neatly captures two of the major purposes of a city, trade and protection; the latter is also at the root of town.

Ancient Greek colonists referred to the metropolis the ‘mother country’; the word came to mean ‘capital or chief city’ and in modern times ‘very large city’.

Largely by borrowing, we’ve accumulated a wide variety of names for types of streets. Boulevard has an interesting history; it meant ‘rampart’ (in Germanic form bulwark), and was applied to the promenades created when Paris’s walls were torn down, and then to similar large streets. In Manhattan avenues are north/south and streets are east/west; in St. Petersburg, Florida, it’s the reverse; Chicago is a mess.

A road is generally a route outside the city (though particular roads may retain the term after being engulfed by city sprawl). Compare German Straße which can be used for any paved road or street.

Types of buildings

bath—OE bæð

home—OE hám; cognates often refer to people, e.g. Latvian saime ‘household’

hotel—Fr hôtel < ‘hospital’ < Lt ‘of guests’

HOUSE—OE hús poss. < IE ‘cover’

• Lt domus < ‘build’ • Gk οῖκος < ‘settlement’ • Sp casa < ‘hut’ • Fr maison < ‘staying’ • Ir teach < ‘cover’ • Bulgarian kŭšta < ‘tent’ • Ch fáng ‘room’

office—Lt officium ‘doing before’ = ‘service, duty’

• Fr bureau ‘desk’ • Ru контора ‘counting house’ • Ch bàngōngshì ‘manage-public-room’

palace—Lt Palātium ‘Palatine hill’ > Augustus’s mansion there

prison—Fr prison < ‘seizing’

• Gk εἱκτή ‘shutting in’ • Fr geôle < dim. ‘cage’• Latvian cietums < ‘hard’ • OCS temĭnica ‘darkness’ • Rus тюрма < ‘tower’ • Ch yǔ ∥ ‘control’

station—Lt statio ‘standing’

tower—Lt turris

• OE stépel < ‘lofty’ • Pol wieża < ‘tent(-shaped)’

+—tent, hut, shed, cabin, apartment, shelter

What buildings exist depends on the type of society.

•              Where civic life is a priority, as in ancient Rome, you’ll get stadiums, agoras, theaters, baths.

•              You’ll only get shops, inns, and workshops when there’s a market economy. In medieval Europe most craftsmen worked in their home; they rarely had enough goods for a showroom, but sold items from their front windows, or from a stall out front.

•              A city could get by without walls only in a very secure realm, such as early Imperial Rome or Persia.

•              It wasn’t till the 1800s that factories dominated the cityscape; huge stores appeared in the later half of the century.

If you’re looking to fill out a map, consider:

•              Government: palace, castle, office, prison, ministry, customs house, archives, constablery

•              Cultural: scriptorium, forum, library, school, academy, university, monument, theater, museum, concert hall

•              Religious: church, temple, monastery, shrine, cemetary

•              Recreational: bath, pool, tavern, inn, hotel, restaurant, brothel, arena, stadium, race track, park, garden, gambling den, opium den

•              Infrastructure: port, warehouse, stable, railroad station, airport, spaceport, aqueduct, reservoir, fountain, sewer, hospital

•              Commercial: market, shop, bank, brokerage, factory, brewery, mill, department store, tannery

The house

corridor—It corridore ‘place to run (between buildings)’

ceiling—ME < Lt ‘make a canopy’, either from ‘chisel’ or ‘sky’

• Fr plafond ‘flat base’ • Sp techo ‘roof’ < ‘covered’ • Ch tiānhuābiǎn ‘sky-flower-plank’

cell—Lt cella ‘small room’

chamber—Fr chambre ‘room’ < Lt camera ‘vault, arched roof’

DOOR—OE duru, cognate to OCS dvĭrĭ, Lt foris

• Fr porte < ‘gate’ < ‘passage’ • Ch mén ‘gate’ ∥ ‘mouth’

floor—OE flór < ‘flat’

• Lt pavīmentum ‘beaten down’ • Fr plancher ‘board’ • Sp suelo ‘ground’ • Ger Boden ‘bottom’ • Ch dìbǎn ‘earth-slab’

hall—OE heall ‘large roofed area’ > ‘lobby, passage’

kitchen—Lt coquīna nomn. of ‘cook’

roof—OE hróf

• Lt tectum ‘covered’ • Ir ceann ‘head’ • Cz střecha < ‘prepare, build’ • Qu wasi-pata ‘roof top’ • Ch wū ∥ ‘house’

ROOM—OE rúm ‘space’

• Fr chambre < ‘vaulted roof’ • It stanza ‘standing place’ • Sp cuarto ‘¼’ • Ger Zimmer ‘timber’, Stube ‘heated room’, cf. stove • Rus комната ‘with fireplace’ • Ch shì ‘house’

stair—OE stǽȝer ‘climber’

• Fr marche < ‘walk’ • Sp escalón < ‘ladder’ • Ch tī ‘ladder’

step—OE steppan

• Fr pas < ‘stretched’ • Ch bù ‘ go, walk’

WALL—Lt vallum ‘palisade wall’

• Lt mūrus cognate to Skt mi- ‘build’ • Sw vägg < ‘woven’ • OCS stěna < ‘stone’ • Skt prākāra- ‘front-shape’ • Ch chéng < ‘build’

window—Norse vindauga ‘wind-eye’

• Gk θυρίς dim. ‘door’ • Sp ventana ’wind’ • OCS okno ‘eye’ • Skt jāla- ‘net’ > ‘latticework’

+—attic, basement, closet, vestibule, balcony, foundation

For most of history, families generally lived in a room or two. Roman houses, at least for the well off, had small bedrooms, or sometimes just niches for beds. There was little sense of privacy; if you were wealthy, your house would be filled with a scrum of relatives, servants, and hangers-on. (Galileo borrowed the Latin term for the latter, satellitēs, for the moons of Jupiter.)

In medieval England you slept in the bower and did everything else in the hall. It wasn’t till Renaissance times that single-purpose rooms became common. In aristocratic homes, husbands and wives often had separate rooms; the boudoir literally is a room to sulk in (bouder).

Though words like room, house, and window are almost universal, recall that the prototypes differ. Not all houses are separate; not all rooms are square; not all windows have glass. Doors may not be rectangular; in fact the Semitic letter D seems to have received its name and sound from the word delet ‘door’; the letter is an icon of a triangular tent-flap. The hobbits’ round windows and doors were picturesque but must have required sophisticated joinery.

In earlier English a house could be almost any kind of building (workhouse, public house (> pub), lighthouse, House of Parliament); in modern usage it’s generally restricted to residences.

German distinguishes the wall of a house (Wand) from that of a city (Mauer).

In Japanese, if you can stand on a roof it’s an okujō, otherwise a yane. Swedish tak covers both ‘roof’ and ‘ceiling’.

Outside Germanic, it’s rare to have separate words for house and home, though there may be special expressions for at home (It a casa, Lith namie, Ir ag baile).

As we’ll see under Kinship, p. 116, words for house are easily extended to the people living in the house (our household).

Furniture

bed—OE bedd < IE ‘dug out’

• Lt lectus < ‘lie’ • Lith lova ‘board’ • Rus постель < ‘spread out’

chair—Gk καθέδρα ‘down-sit’

• Lt sella < ‘sit’ • OE stól < ‘something set up’ • Rum scaun < ‘stool’ • Lith krėslas ‘armchair’ < ‘wooden frame’

curtain—Old Fr cortine uncertain

desk—late Lt desca ‘table, platform’ < Gk δίσκος ‘heavy metal disk’

• Fr bureau < ‘tablecloth’ • Sp escritorio ‘writing place’ • Ch shūzhuō ‘book-table’

seat—Norse sǽti nomn. of ‘sit’

table—Lt tabula ‘board, tablet’

• Gk τράπεζα ‘four-footed’ • Lt mensa ‘measured’ > ‘portion’ • Ger Tisch ‘dish’ • Rus стол < ‘chair’ • Ch zhuō ‘high’

+—bench, couch, stool, cradle, shelf, bathtub, toilet, stove, sink, refrigerator

mattress, sheet, blanket, pillow, tapestry, carpet

‣             See also Containers, p. 116.

Naming furniture, first ask whether there is any. The Southeast Asian style (also found in traditional Japan) is to keep the house empty. You sat or knelt on the floor, so no chairs were necessary. Even today, it’s common in Japan to put out mattresses at night and put them away during the day.

A curious lexical gap in English is that we have no word for a piece of furniture. French does: meuble, etymologically a ‘moveable’.

The simplest work surface is a flat board, which is the meaning of Latin tabula, which gave us table and tablet. There was also mensa ‘table’, which was extended to the activity associated with it, a ‘meal’. A moneychanger worked at a table, so he was a mensārius. English board could also be used for furniture: sideboard, cupboard. Like mensa it was applied to food, as in room and board.

The Germanic *bankiz must have originally been just a long board with supports; at a low height it could be sat on and gave us bench; a higher one was a work surface and (with a digression into Romance) gave us bank.

Naming furniture, the obvious method is to think about the function (sleeping, sitting, eating, etc.). Diminutives come in handy in differentiating sizes (tablet, cabinet). As always, functional etymologies may be obscured by borrowing (couch < Fr. ‘lay down’, wardrobe = ‘guard clothing’).

Toilet-related terms are likely to be euphemisms. Chamberpot is nicely generic. A toilet was originally a small cloth, then a dressing room, then the lavatory (‘washing place’). Americans speak of the bathroom, causing confusion in England where the bathtub and toilet may be in separate rooms.

Americans love their closets (‘small closed (area)’), but that’s because we have too damn much stuff. In earlier times people used cupboards and chests, which kept the floor plan simple.

CLOTHING

belt—OE belt < Lt balteus ‘belt, girdle’

• Gk ζώνη < ‘gird’ • Rum curea ‘strap’ • OE gyrdel poss < ‘surround’ • Ch dài < ‘circumference’

boot—Fr bote, uncertain

• Lt pēro pērōn- < ‘leather sack’ • It stivale < ‘pipe’ • Breton heuz < ‘stocking’ • Dutch laars ‘leather-stocking’

cloak—late Lt clocca ‘bell-shaped (robe)’ (verb: ‘wear a cloak’ > ‘cover’ > ‘hide’)

• Lt toga < ‘cover’ • OCS plasti ‘sheet, layer’ • OE fel ‘hide’ • Welsh cochl < ‘hood’

cloth—OE claþ ‘wrapping cloth’, poss. < ‘felting’

• Lt textum ‘woven’ • Fr étoffe < ‘coarse fibers’ • Dutch laken < ‘loose’ • OCS sukno ‘spun’ • Ch liào ‘measure’

clothes—OE cláðas original plural of ‘cloth’

• Lt vestis < IE *wes- ‘clothe, cover, wear’ • It abito < ‘have’ • Sp ropa < ‘booty’ • ModE garment ‘equipment’ • Ir éadach < ‘clothe’ • Lith drabužis < ‘rag’ • Bulgarian halina < ‘carpet’

coat—Fr cote, uncertain

• Gk χιτών < ‘linen garment’ • It giacchetta < ‘coat of mail’ • Sp saco ‘sack’ • Pol surdut < Fr ‘over-all’ • Skt kañcuka- ‘bound’ • Ch shàngyī ‘over-clothes’

dress—Fr dresser < Lt ‘direct’ > ‘make ready’ > ‘wear clothes’ (> noun ‘robe’)

• Gk ἐνδύω ‘enter in’ • Fr habiller ‘prepare’ • Lith apgerbti < ‘honor’ > ‘adorn’ • OCS oděti ‘put about’ • Pol. ubrać ‘put by’ • Ch chuān ‘pierce’

fashion—Fr façon < Lt ‘doing, making’

• Fr mode ‘manner’ • Ch liúxíng ‘prevail, spread’

hat—OE hæt < ‘cover’

• Gk πέτασος ‘spread out’ • late Lt cappa ‘head covering’ • Sp sombrero ‘shader’

naked—OE nacod < IE *nogʷ-, cognate to Lt nūdus, Gk γυμνός

• Ir lom ‘peeled’ • OCS golŭ ‘bald’ • Ch luǒ poss. < ‘red’

rag—Norse rogg ‘strip of fur’

• Fr chiffon < ‘piece’ ∥ chip • Sp trapo < ‘cloth’ • Ch mābù ‘wipe-cloth’

robe—Fr < Germanic ‘booty’

• Ger Talar < ‘(to) the ankles’ • Ch zhì < ‘cut’

strip—ME strippen < Low German

WEAR—OE earian

• Fr porter ‘carry’ • Ch chuān < ‘perforate’

wrap—ME wrappe uncertain

+—sleeve, collar, shirt, blouse, pants, skirt, glove, shoe, stocking, sandal, poncho, loincloth, veil

sew, spin, loom, weave, pin, needle, thread, dye

linen, cotton, silk, lace, leather, wool, velvet, hemp

In Japanese, the word for ‘wear’ depends on the garment. If you put it on your legs and feet it’s haku; if it hangs from the shoulders it’s kiru (kimono just means ‘draped thing’); if it’s a hat it’s kaburu.

Similarly, Czech has different word for putting on or removing shoes (obléknout si / svléknout si) and other clothing (obout si / zout si).

Clothing is one of the most distinctive features of a civilization; a glance at clothes immediately conveys details of location, epoch, sex, class, and climate. So think twice about simply providing equivalents for all the English words!

See the PCK p. 169 for an introduction to cloth, clothes-making, and clothing types. Some questions to keep in mind:

•              What are the sources of cloth? Which are cheap? Before the machine era, thin, close-woven fabrics were tedious to make and thus likely to be expensive.

•              How much clothing is required? Not all lands are temperate.

Extremes don’t always behave as one might expect. E.g. in the desert heat, it’s cooler, not warmer, to have a few layers. The long white robes of Arabs reflect the sun and trap cooler air near the body.

•              Are there additional requirements of modesty? Recall that cultures don’t always agree with Americans that the breasts and groin are the must-cover parts of the body.

•              How much sex differentiation is there? Recall that female clothing is not always based on the dress. The contemporary West is historically unusual in relegating bright colors and ornamentation to women.

•              Western fitted clothing is fairly complex (and wasteful of cloth). Wrapped or draped clothes are simpler and thus more characteristic of primitive technology.

•              What’s the furniture like? Western dresses and pants are designed for sitting in chairs and uncomfortable for sitting on the floor; kimono are the opposite. (One reason is the stiff encircling obi, which just gets in the way in a chair, but provides back support when you sit on the floor.)

There’s an interesting tendency to borrow foreign terms with a much narrower meaning. A sombrero is a specific type of hat to us, but in Spanish it’s just the word for ‘hat’.[9] Similarly, sake in Japanese is any alcoholic drink; mouton in French is the animal, not just mutton.

Both cloth and clothing are valuable luxury goods, and a region or city may specialize in making certain types. Damask, calico, muslin, denim, cashmere, madras, tulle, nankeen, fustian, jeans, jersey, dungaree all come from place names.

Despite what a few video game designers seem to believe, premodern peoples generally didn’t wear bras and panties. If they wore anything underneath their clothes, it was a lighter version of the outer garment. We have Roman frescos showing what we’d call a bikini. The top was actually a cloth wrapped several times round the chest, called a strophium.

COLOR

black—OE blæc poss. < ‘burnt’

• Gk μέλας < ‘dirty’ • Ir dubh prob. < ‘smoky’ • Ger schwarz < ‘dark’ • Ch hēi < ‘ink’

blue—Fr bleu < Germanic, prob. cognate to Lt flāvus ‘yellow’ < IE ‘shine’

• Sp azul ‘lapis lazuli’ • Lt cæruleus < ‘sky’ • Ch lán < ‘indigo’

brown—OE brún

• Sp moreno < ‘black’ or ‘mulberry’ • Ch hèsè ‘coarse cloth color’

color—Lt color < ‘cover’

• Gk χρῶμα < ‘surface’ • Croatian boya ‘dye’ • Rus цвет < ‘flower’ • Ch sè poss. < ‘ruddy (face)’

gray—OE grǽȝ

• Fr gris ‘drunk’ ∥ Ger greis ‘old’ • Ch huīsè ‘ash-color’

green—OE gréne ∥ ‘grass’, ‘grow’

• Gk χλωρός, OCS zelenu < IE, cognate to ‘yellow’ • Lt viridis prob. < ‘sprout’ • Ch qīng ∥ ‘tree’, ‘pasture’

orange—Fr, from the fruit

pink—ModE ‘type of carnation’

• Fr rose ‘rose’

purple—Gk πορφύρα ‘shellfish yielding Tyrian purple’

red—OE réad < IE, cognate to Lt ruber

• Rum roşiu < ‘rose’ • Ir dearg < ‘dark’ • Rus красный ‘beautiful’ • Pol czerwony < ‘(dye-producing) worm’ • Ket súlàm < ‘blood’

white—OE hwít, cognate to OCS světŭ ‘light’

• Fr blanc < Germanic ‘brilliant’ • Skt çukra- ‘bright, pure’ • Ket táγàm < ‘snow’

yellow—OE ȝeolu < IE, cognate to OCS žlĭtŭ, Gk χλωρός ‘green’

• Gk ξανθός poss. < ‘gray’ • Sp amarillo ‘bitter’ • Welsh melyn ‘honey’

A bear is etymologically ‘the brown one’. French jaune ‘yellow’ surfaces in English in jaundice, and rouge ‘red’ as a type of makeup.

The commonest way to name colors is via an exemplar. Only red can be clearly traced back to IE; yellow goes back to IE *ghel- but the same root in other branches produced green. Old Chinese *tṣʰaŋ was blue or green; later it was divided into苍 for the sky and沧 for the sea, both pronounced cāng.

Berlin & Kay

Analyzing color terms cross-culturally, Brent Berlin and Paul Kay discovered that there’s a pattern to what basic colors a language will name. The order is:

black, white

red

yellow, blue, green

brown

purple, pink, orange, gray

Colors on one line are unordered. That is, if there are four color terms, they will be black, white, red, and one of yellow, blue, green. If there are seven, there will be all of these plus brown. And so on.

Two important caveats:

•              Basic colors must be monomorphemic, not contained within another color (as scarlet is part of red), general in application (i.e. not blond), and common (so, puce is excluded).

•              For cross-linguistic comparison we must use prototypes. Berlin and Kay’s procedure was to have respondents pick the best match for each color from a set of 320 standard color chips. Languages disagree on the boundaries of colors, but they agree on the prototypes. E.g. if a language merges what we call blue and green, the prototype will not be turquoise or cyan, but focal blue or focal green.

English is on the high end for color distinctions, but famously Russian has two words for what we call blue— голубой is ‘light blue’, синий is ‘dark blue’. Similarly Spanish has celeste and azul.

Lakota doesn’t quite fit Berlin & Kay’s pattern:

sápa

black

ȟóta

gray

sáŋ

off-white

ská

pure white

šá

red

lúta

bright red, scarlet

stáñ

dark or purplish red

tȟó

blue, green

zí

yellow

ží

tawny

ǧí

brown

Hue/Saturation/Brightness

You can specify any color, for humans, with three parameters.

•              Hue is where the color lives along the spectrum: violet, blue, green, yellow, orange, red.

•              Brightness is luminosity— how much light there is. Think of it as dialing up the brightness knob on your monitor. You can also think of it as how much black is mixed with the color.

•              Saturation is how much white is mixed into the color. A faded photograph is desaturated. Pastels are high-brightness, desaturated colors.

Some colors are defined by more than hue:

•              Pink is desaturated red.

•              Brown is orange with low brightness.

•              Olive is a desaturated, somewhat dark green.

Primary colors

This section is based on Color for Philosophers by C.L. Hardin, which I highly recommend if you want more.

You may have been taught that there are three primary colors, and that these relate somehow to the three types of color receptors in our retinas. You may even have gotten the impression that these three colors are somehow inherent in the nature of light.

They’re not. These are features of human vision, and besides, there aren’t three primary colors, there are four!

In physics, light has only one parameter: energy.[10] Higher energy means shorter frequencies. Light ranges smoothly from radio waves to infrared to visible light to ultraviolet to X-rays— see p. 116.

The three receptor types in our eyes respond to slightly different frequency bands. S (short) receptors respond most strongly to light of about 440 nm; M (medium) to about 540 nm; L (long) to about 560 nm. If the brain responded to these wavelengths directly, the primary colors would be deep blue, green, and greenish yellow. (Compare to the spectrum on the back cover.)

But it doesn’t. It responds instead to subtractions of the basic inputs. As if by magic, subtracting one response curve from another gives you a much better picture of the overall frequency.

L - M is the red-green signal.

If it’s positive, we see red.

If it’s negative, we see green.

(L + M) - S is the yellow-blue signal.

If it’s positive, we see yellow.

If it’s negative, we see blue.

So these are the four primary colors. When the L - M signal is at its highest, you have focal red; when it’s at its lowest, you have focal green, and so on. And these turn out to be the prototype colors selected by Berlin and Kay’s subjects.

A corollary of this system (called opponent-process theory) is that you can see any gradation between red and green— but you can’t have a color that’s simultaneously red and green, as this would mean having an L + M signal that’s negative and positive at the same time. Similarly, you can’t see yellow and blue at the same time.

We can arrange hue in a neat circle, with a gradation of colors between blue and red— namely, the purples. These colors don’t live on the spectrum! There is no single frequency of light that corresponds to purple. Rather, it’s a combination of frequencies such that L - M is positive (it’s red) and (L + M) - S is negative (it’s blue).

Metamerism

You can create single-frequency colors in the lab. But most natural phenomena involve mixtures of colors.

What do you see when the frequencies are mixed? Whatever the receptor cells in your retina report. You can think of it as an averaging process— your eye reports “Well, there’s a mess of frequencies coming in, but overall I’d say it’s this much red-green and that much yellow-blue.”

Thus, there’s an infinite number of frequency combinations that will all trigger the same color response. We say that all those possibilities are metamers.

(The alternative would be to do frequency analysis, as a spectrograph does. Hearing works that way— you can distinguish multiple simultaneously played notes.)

Photo reproduction depends on metamerism, because it turns out that all you need to fool the eye are three frequencies. There’s any number of possibilities, but computers have standardized on red, green, and blue, while printers use cyan, magenta, and yellow.

Why does red light plus green light produce a sensation of yellow? Let’s work it out.

L - M is the red-green signal. Pure red would produce an L - M of some positive amount, call it +x. Pure green would produce -x. Red plus green thus produces x - x = 0. The red-green signal just isn’t firing.

But what’s the yellow-blue signal doing? We already know L and M are large and equal, so L + M is at its maximum. Pure green is at about the edge of the S response curve, and pure red doesn’t trigger it at all— so S is minimal. So (L + M) - S will be very close to L + M— that is, we’ll be pretty much maximizing the yellow response.

Red + green is far from the only way to produce yellow. A pure frequency of 580 nm will also produce the sensation of yellow. So will the wide bundle of frequencies from sunlight, minus some blue frequencies scattered by the atmosphere— which is why the sun looks yellowish. So will the complicated set of frequencies that bounces off an ear of corn.

Trichromats and variants

Organisms with three response curves are said to be trichromats. You can vary the number. If you have just two response curves you’re a dichromat. Color blindness in humans is usually a defect in one of the color signal curves (usually the red-green one).

Our color cells don’t respond well in low-light conditions— which means that at night, in the darkness, we see a desaturated world.

More interestingly, a species could have more color receptors. The Dzebyet, one of the species in my sf universe, are tetrachromats. One corollary is that their set of metamers is different from ours, so that simple systems of color reproduction aren’t compatible. An RGB monitor can’t produce an image that satisfies a Dzebyet.

It’s easy enough to extend visual sensitivity into the infrared or the ultraviolet. To know what colors your creatures would see, however, you have to design the color response curves. At the least you’re really adding primary colors in pairs, as you’re creating a new opponent process signal.

Colored things

Colors of course can be used to name other things. E.g. ‘white’ underlies words meaning blank, dawn, light, moon, silver; it’s used in English for ‘white wine’, ‘(egg) albumen’, ‘Caucasian’, ‘ultraconservative’, ‘snowy’, ‘with milk added.’

An alien would find our terms for skin color quite bizarre. Human skin color is due to varying concentrations of two pigments, the brownish eumelanin and the reddish pheomelanin.  For Almea I gave humans a third pigment, a bluish cyanomelanin, allowing a wider and stranger color range.

CONFLICT

annoy—Old Fr anuier ‘make odious to’

• Sp molestar < ‘burden’ • Ger ärgern ‘worsen’ • Ch nǎo < ‘trouble, turbid’

argue—Fr arguer < ‘prove, accuse’

beat—OE béatan, uncertain

bother—ModE uncertain

brave—It bravo ‘gallant brave’

• Lt animōsus ‘spirited’ • Fr courageux < ‘heart’ • Sp valiente ‘worthy’ • Welsh gwrol ‘manly’ • Dutch dapper < ‘weighty’ • Sw modig < ‘fierce, angry’ Cz statečný ‘standing firm’ • Skt çūra- ‘heroic, powerful’

comfort—Lt confortāre intensive of ‘strengthen’

defeat—Fr défaite ‘undone’

• Gk ῆσσα ‘be weaker’ • Lt clādes ‘disaster’ • Sp derrota < ‘broken apart’ • Ir díomua ‘un-victory’ • Ger Niederlage ‘laying down (of arms)’ • Cz poražka ‘smiting’ • Ch zhànshèng ‘battle-win’

defend—Lt dēfendere root obscure but also seen in ‘offend’; ∥ bane

• Rum apăra < ‘prepare’ • Ir cosain < ‘exert’ • Sw försvar < ‘rebut’ • Cz braniti ‘fight’ • Rus защитить ‘behind shield’ • Ch fáng ‘dike’

fight—OE feohtan poss. < ‘pull hair’ (same derivation in Sp pelear)

• Lt pugnāre ‘hit with fists’ • Sp luchar < ‘wrestle’ • Ir comhraic < ‘meet’ • Ger kämpfen < ‘battle’ • OCS pĭrěti ‘strike’ • Ch dòu ‘quarrel’

free—OE fréo < Germanic ‘dear’, distinguishing family from slaves

• Lt līber prob. < ‘of the people’ • Ir saor < ‘good man’ • OCS svobodĭ < ‘self, kin’ • Ch zìyóu ‘self-proceeding’

frighten—ModE causative of ‘fear’

hate—OE hete, cognate to Old Ir cais ‘love/hate’ poss. < ‘care’

• Lt odium poss. < ‘disgust’ • Rum ură < ‘shudder’ • OCS nenavistĭ ‘not see’ • Skt dviṣ- < ‘separation, discord’ • Ch hèn ∥ ‘quarrelsome, obstinate’

hero—Gk ἥρως

• Ch xióng < ‘male’

hit—OE hyttan < Norse ‘meet, reach’

• Fr frapper imitative • Breton dourna ‘hand’ • Lith ištikti ‘hit the mark’ • Ger schlagen ‘slay’

lose—OE losian ‘perish, destroy’ > ‘be deprived of’

• ModGk χάνω < χάος ‘abyss’ • Lt āmittere ‘let go’ • Ger verlieren ‘for-loose’ • Lith pamesti ‘throw away’ • Rus терять < ‘rub’ • Ch shí ∥ ‘escape’

oppose—Fr opposer ‘put against’

• Ch fǎn ‘turn’

peace—Lt pax pāc- < ‘fastened’

• Ir síocháin ‘stable rule’ • Sw fred ∥ ‘friend’, ‘dear’ • OCS mirŭ ∥ ‘dear’, ‘mild’ • Pol pokój ‘rest’ • Skt saṁdhi- ‘putting together’ • Ch píng ‘level’

protect—Lt prōtegere ‘cover the front’

• Ger schützen < ‘earth wall’ • Ch hù ∥ ‘prevent’

protest—Lt prōtestārī ‘attest forward (i.e. in public)’

• Ch kàngyì ‘resist-proposal’

resist—Lt resistere ‘stand back’

• Qu chuchupakuy benefactive of ‘harden’ • Ch dǐ ‘push away’

safe—Lt salvus ‘uninjured, healthy’ < ‘whole’

• Gk σῶς prob. < ‘strong’ • Fr sûr < ‘without care’ • Sw trygg ‘true, trustworthy’ • Skt akṣata- ‘un-hurting’ • Ch ān ‘calm, peaceful’

save—Lt salvāre ‘make safe’

• ModGk γλυτώνω ‘let loose’ • Sw frälse ‘free’ • Ger retten < ‘drive’ • OCS sŭpasti ‘pasture’ • Skt tāraya- causative of ‘cross, escape’ • Ch jiù ∥ ‘help’, ‘prepare’

strike—OE strícan ‘go, wander’ > ‘stroke, handle’ > ‘hit’

struggle—ME uncertain

suspect—Lt suspectus ‘looked under’

• Ir drochamhras ‘ill-doubt’ • Sw misstänka ‘mis-think’ • Ger argwohn ‘expect bad’

threat—OE þréat ‘throng’ > ‘pressure’ > ‘intent to harm’

• Lt minax mināc- < ‘jutting out’ • Breton gourdrouz ‘big noise’ • Ger drohen < ‘punish’ • Lith grumoti ‘thunder’ • OCS groziti ‘fright, horror’ • Ch hè ‘scare’

trap—OE treppe uncertain

• Fr piège < ‘shackle’ • Ch jǐng ‘pit’

trick—Fr tricher < Lt trīcarī ‘trifle, play tricks’

triumph—Lt triumphus ‘victorious general’s procession’

• Ch shènglí ‘win-gain’

victory—Lt victōria ‘overcome, conquer’

• Gk νῑκη < ‘abase’ • Breton trec’h ‘stronger’ • Ger sieg < ‘might, hold’ • OCS poběda < ‘compel’

violent—Lt violens

• Ger gewalttätig < ‘power’ • Ch qiáng ‘strong’

warn—OE warenian

• Fr prévenir < ‘come before’, alerter • Ch jiè < ‘guard (against)’

win—OE winnan ‘work, fight’

+—accuse, criticize, insult, gossip, quarrel, bold, rash, embarrass, irritate, revenge, torture, overthrow, betray

‣             The genteel fight with Law (p. 116) and the powerful with War (p. 116).

Fighting would seem to be a basic concept, going back to our animal heritage. However, note the simple spatial metaphors in oppose, resist, protect.

There’s not much difference between strike and hit— the AHD defines them in terms of each other— though beat adds a frequentative meaning. Most languages have multiple words in this area, concentrating on the sound (knock, thump), the tool (hammer, Fr heurter ‘ram’, Norse lyósta ‘hit with a spear’), or the seriousness (smite, slay). I’ve skimped on the etymology because original meanings are hard to come by. E.g. Greek τύπτω is cognate to Sanskrit ‘hurt’, Latin ‘be stunned’, OCS ‘palpitate’— there’s not much to say about the IE meaning except that it was tactile and unpleasant.

Spanish has a useful word amolar (literally ‘grind’) for anything annoying the kids are doing. Where in English you have to choose between “Shut up!” or “Stop that!” or “Leave that alone!”, you can just say ¡Deja de amolar!

CONTAINERS

bag—ME bagge

bottle—Fr bouteille < Lt dim. ‘vessel’

• Ch píng ‘water jug’

box—OE box < Gk πύξος ‘boxwood’

• Sp caja < ‘chest’ • Ch dú < ‘hollowed out’

chest—Gk κίστη ‘box, chest’

• Fr coffre < Gk κόφινος ‘basket’ • Ger Truhe < ‘tree’

CLOSE—Lt claudere ‘shut’; as adj, ‘near’ < idea of the gap between being closed off

• Fr fermer ‘firm’ • Sp cerrar < ‘bolt’ • Welsh cau < ‘enclosure’ • Ger zumachen ‘make to’ • Rus закрыть ‘beyond-cover’ opposite открыть ‘open’ • Ch guān < ‘bar’

collect—Lt colligere ‘gather together’

• Ger sammeln < ‘together’ • Fr rassembler ‘re-assemble’ • Lith rinkti < ‘hand’ • OCS sŭbĭrati ‘carry with’ • Ch shōu ‘gather, harvest’

contain—Lt continēre ‘hold together’

content—Lt contentus ‘contained = satisfied with what one has’

• Ch nèiróng ‘in-hold’

cover—Lt cooperīre, intensive of ‘cover, conceal’

• Gk στέγω ‘roof’ • Welsh gorchuddio ‘hide over’ • Latvian segt ‘fasten’

empty—OE ǽmetiȝ ‘at leisure’

• Lt vacuus < IE • Ger leer < ‘gleaned’ • Dutch ledig ‘free’ • Rus пустой < ‘desert’ • Ch kōng < ‘hollow’

fill—OE fyllan < Germanic causative of ‘full’

full—OE full < IE, cognate to Lt plēnus

• ModGk γεμᾶτος < ‘press’

gather—OE gadrian ‘unite, come together’

group—Fr groupe ‘mass, knot’ > ‘set of figures in a painting’ > ‘any group’

• Ch qún poss. ∥ ‘swarm’, ‘all’

include—Lt inclūdere ‘shut inside’

• Ger einschließen ‘close in’ • Ch bāo ‘wrap’

individual—Lt indīviduālis ‘indivisible’ > ‘inseparable’ > ‘whole, single’

• Ger einzeln < ‘one’ • Ch gè ‘bamboo stalk’ > ‘item’

key—OE cǽȝ uncertain

• Lt clāvis < ‘peg’ • Ir eochair ‘open’ • Lith raktas ‘pick’

lock—OE loc < Germanic ‘enclose’ or ‘hole’

• Gk μοχλός ‘bar’ • Lt sera < ‘joiner’ • Sw lås ‘metal plate’ • OCS zamka ‘move through’

member—Lt membrum ‘limb, part’

• Ch yuán < ‘circle’

OPEN—OE openian poss. < ‘up’

• Lt aperīre < ‘unshut’ • Ger aufmachen ‘make up’ • Rus открыть ‘uncover’

pack—Dutch pak uncertain

pocket—dim. ME poke < Frankish pokka ‘bag’

• Sp bolsillo dim. ‘purse’ • Sw ficka ‘stuck on’ • Cz kapsa < ‘chest’ • Ch yīdài ‘clothes-pouch’

shut—OE scyttan ‘move a bolt to lock’ ∥ shoot

+—basket, jar, cage, shell, barrel, bucket, sack, cabinet, cupboard, chest

Babies spend a lot of time learning that things can go into other things, and then be taken out. According to George Lakoff, this early bodily experience is abstracted to concepts, and forms the basis of our ideas of categorization. Our urge to put one class of things inside another is an extension of that infantile fascination.

Evolution seems to share this fascination. Astronomy and geology may involve undifferentiated masses, but evolutionary advances often consist of creating containers: cells with cell walls; membranes that enclose the nucleus and organelles; tissues that cover the body, line the gut, or enclose internal organs; thick protective structures like shells, skulls, exoskeletons, and rib cages.

One corollary is that words for containers can double as terms for anatomical parts (pelvis ‘basin’) or simple animals (tunica ‘tunic, wrapper’ > tunicate).

Think about what your conculture’s containers are made of. The first containers were probably plaited baskets, or purses made from animal skins. If you have a lot of clay, as in the early Middle East, you made pots. Glass is ancient, but glassblowing started around the 1st century. It wasn’t till the age of porcelain and stainless steel that pots and plates weren’t liable to flavor the food.

As with tools (p. 116), words may be defined by an earlier technology. E.g. an early ‘lock’ was a wooden bar with a peg to lift it, or a bolt driven through it to hold it in place. Thus words for lock and key may be based on bar and peg, as in Greek.

DIMENSIONS

expand—Lt expandere ‘spread out’

entire—Fr entier < Lt integrum ‘not touched’ > ‘whole’

• Ger vollzählig ‘full-counted’ • Ch zhēng < ‘orderly’

fraction—Lt ‘breaking’

increase—Lt incrēscere intensive of ‘grow’

• Ger zunehmen ‘take to’ • Ch zēng ‘add’

MUCH—abbr of mickle ‘large’

whole—OE hál ‘sound, healthy, complete’

• Gk πᾶς ‘every’ • Lt tōtus prob. < ‘packed full’, integer ‘untouched’ • Skt sakala- ‘(has) all parts’

Quantifiers

ALL—OE all

ANY—OE ǽniȝ adjectivization of ‘one’

EACH—OE ǽlc

EVERY—OE ǽfre ǽlc ‘ever-each’

• Rum fiecare ‘whoever’ • Lt quisque < ‘who’

few—OE féawe, cognate with Latin paucus

• OCS malo < ‘small’ • Ger wenig ‘pitiable’ • Ch shào < ‘tapering, pointed’

MANY—OE maniȝ, cognate to OCS mŭnogŭ

• Gk πολύς < IE ‘full’ • Fr beaucoup ‘beautiful blow’ • Ir mórán < ‘large’ • Breton kalz ‘heap’ • Skt bahu- < ‘high, thick’

MOST—OE mǽst

nobody—ME ‘no body’

none—OE nán ‘not one’

NOTHING—OE nán þing ‘no thing’

nought—OE nówiht ‘not any-wight’

several—Lt sēpar ‘separate’

SOME—OE sum

various—Lt varius ‘changing, different, diverse’

For the basic quantifiers (and comparisons between logic and everyday language), see ALC, p. 41.

I think you could get by combining few and several, but all the languages I’ve looked at insist on making the distinction:

English

few

several

French

peu

plusieurs

Swedish

få

flera

Hindi

kuch

kaī

Arabic

qalīl

`idda

Mandarin

hěn shǎo

jǐge

And yet several only has this sense in modern English. (Previously the word meant ‘separate, distinct’; the earlier term for an indefinite small quantity was divers.) In English, the difference may be one of attitude: I have few friends seems like a complaint, I have several friends is neutral or a boast.

Valuation

ALMOST—‘all most’

ENOUGH—OE ȝenóȝ < ‘suffice’ < ‘reach’

• Lt satis ‘sated’ • Sp bastante < Gk ‘endure’ • OCS dovolĭnŭ < ‘prefer’

EVEN—OE efen ‘flat, equal’

indeed—ME ‘in deed’ = ‘in action, really’

JUST—Lt justus ‘righteous, lawful’

lot—OE hlot ‘chance marker’ > ‘share’ > ‘quantity’

ONLY—OE ánlíc ‘one-like’

scarce—Fr échars < Lt ‘select out’

somewhat—ME ‘some what’

SUCH—OE swelc ‘so-like’ > ‘to that degree’

TOO—OE stressed form of ‘to’

VERY—Lt vērus ‘true’

• Fr très < Lt trans ‘across’

These are words that not only express a quantity, but a value judgment.  Based on the frequencies, we can say that English speakers are more eager to judge than simply to state a quantity.

Linear extent

broad—OE brád < ‘spread out’ • Ch kuān ‘vast, wide’

deep—OE díop < IE ‘deep, bottom, hollow’

• Lt profundus ‘fore-bottom’ • Rum adînc ‘bent’ (i.e. not flat) • Skt gahana- prob. ‘immersed’ • Ch shēn poss. ∥ ‘low’

fat—OE fǽtt < Germanic ‘fattened’

• Ger dick ∥ thick • Ch pàng poss. ∥ ‘dense (growth)’

HIGH—OE héah < ‘heap, mound’

• Gk ὑψηλός < ‘above’ • Lt altus < ‘reared’ • Ir ard < ‘steep’ • Lith aukstas ‘grown’

LONG—OE lang < IE, cognate to Lt longus

• Sp largo < ‘abundant’ • Ch cháng < ‘stretched’

low—ME lah ‘short’

• Lt humilis ‘ground’, bassus uncertain • Ir íseal < ‘under’ • Ger niedrig ‘downish’ • Ch dī < ‘bottom’

narrow—OE nearu

• Lt angustus < ‘distressed’ • Fr étroit < ‘drawn tight’ • Ger schmal ‘small’ • OCS těsnŭ ‘pressed’

shallow—ME schalowe

short—OE sceort

• Lt brevis < IE • Fr court < ‘cut off’ • Lith trumpas ‘crumbled’

tall—OE ȝe-tæl ‘prompt’ > ME ‘proper’ > ‘handsome’ > ‘stout’ > ‘big’

• Lt procērus ‘front-grown’

thick—OE þicce

• Gk παχύς < IE ‘heap, much’ • Fr épais < ‘dense’ • Lith storas < ‘standing’ • Rus толстый < ‘swollen’ • Skt sthūla- ‘strong’

thin—OE þynne < IE ‘stretched’, cognate to Lt tenuis

• Gk λεπτός ‘peeled’ • Fr mince < ‘made small’ • Sp delgado < ‘delicate’ • Lith plonas ‘flat’ • Ch xì ‘small, fine’

wide—OE wíd poss. < ‘gone apart’

• Gk πλατύς < ‘spread out’ • Fr large < ‘abundant’ • Sp ancho < ‘ample’ • Ch kuān ‘vast’

In Latin, both altus and profundus could refer to distance up or down— that is, to either height or depth. Profundus seems to have referred to exceptional height or depth.

It’s a bit mysterious why English has two terms for large vertical extent. A man can only be tall; a number can only be high; mountains and buildings can be either. High can be also be used for a level (high prices, high vowels, a high platform). Spanish uses alto for both. French uses haut— except that tall people are grand. Mandarin uses gāo— but agrees with us that short (ǎi) and low (dī) are different.

For flattish objects (ties, planks, books, windows, belts, papers, blankets, noodles) we use thick/thin for the smallest dimension and wide/narrow for the next-smallest. But if the object is more cubical, it’s quirkier: cabinets and cars are narrow/wide; people are fat/thin. Narrow/wide are also used for spaces that can be traversed: gaps, corridors, roads, rivers, balconies.

We can use short as the opposite of both tall and long; in Polish ‘not tall’ is ramie, and ‘not long’ is krótki.

Arabic uses ṭawīl for both ‘tall’ and ‘long’.

We generally use thick for inanimate objects, but fat for animals or people. Mandarin distinguishes the thickness of flat or sheetlike things (hòu) from that of long or stick-like things (cū), as well as the fatness of people (pàng) and animals (féi).

In Japanese, noses are high/low (takai/hikui), just like mountains; most European languages consider them as large or long instead.

Lakota separates out what to us are senses of ‘thick’, ‘thin’:

šóka—wide, of flat solid objects: boards, ice, books

šmá—dense, of a collective of small things: grass, trees, hair, snow

tkápa—viscous: soup, blood, mucus

akhíšoka—dense in growth: fur, leaves, hair

čhépa—fat: animals, people

Physical height is so easily equated with amount, quality, or virtue that we forget that it’s a metaphor: low integers, rising prices, High Elves, the upper classes, raise the tone of the discussion, fall into sin, a low blow, profound thoughts.

We use width as a metaphor for variety— perhaps the underlying image is a bunch of things spread in front of us: a wide variety, broad knowledge. Fat is more negative: fat chance. A fat paycheck sounds like someone else’s excessive take— ours is at best ample.

Distance

CLOSE—Lt claudere ‘shut’; as adj, ‘near’ < idea of the gap between being closed off

distant—Lt distans ‘stand apart’

FAR—OE feor

• Gk μακράν ‘long’ • Sp lejos < ‘loose’ • Ger weit ‘wide’

local—Lt locālis adjn. of ‘place’

• Ch běndì ‘root-earth’

NEAR—OE néar, comparative of nigh

• Gk ἐγγύς ‘at hand’ • Lt prope < ‘in front’ • Fr près < ‘pressed (close)’ • Sp cerca ‘around’ • Breton tost ‘soon’ • Skt antikam ‘opposite’

remote—Lt remōtus ‘removed’

Distance is the extent not of an object but of the negative space between two points; when it’s vertical, we often use high instead. C.S. Lewis notes that to us the heavens are out there; for the medievals they were up there— their worldview was vertiginous.

Distance is a key metaphor for interpersonal relationships. A curious collocationary gap: relationships can be distant but not far.

Size

SMALL—OE smæl

• Gk μῑκρός ∥ Lt mīca ‘crumb’ • Lt parvus < ‘few’ • It piccolo, Fr petit < babytalk • Ger klein < ‘shiny’ • OCS malŭ poss. < ‘milled (finely)’ • Ch xiǎo ‘young’

area—Lt ārea ‘open space’

• Ger Fläche ‘flats’ • Ch miànjī ‘face-amount’

big—ME ‘strong, stout’

• Gk μέγας, Lt magnus < IE • Rum mare ‘male’ • Sw stor <’standing’ • Rus большой < ‘strong’

enormous—Lt ēnormis ‘out of the norm’

• Ger gewaltig ‘powerful’ • Ch jùdà ‘huge-big’

extend—Lt extendere ‘stretch out’

giant—Gk γίγᾱς

• Ger Riese poss. ∥ ‘height, peak’ • Ch jù < ‘increase’

huge—ME uncertain

large—Lt largus ‘abundant, copious’

LITTLE—OE lýtel

miniature—It miniatura ‘illumination’ < ‘color with minium’

size—Fr assise ‘sitting’ > ‘court’ > ‘standard’ > ‘magnitude’

• Fr grandeur ‘bigness’ • Skt māna- ‘measure’ • Ch dàxiǎo ‘big-little’

tiny—ModE uncertain

vast—Lt vastus ‘empty, huge’

An alien looking at English might wonder why humans were so concerned with size. Surely we could get by with just two terms, big and small.

If your conpeople aren’t human, their whole vocabulary will be geared to their size. Dragons, for instance, would either not make many distinctions among very small things (dust, grains, sand, powder, gravel, pebbles), or they’d refer to much larger things. To a cat-sized creature, bushes and trees are both mazes of vegetation far larger than oneself.

Our basic terms all refer to the human scale, which leaves us without a systematic way of referring to the enormous range of scales in the universe.

In case you’d like to build an absolute scale, here are the touristic highlights on the journey from the smallest to the largest known things:

Meters

Multiplier

Explanation

10-35

1.62

Planck length— the order of magnitude of the strings in string theory; in quantum gravity, the scale where the structure of spacetime is dominated by quantum effects

10-22

1

upper limit on electron size, based on observation in Penning traps (emphasis is on ‘upper limit’; the theoretical size is zero)

10-15

1

femtometer (fm)— Danish ‘fifteen’

10-15

.88

radius of the proton (thus, of hydrogen nucleus)

10-15

8.45

diameter of gold nucleus

10-12

1

picometer (pm)— Sp ‘a bit’

10-12

1 to 10

wavelengths of gamma rays

10-11

3.1

radius of helium atom (smallest atom)

10-11

2

typical wavelength for dental X-rays

10-11

5

highest resolution achievable with an electron microscope

10-10

2.6

radius of cesium atom (largest)

10-9

1

nanometer (nm)— Gk ‘dwarf’

10-8

1.3

width of a bacterial flagellum

10-8

2 to 30

size of a virus

10-8

3.2

smallest commercial transistor as of 2010— 96 silicon atoms wide

10-7

2

width of eukaryotic cilium

10-7

2

highest resolution achievable with an optical microscope

10-7

4 to 7

wavelength of visible light (violet to red)

10-7

5 to 10

size of mitochondria (energy-producing organelles)

10-6

1

micrometer (µm)— Gk ‘small’

10-6

1

typical size of a plant cell wall

10-6

1 to 10

size of bacteria

10-6

6 to 8

diameter of a human red blood cell

10-5

1 to 10

size of eukaryote cells

10-4

1.13

thickness of one page of this book

10-4

1

width of a human hair

10-4

1.2

size of human ovum

10-4

3.5

size of a pixel on my computer monitor

10-3

1

millimeter (mm)— Lt ‘thousand’

10-3

1

wavelength of shortest radio waves (shorter wavelengths belong to the infrared)

10-3

2.5

size of a fruit fly (Drosophila melanogaster)

10-3

7

smallest known frog (Paedophryne amauensis)

10-2

1.79

width of a US dime

10-1

1.52

width of this book (printed)

100

1

meter— Gk ‘measure’

100

1.7

average height of humans

101

3.3

blue whale specimen— largest animal by weight

101

6

longest known dinosaur (Amphicoelias)

102

1.16

tallest known tree— a coast redwood in California

102

8.3

height of Burj Khalifa, tallest building as of 2013

103

1

kilometer— Gk ‘thousand’

103

6.65

length of Nile (longest river)

103

8.8

height of Mt Everest

104

2.2

height of Mars’s Olympus Mons, highest mountain on any planet

106

3.48

diameter of moon

107

1.28

equatorial diameter of Earth

107

4.2

height of geosynchronous orbit

108

1.1

diameter of smallest red dwarfs

108

1.43

diameter of Jupiter

108

2.998

one light-second

108

3.84

mean distance to moon

109

1.39

diameter of sun

1011

1.5

distance to sun— 1 AU

1012

2.3

NML Cygni, largest known star

1012

4.50

mean radius of Neptune’s orbit

1013

1.85

distance of Voyager 1— farthest man-made object, launched 1977

1015

7.5

outer boundary of Oort cloud (comets and other debris)

1016

.946

light-year

1016

3.09

1 parsec— distance at which parallax due to Earth’s orbit is 1 second of arc— 3.26 ly

1016

4.15

distance to Alpha Centauri A (4.37 ly)

1017

2.3

farthest Agent Morgan travels from the Sun in Against Peace and Freedom

1020

2.5

distance to center of galaxy

1021

1

diameter of Milky Way (100,000 ly)

1021

1.63

distance to Large Magellanic Cloud

1022

2.4

distance to Andromeda (2.5 million ly)

1023

1

diameter of Local Group (~ 54 galaxies including ours)

1024

1.1

diameter of Local Supercluster (contains about a hundred clusters)

1025

1.3

Sloan Great Wall— largest known collection of superclusters

1026

8.8

diameter of observable universe (92 billion ly)— this is larger than the age of the universe (13.7 billion years) because the universe is expanding!

DIRECTIONS

BACK—OE bæc

• ModGk ράχη < ‘spine’ • Lt dorsum poss. < ‘turned down’ • Sp espalda < ‘shoulder’ • Lith nugara ‘mountain ridge’ • Skt pṛṣṭha- ‘stands out’ • Ch bèi < ‘carry on back’

bottom—OE botm < IE, cognate to Lt fundus

• ModGk πάτος < ‘floor’ • Ir bun < ‘stump, trunk’ • OCS dŭno < ‘deep’

center—Gk κέντρον ‘sharp point (of a compass)’

• Ch zhōng ‘inside’ (poss. oldest meaning)

direct—Lt dīrectus ‘put straight’

DOWN—OE of dúne ‘off the hill’

• Fr en bas ‘in low’ • Ch xià ‘descend, low’

east—OE éast < IE ‘dawn’

• Gk ἀνατολή, Lt oriēns ‘rising’ • OCS vŭstokŭ ‘running up (of the sun) • Lith rytai ‘morning’ • Ch dōng prob. ∥ ‘bright, awake’

flat—Norse flatr

• Lt plānus < ‘spread out’ • ModGk πλακωτός ‘compressed’ • Ir réidh < ‘open, rideable’

forward—OE foreweard ‘fore-direction’

front—Lt frons front- ‘forehead’

• Ket kúpkà ‘beak-ward’

further—OE furðor, comparative of ‘fore’

LEFT—OE left ‘weaker’

• Lt sinister poss. ‘more useful’ • Fr gauche ‘awkward’ • Rum stîng ‘weak’ • Ir clé < ‘oblique’ • Sw vänster ‘friendlier’ • Ger link < ‘limp, crawl’ • OCS lěvŭ < ‘bent’

level—Lt lībella ‘little balance’

middle—OE middel < IE, cognate to Gk μέσος, Lt medius

• Breton ekreiz ‘in center/heart’

north—OE norð poss. < ‘lower’

• Gk Βορέᾱς ‘north wind’ • Lt septentriō ‘seven oxen’ = Ursa Minor • Ir tuaisceart ‘left-part’ • Lith žiemiai ‘winter’ • Skt uttarā- ‘upper’ • Ch běi ‘back’ (i.e. when facing south)

RIGHT—OE reht ‘straight’

• Lt dexter < IE • Sw höger ‘easy’

SIDE—OE síde prob. < ‘broad, long’

• Gk πλευραί ‘ribs’ • Lt latus prob. < ‘wide’, costa ‘rib’ • Rum parte ‘part’ • Rus сторона < ‘region’ < ‘spread’ • Avestan arəδa- ‘half’ • Ch piān < ‘oblique’

south—OE súð poss < ‘sunny’

• Gk νότος < ‘rain’ • Lt merīdiēs ‘mid-day’ • Ir deisceart ‘right-part’ • Avestan paurva- ‘in front’ • Ch nán poss. < ‘sunny side’

straight—ME streȝt ‘stretched’

• Lt rectus < ‘directed’ • Gk ὀρθός ‘upright’ • Ger gerade ‘quick’ • OCS pravŭ < ‘forward’ • Ch zhí ‘straight, right’ ∥ ‘real’

top—OE top ‘top’ < ‘tuft of hair’

• Gr ἄκρος ‘highest’ • Fr dessus ‘above’ • Ger Oberfläche ‘upper surface’

UP—OE upp

west—OE west poss. < ‘down’

• Gk ἑσπέρα ‘evening’ • Lt occidēns ‘perishing’ • Breton kuzheol ‘sunset’ • OCS zapadŭ ‘fall behind’ • Ch xī < ‘go down’

+—horizon, vertical, oblique, parallel, perpendicular

We take for granted what are called egocentric terms like left and right. But there’s another way— use geographic coordinates all the time, as in this Australian language:

In fact, Guugu Yimithirr doesn’t make any use of egocentric coordinates at all. The anthropologist John Haviland and later the linguist Stephen Levinson have shown that Guugu Yimithirr does not use words like “left” or “right,” “in front of” or “behind,” to describe the position of objects. Whenever we would use the egocentric system, the Guugu Yimithirr rely on cardinal directions. If they want you to move over on the car seat to make room, they’ll say “move a bit to the east.” To tell you where exactly they left something in your house, they’ll say, “I left it on the southern edge of the western table.” Or they would warn you to “look out for that big ant just north of your foot.” Even when shown a film on television, they gave descriptions of it based on the orientation of the screen. If the television was facing north, and a man on the screen was approaching, they said that he was “coming northward.”

—Guy Deutscher, “Does Your Language Shape How You Think?”, New York Times, August 26, 2010

Speakers must be conscious of the cardinal directions at all times; children begin referring to them at age 2 and have fully mastered the system by age 8. This is a rare real-life instance of what Benjamin Lee Whorf talked about in Language, Thought, and Reality: people thinking differently because of their language.

Are there always four cardinal directions? Living on the planet, they’re fairly natural: the sun rises in the east and sets in the west; go far enough north and south and the climate changes. There’s no natural phenomenon that corresponds to heading 60° off of east. However, many cultures (including China) include center as a cardinal direction, for a total of five.

Flying or swimming creatures, or people living in a space habitat, would naturally consider up and down just as important as the horizontal directions. Navajo includes them, giving a set of six cardinal directions, with associated colors and animals.

Finnish can be said to have eight cardinal directions, as its words for northeast, southeast etc. are not compounds— e.g. north is pohjoinen, east is itä, and northeast is koillinen. Sanskrit associates gods with the eight directions, so northeast is Ishanadisha ‘Ishana’s direction’. The ancient Greeks did the same, though with specialized gods; northeast’s was Καικίας.

To Indo-Europeans north is the direction of cold, south that of heat; a civilization in the southern hemisphere (such as those of Almea) will have the opposite associations.

Could your planet’s sun rise in the west? Well, you can declare that it does, but why do you call that direction west? Directions are ultimately related to planetary rotation, and it’s best to think of the position of sunrise as determining east. (Unless you define north as pointing to the north magnetic pole! But the magnetic poles have flipped many times in the earth’s history. See the PCK p. 44.)

(But a moon can rise in the west: Phobos does, as it orbits Mars faster than the planet rotates.)

Some regions have a strong geographical orientation which may not align with the compass points— e.g. toward/away from the coast, or upstream/downstream relative to a great river.

In Quebec, the St. Laurent notionally goes west to east... even though it actually flows northeast. The road system and farming plots are oriented according to the river. In Montréal, the river happens to flow south to north, so if a Montréalais is going sud, that’s everyone else’s east!

In addition monter ‘ascend’ is used for going either upriver or away from the river, and descendre is used for going downriver or back to the river.

The spatial directions also give metaphors for time. English speakers think of time as advancing like a man walking. Thus the future is ahead, the past is behind us. (In a flat pictorial representation, like a comic strip, however, the future is to the right.) In Aymara, the past is ahead and the future is behind us; in Chinese time moves from above us downward. In Kuuk Thaayorre, which has the geographic orientation described above, time runs from east to west (presumably imitating the sun).

Many etymologies reflect an idea that right/left correlates to good/bad. Bad news for lefties, but the Romans did warn us they were sinister. Chinese yòu/zuǒ don’t derive from this metaphor, but they exemplify it: derivations of yòu mean ‘friendly’ and ‘support, honor’, while zuǒ is also ‘evil, vicious’.

The use of left and right to refer to the political spectrum dates to the Assemblée Nationale during the French Revolution, where royalists sat on the right side, from the point of view of the presiding officer; sitting on the right was the place of honor. For a conlanger the lesson is that almost any minor attribute or symbol may be used to characterize a political group.

EFFORT

accomplish—Fr accomplir ‘make complete’

adventure—Fr aventure ‘about to happen’

• Ch màoxiǎn ‘risk-danger’

attempt—Lt attemptāre ‘stretch to’

• Gk ζητέω ‘seek’ • OE onginnan ‘begin’ • Dutch trachten < ‘consider’ • Cz snažiti se < ‘effort’ • Ch shì < ‘apply, use’

cause—Lt causa ‘plea, excuse’ > ‘give reasons’ > ‘make happen’

• Gk αἰτία ‘responsibility’ • Breton abeg ‘the ABC’ • Ger Ursache ‘original-strife’ • Cz přičina ‘do near’ • Ch yǐnqǐ ‘guide-start’

control—Fr contrôle ‘counter-role = duplicate register’

• Ger beherrschen ‘rule by’ • Ch jiǎn ∥ ‘lessen, restricted’

danger—Lt dominium ‘lordship’ > ‘power to hurt’

• Lt perīculum ‘attempt’ > ‘risk’ • Welsh enbydrwydd ‘in-pit-ness’ • Rus опасность < ‘guard’ • Ch wēi ‘high, steep’

difficult—Lt difficilis ‘not easy’

• OE earfeðe ‘toilsome’ • Ger schwer ‘heavy’ • Ch nán ∥ ‘suffer, ill’

easy—Fr aisier ‘put at ease’

• Gk εὔκολος ‘good-turning’ • Lt facilis ‘doable’ • Dutch gemakkelijk ‘comfortable’ • OCS udobĭ ’proper’ • Rus лёгкий ‘light’ • Ch yì ∥ ‘good’

effect—Lt effectus ‘worked out’ < ‘out’ + ‘make’

• Ger Wirkung ‘working’ • Ch guǒ ‘fruit’

effort—Fr effort ‘out’ + ‘strong’

• Ch nǔ ‘exert’ < ‘tense’

fail—Fr faillir ‘be lacking, miss’

force—Fr force ‘strength’

labor—Lt labor ‘labor, hardship’

• Ger Mühe < ‘trouble, vex’ • Ch láo ‘toil’

mighty—OE mihtiȝ ‘strong’

mistake—Norse mistaka ‘take wrongly’

• Gk ἀμαρτία ‘miss the mark’ • Lt error < ‘go astray’ • Ger Versehen ‘oversight’ • Pol błąd < ‘fornicate’ • Rus ошибка < ‘beat down’ • Ch cuò poss. < ‘mix-up’

order—Lt ordo ordin- ‘row, series, order’

• Ch xù < ‘continue’

practice—Gk πρακτικός ‘active (knowledge)’

• Ger üben < ‘perform, work’ • Ch xí ‘repeat’ ∥ ‘be accustomed to’, ‘learn’

result—Lt resultāre ‘leap back’

• Ger Ergebnis ‘begin-giving’ • Ch guǒ ‘fruit’

risk—It risco uncertain

strong—OE strang < ‘stiff’

• Lt rōbustus ‘oaken’, fortis poss. < ‘hold’ • Gk δυνατός ‘powerful’ • Sw mäktig < ‘able’ • Skt balin- < ‘large’

succeed—Lt succēdere ‘go under’ > ‘take the place of’

• Fr réussir < ‘go out’ • Ch chénggōng ‘finish-merit’

task—Lt taxa ‘tax’ > ‘imposed fee’ > ‘imposed work’

trouble—Fr troubler ‘make turbid’ > ‘disturb’

train—Fr traîner ‘draw, drag’

TRY—Fr trier ‘sift, sort’

Test: Gk πειράω prob. < ‘go through’ • Lt temptāre ‘feel’, probāre ‘approve’ • Fr essayer < ‘balance’ • Skt parīkṣ- ‘look around’ • Ch cháng ‘taste’

weak—ME < Norse veikr ‘pliant, weak’

• Lt infirmus ‘not firm’ • Fr faible < ‘weepable’ • Ir lag ‘slack’ • Ch ruò ∥ ‘soft, tender’

+—compel, challenge, excel, fallible, accident

‣             See also Work, p. 116.

We have a large number of words expressing the concept, or complaint, that actions take work. Directly or metaphorically, actions require strength (force, effort) or at least stretching (attempt) or strenuous movement (result).

If you have the strength to do something, you can do it— might ‘power’ is the source of our auxiliary verbs may/might.

ELEMENTS

air—Gk ἄήρ ‘wind’, cognate to Lt ventus, OE wind

• OE lift < ‘loft, ceiling’ • OCS vŭzduchŭ ‘up-breath’ • Ch qì < ‘anger’

earth—OE eorþe

• Lt terra < ‘dried’ • Rum pamînt ‘floor’ • Ir talamh < ‘surface’ • Skt pṛthivī- ‘wide’

fire—OE fýr < IE ‘fire (inan.)’

• Lt ignis < IE ‘fire (anim.)’ • Fr feu < ‘fireplace’ • Sw eld ‘burn’

metal—Gk μέταλλον ‘mine’

• Ch jīn also ‘gold’ poss. < ‘bright’

stone—OE stān < IE ‘stiff, solid’

• OCS kamy < ‘edged’ prob. ∥ hammer

WATER—OE wæter

• Lt aqua < IE ‘running water’ • Skt jala- ∥ ‘drip’ • Ch shuǐ < ‘what flows’

wood—OE widu ‘tree, copse’

• Lt lignum < ‘collected’ • Sp madera ‘material’

‣             See also Substances, p. 116, and Metals, p. 116.

A system of elements can be useful for your people’s cosmology, as well as a productive generator of terms and metaphors. Early philosophers are also likely to apply the elements to medicine (p. 116) and temperament (p. 116).

The old European and Indian system was

earth

air

fire

water

The incorruptible heavens were sometimes given their own fifth element, quintessence or ether. Akasha has a similar place in Hindu cosmology.

Luc Besson suggested that the fifth element was love, or in particular Milla Jovovich. But more soberly, the elements are divisions of matter; see Spirit for ways of categorizing the immaterial world.

The Chinese system:

木              mù              wood

火              huǒ              fire

土              tǔ              earth

金              jīn              metal

水              shuǐ              water

The Verdurians (or more precisely their ancestors the Caďinorians) came up with seven elements, which were neatly linked to seven intelligent species as well as to seven temperaments:

ur

clay

men

practicality

për

rock

elcarî

determination

mey

water

iliu

benevolence

endi

wood

icëlanî

delicacy

gent

metal

gdeonî (giants)

calm

tšur

fire

ktuvoks

energy

šalea

air

vyožî (spirits)

intellectuality

Mešaism, also from Almea, had a more open-ended system. The major deities were each associated with a substance (as well as an animal and a landmark or planet).

Axunašin

totem

element

landmark

Meša

hawk

air

planet Išira

Evonanu

carp

water

lake Van

Inbamu

lion

fire

the sun

Welezi

fox

diamond

planet Vereon

Xivazi

whale

water

the ocean

Moun

leopard

wood

the forests

Jenweliz

elk

emerald

planet Hírumor

Meidimexi

beetle

earth

planet Vlerëi

Ušimex

wolf

gold

planet Caiem

Emouriz

bear

jade

planet Imiri

Nejimex

eagle

silver

moon Iliažë

Nejimexi

owl

iron

moon Iliacáš

Nejimez

swallow

mercury

moon Naunai

Axun

snake

water

river Xengi

Once chemistry gets going, the list of elements is likely to multiply. Antoine Lavoisier came up with the following list, in the late 1700s:

light, caloric (heat), oxygen, azote (= nitrogen), hydrogen, sulfur, phosphorus, charcoal, muriatic radical, fluoric radical, boracic radical, antimony, arsenic, bismuth, cobalt, copper, gold, iron, lead, manganese, mercury, molybdena, nickel, platina, silver, tin, tungsten, zinc lime, magnesia, barytes (barium oxide), argilla (alumina), silex (silica)

The periodic table

Finally you get the revolution of Mendeleev, who realized that the known elements could be arranged by atomic number and according to periodic repetitions (1865). He left holes in the table to make the patterns line up, a boldness that was rewarded by the subsequent discovery of germanium, gallium, and scandium.

The number of elements ceased to be open-ended— though s.f. writers stayed for decades in a Lavoisierian mode, inventing new elements at will.

Elements in the same column share appearances and behavior, thanks to having a similar electron arrangement (p. 116). E.g. all the elements in the first column have a single unmatched electron in their outer shell, which means they easily form compounds with elements hungering for a single electron.

OK, that’s a little hard to read. For quantum mechanical reasons, as you get more electrons you get more kinds of shells, which means you get more elements per row. The diagram above shows this nicely, but for ease of reading we normally move the rare earths to the bottom of the diagram:

The table is divided into sectors. Their names refer to their state at room temperature; any element can of course be a solid, liquid, or gas at the right temperature. The structure refers to the outermost electron shell (p. 116).

Column              Structure              Description

1              ..s1              Alkali metals (except for hydrogen, a gas). All produce a huge explosion in contact with water. Reactivity increases as you go down the table.

2              ..s2              Alkali earth metals

13 - 16              ..p1 - 4              Divided in three:

On the top right, the nonmetals

On the bottom left, the ordinary metals

On a diagonal in between them, the metalloids

17              ..p5              Halogens— highly reactive and rather nasty elements; reactivity decreases as you go down.

18              ..p6              Noble gases— with full electron shells, these gases almost never combine with other elements.

3 - 12              ..dn              Transition metals— a confusing name as they include all the common metals.

* ¶              ..fn              Rare earths

Rare earths is a term that’s outlived its accuracy; some are not rare at all. The top row is the lanthanides, the bottom the actinides. Chemists spent a happy few decades in the 19th century disentangling these elements, which are all very much alike. These series represent filling out the f orbitals— but they all have the higher-energy 6s (lanthanides) or 7s (actinides) shell filled, which is why they are so similar chemically.

As atomic weight increases, there’s a greater chance of spontaneous nuclear decay— radioactivity— the atom throws off a particle of helium, or otherwise splits. Some radioactive elements, like uranium, can last for a few billion years; the really high numbers are only stable for minutes or less, which is why it’s not likely your sf unobtainium will ever be found up there.

Naming the elements

The elements discovered in the 19th century and later are named, rather arrogantly, after nations and famous physicists. To make up for this, four of them are named for the same tiny village in Sweden.[11]

Concultures on other planets, or in the future, could do better. Below is a list of the elements with their year of discovery and some basic facts to help in naming. For more, including beautiful pictures, I recommend Theodore Gray’s The Elements. To get a feeling for the elements without risk of explosions, read Oliver Sacks’s delightful Uncle Tungsten.

A few element symbols are non-transparent:

Fe               iron              Lt. ferrum

Na               sodium              Ger. natrium from the compound nitre

K               potassium              Ger. Kalium— cf. alkali

Sb               antimony              Lt stibium (used for stibnite or kohl)

Sn               tin              Lt stannum

Pb               lead              Lt plumbum

Cu               copper              vulgar Lt cuprum < Cyprus

Ag               silver              Lt argentum

Hg               mercury              late Lt hydrargyrum ‘water-silver’

If a color isn’t given, it’s silvery. Pure elements are very boring in color— the interesting colors are all from compounds.

Where half-lives are given, it’s for the most stable isotope.

‣             See Substances, p. 116, for notable compounds

1—H—hydrogen—1766—75% of all matter; lightest gas; powers sun’s nuclear energy; part of water and most organic compounds; foundation of acid/base chemistry

Alkali metals

3—Li—lithium—1817—soft metal; floats on water; highly flammable and reactive; used in batteries and as a mood stabilizer

11—Na—sodium—1807—a soft metal, but naturally occurs only in compounds, including salt, feldspar, and sodas

19—K—potassium—1807—silvery metal but oxidizes black and explodes in water; essential nutrient (eat bananas!); potash is a common fertilizer

37—Rb—rubidium—1861—discovered from a purplish emission line; used in atomic clocks and fireworks

55—Cs—cesium—1860—gold-colored; melts in your hand, explodes in water; used to define the second

87—Fr—francium—1939—radioactive metal, naturally occurring but with a half-life of just 22 minutes

Alkali earth metals

4—Be—beryllium—1797—hard metal; hardens other metals in alloys; good aerospace material; component of some gems, e.g. emerald; dust is very toxic

12—Mg—magnesium—1808—strong light metal, very flammable

20—Ca—calcium—1808—light quickly-oxidizing metal; calcium carbonate makes up shells and Dover’s cliffs; blackboard chalk is calcium sulfate; essential nutrient, crucial for bones

38—Sr—strontium—1808—used to harden aluminum alloys; strontium aluminate is nicely phosphorescent

56—Ba—barium—1808—slightly orangish light metal, quickly oxidizing (one use is getting oxygen etc. out of vacuum tubes); barium sulfate is used in medical imaging

88—Ra—radium—1898—radioactive metal used for glowing watch dials as well as other ill-advised products; half-life 1600 years

Nonmetals

6—C—carbon——hard clear crystal (diamond) or soft black rock (graphite); 4th most abundant element in universe and 2nd-most in human body; basis of organic chemistry including fossil fuels; easily produced in impure form as charcoal

7—N—nitrogen—1772—a gas, 78% of air; lots of useful compounds, incl. ammonia, saltpeter, nitric acid, many fertilizers

8—O—oxygen—1773—a gas, 21% of air; 3rd-most abundant element in universe and most abundant in Earth’s crust; essential for respiration and combustion; forms water with H; most metals occur in crust as oxides

15—P—phosphorus—1669—pure white phosphorus is nasty explosive stuff; red is safer and is used to ignite matches; phosphates are an essential fertilizer

16—S—sulfur——a yellowish crystal, the smell of hell (Biblical brimstone); sulfides stink up rotten eggs and onions; sulfuric acid used widely in industry

34—Se—selenium—1818—transparent crystal; used in photocopiers and other products; a micronutrient (Brazil nuts are high in it)

Metalloids

5—B—boron—1808—black crystal or brown powder; formed by cosmic ray bombardment rather than in stars; best known compound is borax

14—Si—silicon—1824—in pure form, a bright metal; its oxide is sand, and other compounds form much of the Earth’s crust; major component of computer chips

32—Ge—germanium—1886—metal, helped vindicate Mendeleev; used in early transistors; used in fiber optics

33—As—arsenic—1250—metal with notoriously toxic compounds; important in semiconductors

51—Sb—antimony—900—more brittle and crystalline than metals, yet hardens lead for fonts or bullets; popular with the alchemists; quite toxic

52—Te—tellurium—1782—used in DVDs and solar cells; rather smelly

84—Po—polonium—1898—radioactive; used in antistatic brushes

Ordinary metals

13—Al—aluminum—1825—light and strong, suitable for aerospace or the kitchen; oxide (corundum) forms a hard protective coating; common in crust; conducts heat well

31—Ga—gallium—1875—silvery metal, melts at just above room temperature; important in semiconductors and LEDs

49—In—indium—1863—named for its indigo emission line; very soft; heavily used in LCD screens

50—Sn—tin——an ancient metal, non-rusting but prone to crystallize in cold weather; alloys copper to form bronze; no longer used for cans and soldiers

81—Tl—thallium—1861—a reddish metal, highly toxic

82—Pb—lead——soft, dense grayish metal; used for centuries in pipes, fonts, and bullets; protects against radiation; added to glass to increase sparkle; also toxic

83—Bi—bismuth—1753—slightly reddish metal; highest-numbered stable element— except it’s not quite: it decays with a half-life a billion times longer than the age of the universe

114—Fl—flerovium—1994—radioactive, half-life 1 min

116—Lv—livermorium—2000—radioactive, half-life 61 ms

Halogens

9—F—fluorine—1886—pale yellow gas, very reactive; compounds used for refrigerants and to reduce tooth decay; component of Teflon and Prozac

17—Cl—chlorine—1810—pale yellow, highly toxic gas; used in disinfectants; forms table salt, bleach, and hydrochloric acid

35—Br—bromine—1826—liquid (but quickly evaporates); mostly found as salts

53—I—iodine—1811—black solid that boils into a lovely purple vapor; a strong early disinfectant; a nutrient that prevents goiter

85—At—astatine—1940—radioactive; appears briefly as uranium or thorium decays

Noble gases

2—He—helium—1868—24% of matter; lighter than air; forms from hydrogen fusion in normal stars, or from radioactive decay

10—Ne—neon—1898—5th most abundant in universe but on Earth found mostly in air; glows reddish-orange in electrified tubes (other colors are not neon)

18—Ar—argon—1894—1% of air; used with nitrogen to fill light bulbs; glows bright blue in electric tubes

36—Kr—krypton—1898—once used in light bulbs; glows dark blue in electric tubes; as it’s inert, Superman’s “kryptonite” is particularly unlikely

54—Xe—xenon—1898—glows violet in electric tubes; used in arc lighting; strangely, it forms compounds, mostly with fluorine

86—Rn—radon—1900—radioactive gas; quick-decaying but common because it’s produced by natural uranium and thorium

Transition metals

21—Sc—scandium—1879—rarely localized and thus expensive to collect; strengthens aluminum nicely

22—Ti—titanium—1791—non-rusting, extremely strong; its oxide is a major component in paint; non-allergenic, so it makes good body implants

23—V—vanadium—1801—yellowish metal; most important in forming hard steel alloys

24—Cr—chromium—1797—key ingredient in stainless steel and most ‘silverware’; ‘chrome’ in cars is a thin electroplated layer; oxide is bright green

25—Mn—manganese—1774—slightly yellowish metal; used in steel alloys; black oxides are an ancient pigment

26—Fe—iron——a heavy metal, black in pure form; pure or in alloyed form (steel), the foundation of industry; also an important nutrient; makes blood red

27—Co—cobalt—1735—grayish metal; used to make tough steel alloys; its compounds make blue or purple pigments

28—Ni—nickel—1751—nickel-colored (but the coin is only 25% Ni); widely used to plate iron to prevent rust; nickel-iron alloys resist high heat, thus used in jet engines

29—Cu—copper——reddish metal; alloyed with tin to form bronze, or zinc to form brass; highly electrically conductive, thus used in wiring

30—Zn—zinc——slightly dull; zinc anodes used to protect iron from rust; now used for US penny

39—Y—yttrium—1843—used in lasers and superconductors

40—Zr—zirconium—1789—strong and hard, used to contain nuclear fuel; oxides make both abrasives and fake diamonds

41—Nb—niobium—1801—resists corrosion even when very hot, so used in rocket engines; good for jewelry due to safety and pretty anodized colors

42—Mo—molybdenum—1778—in pure form, resists stress well, but mostly used to strengthen steel

43—Tc—technetium—1937—first artificial element; lowest-atomic-number radioactive element; used for medical imaging

44—Ru—ruthenium—1844—darkish gray, often used to plate jewelry; used as a catalyst and alloying agent

45—Rh—rhodium—1803—very shiny, so used in plating jewelry; used in catalytic converters

46—Pd—palladium—1803—yellowish metal, used in catalytic converters and for plating as it doesn’t tarnish

47—Ag—silver——the best reflector (i.e. it’s shiny) but tarnishes easily; best electrical conductor

48—Cd—cadmium—1817—used for non-rusting bolts and Ni-Cd batteries; its sulfide is a bright yellow pigment

72—Hf—hafnium—1923—a small but key component in plasma torches

73—Ta—tantalum—1802—used in capacitors

74—W—tungsten—1783—strong at high temperatures and cheap, thus used in light bulb filaments; very dense, thus used to weight darts; tungsten carbide is harder and tougher than steel; also good for radiation shielding

75—Re—rhenium—1925—costly; used in Ni-Fe alloys in jet turbines

76—Os—osmium—1803—slightly bluish, very hard; densest of elements; costly; was used for phonograph needles

77—Ir—iridium—1803—costly and very dense; used in spark plug tips; forms alloys with platinum

78—Pt—platinum—1735—withstands heat and acids; important in oil refining; costly, so it’s used in tiny amounts in e.g. electrodes

79—Au—gold——gold-colored; non-corroding, thus shiny forever; excellent electrical conductor

80—Hg—mercury——a liquid, so dense that lead and steel float in it; used for tooth fillings and (formerly) batteries; a deadly but very slow toxin

104—Rf—rutherfordium—1964—half-life 1 hour

105—Db—dubnium—1967—half life 28 hours

106—Sg—seaborgium—1974—half-life 2 min

107—Bh—bohrium—1977—half-life 61 s

108—Hs—hassium—1984—half-life 10 s

109—Mt—meitnerium—1982—half-life 8 s

110—Ds—darmstadtium—1994—half-life 11 s

111—Rg—roentgenium—1994—half-life 26 s

112—Cn—copernicum—1996—half-life 9 min

Lanthanides

57—La—lanthanum—1839—slightly yellowish; used in lighter flints and to make sparks

58—Ce—cerium—1803—abundant (much more so than lead); slightly yellowish; catches fire when scratched

59—Pr—praseodymium—1885—used in glassblowers’ lenses, which cut out the intense yellow light of molten glass

60—Nd—neodymium—1885—slightly bluish; an alloy with boron and iron makes powerful magnets; used in lasers

61—Pm—promethium—1945—the only radioactive lanthanide; used in some compact fluorescents

62—Sm—samarium—1879—used in magnets and medicines

63—Eu—europium—1896—used in compact fluorescents, and for the red in cathode-ray tubes

64—Gd—gadolinium—1880—used in medical imaging; curiously, magnetic when cold and non-magnetic when warm

65—Tb—terbium—1843—changes shape in a magnetic field— used for speakers

66—Dy—dysprosium—1886—used in high-intensity lighting

67—Ho—holmium—1879—concentrates magnetic fields; used in medical imaging and in lasers

68—Er—erbium—1843—a crucial component in lasers

69—Tn—thulium—1879—used in high-intensity lighting

70—Yb—ytterbium—1907—doping element in lasers

71—Lu—lutetium—1907—used in high-intensity lighting

Actinides

Note: all radioactive; above uranium, all artificial

89—Ac—actinium—1899—half-life 22 years; decays from radium; used in radiation therapy

90—Th—thorium—1829—a very abundant metal, used as nuclear fuel, in magnesium alloys, and to increase refractive index of lenses

91—Pa—protactinium—1918—half life 32,788 years

92—U—uranium—1789—abundant goldish metal; used as reactor fuel and in atomic bombs; very dense, good for e.g. armor-piercing bullets; once used in glass and glazing

93—Np—neptunium—1940—decays from americium, so it’s found in smoke detectors; used to detect high-energy neutrons

94—Pu—plutonium—1940—the major component of today’s atomic bombs; good power source for space probes

95—Am—americium—1944—used in smoke detectors (smoke interferes with the emitted helium atoms), as well as neutron probes

96—Cm—curium—1944—used to power space probes; also in X-ray spectrometers

97—Bk—berkelium—1949—half-life 1380 years

98—Cf—californium—1949—used in neutron activation analysis— it emits neutrons, which can penetrate almost anything, allowing remote detection of various things— gold, oil, explosives

99—Es—einsteinium—1952—half-life 1.3 years

100—Fm—fermium—1952—half-life 100 days

101—Md—mendelevium—1955—half-life 52 days

102—No—nobelium—1958—half-life 1 hour

103—Lr—lawrencium—1961—half-life 3.6 hours

EMOTION

afraid—ME ‘affrayed’ = ‘out of peace’

alarm—It all’ arme ‘to arms’

• Ger Wecker ‘waker’ • Ch jǐngbào ‘warn-report’

amuse—Fr amuser ‘cause to muse (stare stupidly)’

anger—Norse angr ‘trouble, affliction’

• Gk ὁργή ‘mood’, χόλος ‘bile’ (> Fr colère) • Lt īra < ‘strength’ or ‘passion’ • Ger Zorn < ‘torn’ • Sw vrede < ‘twisted’ • Latvian dusmas ‘panting’ • OCS gněvŭ prob. < ‘rot’ • Cz zlost ‘evil’ • Ch fèn prob. < ‘swell, increase’

anxious—Lt anxius ‘troubled’ < ‘pressed’

• Ger Angst < ‘narrow’ • Ir sníomh ‘spinning’ • Welsh pryder ‘care’ • Lith bailė ‘fear’ • Ch guàniàn ‘hang thought’

bitter—OE biter < ‘biting’

• Gk πικρός ‘pointed’ • Ir searbh prob. < ‘sour’ • Skt tikta- ‘sharp’

bore—OE borian ‘pierce’ (but ‘be tedious’ is ModE, uncertain)

calm—Fr calme apparently < Gk ‘great heat’

caution—Fr. ‘security’ < Lt cavēre ‘beware’

cheer—Old Fr chere < Late Lt cara ‘face’ (> countenance > disposition > good mood)

• Fr gaité < Germanic ‘impetuous’ • Ch gāoxìng ‘high mood’

confuse—Lt confūsus ‘poured together’

cruel—Lt crūdēlis ‘rough, bloodthirsty’, from ‘raw, bloody’

delight—Lt dēlectāre frequentative of ‘lure away’

desperate—Lt dēspērātus antonym of ‘hopeful’

• Ger verzweifelt ‘for-doubted’ • Ch juéwàng ‘exhaust-hope’

disgust—Fr dégouter ‘taste bad’

dread—ME dreden

eager—Fr aigre ‘sharp, sour’

• Ger eifrig ’zealous’ poss. < ‘bitter’ • Ch kěwàng ‘thirst-hope’

emotion—Lt ēmōtio ‘moving out’

• Gk πάθος ‘suffer’ • Lt adficere ‘do at’ • Skt bhāva- ‘being, becoming’ • Ch qíng < ‘nature, attribute’

enjoy—Old Fr enjoier ‘in joy’

excite—Lt excitāre frequentative of ‘set in motion’

experience—Lt experientia ‘trial, test’

• Ger erfahren ‘begin-drive’ • Ch jīng < ‘pass through’

fear—OE fǽr ‘peril’ > ‘emotion facing peril’

• Gk φόβος ‘flight’ • Lt pavor prob. < ‘struck’ • Fr crainte < ‘shake’ • Dutch schrik < ‘jump’ • OCS strachŭ < ‘stiff’

FEEL—OE félan ‘handle, touch’ > ‘perceive’, prob cognate to Lt palpāre

• Gk ψηλαφάω < ‘pluck’ • Sw känna < ‘know, perceive’

fierce—Old Fr fers ‘untamed’ ∥ feral

• Ch xiōng ‘evil’

glad—OE glæd, possibly ‘smooth’ > ‘bright’ > ‘cheerful’

grave—Lt gravis ‘heavy’

happy—ModE ‘by chance’ > ‘by good fortune’

• Gk εὐδαίμων ‘good daemon’ • Lt fēlix fēlīc- < ‘fruitful’ • Fr bonheur ‘good omen’ • Ir sona ‘wellness’ • Ger glücklig ‘lucky’ • OCS blaženŭ ‘blessed’

horror—Lt horror nomn. of ‘bristle, shudder’

joy—Fr joie < Lt gaudium ‘joy, delight’

• Sp alegría < ‘lively’ • Welsh dywenydd < ‘smile’ • Ger Freude prob. < ‘quick’ • Avestan šāiti- < ‘rest’ • Ch lè ∥ ‘music’

mad—OE ȝemǽd ‘made insane’

• Gk μανικός ‘furious, raging’ • Lt insānus ‘unsound’, dēmens ‘away-mind’ • It pazzo < ‘the patient’ • Welsh gwallgof ‘lack-sense’ • Ger verrückt ‘displaced’ • Rus безумный ‘without mind’ • Skt vātula- ‘windy’

misery—Lt miser ‘wretched, unfortunate’

nervous—Lt nervōsus ‘sinewy’

pain—Lt pœna ‘penalty, punishment’

• Lt dolor prob. < ‘split, burst’ • Ger Schmerz < ‘crush, bite’ • Pol ból < ‘sickness, pain’

passion—Lt passio ‘suffering’

• Dutch hartstocht ‘heart-pull’ • Latvian kaislība ‘inflammation’ • Ch jiqíng ‘violent emotion’

pity—Lt pietas pietāt- ‘piety’

• Lt misericordia ‘wretched heart’ • Welsh tosturi < ‘cruel’ • Danish medynk ‘with-distress’ • Rus жалость < ‘grief’ • Ch lián ∥ ‘kindness’, ‘love’

pleasant—Fr plaisant ‘pleasing’

pleasure—Fr plaisir nomn. of ‘please’

relax—Lt relaxāre ‘loosen’

• Fr se détendre ‘loosen up’

relief—Lt relevāre ‘lift again’

sad—OE sæd ‘sated’ > ‘firm’ > ‘solemn’ > ‘sorrowful’

• Lt tristis poss. < ‘grim’ • Ir brónach ‘grief’ • OE unrót ‘un-glad’ • Ger traurig < ‘gory’ • Skt viṣaṇṇa- ‘sitting apart’ • Ch bēi ‘unhappy’

satisfy—Lt satisfacere ‘do enough’

serious—Lt sērius ‘grave, serious’

• Ger ernst ∥ earnest • Ch yán < ‘lofty’

shame—OE scamu poss. < ‘cover’

• Gk αἰδώς ‘reverence, modesty’ • Lt pudor poss. < ‘repulsed’ • Fr honte ‘< ‘dishonor’ • Sp vergüenza < ‘awe’ • OCS studŭ ∥ ‘hate’ • Ch xiū < ‘dirty’

shock—Fr choc uncertain

• Ch zhènjīng ‘shake-fear’

sorry—OE sáriȝ ‘pained’, from ‘sore’

startle—ME stertle < ‘start = jump up’

suffer—Lt subferre ‘bear under’

• Ger leiden < ‘go through’ • Skt duḥkha- ‘ill, unpleasant’ • Qu muchuy ‘lack’ • Ch zāo < ‘meet’

surprise—Fr surpris < ‘taken under’

• Ger überraschen ‘(come upon) rapidly’ • Ch jīngqí ‘afraid-unusual’

terror—Lt terror ‘dread, alarm’ < ‘tremble’

• Gk δεῖμα cognate to ‘threat’, ‘hate’

weary—OE wériȝ ‘tired’ (modern sense is stronger)

worry—OE wyrȝan ‘strangle’

• Qu nanachikuy ‘hurt oneself’

+—apathy, coward, depression, despair, disappointed, grief, lament, merry, panic, shy

Paul Ekman (in Emotions Revealed) organizes all emotions under six basic types, based on a study of cultures worldwide:

anger

disgust

fear

joy

sadness

surprise

In Making Comics, Scott McCloud illustrates these and, more interestingly, shows how the wider range of emotions are formed out of these by degrees—

Mild…                                          …Intense

stern              indignant              angry              raging

disdainful              averse              disgusted              revolted

concern              anxious              fearful              terrified

satisfied              amused              joyful              laughing

dejected              melancholy              sad              grieving

alert              wondering              surprised              shocked

or combinations:

anger x disgust              outrage

anger x fear              caged animal

anger x joy              cruelty

anger x sadness              betrayal

anger x surprise              WTF!

disgust x fear              horror

disgust x joy              eww, dude!

disgust x sadness              pain empathy

disgust x surprise              you ate it??

zfear x joy              desperate hope

fear x sadness              devastation

fear x surprise              spooked

joy x sadness              faint hope

joy x surprise              amazement

sadness x surprise              disappointment

Throw in combinations of milder emotions (mild joy + mild sadness = pity) and you can get close to a thousand variations. I don’t know if anyone has created a conlang based on these ideas, but at the least it provides a path for providing many of the terms.

Visual artists can find more, including the muscles that underlie these expressions, in Gary Faigin’s The Artist’s Complete Guide to Facial Expression.

Many emotions come with variant terms which include, at no extra charge, the speaker’s disapproval (whiny, smarmy, cowardly, simpering, slack-jawed, hedonistic, tight-assed, self-pitying) or, more rarely, approval or at least concern (compassionate, noble, heroic, pleasant, innocent, pitiable).

One approach to creating terms for emotions is to look at what they make you do— shudder, cry, run, cry, etc. Or use metaphorical actions or qualities: excite = poked, relax = loosen, depressed = pushed down, grave = heavy, delight = brightness.

‣             See also Temperament, p. 116.

EVENTS

act—Lt actum < agere ‘drive, act, do’

• Ger handeln < ‘hand’ • Ch xíngdòng ‘walk-move’

active—Lt actīvus

AGAIN—OE onȝeán ‘back’

• Lt dēnuo ‘anew’ • Fr encore < ‘at that hour’ • Sp otra vez ‘another time’ • Ger nochmal ‘still’ + temporal suffix • Ch zài < ‘repeat, twice’

agent—Lt agens ‘actor’

always—ME alles weis ‘all way’s’

• Gk ἀεί < ‘lifetime’ • Lt semper < ‘one-day’ • Fr toujours ‘all days’ • Ger immer ‘ever more’ • Cz stále < ‘stand’

BEGIN—OE biginnan

• Lt incipere ‘seize in’ • Fr commencer < ‘enter with’ • Ir tosaigh ‘leading forth’ • Sw börja ‘carry’ • Lith pradėti ‘put ahead’

busy—OE bisiȝ

• Fr occupé ‘occupied’ • Ger beschäftig ‘making by’ • Qu ruwanayoq ‘has things to do’

cease—Lt cessāre frequentative of cēdere ‘go, give up’ (> cede)

• Lt dēsinere ‘put down’ • Welsh peidio ‘submit’ • Ger aufhören ‘obey off’ • Latvian beigties < ‘end’ • OCS prěstati ‘stand before’ • Skt uparam- < ‘rest’

chance—Fr < Lt cadentia ‘falling = how things happen’

• Ger Zufall ‘to-falling’ • Ch yìwài ‘unexpected’

common—Lt commūnis ‘bound together’ ∥ Ger gemeinsam

• Gk κοινός < ‘with’ • Pol spólny ‘same side’ • Skt sādhāraṇa- ‘hold together’ • Ch tōng < ‘(well) communicated’

complete—Lt complētus intensive of ‘filled’

constant—Lt constans ‘stand together (firmly)’

• Ch jīngcháng ‘experience-always’

continue—Lt continuāre ‘hanging together = uninterrupted’

develop—Fr développer < antonym of ‘wrap, roll up’

• Ch kāifā ‘open-send’

DO—OE dón ‘put, act’ < IE, cognate to Lt facere

• Gk ἔρδω < ‘work’ • Ir déan < ‘beget’ • Bulgarian pravja < ‘direct’

END—OE ende

Spatial: • Lt extrēmus ‘outermost’ • Fr bout ‘strike’ • Ir deireadh ‘remains’ • OCS konici < ‘begin’ =‘an end-point’ • Ch mò ‘tip’ poss. < ‘(comes to) nothing’

Temporal: • Gk τέλος ‘completion’ • Lt fīnis ‘boundary’ • Sw slut ‘closing’ • Avestan θraošti- ‘grow to maturity’

engage—Fr engager ‘in pledge’

event—Lt ēventus ‘occurence’ < ‘come out’

• Ger Fall ‘fall’ • Ch shìbiàn ‘affair-change’

finish—Lt fīnis ‘end’

• Ger aufhören ‘obey up’ • Ch jiéshù < ‘tie’

forever—ModE ‘for always’

happen—ME ‘occur by chance’ < Norse happ ‘chance’

• Lt accidere < ‘fall’ • Fr se passer < ‘step’, occurrir < ‘run for’ • Cz státi se refl. of ‘stand’ • Sw hända < ‘seize, concern’

interrupt—Lt interrumpere ‘break between’

• Ch dǎduàn ‘hit-sever’

NEVER—OE nǽfre ‘not ever’

• Fr jamais ‘ever’ • Sw aldrig ‘in a lifetime’ • Ger nie ‘not always’ • Lith niekad ‘not when’

normal—Lt normālis adjn. of ‘carpenter’s square’ > ‘pattern’

• Ch zhèngcháng ‘always straight’

occasion—Lt occāsio nomn. of ‘fall toward’

occur—Lt occurere ‘run against, meet’

often—ME derivation of OE ‘oft’

• Gk πολλάκις ‘many’ • Lt sæpes < ‘crowded’ • Fr souvent < ‘right after’ • Ger häufig ‘in heaps’ • Skt asakṛt ‘not once’

ONCE—OE anes genitive of ‘one’

opportunity—Lt opportūnus ‘suitable’

pause—Gk παῦσις ‘halt, cease’

proceed—Lt prōcēdere ‘go forward’

process—Lt prōcessus nomn. of ‘proceed’

rare—Lt rārus ‘low density, scarce’

• Ch shǎoyǒu ‘few-have’

repeat—Lt repetere ‘attack again’

stable—Lt stabilis < ‘stand’

start—OE styrten ‘leap’

• Ger anfangen ‘catch on’ • Ch chū ‘first’

steady—ModE adjn. of ‘stand’

stop—OE (for)stoppian < Rom ‘plug up’ > ‘block’ > ‘cease moving’

• Fr arrêter ‘make rest’ • Sp parar < ‘make ready’ • Ch tíng < ‘settle, set up’

subject—Lt subjectus ‘thrown under’

• Gk θέμα ‘proposition’ < ‘placement’ • Ch tí < ‘raise’

+—habit, vary, lazy, role, victim

A very powerful metaphor for talking about events— so basic that we’re hardly aware of it as such— is EVENTS ARE OBJECTS. This allows us to use our conceptual and linguistic tools relating to objects to talk about events— we can talk about a threat or a talk or a beginning as easily as we talk about a book or a tree or a tongue.

The idea of movement is used as well; see the etymologies of occur, event, occasion, chance, subject. The metaphor NON-VARIATION IS STANDING gives us steady, stable.

Another basic metaphor TIME IS SPACE, gives us expressions like in the act and present, and allows locatives (p. 116) to apply to times and events as well.

EXISTENCE

absent—Lt absens ‘being away’

• Ger fehlend ‘missing’ • Ch quēxí ‘vacant seat’

appear—Lt appārēre ‘come in sight to’

BE—OE béon ‘become’ < IE bheu-, cognate to Lt fuī, OCS byti; present is, am, are < IE *es-; past was, were < IE *wes- ‘remain, dwell’

• Sp estar < ‘stand’ • Ch shì < ‘right’ < ‘this’

become—OE becuman < Germanic ‘be come’

• Gk γίγνομαι ‘be born’ • Fr devenir < ‘arrive’ • Ger werden < ‘turn’ • Sw bliva ‘remain’ • Ch chéng ‘finish’

change—Lt cambīre ‘exchange, barter’

• Gk ἀλλάσσω < ‘other’ • Welsh troi ‘turn’ • Sp mudar < ‘alter, change’ • Ch huàn < ‘turn (in a circle)’

create—Lt creātus ‘produced, made’

• Ger schaffen < ‘carve’ • Ch zào ‘make, build’

destroy—Lt dēstruere, antonym of ‘pile up, construct’

• Gk καταστρέφω ‘overturn’ • Ger vernichten ‘for nought’ • OCS razoriti ‘loosen apart’ • Pol niszczyć ‘make low’ • Skt nāçaya- causative of ‘perish, be lost’ • Qu qollochiy ‘cause disaster’

disappear—Fr disparaître antonym of ‘appear’

evolve—Lt ‘roll out’

exist—Lt existere ‘stand out, step forth’

• Ger vorkommen ‘come forth’ • Qu kawsay ‘live’ • Ch zài < ‘be at, set up’

generate—Lt generāre ‘beget’

origin—Lt orīgo ‘rising, beginning’

• Ger Ursprung ‘origin-arising’ • Ch běn ‘root’

present—Lt præsens ‘be before = be at hand’

vanish—Lt ēvānescere ‘vanish out’ < ‘empty’

In Hebrew bārāˀ ‘create’ specifically refers to creation ex nihilo, and thus can only be used of God. Everyone else has to yāṣar ‘produce’ or ˁāśā ‘do, make’.

Spanish distinguishes ‘being’ something temporarily (está borracho ‘he’s drunk’) and permanently (es borracho ‘he’s a drunk’). African-American English makes the same distinction by including or omitting be: He drunk vs. He be drunk, respectively.

Existence may be a simple concept, but it’s not a simple word. Most of the English terms are from Latin, and involve the metaphor EXISTING IS STANDING, with the corollary COMING-TO-BE IS MOVING (HERE). English turn into is a rather neat equation of ‘moving in place’ to ‘becoming’.

The other obvious metaphor is COMING-TO-BE IS BIRTH, as in generate or Greek genesis. Note that Greek has a neat noun and verb (γίγνεσθαι) for ‘come to be’, which is awkward in English.

FOOD

bread—OE bréad < Germanic ‘bit, morsel’

• Lt panis < ‘food’ • Latvian maize < ‘barley’ • Ch miànbāo ‘flour-wrap’

breakfast—ME ‘break fast’ (like Sp desayuno)

• Gk ἄριστον ‘early’ • It colazione ‘gathering’ • Ir céadphroinn ‘first meal’ • Danish frokost ‘early food’ • Dutch ontbijt ‘un-bite’ • Lith pusryčiai ‘half-morning’ • Cz snidane ‘eat with’ • Ch zǎocān ‘morning meal’

cook—Lt coquus ‘a cook’ < IE *pekw-

• Rum găti < ‘prepare’ • OCS variti ‘boil’ • Qu chayachiy ‘make arrive’ • Ch zuòfàn ‘do cooked rice’

cup—Lt variant of cūpa ‘tub, cask’

• Fr tasse < Ar ‘bowl’ • Lt pōculum < ‘drink’

dine—Fr dîner ‘end one’s fast’

• ModGk γεῦμα ‘taste’ • Lt cēna ‘portion’ • OE æfenmete ‘evening meal’ • Lith pietūs ‘food’ • OCS obědŭ ‘eat’ • Rus ужин < ‘noon’ < ‘south’ • Ch chīfàn ‘eat cooked rice’

drink—OE drincan

• Lt bibere < IE *pō- • Lith gerti < ‘swallow’

eat—OE etan < IE *ed-, cognate to Lt ēsse

• Fr manger < ‘chew’ • Danish spise ‘food’ • Rus кушать < ‘taste’

egg—OE ǽȝ < IE *ōwo, poss. ∥ ‘bird’ (cf. Lt ōvum, avis)

• Latvian uola ‘pebble’ • Lith kiaušis dim. ‘skull’

food—OE fóda ∥ feed, fodder

• Fr nourriture ‘nourishment’ • It vitto < ‘live’ • Ger Speise < ‘expenses’ • OCS brašĭno ‘grain’ • Lith maistas < ‘provide, live on’ • Bulgarian hrana < ‘protect’ • Ch shíwù ‘eat-thing’

fruit—Lt fructus ‘(what is) enjoyed’

knife—OE cníf

• Gk μάχαιρα ‘fight’ • Lt culter < ‘cutter’ • OCS nožĭ ‘piercer’

lunch—ModE abbr. of ‘luncheon’ < perhaps Sp lonja ‘slice, strip’

• Lt prandium prob. < ‘early’ • Fr déjeuner ‘breakfast’ • Sp almuerzo ‘bite’ • Norse dagverðr ‘day-meal’ • Rus завтрак ‘tomorrow’ • ModGk πρόγευμα ‘before-dinner’ • Ch wufàn ‘noon-cooked.rice’

meal—OE mǽl ‘repast, measure, occasion’ < ‘time’

• Gk δαίς ‘portion’ • Fr repas < ‘feed’ • Sp comida ‘food’ • Rus стол ‘table’ • Ch cān ‘eat’

meat—OE mete ‘food’

• Fr viande < ‘life’ • Ch ròu prob. < ‘soft’

plate—Lt plattus ‘flat’

• Gk πίναξ ‘board’ • Fr assiette ‘assigned (place)’ • Rum farfurie ‘porcelain’ • Ger Teller < ‘cut’ • OCS misa < ‘table’

tea—Fr thé < Middle Ch ḍa (Mandarin chá)

wine—Lt vīnum, cf. Gk οῖνος, Heb. yayi, uncertain

• ModGk κρασί ‘mixture’ • Skt madhu- ‘mead’

+—coffee, milk, soda, cider, juice; poison

beer, ale, mead; ferment, brew

fork, spoon, chopsticks, dish, kettle, bowl, pot, pan, oven

cheese, honey, butter, sausage, gravy; butcher

flour, dough, pastry, pasta, noodle, salt, sugar, spice

candy, dessert, custard, pudding, cake, chocolate

soup, broth, pie, sauce, stew

‣             See Plants, p. 116, and Sensation, p. 116, for flavors

It’s worth spending some time thinking about how your people cook and eat. It tells you how they spend a good portion of the day, it has social and even spiritual ramifications, and it provides a sensual experience for the reader. I still remember C.S. Lewis’s vivid descriptions of the meals served in Narnia.

(For more on basic cooking, see a good introductory cookbook. The Joy of Cooking has quite a lot of general noob-friendly information. A great introduction to the technology of cooking is Bee Wilson’s Consider the Fork.)

Word variants

English doesn’t have a common word for eat or drink, but Spanish does: tomar. You can tomar coffee, a pill, or breakfast.

In a premodern agricultural economy, the food you get in the largest quantity is grain, and it makes a good lexical stand-in for food or meal— as in “Give us this day our daily bread.” In Mandarin chī-fàn ‘eat cooked rice’ is simply to eat. (Mandarin likes verb + generalized object compounds— cf. kàn-shū ‘read-book’ for ‘read’.)

Many languages don’t bother to distinguish meat and flesh (e.g. It. carne, OCS męso).

Meals

How many meals are there in a day, and which is the chief one? People who do hard physical work generally prefer their main dinner to be at midday.

As habits change, words for a meal at one time frame shift to another— e.g. French déjeuner ‘lunch’ was originally breakfast; Russian ужин ‘supper’ was originally taken at noon.

What’s the basic form of a meal?

•              The oldest tradition is surely to gather round an animal, cooked or not, and grab off pieces.

•              Put the meat in a pile on top of starch, such as rice or couscous. (The Argentine variant seems to be to skip the starch.)

•              Serve big slabs of meat and let the diners cut off small pieces with knives and, as they get more civilized, forks.

•              Cut the food up before cooking and eat with chopsticks.

•              Wrap the food before cooking (in leaves, dough, or paper); this adds flavor and allows easy handling.

From the invention of agriculture till quite recently, how much meat you got correlated directly with social status. The majority of the population, till about 1800, lived at the subsistence level. In early medieval Europe, the poor had little meat but almost nauseating amounts of bread— three pounds a day per person, by one estimate.

Who does the cooking? In medieval Europe, chefs as a profession were men: cooking near an open fire was scorching and dangerous work. Bee Wilson points out that the first cookbooks written by and for British women were published at the same time the enclosed brick chimney and cast-iron fire grate were widely adopted, making the kitchen far safer.

Cooking

Cooking can be broadly divided into dry heat (cooking by exposure to heat, whether a fire or an oven) and moist heat (cooking with water or steam).

Dry heat

For centuries, in Western culture, there was an immense divide between roasting and baking. In the great houses these were done each in separate kitchens, with their own specialized equipment. You roasted food by sticking it on a spit, exposing it to open flame, and turning it. You baked it by putting it in an oven. Roasting was the technique par excellence for meat, baking for bread. The distinction largely evaporated in the 20th century with the adoption of the gas oven.

Grilling or broiling involves placing food directly on a grill or gridiron; the key difference from roasting is that only one side of the food is exposed to the heat at a time. Relatively short exposure to the grill, toasting, is appropriate for bread or cheese.

How did you make crême brulée without a blow torch? With a salamander, a long tool with a heavy lump of iron at the end. You heated it in the fire, then held it above the food, nicely broiling it.

Frying involves heating in a shallow pan; the high heat sears the outside of the food, sealing in juices. To sauté you agitate the pan (making the food inside ‘jump’); to stir-fry you toss or stir the contents.

Deep-fat frying, as the name suggests, involves submerging the food in hot fat or oil. Breading absorbs more of the tasty fat... hey, who’s hungry for KFC?

The Middle Eastern tandoor is a cylindrical clay oven, dating back three millennia, which (with far less fuel than the European open hearth) produces blistering temperatures, as high as 896° F. It can be equally be used for making bread or meat (and just one verb is needed, e.g. Arabic khabaza).

Chinese cooking relies heavily on a single type of knife, the cleaver-like càidāo (‘vegetable knife’), and a single type of pan, the wok (guō). Chopping the food before cooking greatly reduces cooking time— a major advantage in a country where firewood is scarce. And of course the diner doesn’t need a knife.

In Andean culture, large quantities of meat are cooked in a pachamanka or earth oven: stones are heated in a fire, meat is placed on top, and the whole thing is covered with grass and dirt and left alone while it cooks. The Polynesian umu is similar.

Moist heat

Boiling, cooking in boiling water, is notorious for producing bland foods. Most things taste better simmered, i.e. cooked in water just below the boiling point. Poaching involves either basting the food as it simmers or covering the pot, which produces a similar effect. Stewing is basically very long simmering. Blanching is done with boiling water in various ways, whose common element is shortening the exposure time.

Steaming lets steam do all the work, as in a double boiler, or the little bamboo containers used for dim sum.

There are combinations, as well; e.g. braising is browning in fat, followed by simmering in a closed pot.

Many languages don’t differentiate cook and boil— e.g. German (kochen) and Russian (варить).

Sauces

French sauces are normally made as a coda to frying: remove the meat, leaving the pan brownings. Add butter, wine, or stock to dissolve these and create the sauce.

Asian sauces are diverse, but are often sweet-and-sour (combining soy sauce or fish sauce with sugar and vinegar) or salty-and-sour.

Classifying Chinese food

James McCawley’s Eater’s Guide to Chinese Characters offers the observation that many Chinese dishes are named with the formula <cooking technique> <ingredient> <cutting technique>.

炒

chǎo

stir-fried

炸

zhá

deep fried

煎

jiān

pan-fried

肉

ròu

meat (if no animal is specified,

pork is understood)

牛

niú

beef

魚

yú

fish

雞

jī

chicken

蝦

xiā

shrimp

丁

dīng

cubed, diced

片

piàn

thin-sliced

絲

sī

shredded

塊

kuài

in bite-sized chunks

球

qiú

in strips that curl as they fry

With this information you can read dish names such as these:[12]

炒肉球

炒牛肉絲

煎雞丁

炸魚片

Preserving food

Premodern cooks faced the problem of spoilage. Raw meat spoils within hours at room temperature; cooking extends this a bit. To keep meat for longer, there are a few basic methods:

•              Dry it out— that is, create jerky, from Quechua charki.

•              Smoke it— most easily by hanging it above a fire. The smoke seals the outside layer of the meat, making it harder for bacteria to enter.

•              Salt it. Nitrates (such as saltpeter) assist in killing bacteria and retaining the red color. Sugar may be added to improve the flavor.

•              Freeze it, if you have the technology or live on an ice floe.

Vegetables can be preserved by pickling— soaking in salt brine, vinegar, or both.

Alcohol

Sometimes we just let the microorganisms win. Fermentation turns fruit juices into long-lasting wine, and milk into cheese. (It’s interesting, or perhaps disturbing, that the mold used to ripen Roquefort is simple bread mold, and in fact in traditional cheesemaking the mold is collected by leaving bread to molder.)

In a premodern society, alcoholic drinks were far safer than the local water. There’s some evidence that long-citified people develop a greater resistance to alcohol.

•              Fruit wines (and meads, made of honey) depend on yeast (a fungus) turning sugar into alcohol. White wines are made by removing the skin just after crushing; red wines leave it in. The taste of wine is famously dependent on grape varietal, region, and other factors, so there are many ways your conpeople could divide up the concept.

•              Beer starts with grains or other plants (in Europe, mostly barley). The starch is turned into a sugary liquid called wort, which is then fermented with yeast. Despite the extra step, beer is faster to make than wine.

Hops (the ripened combs of a vine related to hemp) began to be added in medieval times, to impart a bitter flavor.

A lager ferments mostly at the bottom of the tank, and at cooler temperatures; the process converts more of the sugar into alcohol, resulting in a less sweet beverage than ales, which are top-fermented.

Rather than dividing beers by manner of production, French goes by color: blonde, brune, blanche (‘blond, brown, white’).

Japanese sake is made with a similar process from rice, using a mold (kōji) to facilitate the breakdown of the rice starch. Traditionally the breakdown of starches to sugars was begun by chewing the grains, making use of the enzymes found in saliva.

•              Pulque is produced from the sap of the agave plant.

Chicha is widely made in Latin America from maize, masato from cassava.

•              Distillation dates back about two thousand years; in Europe it was widely applied to wines starting in the medieval era (pioneered in the monasteries). The basic operation involves boiling a liquid and then collecting the condensate in another vessel; with alcoholic beverages the result is a great increase in the alcohol content.

Wine can be mixed (fortified) with distilled wine for a in-between increase in alcohol content; examples are port, madeira, and sherry. Fortified wines last much longer than the regular kind.

GOVERNMENT

agent—Lt agens ‘actor’

allow—Old Fr alouer ‘make praise’

• Ger erlauben < ‘approve’ • Ch yǔn < ‘trust’

authority—Lt auctor ‘increaser = originator’

baron—Fr baron < ‘man’, i.e. the king’s man

boss—Dutch baas ‘master, uncle’

• Fr patron < ‘protector’ • Sp jefe ‘chief’ • Ch gōngtóu ‘work-head’

captain—Fr capitaine < ‘of the head = principal’

• [military] Ger Hauptmann ‘main man’ • [nautical] Ch chuánzhǎng ‘ship-chief’

charge—Fr charger ‘load a cart’

chief (tain) —Fr chef ‘head’

• Ger Haupt ‘main’ • Ch lǐngxiù ‘lead-sleeve’

command—Lt commendāre intensive of ‘commit, charge’ < ‘put in s.o.’s hand’

• Gk κελεύω ‘drive’ • Ger befehlen ‘grant’ < ‘bury’ • Danish byda < ‘awaken’ • Ch mìng < ‘name’

council—Lt concilium ‘called together’

duke—Lt dux duc- ‘leader’

• Ger Herzog ‘army leader’

duty—Anglo-French dueté < dû ‘owed’

• Lt officium ‘make work’ • Ger Pflicht < ‘care’ • Ch yìwù ‘just matter’

elder—OE eldra ‘older’

empire—Lt imperium ‘command’ < ‘in-prepare’

• Ger Kaiserreich ‘Caesar-realm’ • Ch dì < ‘god’

faction—Lt factio ‘doing, making’

• Ch zōng ‘clan’

free—OE fréo < Germanic ‘dear’, distinguishing family from slaves

• Lt līber prob. < ‘of the people’ • Ir saor < ‘good man’ • OCS svobodĭ < ‘self, kin’ • Ch zìyóu ‘self-proceeding’

gentleman—ME ‘well-born man’

• Sp caballero ‘horseman’ • Ger Herr ‘lord’ • Ch jūnzǐ ‘son of a ruler’

govern—Lt gubernāre ‘steer’

• Gk ἡγέομαι ‘lead’ • Pol rządzić < ‘row, order’ • Rus править < ‘straighten’

king—OE cyning ∥ kin

• Lt rex rēg-, Gallic -rīx, Skt rāj- < IE ‘rule’ • Welsh brenin < ‘high’ • OCS kralĭ < ‘Charlemagne’ • Ch wáng prob. < ‘might, power’ • Nahuatl tlatoani ‘great speaker’ • Sumerian lugal ‘big man’

lady—OE hlǽfdíȝe ‘loaf-kneader’

lead—OE lǽdan causative of líðan ‘go’

• Lt dūcere ‘draw, lead’ • Fr guider < ‘show’ • Ir treoraigh < ‘strong’ • Welsh tywys < ‘know’

LET—OE lǽtan ‘leave, allow’

• Fr laisser < ‘relax’ • Ch ràng ‘concede’

lord—OE hláford < ‘bread-keeper’

• Gk κῡριος ‘powerful’ • Lt dominus < ‘house’ • OCS gospodĭ < ‘guest-master’ • Ger Herr < ‘more venerable’ • Ch jué < ‘chew’ = ‘live off revenues’

majesty—Lt mājestās -tāt- ‘greatness’

• Ch bìxià ‘steps to throne’ + ‘down’

manage—It maneggiare ‘use the hands’

• Fr gérer < ‘carry’ • Ch lǐ ‘regulate’

master—Lt magister < ‘more’

• Skt pati- ∥ ‘husband’, ‘able’, Gk δεσπότης ‘house-master’ • Welsh arglwydd ‘overlord’

mission—Lt missio missiōn- ‘sending’

nation—Lt nātio nomn. of ‘be born’

• Gk ἔθνος prob. < ‘custom’ • Old Ger diot, OE þíod < ‘strong, swell, whole’ • OCS narodŭ < ‘generation’ • Ch guójiā ‘state-family’

noble—Lt nōbilis ‘famous’ < ‘known’

• Gk εὐγενής ‘well-born’ • Welsh pendefig < ‘head’ • Sw ädling ‘estate-child’ • Cz šlechtic < ‘sort, kind’ • Rus дворянин < ‘court’ • Ch guì ‘precious’

office—Lt officium ‘doing before’ = ‘service, duty’

• Ru контора ‘counting house’ • Ch bàngōngshì ‘manage-public-room’

peer—Lt pār ‘equal’

permit—Lt permittere ‘through’ + ‘let go’ • Fr laisser ‘relax’ • Ger erlauben < ‘trust’ • OCS povelěti < ‘will, order’ • Skt anujñā- ‘recognize’

politics—Gk πολῑτικός ‘of citizenship’

power—Old Fr poër < Lt posse ‘be able’

• Ger Kraft ∥ craft • Ch lì ‘strength’

preside—Lt præsidēre ‘sit before’

• Ger Vorsitz ‘fore-sitting’ • Ch zhǒngtǒng ‘chief-unite’

prince—Lt princeps princip- ‘principle’ < ‘take first’, calqued in Ger as Fürst • Ir flaith ‘ruler’ • Welsh tywysog ‘leader’ • OCS kŭnęzĭ < Ger ‘king’ • Ch wángzi ‘king-child’

queen—OE cwén < ‘woman, wife’

• Danish dronning fem. of ‘master’ • Lt rēgīna fem. of ‘king’

rank—Fr rang ‘row, rank’

• Sp fila < ‘thread’ • Ch děng < ‘step’ < ‘rise’

responsible—Fr ‘able to respond’

royal—Fr royal < Lt adjn. of ‘king’

rule—Lt rēgula ‘stick, bar’

• Gk ἄρχω ‘begin’ = ‘be first’ • Lt regere ‘direct’ • Ger herrschen < ‘lord’ • OCS vlasti, cognate to wield • Skt çās- ‘command’ • Ch zé ‘model, norm’

serve—Lt servīre < ‘slave, servant’

• Lt ministrāre < ‘lesser’ • Ger dienen < ‘slave’ < ‘rush, run’ • Rus слуить < ‘retainers’ • Ch pú < ‘child’

sir—Lt senior ‘elder’

• Ger Herr ‘lord’ • Ch xiānsheng ‘firstborn’ (> Japanese sensei)

slave—Fr esclave < ‘Slav’

• Lt servus poss. ‘guardian’ • Old Ir dóir ‘bad-man’ • OE þrǽl < ‘oppress’ • Lith vergas ‘misery’ • rabu ‘work, trouble’ • Pol niewolnik < ‘unwilled’ • Skt dāsa- ‘non-Aryan’ • Ch nú poss. < ‘woman’, or ‘pressed (into service)’

support—Lt supportāre ‘carry under’

• Ch yǎng ‘rear’

throne—Gk θρόνος ‘elevated seat’

• Ch bǎozuò ‘treasure-seat’

+—usurp, tyrant, assembly, bureau, embassy, ministry

coronation, accession, diplomacy, treaty, tax

hierarchy, underling, align, vote, elect, intrigue, conservative, loyalist, reformer, radical

crown, flag, vassal, estate, appoint, steward

‣             For creating governments, see the PCK, p. 127.

Words for bosses lean on the metaphor AN ORGANIZATION IS A BODY, with the leader as head: chief, captain, chef, headman, capo, Russian глава, Mandarin tóumù, German Hauptmann ‘captain’. In traditional societies the head guy was likely to be old, thus elder, senior, sir, señor, monsignor. Latin had the pair magister/minister, literally ‘greater/lesser’; the first gave us magistrate, master, maestro, while the second is used directly in religion and government.

If you’re a small neighbor of a major empire, you may get extra legitimacy by accepting a title from the emperor, or simply adopting it yourself, as the Germans took Kaisar and the Russians царь from Caesar, or as Europeans took admiral from the Arabs. Greek βασιλεύς ‘king’ seems to be taken from an unknown, non-IE people in the region. A huge number of our political terms (elect, vote, census, consul, dictator, republic, empire, prince, Senate, plebeian, fascist) are borrowed from the Romans.

Metaphors for ruling include steering a ship (govern), using the hands (manage), guarding something (lord, steward), or applying a standard (rule). More democratic states prefer the metaphor of service, already present in the idea of serving the king.

A natural metaphor for power is strength, as in Greek κράτος and Mandarin quán (etymologically ‘fist’). French pouvoir and English might both share the idea of ability.

Seeking to adequately express the awe due one who can dispose of your life at will, language in the presence of monarchy resorts to hyperbole (e.g. extended titles claiming lands one does not in fact rule), indirection (‘His august and imperial majesty’), and metonymy (the throne, the crown, Westminster). These may be used to derive further political terms— e.g. coronation for a king’s investiture.

Though monarchs are likely to have distinctive headgear, you might consider something besides a crown; in Verduria the emblem of authority is a sash.

Nobility

Western aristocracy originates in getting a land and a title from the king in return for military service. This can be seen as an indictment of medieval monarchy: the institutions and wealth no longer existed to allow large standing armies and central control of a large country, to say nothing of a continent. A noble estate was as large a domain that could be competently managed, and sufficed to support a small but well-trained cavalry.

Of course, it was also a devil’s bargain, as the nobles always wanted sovereignty, while the king wanted greater control. Nobles with private armies could and did go to war against the king.

In England, a charismatic monarch (Henry VII, Elizabeth I) could make the system work— though only with dubious expedients such as confiscating and selling church lands, or creating new titles for profit— but the end result was simple: the kings lost and Parliament won.

Thus the feudal nobility, geared for war, gave way to a landed aristocracy which preferred to sit back and collect rent, and ruled the country in uneasy alliance with the major city merchants.

A true feudal nobility was not large, and could be decimated by civil war. Henry IV’s first Parliament included 97 Lords; in 1603 there were just 59. The peerage ballooned in the age of aristocracy: 186 Lords under Charles I; nearly a thousand under Victoria.

There’s always churn in a noble system, feudal or aristocratic. Old estates decline; new families rise. As this goes against the ideology of a class that rules by inherent worth, it has to be somewhat hidden.

Important questions about a noble system:

•              How far down the family tree does noble status go? The English system is strict about this (only the title-holder is ‘noble’, though heirs might get courtesy titles). Continental systems were more generous, with the result that anywhere from 1% to 15% of the population had noble status.

•              What are the inheritance rules? Can women inherit? It’s not always the case that the eldest son inherits.

In Western culture we’ve internalized the notion of patrilinearity— inheritance through the father. We still inherit family names this way, which encourages us to reify our names in a way that makes little genetic sense. (Without looking them up, can you list all the surnames of your great-grandparents?)

In pop culture (e.g. Assassin’s Creed or Les visiteurs) we easily swallow a character looking exactly like his ancestor of 10 generations ago, as if DNA too were patrilineal.

Of course, an actual aristocracy increases the family resemblances by marrying cousins. In any case, the point is that by changing inheritance rules, you create different feelings for what a family is and how power works, even among non-nobles.

Ranks

The traditional European noble ranks are these:

king—OE cyning

prince—Lt. princeps princip- ‘first’

duke—Lt. dux duc- ‘leader’

marquis—‘frontier (lord)’

count/earl—Lt. comes comit- ‘companion’ / OE eorl

viscount—Fr. ‘under-count’

baron—Germanic ‘warrior, free man’

knight—OE cniht

The ranks should mostly be taken as a rough guide to the size and importance of the estate. (Only rarely did a lower noble actually hold his estate from a higher.)

In Britain prince is restricted to the royal family, but elsewhere it may be a title in itself— e.g. Monaco is still a principality. German distinguishes Prinz ‘monarch’s son’ from Fürst ‘monarch who is not a king’.

Islamic nobility

The Islamic empires inherited and adapted the models of the more competent Byzantine and Persian states; they had neither nobles nor feudalism in their European forms.

There were two ways to become a large landowner:

•              A grant of the right to collect taxes on land, in lieu of payment for governmental or military service.

•              Tax farming, in which the grantee collected taxes and remitted a portion to the state.

Unlike Western lords, the landowners had no rights over the inhabitants beyond collecting taxes; they did not dispense justice or grant sub-fiefs.

In theory both arrangements were revocable and non-inheritable, but the landowners naturally tried to move in the direction of heritability and freedom from responsibility, while the state tried to exert more control. A change of regime often allowed the state to reaquire and redistribute the land.

If in Europe it can be said that the bourgeois took power from the aristocrats, in the Middle East the victors were the rulers, who used modern weapons and communications to actually make good on their age-old claims to absolute power.

China

From Hàn times at least, China has generally been able to maintain a powerful centralized system. Titles were granted by the emperor, but these were largely honorific.

Rather than relying on hereditary nobles, China relied on the imperial examination system— an exhaustive training in the ancient classics, producing a highly and uniformly educated ruling class. This was far more meritocratic than the European system, but was far from democratic— existing officials were the best placed to give their sons the necessary extensive schooling.

Ministries

The cabinet of George Washington’s administration (1789-97) consisted of:

Secretary of State

Secretary of the Treasury

Secretary of War

Attorney General

Postmaster General

The Navy was separated out in 1798; the next additions were Interior (1849), Agriculture (1889), and Labor/Commerce (1903).

The British cabinet system evolved out of the Privy Council, high officials who advised the monarch and could be entrusted with affairs of state. The later Stuarts relied on a secret subset of the Council— secret because what Parliament didn’t know about, it couldn’t supervise. This useful group became the Cabinet.

When George I arrived from Hanover, he had neither the ability nor the interest to run the British government; power effectively devolved to the Cabinet and was closely integrated with Parliament. Normally the leader of the House of Commons was also head of the Cabinet.

The members under Sir Robert Walpole (1730-42) show the typical, endearing British constitutional muddle; they are a mix of what are recognizable governmental ministries and age-old feudal offices.

Chancellor of the Treasury—taxation, borrowing, customs, mint, excise

Southern Secretary—both internal and external affairs, restricted geographically

Northern Secretary—

Lord Chancellor—administration of courts

Lord President of the Council—sinecure

Lord Privy Seal—sinecure

First Lord of the Admiralty —navy

Master-General of the Ordnance—artillery, engineering, fortifications, logistics

Paymaster of the Forces—received and disbursed military expenditures

Lord Steward—part of Royal Household

Lord Chamberlain—ran the Royal Household

The term prime minister was used in Walpole’s time, but it was something of an insult. It only became official in the 19th century.

The Commander-in-Chief of the army was not a cabinet position (and in fact the position was vacant during Walpole’s ministry). The administration of the army was in the hands of the War Office; military policy was however generally coordinated by the Northern and Southern Secretaries. If this sounds inefficient, well, Britain is an island— traditionally it neglected its army until well after a war started.

The Chinese, from the Táng dynasty, divided the executive into six ministries (bù):

吏 Lì—Personnel—appointments and ranking

戶 Hù—Revenue—taxation, treasury, census

禮 Lǐ—Rites—state ceremonies, foreign affairs, imperial examinations

兵 Bīng—Defense—war, including fortification and couriers

刑 Xíng—Justice—court and penal system

工 Gōng—Works—construction projects, roads, canals, gathering of resources

Xurno, one of the countries of Almea, is ruled by artists. It has nine ministries, each of which is supervised by one of the nine Salons (p. 116).

ministry——responsibilities—overseers

Lujidax —treasury—treasury, coinage, language—poetry

Šeledaus —customs—customs, excise, foreign ministry—music

Ešaudo —building—roads, buildings, fortifications—sculpture

Cívlex —army—defense and war—gymnastics

Midzudo —justice—criminal courts—drama

Besčeyséy —couriers—trade, post, maps, patents, civil law—weaving

Lučasú —engineers—irrigation, canals, ports, coast guard—painting

Zendzudo —education—culture, education—dance

Zezunas —registry—property registry, property law, records; astronomy and cartography—prose

For a modern list, let’s look at the French conseil de ministres (as of 2013), which is headed by the premier ministre:

Affaires étrangères—foreign affairs

Éducation nationale—national education

Justice—justice

Économie et Finances—economy and finance

Affaires sociales et Santé—social matters and health

Égalité des territoires et Logement—terriorial equality and housing

Intérieur—interior

Écologie, Développement durable et Énergie—ecology, sustainable development, and energy

Redressement productif—productive recovery

Travail, Emploi, Formation professionnelle et Dialogue Social—labor, employment, professional training and social dialog

Défense—defense

Culture et Communication—culture and communications

Enseignement supérieur et Recherche—higher education and research

Droits des femmes —women’s rights

Agriculture, Agroalimentaire et Forêt—agriculture, food industry and forestries

Réforme de l’Etat, Décentralisation et la Fonction publique—state reform, decentralization, and public service

Outre-Mer—overseas departments

Sports, Jeunesse, Éducation populaire et Vie associative—sports, youth, popular education and community life

Commerce extérieur—foreign trade

Artisanat, Commerce et Tourisme—crafts, commerce, tourism

GRAMMAR

Articles

THE—OE þe prob. < ‘that’

A—OE án ‘one’

Comparatives

MORE—OE mára

MOST—OE mǽst

least—OE lǽst superl. of ‘less’

less—OE lǽs ‘littler’

Conjunctions

also—ME all swa ‘all so’

AND—OE and < Germanic ‘abutting, facing’

BECAUSE—ME ‘by cause’

BUT—OE be-útan ‘without, outside’

else—OE elles ‘other’

however—ME ‘how ever’

IF—OE ȝif

nor—ME abbr of ‘nother’

OR—OE ár ‘ere’

THEN—OE þanne

therefore—ME ‘there fore’

THOUGH—OE al þaȝ

thus—OE ðus

WHILE—OE hwíle ‘at the time’

unless—ME ‘on less’

Deictics

THAT—OE þæt neuter demonstrative

THIS—OE þis neuter demonstative

THERE—OE þǽr

HERE—OE hér

Modals

CAN—OE cunnan ‘know’ > ‘know how’ > ‘able’

• Lt posse ‘be able’ • Rus мочь ‘might, power’ • Ch huì < ‘understand’

COULD—OE past tense of ‘can’

MAY—OE maȝan ‘can’ < ‘be mighty’

• Lt licet ‘is permitted’ < ‘be for sale’ • Ch ke ‘bear’ > ‘able’

MIGHT—OE miht ‘strong’ > ‘able’ > ‘possible’

MUST—past tense of mót ‘may, must’

• Fr devoir ‘owe’, falloir ‘be needed’ < ‘lack’ • Sw bör < ‘be suitable’ • ModE have to, cf. late Lt (inf.) habere

ought—OE past tense of áȝan ‘owe’

perhaps—ME ‘by chance’

shall—OE sceal ‘owe, ought to’

SHOULD—OE sceolde past tense of ‘shall’

WILL—OE willian ‘intend, wish’

WOULD—OE wolde, past tense of ‘will’

Particles

AS—OE all-swá ‘all-so’

instead—ME ‘in place (of)’

NO—OE nó ‘always not’

NOT—ME abbr. of ‘nought’

rather—OE hraðor ‘faster’

SO—OE swa

THAN—OE þanne originally same as ‘then’

whatever—ME ‘what ever’

Contrastives

ANOTHER—ME ‘one other’

either—OE ǽȝhwæðer ‘always’ + ‘which of two’

neither—OE nauðer ‘not whether’

OTHER—OE óðer

Pronouns

I—OE ic

THOU—OE þú singular 2nd person pronoun

HE—OE masculine of pronominal hi- ∥ here

SHE—OE sío feminine demonstrative

IT—OE hit, neutral of pronominal hi-

WE—OE wé

YOU—OE éow, accusative of 2p pronoun ȝe

THEY—Norse demonstrative þeir

self—OE self

Interrogatives

WHEN—OE hwanne

WHERE—OE hwǽr

whether—OE hwæðer < Germanic ‘which other’

WHILE—OE hwíle ‘at the time’

WHO—OE hwá

HOW—OE hú

WHY—OE hwí instrumental of ‘what’

WHAT—OE hwæt

WHICH—OE hwelc

‣             For prepositions, see Locatives, p. 116.

This section is mostly just a place to store all the grammatical words from the Fantasy Frequency List. For how to write a grammar, see the Language Construction Kit and Advanced Language Construction.

Something to note from the etymologies, though: despite English’s rampant borrowing, none of the basic grammatical words come from Romance, and just one word is borrowed at all (they).

At the same time, it’s interesting that such common words as because and not are as late as Middle English. And lack of borrowing doesn’t mean lack of change; the pronominal system has been revamped, the past tenses of modals were reinterpreted as new verbs, and of course a huge mass of inflectional morphology has been discarded.

Sources of grammatical words

Grammarians distinguish form words, required for the grammar, from content words, the bulk of the lexicon. But note that form words very often derive from content words. This is easiest to see in the case of modals, which can derive from ordinary verbs of volition (will), possibility and knowledge (can), and motion (je vais..., I’m gonna).

It’s hard to derive a deictic from anything but another deictic. But pronouns can easily derive from other words— e.g. Japanese boku ‘I’ was originally a word for ‘servant’ (and was borrowed from Chinese to boot); Portuguese você ‘you’ was once a polite phrase vossa mercê ‘your mercy’. French on, once an indefinite pronoun and now commonly used for 1st person plural, derives from homo ‘man’.

Germanic and Romance definite articles derive from demonstratives, while indefinite articles derive from the word ‘one’. French mais ‘but’ derives from the adverb magis ‘more’, while pas ‘not’ derives from the noun ‘step’.[13] Mandarin words for ‘and’ include hé ‘union’ and gēn ‘follow’.

All this is how grammaticalization works. A construction made up of content words gets used so much that it simplifies and formalizes, becoming a clitic and then an inflection.

Words about grammar

One fun exercise is to create words referring to grammar. You might not have any, of course, if your people don’t have a tradition of writing grammars. Most people don’t.

Most of our grammatical terminology derives from Latin and Greek, e.g.

noun—Lt ‘name’

verb—Lt ‘word, speech’

adjective—Lt ‘adding’

gender—Lt ‘type’

case—Lt ‘falling’; the metaphor is DECLINING NOUNS IS FALLING, which also gives us the term for oblique roots as well as the term declension

form—Lt ‘shape’

grammar—Gk ‘of letters’

dialect—Gk ‘through-speaking’ = ‘discourse’

accusative—Lt ‘of accusing’, after a Greek word which did mean ‘accuse’ but also ‘affect’— it was the case of the ‘affected’ thing

dative—Lt ‘of giving’, another calque on Greek

alphabet—Gk ‘alpha’ + ‘beta’

dictionary—Lt ‘speech collection’

While the Sanskrit grammarians had very accurate phonetic terms, this was not an area where the Greeks shone. The unaspirated/aspirated division was characterized as ψιλόν ‘smooth, plain’ / δασύ ‘rough’. They described the voiced consonants as μέσα ‘intermediate’ between these, which suggests that they did not understand the mechanism of voicing. Our modern phonetic terms, though built on Greco-Latin roots, are mostly borrowed from anatomy.

Another approach is to name sounds after exemplars— e.g. Spanish seseo for the practice of pronouncing c/z as [s], and ceceo for the hypercorrection of <s> to [θ]. This invites confusion in later centuries— e.g. we have the contemporary terms for the four Middle Chinese tones— píng ‘level’, shǎng ‘rising’, qù ‘departing’, rù ‘entering’— but as these terms were chosen to illustrate the tones (i.e. píng had píng tone), their descriptive quality was poor and the actual phonetics of the tones has been lost.

For naming inflected forms, we normally enumerate the morphemes, e.g. first person singular present indicative. A rather neat alternative (used in Hebrew and Arabic) is to use a special word and inflect that. E.g. for Spanish we might invent the word vangar; then the ‘first person singular present indicative’ could simply be named the vango form. Of course, this would break down if a particular ending was used in multiple ways.

Peter Daniels extended the model of alphabet to name other writing systems by their prototypical first elements, e.g. abjad for a consonantal system, abugida for system where the glyphs stand for a consonant plus a default vowel, with diacritics used to indicate different vowels.

Letters of the alphabet

There are two obvious ways to name letters of the alphabet:

•              By the acrophonic principle: the name starts with the sound the letter represents. This was how the Semitic consonantal system worked— e.g. gīmel is named for gāmāl ‘camel’, and qōp is ‘ape’.

•              By pronouncing just the sound. This works fine for vowels and even fricatives; with stops it’s convenient to append a vowel. This is largely how the Romans named their letters, and we’ve inherited the system.

If you’re borrowing the alphabet, you can borrow the names, as Greek did: gīmel became γάμμα. The words were arbitrary in Greek, but preserved the acrophonic principle. Greek innovated the vowels, arguably by accident. Trying to understand what ʔālep was for, without grasping the nature of the glottal stop, the Greeks might understandably have concluded that the letter meant /a/, thus creating ἄλφα.

The letters οῦ [o] and ῶ [o:] merged in the 3C, so they were distinguished as ὂ μικρόν ‘little O’ and ῶ μέγα ‘big O’.

KINSHIP

ancestor—Lt antecessor ‘fore-goer’

• Gk πρόγονοι ‘previous birth’ • Ir sinsear ‘elders’ • Ch zǔ ‘moved on’

aunt—Lt amita ‘father’s sister’

brother—OE bróðor < IE *bhrāter-, cognate to Lt frāter

• Gk ἀδελφόσ ‘same womb’ • Sp hermano < ‘full, true’ • Ch dìdi < ‘(next in) order’

daughter—OE dohtor

• Lt fīlia < ‘suck’ • Ir iníon ‘in-born’ • Ch nǚér ‘female child’

family—Lt familia ‘household’ < ‘servant’

• Gk οῖκος ‘house’ • Cz rodina < ‘birth’ • Ch jiā ‘house(hold)’

father—OE fæder < IE *pətér- from babytalk pā

grandmother—ME ‘grand’ < Lt grandem ‘full-grown’

• OE ealdmódor ‘old-mother’ • Sw farmor, mormor ‘father-mother’ etc. • Ch zǔmǔ ‘generation before parents’ + ‘mother’

husband—OE húsbonda ‘house-freeholder’

• Gk ἀνήρ ‘male’ • Lt spōnsus ‘promised’ • Rum soţ ‘companion’ • OCS sąprągŭ ‘yoked’ • Skt pati- ‘master’, bhartar- ‘bearer’

marry—Lt verbn. of marītus ‘married’

• Lt nūbere prob. < ‘veil’ • Fr épouser verbn. of ‘spouse’ • Sp casarse ‘make a house’ • OE weddian ‘pledge’ • Dutch trouwen ‘trust’ • Lith vedu ‘lead’ • Cz vdáti se ‘be given’ • Ch hūn ‘in-laws’

mother—OE módor < IE *māter- from babytalk *mā

parent—Lt parentēs ‘(one who) produced’

• OE ealdras ‘elders’ • Sp padres pl. of ‘father’ • Ch fùmǔ ‘father-mother’

sister—OE sweostor < IE *swesor-

• Ch mèi ∥ ‘woman’

son—OE sunu

• Lt fīlius < ‘suck’ • Ch ér ‘child’

uncle—Lt avunculus ‘mother’s brother’

wife—OE wíf ‘woman’ poss. < ‘wrapped’

• Lt uxor < ‘accustomed to’ • Dutch gade ‘companion’ • Ch àiren ‘lover’

+—clan, dynasty, heir, grandfather, cousin, nephew, niece

engagement, bride, groom, elope, dowry/bride-price, monogamy, divorce, in-law, step-

‣             See also Love, p. 116.

In Finnish, ‘mother’ is äiti for humans, emo for animals. English sometimes uses dam for animal mothers.

Irish lacks a good term for (nuclear) family. Clann (source of clan) means ‘offspring’ and thus excludes your spouse; muintir is the extended family or even ‘the locals’; and teaghlach is those living under one roof, i.e. household.

Kinship terms are often used outside the family— cf. father for priests, brother/sister for monks, nuns, and fellow activists. Family terms also provide names for classification systems (a sister category, a daughter language). Geeks created the useful term grand-boss for one’s boss’s boss.

In some churches, children have godparents who guarantee their religious education. The OE was godsibb; it was extended to friends, then narrowed to female friends, then to those who engaged in idle talk— modern gossip.

We use child as either boy/girl or son/daughter, but some languages have a term for ‘son or daughter’ (only), e.g. Gk τέκνον.

Languages with gender systems can (but don’t always!) easily create gendered kinship terms with their ordinary morphology: Spanish hermano/hermana, primo/prima, tío/tía, suegro/suegra.

All languages have babytalk versions of the kinship terms, mostly using the easiest consonants for babies (labials and dentals) plus the easiest vowel /a/. Examples: Momma, Papa, Quechua mama ‘mother’, Gk πάππος ‘grandfather’, Gothic atta ‘father’, Gk νάννα ‘aunt’, Chinese māma ‘mother’, Georgian deda ‘mother’. Occasionally these are messed up by sound change, e.g. Japanese haha, chichi ‘Mom, Dad’ from *papa, *titi.

People terms

adult—Lt adultus ‘grown up’

• Qu kallpayoq ‘having vigor’ • Ch chéngnián ‘complete years’

baby—ME babi uncertain

• Gk νήπιος ‘unwise’ • Sp criatura ‘creature’ • Ger Säugling ‘suckling’ • Lith kūdikis ‘small’ • OCS otroče dim. ‘child’

boy—ME uncertain

* Lt puer < ‘small’ • Fr garçon ‘servant’ • Sw gosse ‘boar’ • OCS otrokŭ ‘not speaking’• Cz holek ‘beardless’ • Skt bāla- prob. ‘strong’ • Ch shǎonián ‘few years’

child—OE cild ‘baby’

• Scots bairn ‘born’ • Lt infāns ‘not speaking’ • Welsh plentyn ‘sprout’ • OCS dětĭ ‘suckling’ • Ch zǐ < ‘come forth, be born’

crowd—OE crúdan ‘press, push’ > ‘throng together’ > ‘mass of people’

• Lt multitūdo ‘muchness’ • Fr foule < ’pound cloth’ • Lith minia < ‘trample’ • Ch qún ‘herd, group’, poss. ∥ ‘all’

fellow—OE féolaȝa ‘lay down property’, i.e. ‘partner’

female—Lt fēmella dim. ‘woman’

• Ch nǚ poss. ∥ ‘sister’

folk—OE folc ‘people’ < IE, cognate to populus

girl—ME gurle ‘young person (of either gender)’

• Welsh hogen ‘suckling’ • Sw flicka ‘ragged’ • Skt kanyā- ‘young’ • Ch nǚháizi ‘female-child’

human—Lt adjn. of homō homin- ‘human’

kid—Norse kið ‘goatling’

maid—ME abbr. of ‘maiden’

• Ch nǚpú ‘woman-servant’

male—Lt masculus ‘male person’

MAN—OE man ‘person, human’

Human: Lt homō homin-, OE guma < ‘earthly’ • Farsi mard < ‘mortal’; OCS člověkŭ ‘householder’ • Gk ἄνθρωπος poss. ‘male-like’ • Ch rén poss. < ‘kin’ or ‘mind’

Male: Lt vir, OE wer poss ‘strong’ • Gk ἀνήρ < ‘strong, master’ • Rum barbat ‘bearded’ • OE wǽpnedman ‘weapon-person’ • Ch nán < ‘young male’

PEOPLE—Fr peuple < Lt populus < IE, cognate to OE folc

• Gk δῆμος ‘district’ • Ir daoine ‘persons’ • Welsh gwerin ‘crowd’ • Lt gens gent-, Skt jana- < ‘beget’ • Ch mín ∥ ‘human’

person—Lt persōna ‘mask’

WOMAN—OE wífmon ‘woman-person’

• IE *gwenā- > Gk γυνή, OCS žena, OE cwene • It donna ‘lady’ • Lt fēmina ‘one who gives suck’ • Lith moteris ‘mother’ • Skt nārī- feminization of nar- ‘male’

I’ve placed the general terms for people here, as they make the same sex/age distinctions and words easily move back and forth between general and kinship terms (e.g. French fille = ‘daughter, girl’). Also note the narrowing of OE guma ‘man’ to (bride)groom.

English man is ambivalent between human and male, but many languages distinguish them— e.g. Latin homō vs. vir, Gk ἄνθρωπος vs. ἀνήρ, OE man vs. wer. (A werewolf is a man-wolf.) Or the words may be related: Mandarin uses the transparent nánrén ‘male-person’ for ‘a male’.

Words for ‘man’ and ‘woman’ are often the normal terms for ‘husband’ and ‘wife’. English wife was originally just ‘woman’— indeed, woman is from OE wífmon ‘woman-person’.

Buck notes that words for ‘woman’ are particularly subject to attitudinal shifts. OE cwén ‘queen’ is an elevation of the IE word for ‘woman’. Danish kone is ‘wife’, but Swedish kona is a woman of loose character. German Weib ‘woman, wife’ was for a long period seen as derogatory, replaced by Frau; it has regained respectability but only in the sense of ‘woman’. English writers at times have seemed to have a horror of the word woman, substituting lady or female or girl; perhaps in recompense feminists seized on the word.

Systems of kinship terms

You may know that languages vary in kinship terms, but never have paid it much attention... surely most languages work like English. Well, no.

In 1871, Lewis Henry Morgan proposed a classification of kinship systems that’s still a good place to start. He named them, in good Lakoffian fashion, after exemplars.

Hawaiian

This system is both very common and very simple. Each generation has just two terms, for males and females.

•              Your parents’ generation are all father and mother.

•              Everyone else in your generation is brother or sister.

•              The next generation is all son or daughter.

The system is exemplified below by Hawaiian itself. Males are triangles, females are circles; the ego is marked with a star.

The use of the same names doesn’t mean that there are no behavioral differences— you know who your biological mother is. But the names have behavioral consequences too— e.g. you can’t marry a brother or sister.

This kinship system correlates with ambilineal descent. Essentially, you choose whether to belong to your father’s or mother’s kin group (ramage). Your siblings don’t have to make the same choice. Plus, when you get married, you have the option of joining either of the ramages available to your spouse.

Ramages own land, so this is a good system for small groups (e.g. island populations) to combine the advantages of permanent ownership and flexible redistribution of land.

Eskimo

This system isn’t much more complicated; within each generation, it distinguishes your direct ancestors/descendants and more remote relatives. No distinctions are made based on whether the relatives is on the mother’s or father’s side.

•              Your parent’s siblings are either aunt or uncle.

•              Outside the nuclear family, everyone in your generation is a cousin (often differentiated by sex, as in French cousin/cousine).

•              Outside the nuclear family, the kids are niece or nephew.

If it wasn’t obvious, English falls in this class. So do many Western European languages, as well as the !Kung and the Eskimo/ Iñupiaq/Yup’ik. It seems to correlate with the dominance of the nuclear family— remoter relatives and remoter marriage ties are less important.

On the whole Indonesian falls in this class, but it goes further than English in eliminating sex differences: saudara = brother/sister, anak = son/daughter, cucu = grandson/granddaughter, keponakan = nephew/ niece. On the other hand, there are also terms for an older sibling of either gender (kaka) and a younger one (ade).

Sudanese

If the Hawaiian system minimizes terms, this one maximizes them. The basic idea is that everyone gets their own term.

•              Paternal and maternal aunts and uncles are distinguished.

•              Up to eight types of cousins are distinguished,

•              Brothers’ and sisters’ children have separate terms.

Latin is a good example.

Let’s look at the whole set of terms:

Generation

Term

Gloss

Parents

māter

mother

pater

father

mātertera

mother’s sister

patruus

mother’s brother

avunculus

father’s brother

amita

father’s sister

Yours

soror

sister

consōbrīnus/a

avunculus’s children

matruēlis

mātertera’s children

frāter

brother

patruēlis

patruus’s children

amitinus/a

amita’s children

Children

fīlius/fīlia

son/daughter

sōbrīnus/a

sister’s children

fratruelis

brother’s children

Other examples include Old English, Arab, Turkish, and Chinese. It tends to occur in patrilineal cultures (i.e. those where descent is reckoned from the father) with a strong class division.

You might think that the Romance languages would retain the Latin system, but they simplified it into a bilateral system. Look to see where French oncle, tante, cousin came from. Neveu/nièce are stranger: they derive from nepos/neptis, originally ‘grandchildren’; new terms for grandchildren were invented (grand-fils, grand-fille). As you can see, English jettisoned its own terms outside the nuclear family and borrowed those of French.

Chinese kinship

Morgan was delicately multicultural for a 19th century thinker, but it’s a bit odd to relegate East Asian culture to a footnote on “Sudanese”, especially as it has a major extra complication: different terms by relative age. Here are the Mandarin terms:

The diagram looks far neater labeled in Chinese, sorry. Here are the terms in the parental generation, left to right:

舅公

jiùfù

mother’s brother

姨母

yímǔ

mother’s sister

母亲

mǔqīn

mother

父亲

fùqīn

father

伯父

bófù

father’s elder brother

叔父

shūfù

father’s younger brother

姑母

gūmǔ

father’s elder sister

姑姐

gūjiě

father’s younger sister

The terms in the second row are all based on these words:

兄

xiōng

older brother

弟

dì

younger brother

姊,姐

zǐ, jiě

older sister

妹

mèi

younger sister

The cousins are mostly named by prefixing these words with表 táng, e.g.表兄 tángxiōng ‘male cousin older than oneself’. But the children of one’s paternal uncle (bófù or shūfù) are prefixed with堂 biǎo.

The terms above are replaced by reduplicated diminutives in everyday speech— e.g. māma, bàba, mèimei, gēge ‘Mom, Dad, (younger) sis, (older) bro’.

In Korean, the words for siblings (which indicate relative age, as in Chinese) are used for ‘friend’.

Bifurcate merging

Morgan defined three more systems, but they all look the same at the parents’ generation, so let’s first look at that.

•              The same term is used for father and his brother (paternal uncle).

•              The same term is used for mother and her sister (maternal aunt).

•              There are distinct terms for the remaining aunt and uncle.

(The first two points are the merger; the third is the bifurcate part.)

In the next generation,

•              Brother and sister are used for the children of anyone labeled father or mother.

This may be easier to understand looking at the diagram on the next page.

The three remaining systems differ in what the remaining cousins are called— the consōbrīnus and amitinus nodes.

Iroquois system—The same terms are used for both remaining cousins.

Omaha system—There are separate terms for the amitinus cousins.

For the consōbrīnus cousins, the female is called mother, the male is called by the same term as his father, the avunculus.

Crow system—There are separate terms for the consōbrīnus cousins.

For the amitinus cousins, the male is called father, the female is called by the same term as her mother, the amita.

The Latin and Chinese systems are just extra-precise; this one may blow your mind. In the Omaha system, there are three nodes labeled mother, which to us are very different roles: mother, (maternal) aunt, and cousin (daughter of maternal uncle). The use of the same term across generations is called skewing.

The Omaha system correlates with patrilineal descent, and the mirror-image Crow system with matrilineal descent. Note that more distinctions are made in the ‘more important’ lineage.

An example of an Omaha system is Dani, from New Guinea. Because of skewing, we can’t separate the terms by generation.

akoja—mother, or her sister, or her brother’s daughter

ami—mother’s brother, or his son

opaije—father, or his brother

he-opaije—father’s sister

oe—son of any akoja/ami (i.e. brother, some cousins)

oe-etu—daughter of akoja/opaije (i.e. sister, some cousins)

ejak—child of he-opaije or oe-etu

abut—child of oe

The terms may be more understandable in terms of the rules for patrilineages. Here the black nodes mark a male ego’s patrilineage, and gray that of his maternal uncle. White ones are neither.

All the males in gray are ami, all the females akoja.

A man refers to his own children as abut, and his wife refers to them as ejak! From the above diagram, we can see that abut means children within one’s own patrilineage, ejak those in another. For a woman, her own children don’t belong to her patrilineage but to her husband’s, so they are ejak.

Marriage

Morgan’s systems don’t address the additional terms introduced by marriage. In English we’re used to forming terms by adding in-law, but often there are specific terms. E.g. Spanish offers:

suegro—father-in-law

suegra—mother-in-law

yerno—son-in-law

nuera—daughter-in-law

cuñado—brother-in-law

cuñada—sister-in-law

concuñado—sister-in-law’s husband

concuñada—brother-in-law’s wife

KNOWLEDGE

actual—Lt actuālis ‘of action’

• Ger wirklich < ‘work, act’ • Ch xiànshí ‘reveal-real’

argue—Fr arguer < ‘prove, accuse’

certain—Lt certus ‘determined’

• Gk βέβαιος ‘firm’ • It sicuro ‘free from care’ • Ir cinnte ‘fixed’ • Ger sicher ‘safe’ • Rus верный ‘faithful’ • Skt asaṅçaya- ‘undoubtful’ • Ch bǎwò ‘grasp firmly’

check—Fr eschec et mat ‘checkmate’, ultimately Farsi ‘the king is dead’

• Ch héduì ‘inquire-correct’

clear—Lt clārus ‘bright, clear, manifest’

compare—Lt comparāre ‘pair together’

• Ch bi < ‘associate’ < ‘follow’

correct—Lt correctus ‘made straight’

describe—Lt dēscrībere ‘copy off, write down’

• Ch miáoxiě ‘sketch-write’

discover—Fr découvrir antonym of ‘cover’

examine—Lt exāmen -min- ‘means of weighing’

• Ger untersuchen ‘seek under’ • Ch jiǎn < ‘measure, control’

explain—Lt explānāre ‘smooth out, flatten’

• Gk ἐξηγέομαι ‘lead the way’ • Lt explicāre ‘unfold’ • Dutch verklaren ‘make clear’ • Cz vysvětliti ‘illuminate’ • Ch jiě < ‘loosen, untie’

fact—Lt factum ‘(something) done’

• Ger Tatsache ‘act-thing’ • Ch shìshí ‘matter-real’

false—Lt falsus ‘deceived’

• Ger unwahr ‘untrue’ • Ch jiǎ < ‘simulate’

guess—Norse gissa

• Fr deviner ‘predict’ < ‘divine’ • Ger schätzen ‘estimate’ < ‘treasure’

idea—Gk ἰδέα ‘look, form, kind’ < ‘see’

• Lt nōtio < ‘know’ • Ger Begriff < ‘understand’ • Ch yì < ‘think’

KNOW—OE cnáwan < IE, cognate to Lt nōscere, OCS znati

• Gk οῖδα < ‘see’, cognate to wit • Fr savoir < ‘taste’

maybe—ModE ‘may be’

possible—Lt possibilis ‘doable’ < ‘can (do)’

probable—Lt probābilis ‘provable’

prove—Lt probāre ‘test, try, demonstrate’

REAL—Lt reālis ‘of things’

• Ger echt < ‘lawful’ • Ch zhěn ‘true’

reason—Lt ratio ‘account, number, matter’

• Gk λόγος ‘word’ • Rus разум ‘separate-mind’ • Ch lǐ ‘regulate’ poss. < ‘divide in sections’

RIGHT—OE reht ‘straight’

Gk δίκαιος ‘customary’ • Lt justus ‘lawful’ • Ir cóir ‘true’ • Ch zhèng ‘straight’

sure—Lt sēcūrus ‘safe, secure’ < ‘without care’

• Ch kěndìng ‘agree-fixed’

test—Lt testa ‘pot’ > ‘metallurgical vessel’

true—OE tréowe ‘faithful, loyal’

• Gk ἀληθής ‘not forgotten’ • Lt vērus < IE, cognate to OCS věra ‘belief’ • Sw sann < ‘actual, existing’ • Rus правда < ‘straight’

wrong—late OE wrang < Norse ‘awry, unjust’

• Fr tort < ‘twisted’ • Ger unrecht ‘unright’ • Ch cuò poss. ‘mix-up’

+—genuine, fake, error, theory, science, topic

‣             For perception and reasoning, see Mind, p. 116.

In Dutch, leren means both ‘teach’ and ‘learn’. English learn used to be ambivalent too, but this is now non-standard.

Japanese oshieru is ‘teach’, but where the subject in English must be of at least middling importance, oshieru can be used for the simplest of data— you can oshieru someone your phone number.

Many European languages have two words for ‘know’— one (Fr. savoir, Ger. wissen, Gk. οῖδα) for knowing things or skills, one (connaître, kennen, γιγνώσκω) for knowing or having experience with people or places. French also has the useful word ignorer ‘not know, not be aware of’.

Education

class—Lt classis ‘division of the people’

educate—Lt edūcāre ‘lead out’

• Ger erziehen ‘begin-drag’ • Ch jiàoyù ‘teach-cultivate’

instruct—Lt instruere intensive of ‘build, pile up’

learn—OE leornian < ‘come to know’ ∥ lore

• Gk μανθάνω < ‘think’ • Lt discere < ‘receive’ • Fr apprendre ‘seize’ • OCS učiti sę refl. of ‘teach’ • Ch xué ∥ ‘awaken’

school—Gk σχολή ‘leisure’

• Lith mokykla‘teach’ • Ch xiào < ‘enclosure’

study—Lt studēre ‘strive, study’

• Gk μελετάω ‘care, attend to’ • Ch xué ‘learn’

teach—OE tǽcan ‘show’ > ‘impart’

• Gk διδάσκω < ‘plan’ • Lt dōcere < ‘(make) receive’ • It insegnare < ‘mark, adorn’ • Breton kelenn ‘lesson’ • Ger lehren < ‘cause to know’ • OCS učiti < ‘accustomed to’

+—lesson, university, professor

The words for schools are an opportunity to design an educational system. (Note that medieval societies aren’t likely to have a general system; schools were for the elite.)

•              English uses the same word till age 18, then branches into university, seminary, (military) academy.

•              French distinguishes secondary schools as lycées. Lycée and academy take their names from particular ancient institutions: Aristotle’s Lyceum and Plato’s Academy. (Both were gardens rather than buildings.)

•              In El Salvador, you take grades 1-6 in an escuela and 7-11 in an instituto— unless all grades are in the same place, a colegio.

LAW

authority—Lt auctor ‘increaser = originator’

court—Lt cohors cohort- ‘farmyard’ > ‘attendants’ • Ch tíng < ‘courtyard’

Noble: • Pol dziedziniec ‘inheritance’ • Breton lez < ‘fortified place’

Law: OE þing ‘assembly’ • Sw rätt ‘law’ • Rus суд < ‘judgment’

fair—OE fæȝer ‘beautiful’ > ‘unblemished’ > ‘unbiased’

• Ger gerecht ‘straight’ • Ch gōng ∥ ‘equal, middle’

fine—Fr fin ‘finished’

harm—OE hearmian

• Gk βλάπτω ‘hinder’ • Lt nocēre < ‘kill’, damnum < ‘loss’ • OCS vrěditi ‘wound’ • Ch hài ∥ ‘cut’

judge—Fr juge < Lt iūdex ‘law-speaker’

• Gk δικάζω < ‘justice, right’ • Ger urteilen ‘divide’ • Sw döma < ‘set down’ • Lith spręsti ‘measure’ • OCS sąditi ‘put together’ • Skt nirṇī- ‘lead out’ > ‘find’

JUST—Lt justus ‘righteous, lawful’

law—OE laȝu ‘(things) laid down’

• Gk νόμος ‘custom’ < ‘distribution’ • Lt jūs jūr- ∥ ‘swear’, lex lēg- prob. < ‘collect’ • Fr droit < ‘straight, right’ • Ir dlí ‘right, duty’ • Ger Gesetz ‘placed’ • Dutch wet < ‘know’ • OCS zakonŭ ‘starting point’ • Skt dharma- ‘justice, order’ • Ch fǎ < ‘pattern, rule’

obey—Lt obœdīre ‘hear toward’

• Ir géill do ‘do pledge’ • Skt anuvṛt- ‘go after’ • Qu kasuy < ‘pay attention’ • Ch fú < ‘lie down’

police—Gk πολῑτεία ‘citizenship’

• Fr gendarmes ‘armed men’ • Ch jǐngchá ‘warn-inspect’

prison—Fr prison < ‘seizing’

• Gk εἱκτή ‘shutting in’ • Fr geôle < dim. ‘cage’• Latvian cietums < ‘hard’ • OCS temĭnica ‘darkness’ • Rus тюрма < ‘tower’ • Ch yǔ ∥ ‘control’

rule—Lt rēgula ‘stick, bar’

• Gk ἄρχω ‘begin’ = ‘be first’ • Lt regere ‘direct’ • Ger herrschen < ‘lord’ • OCS vlasti, cognate to wield • Skt çās- ‘command’ • Ch zé ‘model, norm’

steal—OE stelan

• Gk κλέπτω prob. < ‘hide’ • Fr voler ‘fly’ • Lith vogti < ‘wander’ • OCS krasti prob. < ‘heap up’ • Ch tōu < ‘loosen’

swear—OE swerian ‘make an oath’

+—contract, license, summons, writ, subpoena

suit, plaintiff, innocent, guilty, testimony, witness

punish, exile, execute, jail, dungeon, torture

crime, thief, pirate

‣             See the PCK’s section on Law. p. 136.

Latin distinguished three types of law: fas is divine law, or what is permitted morally— its antonym nefas is sin or wickedness, and gives us nefarious. Jūs is right or authority, or fairness— the origin of our justice; something which is injūrius is unfair— a wrong, an injury. Finally a lex is a specific written law (and gives us law and legal).

Lex could also be contrasted with mōs ‘custom’, more familiar in its plural mōres. A judge could decide based on the immemorial practice of a community, its mōs.

The notion of common law started out similar to mōs, but now means ‘precedent’— in a primitive system you can refer to custom, but in a mature one it’s safer to refer to previous decisions. The continental civil law system is based on codified law with little reliance on precedent.

Suppose you heard of a conculture which divided law like this:

•              There are two sets of laws and courts— Law 1 and Law 2.

•              Both deal with property— indeed, a given piece of land has separate Law 1 and Law 2 titles, not necessarily held by the same person. One reason Law 2 is useful is because it allows the concept of trusts (ownership of land by one person, use by another).

•              Law 1 courts can only award monetary damages. Law 2 courts can order or forbid a particular action.

•              Only Law 1 cases involve a jury trial. Law 2 cases are entirely at the discretion of the judge.

•              If you don’t like a Law 1 ruling, you might seek to overturn it using Law 2.

Sounds a bit confusing and unmotivated, doesn’t it? In fact I’m describing the English division of Law (Law 1) and Equity (Law 2). Equity developed as a corrective to law— cases were appealed to the king, who had the Lord Chancellor decide them according to his own notion of justice. This became codified into a parallel legal system, the Court of Chancery— Dickens’s Bleak House is a satire of it. The UK and the US have both partially merged Law and Equity, but the distinction still exists.

Where Americans have lawyers, the British have barristers, who argue in court, vs. solicitors who offer legal advice and prepare cases, and who can only appear in lower courts.

Another way of dividing law is between God and Caesar. In medieval Europe, the church naturally disciplined its own clerics, but church law also handled marriage and wills in general, and the disputes arising out of them.

LIFE AND HEALTH

alive—OE on lífe ‘on life’

born—ME participle of ‘bear’

creature—Lt creātūra ‘something created’

dead/death—OE déad, OE déaþ

die—ME dēȝen

• Lt morī poss. < ‘crush’ • OE sweltan < ‘burn’, steorfan < ‘stiff’ • Farsi marg < ‘destroy’

grow—OE grówan

• Lt crescere ∥ ‘create’ • OE weaxan ‘grow, increase’ • OCS rasti prob. < ‘(get) high’ • Ch zhǎng < ‘tall, long’

heal—OE hǽlan ‘make whole’

• Gk θεραπεύω ‘attend’ • Lt sānāre ‘make well’ • Fr guérir < ‘ward off’ • Sw bota ‘betterment’ • Rus лечить < ‘remedy’ • Ch yù < ‘suffer’

ill—Norse illr ‘wicked’

• Ch bìng poss. < ‘warm’

kill—ME culle ‘strike, hit’

* Lt necāre < nex ‘violent death’ • Fr tuer < ‘extinguish’ • ModGk σκοτώνω ‘darken’ • Qu wañuchiy ‘cause to die’

LIFE/LIVE—OE libban < ‘be left’

• Gk ζήω, Lt vivēre < IE • Rum trai < ‘last’ • Ir mair ‘remain’ • Ch shēng < ‘come to exist’

medical—Lt medicālis adjn. of ‘heal’

• Ger ärztlich ‘doctor-like’ • Ch yào poss. < ‘purify’

patient—Lt patiens ‘suffering’

recover—Lt recuperāre ‘regain’

• Ger wiederfinden ‘find against’ • Ch xúnhuí ‘seek-return’

sick—OE séoc

ModGk ἄρρωστος ‘weak’ • Fr malade < Lt ‘bad state’ • OE ādl ‘fevered’ • Ger krank < ‘twisted’ • OCS bolĭnŭ < ‘evil’ • Skt vyādhi- ‘displacement’

survive—Lt supervīvere ‘live above’

• Ger überleben ‘over-live’ • Ch xìngcún ‘happy-preserve’

treat—Fr traiter ‘drag’ > ‘manage, act’

+—funeral, decay, rot, mold, mortal

doctor, nurse, hospital, drug, pill, surgery, cure

disease, stroke, scurvy, epilepsy, diarrhea, nausea, arthritis, cancer

wound, bruise, rash, fever, wart, pimple, blister, pock-mark

English live has the sense ‘reside’, but this is often a different verb— e.g. Mandarin zhù vs. shēng ‘produce, give birth, be alive’.

In languages with a well-used causative, like Quechua, kill is simply ‘cause to die’ (wañuchiy).

Medicine

English healthy is related to hale, whole; health is oneness. Latin salvus (source of salubrious, save, and Spanish salud) has the same etymology. Swedish frisk is ‘fresh’ but also ‘well, healthy’. Russian здарове combines ‘well’ and ‘firm’. Avestan has the melancholy abanta- ‘not sick’.

Healer is straightforward; medic(al), medicine derive from Lt medeor ‘heal’. A doctor is anyone with an education, literally a ‘teacher’; a physician is one who has studied ‘nature’; apparently this study interested non-scholars only when they were sick.

Try thinking up some of the treatments your conpeople might use. You’d might as well be creative, because premodern medicine was almost entirely claptrap.

Diseases

The diseases and conditions are a chance to do some conworlding— what diseases attack orcs and elves? Or if they’re human, do they share the same microorganisms as our world?

Here’s a list of major disease agents and parasites, organized by taxonomic group (p. 116). If just one italicized name is given, it’s a genus.

AIDS—virus—human immunodeficiency virus (Lentivirus)

chicken pox—virus—Varicellovirus

common cold—virus—Enterovirus rhinovirus (most often)

herpes—virus—Simplexvirus spp.

influenza—virus—orthomyxoviruses

measles—virus—Morbillivirus

mononucleosis—virus—Epstein-Barr virus

Lymphocryptovirus

polio—virus—poliovirus (Enterovirus)

rabies—virus—Lyssavirus

smallpox—virus—Variola major

anthrax—bacterium—Bacillus anthracis

bacterial pneumonia—bacterium—Streptococcus pneumoniae etc.

botulism—bacterium—Clostridium botulinum

cholera—bacterium—Vibrio cholerae

gonorrhea—bacterium—Neisseria gonorrhoeae

leprosy—bacterium—Mycobacterium spp.

plague—bacterium—Yersinia pestis

salmonella—bacterium—Salmonella spp.

strep throat—bacterium—Streptococcus pyogenes

syphilis—bacterium—Treponema pallidum

tetanus / lockjaw—bacterium—Clostridium tetani

tuberculosis—bacterium—Mycobacterium tuberculosis

typhoid fever—bacterium—Salmonella enterica

urinary tract infection—bacterium—most often Escherichia coli

yeast infection—fungus—Candida albicans

amoebic dysentery—protist—Entamoeba histolytica

Chagas disease—protist—Trypanosoma cruzi

malaria—protist—Plasmodium spp.

toxoplasmosis—protist—Toxoplasma gondii

tapeworm—platyhelminthes—Taenia solium (pork), T. saginata (beef), etc.

schistosomiasis—platyhelminthes—Schistosoma spp.

guinea worm—nematode—Dracuncula medinensis

hookworm—nematode—Ancylostoma duodenale

roundworm—nematode—Ascaris lumbricoides

river blindness—nematode—Onchocerca volvulus

flea (human)—arthropod—Pulex irritans

head and body lice—arthropod—Pediculus humanus

pubic lice—arthropod—Pthirus pubis

scabies—arthropod (mite)—Sarcoptes scabiei

tick—arthropod—Ixodida order

If your culture hasn’t invented the microscope, only the worms and arthropods will have names (but they will be ancient ones). But the diseases will have names, likely based on their symptoms.

Theories of medicine

A theory of medicine will not only add to your belief systems and cultural practices, but it’ll generate words and idioms, even after the theory is abandoned.

The ancient and medieval theory of humors (literally ‘moistures’) is an example. Medical conditions were described in terms of the under- or overabundance of the humors, which themselves were combinations of the four elements (p. 116). Bloodletting or emetics might be prescribed for a supposed surplus of one humor.

blood

fire + water

choler

fire + earth

phlegm

water + air

melancholy

earth + air

Choler is bile or gall, created in the liver and stored in the gall bladder. It was assumed to produce anger— biliousness— or impudence (what gall!).

Melancholy is ‘black bile’, said to be made in the spleen— though there is no such substance; the spleen mostly filters blood. It was traditionally associated with sadness and depression (as in French writers’ le spleen), but more recently with irritability and anger— vent one’s spleen.

‣             Humors were applied also to temperaments; see p. 116.

Chinese medicine starts with the complementary forces of阴yīn and阳 yáng. Yáng is associated with fire, the masculine, the sky, and with the qualities of speed, hardness, and focus. Yīn is associated with water, the feminine, the earth; it’s said to be slow, soft, and diffuse. The solid lines of I Ching hexagrams are yáng, the broken ones yīn.

In medicine, yīn is associated with heat, yáng with cold; these are supposed to be in balance. A lack of yīn can be diagnosed by feelings of heat, insomnia, dry mouth, dark urine, or a rapid pulse; a lack of yáng by feelings of cold, clear urine, diarrhea, pale tongue, and a weak pulse. There are medicines for reinforcing either component.

In addition the five elements are associated with a taste and with certain organs:

mù wood—sour—liver, gall bladder, eye

huǒ fire—bitter—heart, small intestine, tongue

tǔ earth—sweet—spleen, stomach, mouth

jīn metal—acrid—lung, large intestine, nose

shuǐ water—salt—kidney, bladder, ears

气 qì is etymologically ‘breath’, and developed into a concept of energy or life force. The Huáinán Masters (-2C) taught that the universe produces qì; clear and fast (yáng) qì produced heaven and the sun; heavy and slow (yīn) qì produced the earth and water. Qì is believed to circulate invisibly within the body; various disorders are caused by blocked or unbalanced flows of qì.

Qìgōng ‘cultivation of qì’ is a set of practices of breathing, slow motion, and meditation, which conceptually produce a harmonious flow of qì; it’s a component of Tàijíquán (Tai Chi) and many schools of martial arts. Bodily qì is considered yáng, balanced by the yīn fluids: blood (xuě) and all other bodily fluids (jīnye). Qì moves about in the earth and in structures; fēngshuǐ is largely concerned with managing this flow.

There are complicated relationships between the organs, bodily functions, and various posited qualities. As an example, the liver (gān) is a zàng organ— the concept relates to qì and blood, as opposed to the fǔ organs which relate to digestion. The liver governs the free flow of qì, stores blood, opens into the eyes, governs the tendons, and reflects in the nails. A dysfunctional liver results in anger, headaches, a bitter taste in the mouth, blurry vision, or jaundice. The liver is the seat of the hún portion of the soul (p. 116).

For ancient Axunai, I created a system based on three physical elements (kie)— water, earth, and wood. Each had their spiritual analog (šeč), a pair of attributes, and associated drives:

body—spirit—attributes—drives

water - mii—female - zimun —youth, harvest—love, hatred

earth - suz—male - gumun—night, planting—creativity, destruction

wood - gule—light - silirti—age, day—wisdom, honor

On the medical level, there were bodily substances (kimini) associated with the nine possible combinations of the bodily and spiritual elements:

female

male

light

waters

blood

semen

urine

earths

liver, brain

muscle

heart

woods

ovaries

testicles

bone

An elaborate medicine and psychology were elaborated from this basis, proceeding from the idea that disorders were caused by an overabundance or a weakness of one of these nine combinations.

LIGHT

bright—OE beorht, cognate to Skt bhrāj- ‘shine’

• Lt lūcidus ‘light’ • Ger hell < ‘clear, loud’

brilliant—Fr brillant ‘shining’

DARK—OE deorc poss < ‘hidden’

• OE mirce ‘flickering’ > ‘twilight’ • Gk σκότος ‘shade’ • OHG tuncha < ‘hazy’ • Ch àn < ‘deep black’

dim—OE dim

dull—ME ‘stupid’ > ‘blunt’

fade—Old Fr fader

flash—ME imitative

• Fr étinceler < ‘spark’ • Ch shǎn < ‘blaze’

gleam—OE glǽm ‘brilliant light’ > ‘subdued light’ ∥ glimmer

glow—OE glówan ∥ glass

LIGHT—OE léoht, cognate to Lt lux lūc-, Gk λευκός ‘white’

• Gk φῶσ ∥ Skt ‘shine’ • Ch guāng ‘bright’

pale—Fr pâle

• Ger blaß < ‘bald’ • Ch dàn ‘insipid’

radiate—Lt radiāre ‘emit rays’

ray—Lt radius ‘staff, rod, ray’

• Ger Strahl < ‘arrow’ • Ch guāngxiàn ‘light-thread’

reflect—Lt reflectere ‘bend back’

• Ger zurüchwerfen ‘throw back’ • Ch fǎnyìng ‘back-shine’

shadow—OE sceadu

• Gk σκιά ∥ ‘shine’, both poss. < ‘faint light’ • Lith pavėsis < ‘windy’

shine—OE scínan

• Gk λάμπω < ‘fire’ • Lt lūcēre < ‘light’ • It brillare < ‘whirl’ • Ch zhào < ‘bright’

Generally, we like light. It’s homey and safe, especially at night. Thus it easily makes a metaphor for intelligence (brilliant) and morality (Jesus: “I am the light of the world”). The Dark Lord is the one without people skills.

It might be different for dwarves and drow, whose eyes are adapted to dark interiors and who could be expected to find the sun overpowering. For undersea dwellers light would mean up. Sapients based on other species might value another sense more— the canine equivalent of a brilliant man would be one whose nose finds trails nodog else does.

Fire

burn—OE beornan

• Lt ardēre < ‘dry’ • Ir loisc < ‘light’ • OCS gorěti < ‘hot’ • Ch shāo < ‘kindling’

burst—OE berstan

explode—Lt explaudere ‘clap out’ = ‘drive off the stage’ > ‘expel with force’

fire—OE fýr < IE ‘fire (inan.)’

• Lt ignis < IE ‘fire (anim.)’ • Fr feu < ‘fireplace’ • Sw eld ‘burn’

flame—Lt flamma, prob. ∥ flag- as in ‘blaze’

• Rum flacără dim. ‘torch’ • Skt jvala- < ‘blaze, glow’

heat—OE hǽtu

smoke—OE smoca

• Lt fūmus < IE ∥ ‘shake’, ‘rush’ • Ger Rauch prob. < ‘spew out’ • Ch xūn ∥ ‘vapor’, poss. ‘steam’

Fire is more ambivalent, because it burns. It protects and it destroys. Thus it’s an attribute of both God (the Burning Bush) and the Devil (the flames of Hell).

Chemically, fire is a fast form of oxidation (as opposed to slow forms like rust). A flame is simply hot gas and ash which is emitting light.

Radiation

To the physicists, light is electromagnetic radiation. You can think of this in two ways:

•              As a moving wave, composed of electric and magnetic components oscillating in sync, but at right angles to each other. The difference between the maxima of the waves is the wavelengthl; the speed of oscillation is the frequency f. The waves have typical wave effects such as diffusion (which you can see in the fuzzy edge of a shadow) and interference when passed through narrow slits.

•              As a particle, the photon, with a given energy. You can build a detector that will catch individual photons, and see that they’re units at a particular location— you never catch part of a photon, or find it smeared out over space.

These pictures are both true, which causes endless confusion. Part of the problem is that we think in metaphors (p. 92), and metaphors of water waves and billiard balls are both misleading. We really need a new metaphor. Till then, read Richard Feynman’s QED for the best way of thinking about quantum behavior.

Wavelength and frequency are related by the formula c = fl where c is the speed of light in vacuum, 299,792,458 m/s.

Grab yourself some light with a wavelength of 400 nm (to human eyes that’s a lovely dark blue).

f = c/l = 2.998*108 m/s / 4*10-7 m = 7.49*1014 /s

The unit of frequency really is “per second”, but we conventionally turn this into Hertz, producing the final answer of 7.49 THz. Blue light is really really small (the size of a mitochondrium, p. 116) and oscillates very very quickly.

If you try various frequencies you’ll see that the longer the wavelength, the slower the oscillation.

The energy of a photon is given by hf, where h is Planck’s constant, 4.1357*10-15 eV*s. For that blue light photon,

E = hf = 4.1357*10-15 eV*s * 7.49*1014 /s = 3.10 eV

So the higher the wavelength, the more energetic the light. Light can be energetic enough to be dangerous—gamma rays are ionizing, which means they knock electrons off atoms, messing up chemical bonds and causing damage. This can be good or bad— radiation therapy is used to kill cancer cells, but high doses of gamma rays can also cause cancer.

For convenience we divide up the electromagnetic spectrum and assign names:

‣             For more see Color, p. 116.

For imaging things, you want the wavelength of light to be far smaller than the object. Visible light works great for the human scale, and is useful though fuzzy at the level of cells. Higher wavelengths offer more resolution, but as they’re also more energetic— they can disturb or damage what you’re looking at. For better pictures we turn to electrons, which have a wavelength 100,000 times smaller than visible light.

You could be forgiven for thinking cosmic rays are radiation. In fact they’re mostly single protons and alpha particles (= helium nuclei), with some electrons and higher-weight nuclei.

LOCATIVES

frame—OE framian ‘be profitable’ > ‘prepare’ > ‘shape’

• Fr charpente < ‘cut wood’ • Sp armazón ‘equipment’

gap—OE gap ‘chasm’ ∥ gape

• Fr trou ‘hole’, ouverture ‘opening’ • Sp brecha ‘break’

locate—Lt locāre verbn. of ‘place’

occupy—Lt occupāre ‘seize toward’

PLACE—Gk πλατεῖα ‘broad way’

• Lt locus poss. < IE ‘set up’ • Ir ionad < ‘ground’ • Danish sted < ‘stand’ • Ger Stelle < ‘put’ • OCS město prob. < ‘post’ • Farsi gāh < ‘go’ • Ch dìdiǎn ‘earth-spot’

position—Lt positio ‘putting, placing’

scene—Gk σκηνή ‘tent, stage’

space—Lt spatium

• Ch jiān ‘interval, opening’

surround—Lt superundāre ‘overflow’ < unda ‘wave’

• Sp rodear < ‘turn, wheel’ • Ch wéi < ‘go around’

The word for a location often derives from the act of putting or placing something (Lt locus, position, Old English stów, found in some place names, such as Bristol). Mandarin dìfāng is ‘earth-direction’. The word place itself is generalized from a particular type of place— Gk πλατεῖα, a street or open area, from ‘broad’.

Adpositions

ABOUT—OE on-bútan ‘on without’

above—OE a bufan ‘on atop’

across—ME ‘on cross’

AGAINST—ME aȝeines genitive of ‘again’

ahead—ModE ‘at head’

along—OE and-lang ‘long-facing’

amid—OE on middan ‘in middle’

among—OE on ȝemang ‘on mingling’

apart—Fr à part ‘at the side’

AROUND—ME ‘on round’

aside—ME ‘on side’

AT—OE æt

AWAY—OE on weȝ ‘on (one’s) way = gone’

BEFORE—OE beforan ‘by front’

BEHIND—OE behindan ‘by back’

below—ME ‘by low’

beneath—ME ‘by under’

beside—ME ‘by side’

between—OE ‘by twin’

beyond—OE ‘by yon’

BY—OE bí ‘near’

DOWN—OE of dúne ‘off the hill’

• Fr en bas ‘in low’ • Ch xià ‘descend, low’

during—participle of Fr durer ‘last’ < Lt ‘harden’

except—Lt exceptus ‘taken out’

FOR—OE for

forth—OE forð < Germanic ‘fore’ + a suffix

FROM—OE fram

IN—OE in

inside—ModE ‘inner side’

INTO—OE ‘in to’

OF—OE of root sense ‘away (from)’

OFF—ME variant of ‘of’

ON—OE an

onto—ME ‘on-to’

OUT—OE út

outside—ME ‘outer side’

OVER—OE ofer

overhead—ME ‘over head’

since—OE siððan ‘after that’

THROUGH—OE ðurh

TO—OE tó

TOWARD—OE tóweard ‘to-direction’

UNDER—OE under

UNTIL—Norse ‘up to’ + ‘to’

UP—OE upp

UPON—ME ‘up on’

upper—ME comparative of ‘up’

WITH—OE wið earliest meaning ‘against’

within—OE wiþinnan ‘with in’

WITHOUT—OE wiþútan ‘with out’

I’ve listed all the prepositions from the frequency list here, whether they’re strictly locative or not. This is convenient, but as we’ll see, non-locative senses often derive from locatives anyway.

As with the grammatical words (p. 116), it’s notable how little borrowing there is in this area.

Locatives often derive from body parts— e.g. beside, behind, Swahili mbele ‘in front of’ < ‘breasts’.

Chinese prepositions derive from verbs— e.g. kào ‘depending on’ < ‘lean against’.

Space expressions are normally extended to time using the TIME IS SPACE metaphor. Languages differ in the imagined direction of time; see Directions (p. 116). An expression like in summer is straightforward: the summer is a stretch of time, and the event falls inside it. I’ll see you in three hours is stranger— the meeting takes place after the interval. But the original meaning was presumably ‘within, no later than’.

Many of our prepositions are compounds, transparent (inside, onto) or not (but ‘by out’, between ‘by the two’). French dedans represents a double application of this process: de dans = ‘of inside’ where dans itself derives from vulgar Latin de-intus ‘of inside’. English above is just as bad: it was originally a bufan ‘at above’, where bufan derives from be ufan ‘by above’ (cognate to up). Expressions like in front of are probably on their way to becoming prepositions (perhaps Future English mfruna). The winner here is Spanish en adelante ‘henceforth’, from in + ad + de + in + ante.

Continuing the fusing process, adpositions can become case affixes.

Locatives are extended metaphorically to other uses, but this process is notoriously variable between languages.

Here are some pitfalls just in French. The French expression is followed by a literal translation, then by the preposition English would use.

dans trois heures—in three hours—after

aux yeux bleus—to blue eyes—with

à genou—to knee—on the knees

à bicyclette—to bicycle—by

mal à l’estomac—pain to the stomach—in

de loin—of far—from

traiter de voleur—treat of thief—as a

(partir) sur les 5 heures—(leave) on the 5 hours —(go) at 5 o’clock

un sur dix—one on ten—out of

arriver de nuit—arrive of night—at

par tout le pays—by all the country—throughout

commencer par le début—begin by the start—with

par le nord—by the north—from

dans les 50 F—in the 50 francs—around

en avion—in plane—by

en tyran—in tyrant—like a

contre 50 F—against 50 francs—(in exchange) for

French is also notorious for having complex rules for geographical location (en France, au Mexique, à Paris) and for the arbitrariness of whether you use à, de, or nothing at all after an infinitive.

English with has performed the neat trick of reversing its meaning! Its earliest sense was ‘against’, still used with fight and contrast.

French has the neat preposition chez ‘at the home of’, e.g. chez sa tante ‘at his aunt’s’.

The root meaning of Russian у is ‘within reach, next to’; it can be used the same way as chez (у брата ‘at my brother’s); it’s also the normal way to express possession (У брата дом ‘My brother has a house’).

Some sets of locatives

Locatives vary widely between languages. Quechua has a very simple set, realized as case endings:

-ta—accusative

-paq—dative —for (beneficiary), by (a time)

-pa—genitive —of

-manta—ablative —from, out of, about (topic)

-man—illative—to (goal or beneficiary)

-wan—instrumental —with, and

-rayku—causal—because of

-kama—terminative—as far as, until

-pi—locative—at, in, during

-nka—distributive—each

-pura—interactive—among, restricted to

-nta—transitive—through

Swahili relies heavily on the postposition ya, whose core meaning is ‘of’— e.g. milango ya nyumba ‘the doors of the house’. It agrees with its object: vitu vya mfalme ‘the king’s things’.

Expressions of the form <locative> ya <noun> correspond to our prepositional phrases: chini ya mti ‘under the tree’. The locatives (in origin usually nouns) include:

chini—under

juu—on, over, about

nje—outside

ndani—in

nyuma—behind

mbele—in front of, beyond

katikati—in the middle of

zaidi—more than

kati—between, among

baada—after (time)

kabla—before (time)

baina—between, among

miongoni—among

kando—beside

mahali—instead of, in place of

In addition, there are locatives that use the particle na instead:

mbali—far from

karibu—near

pamoja—together with

sawa—equal to, the same as

tofauti—different from

Then there’s kwa which is a preposition, used for place (kwa mwalimu ‘to the teacher’), instrument (kwa wino ‘with ink’), or manner (kwa haraka ‘in a hurry’).

Mandarin has a number of ways to form locatives, but I’ll focus on two. First, there are a set of postpositions, normally used with the particle zài ‘at’— e.g. zài chéng wài ‘outside the city’.

lǐ—in, inside

wài—outside

shàng—on top of, above

xià—under, below

qián—in front of

hòu—behind, in back of

zhōng—in, among, between

páng—by, beside

dōng—east of (likewise the other directions)

zhèr—this side of

nàr—that side of

zuǒ—left of

yòu—right of

These may be combined with -bian ‘side’, -mian ‘face’, -tou ‘head’— e.g. zài fángzi hòumian ‘behind the house’.

In addition there are a set of prepositions, including those below. These derive from verbs, and it’s useful to see their original meaning:

āi—next to—be next to

àn—according to—press

bèn—toward—go to

bǐ—compared to—compare

cháo—facing—face

chúle—except, besides—remove

cóng—from—follow

dǎ—from—hit

dāng—in front of—serve as

duì—to—face

gěi—for, by—give

gēn—with—follow

hàn—with—mix

jiě—from—untie, relieve

kào—depending on—lean against

lí—separated from—keep distance

nì—against—be opposed to

píng—according to—depend on

qǐ—from (time, place)—rise

shǐ—using, with—cause

tì—in place of—substitute for

xiàng—like—be like

yán—along—follow along

yī—according to—agree with

yú—to, for—be at

Russian prepositions often have a different meaning when used with different cases:

без—gen—without

через—acc—through, across, after (time)

для—gen—for

до—gen—up to, until

из—gen—out of

к(о)—dat—to, toward

кроме—gen—besides, except

между—instr—between

на—acc—(moving) onto, for (time)

—prep—(location) on

над—instr—above

o(б)—acc—against

—prep—about, concerning

около—gen—next to, near, about

от—gen—from, away from, from (a time)

перед—instr—in front of

по—dat—on, along, according to

под—acc—(moving) under

—instr—under

подле—gen—alongside

после—gen—after

позади—gen—behind

при—prep—in the presence of

с(о)—gen—from, off

—instr—with, using, in the company of

у—gen—near, at, chez

в(о)—acc—(moving) into, at (time)

—prep—(location) in

впереди—gen—in front of

за—acc—(moving) behind, during

—instr—for, after, (location) behind

LOVE

care—OE caru ‘sorrow’ > ‘be concerned’ > ‘care for’

• Fr soin < ‘attend to’ • Welsh pryder < ‘take time’ • Ger Sorge < ‘sorrow, grief’ • Cz starati < ‘(care for the) old’ • Rus забота < ‘alarm’ • Ch kānhù ‘guard-family’

companion—Fr compagne ‘(person one has) bread with’

• Gk ἑταῖρος prob. < ‘one’s own’ • Lt socius < ‘follow’ • Fr camarade < ‘chambermate’ • Welsh cydymaith ‘fellow traveler’ • Dutch makker < ‘fit, equal’ • Ger Genosse ‘co-owner’ • Rus товарищ ‘waresman’ • Skt sahāya- ‘go with’

FRIEND—OE fréond < Germanic ‘dear’

• Lt amīcus < ‘love’ • Welsh cyfaill ‘foster brother’ • Sw vän < ‘desire, love’ • OCS drugŭ ‘companion’ • Farsi dost < ‘take pleasure’ • Ch péng < ‘pair’, yǒu < ‘(at one’s) right’

hate—OE hete, cognate to Old Ir cais ‘love/hate’ poss. < ‘care’

• Lt odium poss. < ‘disgust’ • Rum ură < ‘shudder’ • OCS nenavistĭ ‘not see’ • Skt dviṣ- < ‘separation, discord’ • Ch hèn ∥ ‘quarrelsome, obstinate’

LIKE—OE lícian < Germanic ‘body’ ∥ lich

loyal—Fr loyal < Lt ‘legal’

love—OE lufu < IE, cognate to OCS ljuby, Skt lubh- ‘long for’ ∥ Lt libīdo libīdin- ‘desire, lust’

• Lt amor poss. < babytalk • Sp querer ‘desire’ • Rum dragoste < ‘dear’ • Sw älskog < ‘nourish, bear’ • Cz láska ‘caress’ • Avestan zaoš- < ‘enjoy’

+—affection, romance, date, flirt, boy/girlfriend, mate, partner

‣             See also Sex, p. 116, and Kinship, p. 116.

I’ve found the ancient Greek fourfold division of love to be useful:

•              στοργή— affection, love within the family

•              φιλία— friendship, the most respectable of the loves to a philosopher

•              ἔρως— romance, lust, what all those songs are about

•              ἀγάπη— spiritual love, the type elevated by Paul

The latter was translated cāritas ‘dearness’ in Latin; thus charity in the KJV, since specialized to mere alms-giving. Amusingly, the English cognate is whore (cf. Buck §16.27).

Lakota traditionally had kȟolá ‘male friend of a man’ and mašké ‘female friend of a woman’, but no term for a friend of the opposite sex, which was considered improper.

In Korean, you refer to friends using kinship terms if they’re older (e.g. oppa ‘older brother of a girl’), jingu if they’re the same age, otherwise simply by name.

‘Friend’ can be the basis for naming lovers, as in ‘boyfriend/girlfriend’ or French petite amie.

While retaining general amar ‘love’, Spanish uses querer ‘want’ for romantic love. Catalan uses estimar (cognate to ‘esteem’).

The optional terms given above are highly culture-specific. You can discover the terms you need by writing a little biography of a person from your culture. How do they get married? What activities are involved? What options do they have? Is marriage linked to love at all? What rituals are involved? How much freedom is there to hook up, or live together, outside marriage?

MEASUREMENT

count—Old Fr cunter < Lt computāre ‘calculate’ < ‘think together’

inch—Lt uncia ‘1/12, ounce’

kilometer—Fr, from Gk ‘thousand’ + ‘measure’

measure—Fr mesure < Lt mētīrī < IE, cognate to Gk μετρέω, OE mǽd

• Ch chǐcùn ‘foot-inch’

meter—Gk μέτρον ‘measure’

mile—Lt mīlia ‘thousand (paces)’

• Ch lǐ ‘divide into sections’

number—Lt numerus poss. < ‘share’

• Gk ἀριθμός < ‘reckon, order’ • Ger Zahl < ‘count, relate’ • Skt samkhyā- ‘add up’ • Ch shù < ‘what is counted’

rate—Lt ratus ‘calculated; constant’

scale—Norse skál ‘bowl’

total—Lt tōtus ‘entire’

+—ratio; accurate, calculate

‣             See also Dimension, p. 116.

Readers will accept US units in fantasy, but this is one area where context will let you slip in terms from your conlang. If a character says “But Lord Nařo, Barakhún is two hundred cemisî away”, it’s clear that they’re using unit of length for long distances. They won’t know the exact distance, but they also won’t care.

More subtly, you can calque the terms: “The ktuvok stood more than four strides tall and weighed more than four milletsacks.”

Here’s the system I came up with for Verduria:

Linear

eda               .351 cm              .0014 in

width of a scroll pen

mano              24 edî              8.42 cm              3.3 in

width of a hand

čima              9 manoi              .758 m              2.5 ft

length of a man’s stride

proma               2 čimî              1.516 m              5.0 ft

a unit used in racing, navigation, etc.

cemisa              1000 čimî              758 m              .47 mi

a thousand paces

dënšadu               80 cemisî              60.64 km              37.60 mi

one day’s ride by horse

Area

bařura               1 čima potë              .575 m2              6.2 ft2

used to measure cloth, rooms, etc.

meči                             1.136 ha             2.8 acres

used to measure land

Volume

mika               1/2 miy              3.358 ml              0.7 tsp

smaller spoonful

miy               6.716 ml              1.4 tsp

spoonful

verae               12 miî              80.6 ml              2.7 oz

liqueur glass

ďuro               5 veraî              .403 l              14 oz

flagon

lažna               2 ďuroi              .806 l              .21 gal

wine-bottle

gemár               5 lažnî              4.03 l              1.1 gal

pitcher

luco               9 gemárî              36.27 l              9.9 gal

bushel

bečka               4 lucoi              145.1 l              38 gal

barrel

Weight

ris                             60.71 mg              .94 grain

the weight of a grain

hecur               100 risî              6.071 g              .21 oz

two sheets of paper

süro               100 hecurî              .6071 kg              1.3 lb

a standard cut of cheese

cucuri               10 süroi              6.071 kg              13 lb

for weighing men and animals

pavona               288 cucurî              1750 kg               1.9 ton

cartload

Most of the units are based on homely exemplars, things premodern people are likely to have at hand. The multipliers are a bit miscellaneous— the neatness of the metric system doesn’t appear before the scientific era.

A few terms (proma, cucuri) are restricted to particular domains; this is an imitation of terms like furlong, dram, carat.

METALS

gold—OE gold < IE derivation of *ghel- ‘yellow’

• Lt aurum prob. < IE ‘reddish’ • Ch jīn also ‘metal’ poss. < ‘bright’

iron—OE íren, ísen, uncertain, but cognate to Celtic *īsarnom

• Lt ferrum uncertain • Skt ayas- originally ‘bronze’ • Ch tiě < ‘black’

lead—OE léad, cognate to Ir luaidhe

• Lt plumbum, Gk μόλυβδος loanwords but source uncertain

metal—Gk μέταλλον ‘mine’

• Ch jīn also ‘gold’ poss. < ‘bright’

silver—OE siolfor, uncertain, but cognate to OCS srebro

• Lt argentum poss. < IE ‘bright, white’ • Sp plata < ‘(silver) plate’ < ‘flat’

steel—OE stýle

• Fr acier < ‘edge’ • Ch gāng < ‘hard’

tin—OE tin

• Lt plumbum album ‘white lead’ • Rus жесть ‘hard’

+—copper, zinc, bronze, brass, mercury

forge, anvil, alloy, ore

‣             See also Elements, p. 116, and Substances, p. 116.

Few metals are available in pure form: basically gold, silver, copper, and tin. The rest are locked up in ores. The challenge of ancient metallurgy was to produce metals that were cheap enough to use for utensils, malleable enough to work, but strong enough to keep their shape. Gold and silver fail two of these tests, and even copper is too weak to make good swords and plows.

The key to unlocking ores is heat, and plenty of it. An open wood fire doesn’t reach much above 550° C— not enough to melt most ores. A pottery kiln, however, can reach the melting point of copper, 1100° C. The development of the kiln, by the -35C, allowed copper metallurgy.

By the -30C, copper was combined with tin to form bronze, which was strong enough to make tools and swords. (Tin melts at just 250° C, so it’s easily recovered from ores like cassiterite.) An alternative to tin is zinc, producing brass.

Iron melts at over 1500° C; with ancient technology such temperatures could be reached only by using a bellows, or by adding enough carbon (from charcoal) to lower the melting point.

Iron alloyed with carbon is steel. The simplest approach (developed by 1000 BC) is to heat iron with charcoal, then cool it in water, which creates a steel surface— enough to improve a blade considerably.

Add carbon in quantity (4%) and you have cast iron— too brittle for weapons, but still useful. The Chinese had developed this by 500 BC.

Pure steel has 0.5 to 1% carbon content and is much harder and stronger than iron. Crucible steel (formed by heating iron, glass, and charcoal in a clay jar— the glass bonded to impurities and floated to the top where it could be removed) was made in India (2C). Europeans could produce good steel by the 1500s, but it wasn’t till the Bessemer process (1855) that steel could be produced cheaply and in quantity. (That’s one reason you can’t plausibly add steam boilers to a medieval society.)

Though steel is still our mainstay, we use plenty of other metals— see the Elements section for some of the major uses as well as modern alloys. There are cases where radioactive metals can be used: e.g. out in space where the radioactivity produces useful heat, or in bullets where the radiation poisoning is mostly happening to the enemy.

MIND

amaze—intensive of maze ‘stupefy’

• Fr stupéfier ‘make stupid’ • Ger verblüffen < ‘intimidate’ • Ch jīngqí ‘afraid-strange’

assume—Lt assūmere ‘take to (oneself)’

astonish—Old Fr estonnir ‘from thunder’

attention—Lt attentio ‘stretch to’

• Ger Aufmerksamkeit ‘up-notice’ • Ch zhù < ‘touch’

believe—ME bileven ‘hold dear’ (∥ love and Ger glauben)

• Gk πείθομαι ‘be persuaded’ • Lt crēdere < IE • Rus верить < ‘faith’ • Ch xìn prob. < ‘trust’

brain—OE brægen poss < ‘front of head’

• Lt cerebrum < IE *ǩer- ‘head’ • Gk ἐγκέφαλος ‘in head’ • OCS mozgŭ ‘marrow’ • Skt mastiṣka- ‘skull’

choose—Fr choisir < Germanic ‘try, test, prove’

• Sp elegir < ‘pick out’

claim—Fr clamer ‘cry out, appeal’

clever—ModE ‘nimble with hands’, poss. from ‘claw’

• Fr astucieux < ‘tricky’

commit—Lt ‘put together’

• Ger anvertrauen ‘trust on’ • Ch xǔnuò ‘much-promise’

concentrate—Fr concentrer ‘draw to one center’

concern—Lt concernere ‘sift together’

confuse—Lt confūsus ‘poured together’

conscious—Lt conscius ‘knowing with (others), privy to’

• Ch yìshí ‘know idea’

consider—Lt consīderāre ‘examine’; same obscure root as ‘desire’

• Ger nachdenken ‘after-think’

curious—Lt cūriōsus ‘full of care or pains’

• Ger neugierig ‘new-greedy’ • Ch hǎoqí ‘good-strange’

dare—OE durran < IE, cognate to Gk θάρσος ‘courage’

• Lt audēre < ‘eager’ • Rum cuteza < ‘play dice’ • Ir leomh ‘take in hand’ • Ger wagen ‘wager’ • OCS sŭměti < ‘courage’

decide—Lt dēcīdere ‘cut off’

• Gk κρῑνω < ‘separate’ • Ger bestimmen ‘voice’ • Sw avgöra ‘do of’ • Rus решать < ‘release’ • Ch jué < ‘cut off’

desire—Lt dēsīderāre ‘miss, long for’, obscure root also in ‘consider’

• Gk ἐπιθῡμέω ‘set heart on’ • Sp desear < ‘sit idle’ • Rum dori < ‘pain’ • Ger begehren < ‘eager’ • OCS želěti < ‘wish’

determine—Lt dētermināre intensive of ‘set bounds to’

doubt—Lt dubitāre ‘waver, hestitate’

• Gk ἀμφιβολία ‘attacked on both (sides)’ • It amhras ‘disbelief’ • Breton mar ‘hesitation’ • Ger Zweifel ‘two-ness’ • Lith šaubas ‘shaking’

dream—ME (but must derive from OE as it is common Germanic)

• Lt somnium < ‘sleep’ • Rum vis ‘sight’

expect—Lt expectāre ‘look out’

forget—OE forȝietan < ‘lose one’s grip’

• ModGk ξεχάνω < ‘lose’ • Lt oblīviscī ‘rub out’ • It dimenticare ‘from the mind’ • Welsh anghofio ‘disremember’ • Sw glömma ‘merry’ > ‘neglect’ • OCS zabyti ‘be behind’ • Ch wàng ‘lose, flee’

hesitate—Lt hæsitāre frequentative of ‘adhere, stick’

hope—OE hopa, uncertain

• Gk ἐλπίς < ‘wish’ • Lt spēs prob. < ‘success’ • Ir dóchas < ‘likelihood’ • Rus надежда ‘place oneself on’ • Ch jì poss. < ‘seek’

idea—Gk ἰδέα ‘look, form, kind’ < ‘see’

• Lt nōtio < ‘know’ • Ger Begriff < ‘understand’ • Ch yì < ‘think’

idiot—Gk ἰδιώτης ‘private person = layman’ > ‘uninformed’

imagine—Lt imāgināre ‘picture to oneself’

• Ch xiǎngxiàng ‘think-image’

important—late Lt importans ‘be weighty’ < ‘import, bring into’

• Ger bedeutend ‘meaningful’ • Ch zhòngyào ‘heavy need’

indicate—Lt indicāre ‘point out’ < ‘in’ + ‘say, make known’

intelligent—Lt intelligens < ‘gather between’

• Ir éirimiúil ‘talented’ • Ger verständig ‘understanding’ • Rus умный ‘mindful’ • Skt buddhi- ‘perceptive, aware’ • Qu umayoq ‘head-having’

intend—Lt intendere intensive of ‘stretch’

interest—Lt interesse ‘be between, matter’

LIKE—OE lícian < Germanic ‘body’

main—OE mæȝen ‘strong, mighty’ > ‘principal’

• Fr principal < ‘first’ • Ch yào < ‘must’

major—Lt mājor ‘greater’

MEAN—OE mǽnan ‘intend, mean’, cognate to Ger meinen ‘think’

• Gk σημαίνω ‘point out’ • Lt significāre ‘make a sign’ • Ir ciallaigh < ‘intelligence’ • Welsh ystyr ‘story’ • Ger bedeuten < ‘put in the vernacular’ • Ch yìsì ‘idea-think’

memory—Lt memoria

mental—Lt mentālis ‘of the mind’

MIND—OE ȝemynd ‘memory, thought’, cognate to Lt mēns ment-

• Fr esprit ‘spirit’ • Ger Sinn ‘sense’ • OCS umŭ < ‘show, notice’ • Cz mysl < ‘thought’ • Ch xīn ‘heart’

mystery—Gk μυστήριον ‘secret rite’ < ‘close (the eyes)’

• Ch shén ‘spiritual’

necessary—Lt necesse ‘unyielding’

pick—ME ∥ pike

prefer—Lt præferre ‘bear before’

prepare—Lt præparāre ‘make ready beforehand’

ready—ME rædiȝ, from an OE verb ‘put in order, prepare’

• Lt parātus ‘prepared’ • Sp pronto < ‘produced’ • Ir ullamh ‘at hand’ • Ger fertig < ‘journey’ • Skt kḷpta- ‘fitted’

realize—Fr réaliser ‘make real’

recognize—Lt recognōscere intensive of ‘come to know’

remember—Old Fr remembrer ‘back to memory’ < IE ‘care, remember’

• OE ȝemunan < IE, cognate to OCS pomĭněti • Fr souvenir < ‘come down’ • Sp acordarse ‘harmonize’ • Danish huske ‘think’ • Ger sich errinern < ‘make within’ • Ch jì ‘record, regulate’

remind—ModE ‘(call) back to mind’

represent—Lt repræsentāre ‘present again’

• Ger vertreten ‘step for’ • Ch dàibiǎo ‘substitute-show’

require—Lt ‘seek again’

secret—Lt secrētus < ‘divided off’

• Gk κρυπτός ‘hidden’ • Ir rún ‘rune, mystery’ • Ger geheim ‘domestic’ > ‘private’ • OCS tajĭnŭ < ‘furtive’ • Ch mì < ‘silent’

significant—Lt significans ‘making a sign’

stupid—Lt stupidus ‘stunned’

• Sp necio < ‘not knowing’ • Ger albern < ‘simple’

suppose—Fr supposer ‘put under’

• Ger annehmen ‘take on’ • Ch cāixiǎng ‘guess-think’

THINK—OE þyncan, cognate to archaic Lt tongēre ‘know’

• Gk φρονέω < ‘vitals’• Lt cōgitāre ‘impel with’ • Fr penser < ‘weight’ • Lith galvoti < ‘head’ • Rus думать ‘judge, deem’ • Ch xiang < ‘observe’

understand—OE understondan ‘stand under’

• Gk συνίημι ‘bring together’ • Lt comprehendere ‘seize with’ • Sp entender ‘stretch toward’ • Breton klevout ‘hear’ • Skt avagam- ‘come down to’ • Ch yù poss. ∥ ‘intellect’

wait—ME < Germanic ‘guard’ > ‘lie in wait’ > ‘observe’

• Fr attendre ‘attend’ • It aspettare < ‘look at’ • Sw vänta < ‘hope for’ • OCS žĭdati < ‘desire’

WANT—Norse vanta ‘lack’

• Lt velle, cognate to will • Sp querer < ‘seek’ • Ch yào < ‘must’

WILL—OE willian ‘intend, wish’

wish—OE wýscan < IE

• Fr souhaiter ‘sub-vow’

wonder—OE wundor uncertain

• Gk θαῦμα < ‘sight’ • Lt stupor ‘numbness’ • Fr étonner < ‘thunder’ • Welsh rhyfedd ‘beyond measure’ • Sw förvåning ‘beyond expectation’

+—personality, intellect, sane, cunning, naïve, wit

concentrate, discern; prejudice, bias, interpret, define

predict, optimist, pessimist, nightmare, illusion

alert, urgent, minor, sympathy, neurosis

Mandarin has a useful term yǐwéi which is used for a recently fixed misconception— e.g. “I thought you were coming (when it’s now clear you’re not)”.

Metaphors of mind

However advanced our understanding of the physical world, it never helps us much with describing the mind. Whether we think in terms of the four elements or in terms of neurotransmitters, none of that explains what we think or feel. Even the basic level of language (objects, actions, and attributes) barely applies. Our senses can’t look inside the brain, and the optimistically named introspection (‘seeing inside’) reveals nothing certain.

That is, our viewpoint is naturally and inevitably dualistic— even if we vehemently reject dualism as a philosophy.

We need to talk about the mind anyway, so naturally we reach for our basic mental tool— metaphor. Or rather, a whole set of metaphors.

•              The mind is like a squabbling group of people. This was the basis for a huge literary genre of the Middle Ages, the allegory, but you can still hear it any day: I should dump him, but my heart tells me not to. Don’t listen to your fears. He’s dominated by greed.

The 19C notion of phrenology was an attempt to turn this into science. Though pure quackery, it offers insight into what people thought should be included in a science of mind.

Freud’s id, ego, superego is a modernization of this, with a reduced cast of characters.[14] Paul used the idea of the ‘old man’ and the ‘new man’[15] (cf. Ephesians 4:20-24), referring to the corrupt sinner in us and the newly emerging redeemed saint.

Marvin Minsky’s Society of Mind and David Eagleman’s ‘team of rivals’ (from Incognito) are also versions of this idea.

•              The mind is like a workshop where ideas are manipulated by, um, the mental hands. To attend to something is to ‘stretch toward’ it; to examine it is to weigh it with scales; to assume is to take or receive. You grasp an idea or turn it over in your mind. You can hold it in English or French (maintain) or Latin (tenet). There is a mental stage with a mental observer who can imagine (form an image) of the work.

As Daniel Dennett observes in Consciousness Explained, the notion of an internal homunculus who’s presented with a TV-like image is very hard to eradicate, even in the writings of visual scientists. But it’s nonsense; there is no homunculus, and if there were we’d be back at square one, having to explain his vision!

•              The different organs of the body each contain a bit of mind. We still refer to the heart as the seat of love and value, localize lust in the genitals, and courage or sincerity in the guts. Cultures don’t always make the same assignments! Galen considered the liver to be the seat of the passions. The Chinese located sadness in the lungs, worry in the spleen, and fear in the kidneys. To the Hebrews, the intellect lived in the heart, the conscience in the kidneys, and anguish in the intestines.

•              The mind is characterized or affected by the known elements. In medieval thought the elements within the body were expressed as the four humors.

•              The mind is generally compared to the most complicated mechanism people were aware of. In medieval times this might be a clock; in the 18C a mill; today it’s a computer. We say the wheels are turning to refer to decision-making; we complain that our knowledge of French is rusty or that we’ve run out of steam; in extreme cases we have a breakdown.

•              Lakoff and Johnson draw attention to the conduit metaphor, used for language and meaning: we put our thoughts into words, we try to get ideas across; the listener may complain they didn’t come through or had little weight. This is still a very live metaphor— even many linguists imagine that our mental message is constructed as a coherent whole (perhaps written in Mentalese), packed into language as a necessary medium, and reassembled in the listener’s brain. As noted in the LCK (p. 132), meaning is much sloppier than this. It can’t be reduced to a set of logical assertions, and the listener cannot be assumed to reconstruct ‘the same message’ at all.

•              Arguments and belief systems are compared to buildings. They can be well supported or shaky. They have foundations and may collapse.

•              Ideas can be consumed like food. We build them from raw facts; we stew on them or ruminate (= ‘chew the cud’). We admire a meaty theory and devour a good book. If an idea is bad we just can’t swallow it.

For more see Lakoff and Johnson’s Metaphors We Live By: IDEAS ARE PLANTS, IDEAS ARE PRODUCTS, IDEAS ARE MONEY, IDEAS ARE FASHIONS, UNDERSTANDING IS SEEING, and more. What metaphors are used in the following examples?

He has a sharp wit but he wastes it on dullards.

I looked for a reason but couldn’t find one.

The depression hit me, but I’m determined to shake it off.

She’s full of energy, but being with her makes me feel drained.

Maintain a healthy skepticism, especially about sick ideas like that one.

You drive me crazy— I feel lost without you.

I can’t take my eyes off her, and I could feel her eyes on me too.

The disciples couldn’t rise to the occasion— they fell asleep.

The smell of the madeleine brought up memories from deep in his mind.

These metaphors can be used to construct mind-related words and expressions, and you can expand them into belief systems as well. Or invent your own: the mind could be likened to an army, or to a set of animals, or a dance, or a city, or a bureaucracy.

Theories of mind

How does the mind work? Building on these metaphors and our own experience, we need a theory of mind.

Julian Jaynes, reading ancient texts, had the intriguing notion that consciousness is relatively recent— less than 3000 years old. We interpret the voices in our head— thoughts and desires— as ours, even if we attribute them to hazy entities like ‘the unconscious’. But the heroes of the Iliad and the Old Testament, according to Jaynes, did not report their inner life like this. They attributed those voices to the gods and were unable to consciously evaluate them— they could only obey or disobey. (See The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind.)

This may be wrong or exaggerated, but at the least it’s a demonstration that people don’t all have to have the same theories of mind. C.S. Lewis speaks of the process of internalization in the psychology of the West. To the 2C philosopher Apuleius, a genius was an individual daemon assigned to each human being as a ‘witness and guardian’. Later this became the man’s ‘true self’, and in modern times his talent or understanding.

Similarly, ancient men may have taken the stories of gods and heroes to be true for the same reason that we take them as untrue: that a poet or prophet was ‘making them up’. To us, storytelling is an interior process and of course no guide to external truth. But to the ancients, how could a man produce an epic or a prophecy unless it was dictated by the gods, or the Muses (p. 116)?

For centuries people have debated the status of our conscious mind. The commonest idea, what I’d identify as the folk theory of mind, is that it’s us. You’re the sovereign within your own brain. Maybe parts of you are hidden to view (your memory isn’t always reliable; no one really knows where a ‘story’ comes from; you don’t choose who you’re attracted to), but at the least you decide what to do. Law depends on this folk theory, holding you responsible for those decisions. So does language— the whole concept of persons and agency depends on it.

Calvinists, and many scientists, have the opposite view: the conscious mind is an illusion or an epiphenomenon. We’re no more free than a clockwork mechanism; we just do whatever our brain tells us (or what God has predetermined).

We use this view as one part of our metaphorical toolkit (I couldn’t help myself; I didn’t do it on purpose), and it’s our usual way of understanding sleep, unconsciousness, and mental illness. What would a conworld be like where this was the accepted view for all mental activity? Surely it shouldn’t have personal pronouns, as there is no such thing as persons. Ideas like will and sin would be banished; law would probably be a subset of medicine.

What if both kinds of consciousness existed? Some of us are really here— there’s someone that thinks and feels— but others only look and act as if they do; there’s no one home. They’re philosophical zombies. How would we tell? That might make for an interesting conworld too.

The sovereignty of consciousness seems to be losing ground. Things once seen as moral failings or unfortunate temperaments are now considered chemical states— addictions or an imbalance of neurotransmitters. Neurologists tell us, dismayingly, that when people are asked to make a decision to move their arm, the arm starts moving as much as a second before the subject reports their decision.

On the other hand, it’s rash to make pronouncements about bits of the world we don’t yet understand, and we don’t yet understand the mind. Consciousness very likely has more surprises up its sleeve.

There’s even more possibilities in an sf setting:

•              What theory of mind would an insectile hive mind have? How about a symbiotic being— say, a sentient creature that has both a plant and animal part?

•              How would it feel to integrate your computer (with its powers of calculation, simulation, and Internet access) into your brain? Would those skills feel like ‘part of you’? What if you could easily upgrade or replace them?

•              There’s a gulf between human beings— we can talk and touch but can’t directly share minds. What if we could? Many sf writers have explored what telepathy would be like (Alfred Bester did it masterfully in The Demolished Man), but few have considered the linguistic consequences. Thinking is like talking inaudibly, but unlike speech it has multiple levels— fleeting impressions, assumptions, unstated ‘real meanings’ or images, background memories, the promptings of emotion. If all this was public, we’d need a shared way of analyzing and referring to these things. What does politeness look like if you can directly perceive a person’s actual attitude? Are there mental techniques for restoring a certain privacy? What are the social effects if not everyone is telepathic, or if not everyone is observable?

On the other hand, if you can read minds, perhaps the spoken language is radically simplified. E.g. Lee Killough’s telepaths in Deadly Silents have no words for emotions, just the word ‘feel’ which invites another to probe your current feelings.

The same issues come up in fantasy if you allow magic. The world of Skyrim, where you can be charmed or frenzied or paralyzed by a spell that’s readily sold in shops, raises troubling philosophical issues. Wouldn’t it be rather terrifying to be subject to other’s whims like that, and all the more so because no one ever seems to notice that they’re under a spell?

Analysis

aim—Old Fr esmer < ‘estimate’

arrange—Fr arranger ‘(put) to ranks’

case—Lt cāsus originally ‘a falling’

character—Gk χαρακτήρ ‘engraving tool’

• Ger Ruf ‘reputation’ < ‘call’

class—Lt classis ‘division of the people’

• Ch jí ‘step, rank’

compare—Lt comparāre ‘pair together’

• Ger vergleichen ‘be like for’ • Ch bi <’associate’ < ‘follow’

condition—Lt condicio ‘compact = a speaking together’

• Ger Bedingung < ‘contract’ • Ch tiáojiàn ‘order item’

design—Lt dēsignāre ‘mark out’ > ‘appoint’

• Ger entwerfen ‘throw away’ • Ch shèjì ‘arrange-plan’

detail—Fr détailler ‘cut into pieces’ > ‘sell small pieces’

• Ger Einzelheit ‘singleness’ • Ch xìjié ‘small section’

differ—Old Fr diférrer ‘carry apart, spread’

• Ger unterscheiden ‘under-divide’ • Ch bùtóng ‘not same’

general—Lt generālis ‘of a genus’ > ‘universal’

kind—OE ȝecynde ‘birth’ > ‘nature’ (adjective: > ‘of good nature’)

• Ch lèi < ‘lineage’, wù ∥ ‘seed’

manner—Fr manière ‘handling’ < Lt ‘of the hand’

match—OE ȝemæcca ‘peer, one’s like’

mess—Lt missum ‘something sent’ > ‘serving’ > ‘quantity’

opposite—Lt oppositus ‘put against’

order—Lt ordo ordin- ‘row, series, order’

• Ch xù < ‘continue’

organize—late Lt organizāre ‘furnish with organs, bring to life’

particular—Lt particulāris ‘of a small part’

pattern—Fr patron ‘model’ < Lt ‘protector’, derivation of ‘father’

plan—Fr ‘drawing’ < Lt ‘flat’

• Ch móu poss. < ‘(think) ahead’

problem—Gk πρόβλημα ‘thrown forward’ = ‘a set task’

• Ch wèntí ‘question-topic’

program—Gk πρόγραμμα ‘public written notice’

purpose—Lt prōpōnere ‘put forward’

• Gk πρόθεσις ‘setting forth’ • Ger Absicht ‘by sight’, Zweck ‘peg’ > ‘target’ • Pol zamiar ‘measure’ • Skt artha- ‘reach’

puzzle—ModE uncertain

• Fr énigme < ‘obscurity’ • Sp rompecabezas ‘break-head’ • Ch nántí ‘difficult-topic’

range—Fr ranger < ‘row, rank’

reason—Lt ratio ‘account, number, matter’

• Gk λόγος ‘word’ • Rus разум ‘separate-mind’ • Ch lǐ ‘regulate’ poss. < ‘divide in sections’

relate—Lt relātus ‘referred’

same—Norse same

• Fr même ‘self’ • Sp igual ‘equal’ • Ger gleich < ‘like’ • Ch tóng ‘together’

separate—Lt sēparāre ‘prepared apart’

• Gk σχίζω ‘split’ • Ir scar < ‘cut’ • Rus отделить ‘divide off’ • Skt viyuj- ‘apart-join’

situation—Lt situātio derivation of ‘position, site’

• Ger Lage < ‘lie’ • Ch xíngshì ‘appear-power’

sort—Lt sors sort- ‘lot, fate, part’

state—Lt status ‘standing’ > ‘condition’

• Ch zhuàng ‘shape’

system—Gk σύστημα ‘organized whole’, from ‘set up’ + ‘with’

• Ch xìtǒng ‘connect-unity’

trick—Fr tricher < Lt trīcarī ‘trifle, play tricks’

+—example, similar, identical, chaos, abstract

nonsense, solve, riddle, goal, scheme, clue, code

deduce, imply, induction, analyze, logic, fallacy

These are a particular type of mental tools— those we use to reason and analyze the world.

Etymologically, they rely heavily on physical position, vision, and manipulation. The main metaphor is that of the mental workshop: to think about an object, we bring it onto the mental table; we turn it around, take it apart, compare it to other things on the table. Analysis is ‘loosening’ something to break it down into its components; a detail comes from the similar metaphor of cutting things apart. A deduction is ‘leading’ the argument like a recalcitrant goat; to imply is to fold or wrap something— to involve or entangle it.

Latin reor ‘think’, the origin of reason and ratio, is a basic root; it also has the sense ‘calculate’ and may be cognate to Greek ἀριθμός ‘number’, so it may be a generalization from this particular kind of thinking. OE þyncan is ‘seem, appear’— methinks didn’t mean ‘I think’, but rather ‘It appears to me’. It had a causative þencan which merged with it to give us think— so the basic idea is ‘causing something to appear (to oneself)’. French penser is another tool metaphor: weighing something.

To the Greeks λόγος ‘reason’ was what distinguished humans from animals; note that it included morality as well as logic. The Word in John 1:1 is ὁ λόγος; marrying Hebrew spirituality to Greek rationality created a religion of wide appeal.

An important type of thinking is describing classes of things— their kinds or nature. To talk about the categories of things in the world is basically to analyze or study the world— in Verdurian, kestora ‘the categories’ is the name for natural philosophy. English kind took on the sense ‘temperament’, then ‘good or proper temperament’, leading to the narrower sense of ‘compassionate, benevolent’.

The original sense of class was a division of the Roman people; this was easily extended to other divisions. The same semantic transformation applied to the adjective classic as to kind: from ‘belonging to a class’ the sense became ‘belonging to the highest class’, and thus ‘the standards, the masterpieces’.

Temperament

A map of the soul is useful for understanding those infuriating creatures, our fellow humans, as well as for generating vocabulary.

To medieval Europeans, there were four bodily fluids, the humors, themselves combinations of the four elements. Your particular combination of humors was your temperament (‘mixture’). Note the semantic drift: fine perception of people’s temperaments was a sense of humor; revealing your particular temperament was showing your temper, and being cursed with a bad one was to be ill-tempered.

blood—fire + water—sanguine: pleasant, cheerful, though peppery

choler—fire + earth—choleric: angry and vindictive, neurotic

phlegm—water + air—phlegmatic: sluggish and dull

melancholy—earth + air—melancholic: withdrawn and brooding, stubborn in opinions, long in anger

Another way of describing personalities was by comparing them to the conventional characters of the planets:

Saturn—saturnine: melancholy and contemplative, the patron of disasters, sickness, accident, and age

Jupiter—jovial: like a king in repose, merry and festive, magnanimous and serene

Mars—martial: sturdy, hardy, and warlike

Sol—wise, noble, and fortunate, patron of theologians and philosophers

Venus—the source of beauty and love, survived by the crappy word venereal

Mercury—studious, but also associated with profit and action (modern mercurial has narrowed to ‘volatile’)

Moon—lunatic; wandering, including that of the mind

For Verdurian, I associated temperaments with the seven elements:

ur clay —urise - mortal, fallible; urete - down to earth, practical

mey water —mese - benevolent, wise, tender; happy, playful

ďumë stone —ďumise - strong, determined, patient

endi wood —enil - quiet, shy, timid

gent metal —geteme - strong, powerful, with the qualities of a leader

tšur fire —mëril - fiery, bold, energetic

šalea air —šaleme - intellectual, unwordly, ivory-tower

MOVEMENT

(a)rise—OE rísan

• Dutch opstaan ‘stand up’ • Lt surgere < ‘guide under’ • Fr se lever ‘lift oneself’

accompany—Fr acompagner ‘make companion’

• Ger begleiten ‘lead by’ • Ch péi < ‘double’

advance—Fr avancer ‘away before’

• Ger vorrücken ‘fore-move’ • Ch qiánjìn ‘front-proceed’

approach—Fr approcher ‘(come) near to’

• Gk ζυνώνω ‘join’ • Sp acercar ‘circle’ • Ch jìn ‘imminent’

arrive—Lt adrīpāre ‘to the shore’

• Sp llegar < ‘fold, turn’ • Rum sosi < ‘safe’ • Ger ankommen ‘come at’ • Sw nå ‘near’ • OCS prispěti ‘near-succeed’

bury—OE burȝan

• Fr enterrer ‘into earth’ • Ger begraben ‘dig by’

camp—Lt campus ‘field’

capture—Lt captūra ‘seizure’

• Ger fangen ‘catch’ • Ch bǔhuò ‘seize-get’

climb—OE climban ‘rise by cleaving to a surface’

COME—OE cuman < IE *gwem-, cognate to Lt venīre

• OCS priti ‘go to’ • Qu hamuy ‘go toward speaker’

crawl—Norse krafla < frequentative of ‘claw, scratch’

• Fr ramper < ‘climb’ • Lith lįsti < ‘slip’ • Pol szołgać się ‘(touch the) forehead’

creep—OE créopan

• Lt serpere, Gk ἕρπω < IE

depart—Lt dispertīre ‘divide’ > ‘separate’ > ‘move away’

• Gk ἀναχωρέω ‘make room’ • Fr sortir < ‘cast lots’ > ‘predict’ > ‘escape’ • Sp salir < ‘jump’ • Rum pleca ‘bend’

descend—Lt dēscendere antonym of ‘climb’

drag—dialectal variant of ‘draw’

drift—ME nomn. of ‘drive’

drive—OE drîfan

• Lt agere ‘act, drive’ • It spingere ‘push’ • Sp manejar ‘handle’ • OCS gŭnati < ‘strike’

enter—Lt intrāre, verbn. of ‘within’

• Ger eintreten ‘walk in’ • OCS vuniti ‘go in’ • Skt viç- < ‘home’ • Ch rù ∥ ‘inside, sink’

FALL—OE feallan

• Gk πίπτω < ‘fly’ • Fr tomber imitative • Ir titim prob ‘hit the ground’ • OCS pasti, Skt pad- poss. < ‘foot’

fast—OE fæst ‘firm, fixed’ > ‘determinedly’ > ‘quickly’

• Lt celer < ‘driven’, rapidus < ‘violent’ • Ir luath < ‘move’ • Dutch vlug ‘fly’ • OCS brĭzo ‘shortly’ • Ch kuài ‘happy’

float—OE flotian < IE *pleu- found in words meaning ‘float, swim, sail, rain’

• Ir snámhán ‘swim’ • Ch fú < ‘raft’

flow—OE flówan ∥ ‘float’

• Lt fluere < ‘swell, burst’ • Fr couler < ‘drip’ • Ir rith ‘run’ • Welsh llifo < ‘pour’

fly—OE fléoȝan < IE ∥ ‘float, sail’

• Lt volāre poss. < ‘wing’ • Ir eitil < ‘feather’ • OCS poletěti < ‘jump, kick’

GO—OE gán (but past tense from wend)

• ModGk πάω ‘withdraw’ • Fr aller < ‘walk’ • Rum merge < ‘sink’ • Dutch varen < ‘carry’ • Ch qù ‘get rid of’

guide—Fr guide prob. < Germanic ∥ wit

hop—OE hoppian

jump—ModE imitative

• Fr sauter < Lt ‘dance’, frequentative of ‘jump’ • Gk πηδάω ∥ ‘foot’ • OCS skočiti < ‘shake’

leap—OE hléapan

leave—OE lǽfan < causative of ‘remain’

• Gk ἀφίημι ‘let go’ • Fr laisser < ‘loosen’ • Ch lí < ‘separate’

lift—Norse lypta < ‘air’

march—Fr marcher ‘trample’

• Ch xíngjūn ‘walk-troops’

miss—OE missan

mount—Lt mons mont- ‘mountain’

MOVE—Lt movēre

• Gk κῑνέω < ‘go’ • Fr bouger < ‘bubble’ • Welsh symud ‘change’ • OE styrian < ‘disturb’ • Cz hnouti ‘bend’

pace—Lt passus ‘step’ < ‘stretching (of the leg)’

• Ch bù ‘walk’

pass—Fr passer < Lt ‘step’

progress—Lt progressus ‘movement forward’

pull—OE pullian ‘pluck’

• ModGk τραβῶ < ‘bull’ • Lt trahere < IE • Ch qiān < ‘rope’

quick—OE cwicu ‘alive’ > ‘in motion’ > ‘fast’

race—Norse rás uncertain

• Fr course ‘running’

raise—Norse reisa < causative of ‘rise’ ∥ OE rǽran > rear

• Lt tollere < ‘support’, levāre < ‘light’ • It alzare < ‘high’ • Sw lyfta < ‘air’

rapid—Lt rapidus adjn. of ‘seize, carry off’

remain—Lt remanēre ‘stay back’

• Fr rester ‘rest’ < ‘stand’ • Gk λείπομαι ‘be left’ • Qu qepay ‘be after’

return—Fr retourner ‘turn back’

• Ch huí < ‘revolve, go around’

ride—OE rídan

• Ir marcaigh < ‘horse’ • OCS jachati, cognate to Skt yā- ‘go’ • Ch qí prob. < ‘be carried’

RUN—Norse rinna, replacing OE cognate irnan

• Gk τρέχω < ‘wheel’ • Lt currere ∥ ‘vehicle’ • Ger laufen ∥ ‘leap’ • OCS tešti ‘run, flow’ • Rus бежать prob. < ‘flee’ • Ch zǒu < ‘quick’

rush—Old Fr russer ‘reject’ > ‘push out’ > ‘move quickly’

sink—OE sincan

• Gk βυθίζω < ‘depth’ • Sp hundir < ‘bottom’ • Fr plonger < ‘lead (weight)’ • Ch chén ∥ ‘immerse’, ‘drown’

slide—OE slídan

• Lt lābī < ‘loose, weak’ • Sp deslizar < ‘smooth’ • Norse skriðna < ‘crawl’ • Ch huá ‘slippery’

slip—Dutch, Low German slippen

slow—OE sláw ‘obtuse’ > ‘slothful’ > ‘not fast’

• Lt lentus ‘pliant’ • Rum încet ‘quiet’ • Ir mall ‘slow’ • Ger langsam ‘long-late’ • OCS mądĭnŭ ‘delay’ • Ch màn ∥ ‘extensive’

speed—OE spéd ‘abundance’ > ‘power’ > ‘quickness’

stay—Lt stāre ‘stand’

• Lt menēre ‘remain’ • Fr rester < ‘stand back’ • Sp quedar < ‘be quiet’ • Dutch blijven < ‘be stuck’

stride—OE strídan ‘straddle, take long steps’ poss. ∥ ‘strive’

swim—OE swimman

• Lt natāre < IE ‘swim, bathe, wet’ • Fr nager < ‘navigate’

thrust—Norse þrýsta

walk—OE wealcan ‘roll, toss’

• Fr marcher ‘march’ • Sp caminar < ‘road’ • Ger gehen ‘go’ • Ch zǒu < ‘run’

wander—OE wandrian

• Fr errer < Lt ‘go astray’ • Sp vagar < ‘be empty, at liberty’ • Ch mànbù ‘flow-walk’

+—abandon, exit, halt, stumble, sneak, squeeze

Pursuit

avoid—Old Fr avoider ‘empty out’

• Ger vermeiden < ‘move away’ • Sp huir ‘flee’ • Ch bì < ‘(go) obliquely’

escape—Fr échapper < ‘(get) out of a cloak’

• Ger entfliehen ‘flee away’ • Qu urmay ‘fall’ • Ch táo ‘run away’

FIND—OE findan, prob. ∥ Skt ‘path’

• Lt invenīre ‘come upon’ • Sp encontrar ‘(come) against’ • Ir faigh ‘seize under’ • Welsh caffael ‘get’ • Ch zhǎodào ‘seek-reach’

follow—OE folȝian < Germanic ‘full-go’

• Lt sequī < IE • Ir lean ‘adhere’ • Rus следить ‘track’

hunt—OE huntian < ‘seize, capture’

• Lt vēnārī < ‘seek, strive for’ • Fr chasser ‘chase’ • Gk θηράω < ‘beast’ .• OCS lovŭ ‘hunting, booty’ • Ch liè ‘trample’ • Ket kəj ‘walk around’

press—Lt premere

• Gk πιέζω ‘sit upon’ • Latvian spiest < ‘thick’ • Rus дивать ‘choke’ • Ch àn ‘cause to calm’

pursue—Lt prosequere ‘follow forward’

• ModGk κυνηγῶ ‘hunt’ • OCS goniti ‘drive, chase’ • Skt anu-dhāv- ‘run after’ • Ch zhuī poss. ∥ ‘track’

push—Lt pulsāre, frequentative of ‘drive, beat’

• Lt trūdere < ‘trouble’ • Ir sáigh causative of ‘sit’ • Ger stossen ‘strike’ • Ch tuī ‘push away, shove’

search—Fr chercher < Lt ‘go around’ ∥ ‘circle’

seek—OE sécan ∥ ‘scent’, ‘lead’

• Gk ζητέω < ‘exert oneself’ • Fr chercher ‘circle’ • Sp buscar < ‘(hunt) firewood’ • Ir lorg ‘track’ • OCS iskati < ‘seek, wish, ask’ • Cz hledati < ‘look at’

trace—Lt tractus ‘trailing, dragging, drawing’

+—chase, flee

Paths and journeys

address—Fr addresser ‘straighten’

• Ch chēng ‘weigh’

COURSE—Fr cours ‘a running’

journey—Fr journée ‘day-ness’

• Ch lǚ ∥ ‘stranger’, ‘lodging’

passage—Fr passage nomn. of ‘pass’

path—OE pæþ, uncertain

• Gk ἀτραπός ‘trodden’ • Ir cosán < ‘foot’ • Lith takas < ‘run’ • Ger Steig < ‘climb’ • Ch xiǎolù dim. ‘road’

road—OE rád ‘act of riding’ > ‘course’

• Gk ὁδός < ‘walk’ • Lt via poss. < ‘seek’ • Fr route < ‘broken’ • Rus дорога < ‘drawn out’ • Skt mārga- ‘animal (path)’

origin—Lt orīgo origin- ‘rising, beginning’

• Ch běn ‘root’

track—Fr possibly a form of ‘trace’

trail—ME ‘drag’ < likely Lt ‘dragnet’

travel—Fr travailler ‘travail’

• Qu illay verbn. of ‘absent’ • Ch lǚ ∥ ‘guest, stranger’

trip—Old Fr treper < Germanic ‘tread, stamp’

visit—Lt vīsitāre ‘go see’ = frequentative of ‘see’

• Ger besuchen ‘seek by’ • Ch fǎng ‘inquire’

WAY—OE weȝ ‘path’

• Gk τρόπος ‘turn’ • Lt modus < ‘measure’ • Fr manière ‘handling’ • Dutch wijze < ‘appearance’ • Lith būdas ‘character’ • OCS obrazŭ ‘form’ • Ch dào poss. < ‘conducting thing’

+—source, destination, explore, vacation

Movement in place

bend—OE bendan < ‘bend a bow’ < ‘bind, restrain’

• Gk κάμπτω < ‘bent, crooked’ • Fr plier < ‘fold’ • Sw kröka < ‘hook’

flitter—ME flitten ∥ ‘flow, float’

roll—Lt rotula, dim. ‘wheel’

• Gk κυλίνδω < ‘cylinder’• Lt volvere < IE ‘roll, wind, wrap’

shake—OE scacan ∥ ‘stir, leap, move’

• Fr secouer < ‘toss’ • OCS tręsti ‘tremble’

shift—OE sciftan ‘arrange’

shiver—ME chivere, uncertain

shudder—ME < Germanic frequentative of ‘shake’

spread—OE sprǽdan < ‘sow, scatter’

• Fr étendre ‘strech out’ • Ir leath ‘wide’ • OCS rasypati ‘pour out’

stretch—OE streccan < ‘stiff’

• Lt tendere < IE *ten- • Ir sín < ‘throw out’ • Ch shēn < ‘pull’

swing—OE swingan ‘scourge’ > ‘rush, throw’ > ‘move back and forth’

tremble—Lt tremere

TURN—Gk τόρνος ‘compass’ > ‘turn in a lathe’

• ModGk γυρίζω < ‘round’ • Sw vända < causative of ‘wind’

twist—ME twinn ‘combine two things’ > ‘weave’ > ‘wring’

English verbs of motion make a basic distinction between movement toward the speaker (come, bring) and away (go, take).

The array of motion verbs above is less intimidating once you realize that many of them are based on locatives— e.g. enter, exit derive from Latin in, out.

The manner verbs seem to have some sound symbolism going on— e.g. hop, slip, jump, leap, flap with their abrupt ending -p; or compare the similar-sounding slip, slide, slither, slink, slog, slouch, sneak. The -er of clatter, flutter, wander, waver, shudder, clamber as well as glitter, mutter, slumber, flicker, chatter, twitter is a frequentative.

Czech has different sets of movement words for walking, vehicles, and flight, e.g.

přicházet              arrive by foot

přijet                            arrive by vehicle

přiletět                            arrive by air

Russian adds a distinction between one-way movement (ходить) and two-way or habitual movement (ездить).

Spanish distinguishes ir ‘go (to a place)’ from irse ‘go away, leave’.

In Hua, spoken in the mountains of New Guinea, motion words distinguish upward and downward movement.

The Siberian language Ket has an interesting array of verbs relating to movement along the river:

áɣà—move from riverbank to forest

ə́tà—move from water to riverbank

ígdà—move from forest to riverbank

étà—move upriver along the ice

átà—move downriver along the ice

éskà—move upriver by boat

tíɣà—move downriver by boat

Germanic movement verbs typically emphasize manner, Romance verbs path. Compare English The girl ran down the stairs with Spanish La chica bajó corriendo las escaleras— literally ‘descended running’. Note the close variants of manner offered by English: creep / crawl / slither, hop / jump / leap / spring, slip / slide / glide.

English is somewhat rare in having a specialized verb walk; many IE languages just use the word for go.

Causatives are particularly useful here, and are often lexicalized: cause to go = drive / impel, cause to jump = sauté, cause to rise = raise, cause to stand = build, cause to leave = expel.

From driving animals we come to drive vehicles, but other languages may use different words— e.g. French chasser / conduire. In Russian you can править a horse or a car, but other forms of forcing movement are гнать.

Movement verbs are promiscuous metaphorizers. Some of the commonest:

•              A ROUTE IS MOVEMENT: the road goes to Vyat; the pectoralis muscle runs from the chest to the shoulder.

•              FUNCTIONING IS MOVEMENT: the computer is running; what makes a steam engine go?

•              TIME IS MOVEMENT: Time flies; we’re halfway through the year.

•              NARRATIVES ARE JOURNEYS: the author takes us from the slums to the penthouses; I can’t get through this book; now we come to the climax.

•              CONVERSION IS MOVEMENT: I started out as a fundie and ended up as an atheist.

•              TRANSFER OF POSSESSION IS MOVEMENT: Alsace went to France; this watch came from my grandfather. Note the dual meaning of return (‘go back, give back’).

•              LEADERSHIP IS (CAUSED) MOVEMENT: Can he move the party forward? A contrasting framing is that not moving is good— We need stable leadership; he knows how to hold firm.

•              BENEFICIAL CHANGE IS (FORWARD) MOVEMENT: This country isn’t progressing, it’s backwards.

Check an English dictionary for the many extensions of run. Another language won’t reproduce this set! E.g. French courir matches the base meaning of ‘fast ambulation’, but different verbs are used for most of its extensions:

the river runs—la fleuve coule—flow

run for President—être candidat à la présidence—be

run for it!—sauvez-vous!—save

the dye ran—la teinture a bavé—dribble

the play is running—la pièce se joue—play

the machine is running—la machine marche—walk

my stockings ran—mes bas ont filé—slip, spin

run an article—publier un article—publish

it’s run its course—ça a suivi son cours—follow

run a business—diriger un commerce—direct

run your fingers over—passer les doigts sur—pass

run a program—exécuter un logiciel—execute

I ran into Nicolas—Je suis tombé sur Nicolas—fall

It’s always pleasant to look up a word in your lexicon and find you already have it. But sometimes, when you’re using an extended or metaphorical sense, you should use a different or new lexeme anyway.

NATURE

cave(rn) —Lt cava ‘hollow (places)’

• Qu chinkana ‘place to be lost’ • Ch dòng ‘hole, pierce’

cloud—OE clúd ‘rock, hill’ > ‘mass of stuff’

• Lt nebula ‘mist, cloud’ • OCS oblakŭ ‘covering’ • Danish mulm ‘darkness’ • Ch yún poss. < ‘swirl’

country—Old Fr contrée ‘what’s opposite = view, landscape’

Land: • Fr pays < ‘rural district’ • OCS strana ‘side’ < ‘spread’ • Skt visaya- ‘sphere of activity’ • Ch guó < ‘boundary’

Countryside: Lt rūs rūr- ‘space’ • Fr campagne < ‘fields’ • Cz venkov < ‘outside’ • Rus деревна ‘village’ • Ch nóngcūn ‘agriculture-village’

desert—Fr déserter < Lt frequentative of ‘abandon, forsake’

• Ger Wüste ‘wastes’ • Ch shāmò ‘sand-pasturage’

farm—Lt firmus ‘fixed’ > fee, rent > agricultural land

• Ger Bauernhof < ‘build, cultivate’ + ‘yard’ • Ch nóngchǎng ‘agriculture-field’

field—OE feld < IE ‘flat, spread out’, cognate to plānum, поле

• Lt campus < ‘curved’, ager < ‘pasture’ • Sw mark ‘boundary’ • Lith laukas ‘open’ • OCS niva ‘lowland’ • Avestan karšū- ‘plowed’

fog—ME ‘grassy, mossy’ > ‘fleshy’ > ‘murky’ > ‘misty’

• Fr brouillard < breu ‘broth’ • Ch wù ∥ ‘dark’

forest—Lt foris ‘outside’ (as opposed to fenced in)

• Gk δάσος ‘thick’ • Rum pădure ‘swamp’ • Ir coill collective of ‘wood’ • OE wald ‘wilderness’ • Skt araṇya- ‘distant’ • Lith girė cognate to OCS gora ‘mountain’ • Ch lín ‘crowd’

freeze—OE fréosan

• Lt gelāre < ‘ice’

garden—Norman gardin < Germanic ‘yard’

• Lt hortus ‘enclosure’ • Danish have < ‘hedge’ • Rus сад < plant’ • Avestan pairidaēza- ‘wall about’, source of paradise • Ch yuán prob. < ‘encircling (wall)’

ground—OE grund ‘bottom, base, earth’

• Gk πέδον < ‘foot’ • Lt solum ‘base, sole’ • Ch dìmiàn ‘earth-face’

hail—OE haȝol

hill—OE hyll < IE ‘raise, high’, cognate to Lt collis

• Sp cerro ‘nape’ • Welsh bryn ‘swelling’ • Cz pahorek ‘dim. mountain’ • Gothic hlains < ‘bend’ • Dutch heuvel ‘hump’

ice—OE ís

• Gk κρύσταλλος < ‘frost, crust’ • Lt glacies < ‘icy cold’

LAND—OE land ∥ Welsh llan ‘enclosure’

mountain—Rom ‘mountain region’ < Lt mons mont- < IE ‘project’ as in prominent

• Gk ὄρος < ‘high, raised’ • Norse fjall ‘rock’ • Bulg planina < ‘(high) plateau’ • Skt parvata- ‘rugged, knotty’

nature—Lt nātūra‘birth, character’

• Ch zìrán ‘by itself’

peasant—Fr paysan ‘countryman’

plain—Lt plānum ‘flat’

• OE emnet < ‘level, even’ • Ir má ‘expanse’ < ‘big’

rain—OE reȝn <IE ‘wet’

• Lt pluvia <’flow, swim’ • Skt varṣa- <’water’

sky—Norse ‘cloud’

• Ch tiān prob. < ‘top’

snow—OE snáw, cognate to Lt nix niv-

• Gk χιών < ‘winter’ • Rum zăpadă ‘fallen’

storm—OE storm

• Fr orage < ‘breeze’ • Sp tempestad < ‘weather’ • Ch fēngbào ‘wind-violent’

valley—Lt vallis

• OE dæl < ‘bent, curved’ • Gk κοιλάς ‘hollow’ • Ir gleann ‘river bank’ • Skt upatyakā- ‘beneath (the mountain)’

wild—OE wilde

• Ch yě < ‘grassland’

wind—OE wind, cognate to Lt ventus, Gk ἄήρ ‘wind’

Gk ἄνεμος ‘breath’ • Ch fēng also ‘air’

WORLD—OE weorold < Germanic ‘man age’ > ‘lifetime, era’

• Ir domhan ‘foundation’ • OE middan-geard ‘mid-yard’ • Lith pasaulis ‘under-sun’ • OCS světŭ ‘light’ • Skt bhū- ‘existence’ • Ch shì ‘generation’

yard—OE ȝeard < Germanic ‘enclosure’

• Gk αὐλή < ‘sleep place’ • Lt cohors cohort- ‘enclose together’ • OCS dvorŭ ‘door (to public place)’ • Skt añgana- ‘walking’ • Ch yuàn < ‘(en)circle’

+—plateau, canyon, cliff, volcano, meadow, glade

jungle, savanna, swamp, glacier

plow, sow, harvest, crop

mist, drought, lightning, thunder, rainbow, sleet

‣             For water features, see Water, p. 116.

See p. 65 on how we came to have a word for Everything (nature), and how it’s normally used in a demoted sense, generally meaning the non-human geography or just the biology of our own planet.

We used to live in ‘nature’, so you might expect terms for geographical features to be basic, but often they’re not. An obvious way to derive terms is by shape (cavern = hollow, plateau = flat). To an agricultural society the notable thing about the wild is that it’s uncultivated— desert, jungle, forest all had this basic meaning, and later specialized to particular ecological zones.

Americans, I think, have an image of farms as wrested from the primordial waste by individual settlers, but the etymology is a reminder that rural life has always been bureaucratized, and most often dominated by large landowners, the actual workers being not much more than serfs. The semantic progression from villa to villain, or of churl from ‘man’ to ‘serf’ to ‘boor’, is also instructive on the social status of those who actually worked the land.

Do we really need the separate terms land, country, nation? Mandarin calls them all guójiā. However, it has separate terms for ‘land’ as real estate (tǔdì) and ‘country’ as rural areas (xiāngcūn).

NUMBERS

ONE—OE án < IE *ʔey- ‘this one’

TWO—OE twá poss. < IE *dew- ‘further’

THREE—OE þrí poss. < IE *ter- ‘even further’

four—OE féower poss. < IE *mey- ‘lessen’

five—OE fíf ∥ Hittite pankus ‘whole’

• Inuit tatleman < ‘right hand’ • Ojibwe nanan ‘(one hand) gone’ • Bacairi ahage ahage tokale ‘two two one’ • Choctaw talhhaapih ‘the first hand finished’

six—OE sex

seven—OE seofon

eight—OE ahta poss. IE dual of ‘four’, cf. Avestan ašti- ‘4 fingers’

nine—OE niȝon poss. ∥ IE ‘new’

ten—OE tíen

• Shasta tsec ‘man’ • Unalit kolin ‘upper body’ • Wintun pampa-sempta ‘two hands’ • Piro pamole ‘tribesman’ • Zuñi astemthla ‘all the fingers’ • Gabrieleño wehes-mahar ‘two-five’

twelve—OE twelf ‘two left’

twenty—OE twentiȝ ‘two tens’

• ME score ‘notch’ • Takelma yapamis ‘one man’ • SW Pomo tca-hma ‘four-five’ • Jibaro mai náwi amúkahei ‘I have finished both feet’ • Yucatec kal prob. < ‘tie’

hundred—OE hundred < Germanic ‘hundred-count’

thousand—OE þúsend IE ‘multitude’

• Fox negutimakakw ‘one box’

million—It milione augm. of ‘thousand’

• Ch bǎiwàn ‘hundred-myriad’ • Kwakiutl tlinhi ‘uncountable’

both—OE báððar

couple—Lt cōpula ‘band, connection’

double—Lt duplus ‘two-full’

dozen—Fr douzaine < ‘twelve’

pair—Lt pār ‘equal’

quarter—Lt quartārius ‘fourth part’

FIRST—OE fyrst ‘foremost’ ∥ Lt prīmus, Gk πρῶτος

• Ger erst ‘earliest’ • Ch dìyī ‘order-one’

second—Lt secundus ‘following’ > ‘2nd’ > ‘2nd division by 60’

single—Lt singulus ‘one, individual, separate’ ∥ ‘simple’

third—OE þridda

twice—OE twiȝes combining form of ‘two’ + genitive ending

twin—OE < combining form of ‘two’

Before agriculture and trade, people can readily get by without roots past two. Even such simple systems can be extended by concatenation: 3 = ‘two-one’, 4 = ‘two-two’, etc. I’ve researched number systems extensively, but found only two languages which are claimed to have no numbers at all: Pirahã and Yumbri. When people feel a need to count higher, they may simply borrow the words from the nearest major power— e.g. many Peruvian languages borrowed numbers from Quechua.

Though the early Indo-Europeanists cheerfully reconstructed IE numbers up to 100, each family has its own pattern, and the proto-language probably only counted to 10. The etymologies for 1-9 above follow the suggestions of Winfred Lehmann in Theoretical Bases of Indo-European Linguistics. The reconstructed ‘hundred’, *kṃtóm, from ‘ten-ten’, was used for 120 in Germanic, and may have simply been used for a very large number.

Similarly, ancient Hebrew ʔelep ‘thousand’ was often used simply for a large number— which makes better sense of Samson’s claim to have killed an ʔelep of men with the jawbone of a donkey (Judges 15:16).

Languages often name numbers with reference to finger-counting; see the derivations given for 5, 10, 20.

The Wede:i of Almea use base 6, with a fist for 1, one finger for 2, two fingers for 3, all fingers extended for 6, leading to the written numbers

The other hand is used to count the sixes, allowing the Wede:i to count to 36 with the two hands.

Almeans have just four toes, which leads some of its cultures to use base 18. You don’t need different anatomy to consider alternate bases; earthly languages often use base 5, 10, or 20, but bases 2, 4, 6, and 12 are attested. Even in English we have words for base 12: dozen, gross.

In the Indo-Pacific language Kewa, you start counting on the hand, but continue along the arm and up the body till you reach rikaa ‘between the eyes’ = 24.

Chinese and Greek have a word for ‘10,000’— wàn, μῡριάς. Hindi, and thus Indian English, have words for 100,000 (lakh) and 10 million (crore).

Sometimes number words are borrowed only for a particular domain— e.g. Quechua uses the Spanish numbers only for the hours of the day; compare also ace, deuce, trey which apply only to cards.

Mathematics

add—Lt addere < ‘give to’

• Fr ajouter < ‘put next to’ • Ger hinzuzählen ‘count away to’ • Ch jiā < ‘attach’

subtract—Lt subtractus ‘drawn under’

multiply—Lt multiplicāre ‘fold many times’

divide—Lt dīvidere frequentative of ‘divide, separate’

• Ger teilen ‘share’ • Ch fēn ‘part, divide’

equal—Lt æquālis ‘even, equal’

odd—abbr of Norse odda-maðr ‘angle-man’ = ‘third man’

even—OE efen ‘flat, equal’

number—Lt numerus poss. < ‘share’

• Gk ἀριθμός < ‘reckon, order’ • Ger Zahl < ‘count, relate’ • Skt samkhyā- ‘add up’ • Ch shù < ‘what is counted’

REAL—Lt reālis ‘of things’

complex—Lt complexus ‘folded together’

• Ger vielschichtig ‘many-layered’

whole—OE hál ‘sound, healthy, complete’

• Gk πᾶς ‘every’ • Lt tōtus prob. < ‘packed full’, integer ‘untouched’ • Skt sakala- ‘(has) all parts’

fraction—Lt fractio ‘breaking’

+—negative, exponent, infinity, logarithm, sine, cosine, integrate, differentiate

Mathematics is technology, and so all the mathematical words are derived, not basic roots. This is another area where we retain some Arabic roots, such as algebra, algorithm. The Arabs also passed along zero from the Hindus; ṣifr means ‘empty.’ Cipher was also used for the Arabic numerals as a set, leading to the sense of ‘symbolic character’ and thus ‘substitution code’.

If you work out your own mathematical notation, you might (especially if your language is SOV) consider postfix notation. If you avoid ternary operators, this lets you get rid of parentheses and rules for operation order: e.g. (5 + 3) × (8 - 2) becomes 5 3 + 8 2 - ×.

What’s your favorite denominator? Dividing things in 10 matches the decimal system, but we often pick a simpler number (1/2, 1/3) or a more divisible one (8 for ounces, 12 for inches, 60 for minutes/seconds).

PHYSICAL ACTIONS

attract—Lt attractus ‘drawn to’

• Ch xīyǐn ‘inhale-guide’

balance—Lt bilanx ‘two-scaled (balance)’

beat—OE béatan, uncertain

bind—OE bindan ∥ bound, band, bend

• Lt vincīre < ‘fold’ • Sp atar < ‘make fit’ • Ch kǔn < ‘beat’

bore—OE borian ‘pierce’ (but ‘be tedious’ is ModE, uncertain)

• Gk τετραίνω < ‘turn, rub’ • Lt forāre < ‘strike’ • Fr percer < ‘beat through’ • Ir toll ‘hole’ • Rus буравить < ‘auger (the tool)’ • Ch zuān ∥ ‘sharp, thorn, pierce’

break—OE brecan, cognate to Lt frangere

• ModGk οπάζω < ‘pull, tear’ • Fr casser < ‘shake’ • Sp quebrar < ‘rattle, crack’ • Welsh torri ‘cut, break’

cut—ME cutte, possibly Norse

• Fr couper < ‘hit’ • Sp corta ‘shorten’ • Welsh torri ‘cut, break’ • Ch qiè < ‘joint’

divide—Lt dīvidere frequentative of ‘divide, separate’

• Ch fēn ‘part, divide’

hurt—Fr heurter ‘knock, strike’

• Qu nanachiy ‘cause pain’ • Ch shāng poss. ∥ ‘sick’

join—Fr joindre < IE ‘join’, cognate to yoke

• Gk συνάπτω ‘fasten with’ • Ir ceangail ‘bind’ • Ger fügen ‘fasten’ • OCS sŭčetati < ‘crowd’ • Ch hé also ‘shut’

knock—OE cnocian imitative

link—Norse hlenkr

• Fr maillon < ‘mail (armor)’ • Ch huánjié ‘bracelet-knot’

mar—OE merran ‘spoil, hinder’

mix—Lt mixtus ‘mixed’

• ModGk ἀνακατεύω ‘upside-down’ • Sw blanda < ‘make turbid’ • Ch hùn < ‘chaos’

snap—Dutch snappen

stir—OE styrian

• Fr remuer < ‘change’ • Sp revolver ‘revolve’ • Ch jiǎo ‘disturb’

tear—OE teran < IE *der-

• Gk σπαράσσω prob. imitative • It stracciare ‘pull apart’ • Fr déchirer < ‘scrape off’ • Dutch scheuren < ‘notch, cut’ • OCS rŭvati ‘tear off, pluck’ • Ch sī < ‘cleave’

whip—ME uncertain

wound—OE wund poss. < ‘pierce’

• Gk τραῦμα < ‘rub’ • Fr blessure < ‘livid’ • Sp herida ‘struck’ • Ir créacht < ‘scab’ • Sw sår < ‘pain, injury’ • OCS rana <‘tear’ • Ch shāng < ‘suffer, hurt’

+—tie, connect, knot, web

chop, rip, peel, stab, sting, dig, spoil, damage

‣             See also Bodily actions, p. 116, and Movement, p. 116.

If you were simulating the world in a new graphics engine, you’d spend your first months working out 3-D modeling and camera positioning, and then work on texturing, lighting, and fancy substances like smoke and water. The verbs in this category would offer a particular challenge, as they either divide one object into pieces, or combine multiple objects into one, both of which complicate your data structures. (Even the verbs of damaging add new things to the model, such as a scar or dent.)

With such transformations, a word can take the point of view either of the single component:

The log broke in two.

This sandwich is made out of bread, Serrano ham, cheddar, and arugula.

or the multiple components:

These sticks all broke off that tree.

Take the flour and add milk, eggs, and salt.

Words for connection are naturally extended to human relationships as well as more ethereal links, such as those mediated by electricity or gravity. Words for damage are even more broadly useful— consider how cut can refer to budgets, acerbic wit, film editing, interruption, disinheritance, or tailoring.

What could be simpler than break? Yet, as Takao Suzuki points out, break translates to a number of Japanese words: kowasu, waru, oru, kiru, yaburu, sakeru, kowareru, kudaku... it’s a nest of confusion for speakers of either language trying to learn the other.

•              Oru divides an object in two by application of a force— twigs and bones oru. But the two parts need not come apart: wires and knees oru too, but in English we need to use bend.

•              If a force separates things into pieces, you can use kiru— e.g. a power line may kiru due to high winds. But you can kiru with a knife, too; in that case English uses cut. If you catch your coat on a nail and it rips, that’s kiru too, but we have to say rip or tear.

•              Oru is normally fracturing or breaking off, but when you oru paper you simply fold it (it’s the root of origami).

•              In the sense of ‘destroy, make worthless’, you’d use kowasu.

In French there is substantial overlap between rompre, casser, and briser. You can use any of the three for bones, thread, or a marriage. But as Myriam Bouveret and Eve Sweetser show, there are specializations:

•              Rompre is often used for long thin objects, especially when the breakage destroys the original object or disconnects something. Thus you can rompre a stick or a baguette, but almost never a teacup. Metaphorically, a dialog can be rompu but not cassé or brisé.

•              Casser is often used for machines that stop working: computers, televisions, bicycles, and files can get cassés.

•              Briser is preferred when the object shatters into many pieces— mirrors, teacups.

Even the overlaps turn out to involve different frames. To rompre un mariage refers to ending the legal and especially the religious bond. To casser un mariage is used of civil divorce— it’s more neutral, meaning that the marriage is simply dissolved. And briser un mariage is generally used when a third party interferes with the couple.

The difference between hurt and damage is largely based on the objects— animates vs. things. Spanish uses dañar for both— cognate to damn, which has specialized to spiritual damage.

PHYSICS

cold—OE cald ∥ cool, Lt gelidus ‘icy’

• Gk ψῡχρός < ‘blow, breathe’ • Breton yen < ‘ice’ • Pol zimny ‘wintry’ • Cz studený poss. < ‘congeal’

cool—OE cól

• Ch liáng < ‘cold’

energy—Gk ἐνέργεια ‘in-work’

• Ch néng < ‘capable’

gravity—Lt gravitas ‘heaviness’

• Ch yǐnlì ‘drawing power’

heavy—OE hefiȝ ‘weighty’ < ‘lift’, cf. heave

• Lt gravis < IE • Sp pesado ‘weighed’ • Latvian smags < ‘laborious’ • OCS tęzĭkŭ < ‘pull’ • Ch zhòng ∥ ‘double’

hot—OE hát

• Lt calidus prob. cognate to cold • Welsh brwd < ‘boil’ • Skt usna- ‘burn’

LIGHT—Radiation: OE léoht, cognate to Lt lux lūc-, Gk λευκός ‘white’

• Gk φῶσ ∥ Skt ‘shine’ • Ch guāng ‘bright’

Not heavy: OE léoht, cognate to Lt levis, OCS lĭgŭkŭ

• Ir éadrom ‘not heavy’ • Latvian viegls ‘lively’ • Ket béjìŋ < ‘wind’

mass—Lt massa ‘lump, mass’ poss. < Gk μᾶζα ‘barley cake’

material—Lt māteriālis ‘of matter’

• Ch liào < ‘measure’

matter—Lt māteria

Ch wùzhì ‘substance-nature’

physical—Gk φυσική ‘of nature’

warm—OE wearm, cognate to Gk θερμός ‘hot’

weigh—OE weȝan ‘bear, lift’ > ‘balance in a scale’ > ‘be heavy’

+—atom, molecule, proton, neutron, electron, photon

‣             See Light, p. 116, and Elements, p. 116.

The division of matter and energy comes late; previously people thought in terms of the elements, or of matter vs. soul (p. 116).

To Aristotle, ὕλη ‘matter’ was merely raw material, simply what gives a thing existence; what makes it a thing is μορφή ‘form’ or ‘organizing principle’. To us, a lump of bronze turned into a statue has simply been restructured, but to Aristotle its μορφή has changed, from ‘lump’ to ‘statue’. With living things, the μορφή of the body is the soul.

Newton talked about massa (he was writing in Latin) as the quantity of matter. For the purposes of working out the laws of motion and gravity, that was all that was needed, and the important property of matter was inertia, its ability to resist changes in velocity. The more modern formulation is that inertia is mass.

The idea that all the elements were ‘really one thing’, rather than a hundred separate things, was hinted at by Mendeleev’s periodic table, but wasn’t solidified till the atomic nucleus was understood.

As for energy, physics began by investigating velocity, which has always been a bit disreputable philosophically— at a particular moment something distinguishes an arrow in motion from an arrow at rest, but it wasn’t easy to see what— the matter making up the arrow is obviously the same.

The 19C was a process of enumerating new types of energy, then reducing them to one thing. William Rankine invented the term potential energy and explained its relation to kinetic energy. Kelvin explained heat in terms of the motion of molecules. Maxwell unified the previously disparate concepts of light, magnetism, and electricity.

Finally Einstein showed that mass and energy were convertible into each other. Energy isn’t a thing, it’s an attribute of things. A better fundamental division would be between particles with mass (like electrons and quarks) and those without (like photons and neutrinos).

The main point here is that your conlanging here depends on your people’s theories of the universe— and using our opposition of matter and energy for a medieval or sf society is anachronistic.

Electromagnetism

If you have an sf world, or perhaps magic that interfaces at a deep level with reality, you might want to know what science thinks the universe is like. (Or you might not. Much sf and comics are still written as if it were 1904, when scientists could still discover six new forces or substances before tiffin.)

A huge swath of phenomena— light and optics, magnets, chemistry, the elements, heat— in fact, everything but gravity and radioactivity— is explained by quantum electrodynamics, memorably explained by Richard Feynman in QED: The Strange Theory of Light and Matter.

Almost everything can be explained with just three actors:

•              The photon, the smallest packet light comes in

•              The electron, a particle of -1 charge

•              The proton, a particle of +1 charge

A number of protons, from one to a hundred-odd, clump together in the nucleus. The number determines what element you’ve got. Normally they attract the same number of electrons.[16] This ‘attraction’ is a matter of exchanging photons.

Electric derives from Gk ἤλεκτρον ‘amber’, a great generator of static electricity. The Chinese, very sensibly, re-used the word for ‘lightning’,电 diàn. An ion is from ἰόν ‘going’, because these were the units that went towards an electrode. An electron was an ‘electric ion’— Chinese uses 电子 diànzǐ ‘little lightning’. The -on was generalized to other particles: photon < ‘light’, proton < ‘first’.

An early metaphor for electricity was a fluid, thus terms such as flux, flow, current.

Energy states

You might think that the protons somehow produce the properties of an element, but from the point of view of chemistry, the nucleus is mostly just an inert sack that electrons gather round.[17] The properties of the elements are the results of their electron structure.

Physicists originally pictured atoms as little solar systems with electrons orbiting the nucleus. Designers still love to draw atoms like this to invoke the Space Age— usually lithium because three orbits make a pretty picture. But it’s entirely wrong.

Electrons have energy levels, which have whole numbers starting with 1. To jump up one level takes energy— the electron absorbs a photon. To move down a level it loses energy— it emits a photon.

With more energy the electron can move farther from the nucleus, but thanks to Werner Heisenberg we can’t say exactly where. We can calculate a density plot of the probability of finding an electron at each location in space, though. This plot looks different for each energy level.

Here are simplified representations of the probability density for the four types of orbitals:

Think of these pictures as telling you “Welp, we’ve cornered the varmint; the electron is somewhere in there.” Though it’s worse than that, really— the probability density drops off sharply outside this shape, but it never drops to zero!

Roughly speaking,

•              s orbitals are shaped like spheres.

•              p orbitals are shaped roughly like a dumbbell, with lobes pointed in the x, y, or z direction.

•              d orbitals mostly have four lobes, and can be oriented five possible ways.

•              f orbitals mostly have six lobes, oriented seven possible ways.

The names derive from spectral lines: sharp, principal, diffuse, fundamental. At high enough energies you get g and h orbitals.

The pictures get more complicated at higher energies— e.g. the higher s orbitals contain multiple spherical shells.

Filling in shells

Picture a staircase with some burly men on it. Only two men can fit on one stair. More men keep coming in from the top; they can only move to the topmost unoccupied stair.

The energy levels work like this as electrons are added. The energy levels are filled from the bottom, and if a level already has its two electrons, no more will fit— the next electron takes the next level. (The two electrons in each shell differ in spin, which can only take two values, conventionally -1/2 and +1/2.)

Electrons fill the orbitals in a particular order:

1s 2s 2p 3s 3p 4s 3d 4p 5s 4d 5p 6s 4f 5d 6p 7s 5f 6d 7p

That gives us the information to list the elements by their outermost shells:

The two cells with f orbitals (lower left, boldfaced) are actually a sequence of 14 elements each, the lanthanides (57 to 71) and the actinides (89 to 103).

The chemical behavior of an atom is predominantly due to its valence number— the number of electrons in its outer s and p shells. The basic principle is, shells just wanna be filled. If two atoms can share electrons so as to fill their s-p shells, they do so, forming a molecule.

•              The rightmost column has a full s shell and (past helium) a full p shell. They’re happy as is and almost never react with other elements— these are the noble gases.

•              Elements with valence 1 (leftmost column) have a single electron in the outermost s shell.

•              Elements with valence 7 (just left of the noble gases) need just one electron to fill the p shell.

•              Do you see a match there? The atoms sure do. A valence-1 atom like sodium (Na) happily donates its extra electron to chlorine (Cl). Now you’ve got Na-, a negative ion, and Cl+, a positive ion. Each is happy with its shell configuration, but as one is negative and one is positive they attract each other, forming NaCl, which is ordinary table salt.

•              An atom can bond with more than one partner. Oxygen has valence 6— it wants two electrons to fill its p shell. Hydrogen can just offer one... but we have lots of hydrogen. Two hydrogen atoms can thus fill oxygen’s need for two electrons, forming H2O.

•              Elements of valence 4 have the most opportunities for bonding with other atoms— they can bond with one to four atoms, making them nature’s building blocks. The most reactive element in this column is the first one, carbon (C), which forms ten million different compounds, far more than any other element.

Things get more complicated with the d and f orbitals— see the web resources page for more.

The particle zoo

The nucleus is more than just a store of protons, of course. For one thing, it also contains a bunch of neutrons, which are electrically neutral and thus irrelevant to electron structure, though they do add mass to the nucleus.

When you throw particles at each other, you get more exotic particles... by now there are hundreds of known particles. However, most of these turn out to be made of smaller subcomponents, quarks. This allows a simple listing of the building blocks of the universe.

Fermions have half-integer spin (odd multiple of ½), and all have antiparticles. They come in three tiers of increasing mass, though ordinary matter is composed only of the first tier:

electron—e-neutrino—up quark—down quark

muon—μ-neutrino—charm quark—strange quark

tau—τ-neutrino—top quark—bottom quark

-1—0—2/3—-1/3

The last row gives the electric charge. Quarks also have a different type of charge related to the strong force, called color, though this has nothing to do with visible color.

The four forces are mediated by bosons, which have integer spin:

Photon

Electromagnetism

W , Z

Weak

Gluon

Strong

The recently discovered Higgs boson, which generates mass, is a boson of spin 0.

The strong force

Now we can build the nucleons, with the correct electric charge:

up

+2/3

+

up

+2/3

+

down

-1/3

=

proton

+1

up

+2/3

+

down

-1/3

+

down

-1/3

=

neutron

0

The three quarks in a proton or neutron are held together by the strong force, so named because it’s the strongest of the four fundamental forces, 100 times stronger than electromagnetism (but it also drops off very fast with distance).

Just as charge involves electrons and the nucleus flinging photons at each other, the strong force is mediated by gluons.

The strong force is very powerful at the quark level, binding the quarks very closely together— if you try to pull them apart, the energy applied actually goes into an explosion of new particles.

The strong force also holds the nucleus together, though less closely. The nucleons don’t exchange gluons but pions, combinations of a down quark and a down antiquark.

The weak force

The weak force allows changes between quark flavor— e.g changing a down to an up quark. A free neutron (one outside any atomic nucleus) will experience this, becoming a proton (and emitting a W boson, which itself quickly decays) with a half-life of about fifteen minutes.

This can happen in the nucleus, though it takes great energy. This can be generated by whacking it with a proton, but quantum fluctuations can also generate the energy spontaneously. This is called beta decay and is one form of radioactivity.

In the sun, free protons (i.e. hydrogen atoms) are constantly knocking into each other. Normally they form a diproton which immediately breaks back into two protons. But sometimes we see this process:

•              One proton changes via the weak force into a neutron, producing deuterium (and a photon).

•              Deuterium combines with another proton to form 3He.

•              Two 3He atoms collide, producing a stable 4He atom and two free protons.

This is hydrogen fusion, which is what makes the sun shine, and slowly convert its hydrogen into helium. For more listen to the They Might Be Giants song “The Sun”.

PLANTS

bush—Norse buskr

• Fr buisson dim. ‘wood’ • Ch guànmù ‘irrigation-tree’

flower—Lt flōs flōr- ∥ bloom

• Gk ἄνθος, uncertain • OCS cvětŭ < ‘bloom, shine’ • Skt puṣpa- ‘thrive’

fruit—Lt fructus ‘(what is) enjoyed’

grass—OE græs ∥ ‘green’, ‘grow’

• Gk πόα < ‘fat’ • Lt grāmen -min- prob. < ‘fodder’ • Lith žolė ‘green’ • Skt tṛṇa- < ‘stalk’

plant—Lt planta ‘sprout’

• Gk φυτόν < ‘grow’ • OE wyrt < ‘root, plant’ • OCS sadŭ < ‘set’

rose—Lt rosa, prob. ∥ Gk ῥόδον, Armenian vard

• ModGk τριαντάφυλλο ‘thirty-petals’

stick—OE sticca < Germanic ‘pierce’ (which also led to the verb)

• Fr bâton poss. < ‘carry’ • Ch bàng < ‘club’

tree—OE tréow

• Lt arbor poss. < ‘high’ • Welsh coeden singular of ‘woods’ • Ch shù < ‘to plant’ • Ket óks nomn. of ‘stick out’

+—weed, stalk, stem, leaf, petal, seed, twig, thorn, stump, trunk, root, branch, log

In Swedish a leaf is a blad on the tree and a löv once it’s fallen off.

Plant parts provide terminology for similarly-shaped objects— leaf for paper and knives, trunk for columns. Any sort of process can use the metaphor of plant growth: the seeds of conflict; establish a branch plant; the fruits of our labor. Root is probably used metaphorically far more than literally— as in linguistics, where it refers to a morphological base form.

It’s a little lazy that the staples of most fantasy worlds are potatoes, carrots, and wheat. It’s not hard to at least suggest local variation— e.g. in Arcél, on Almea, the food crops are stripcorn, streff, hardroot, and teng bean, and the textile crops are truca and petay. These are the mix of borrowings and calques that a terrestrial observer might come up with.

The botanical view

‣             For more on taxonomy, see Animals, p. 116.

Plants are characterized by cell walls with cellulose and the production of energy from sunlight using chlorophyll.

The overall classification looks something like this:

1 Glaucophyta— a small group of blue-green algae

2.1 Rodophyta— red algae

2.2 Viridiplantae— green plants

The overall divisions of the green plants are:

Chlorophyta—‘green plants’—some green algae

Charophyta—‘stonewort plants’—stonewort

Marchantiophyta—after a genus—liverwort

Anthocerotophyta—‘flower horn plants’—hornwort

Bryophyta—‘moss plants’—moss

Lycopodiophyta—‘wolf foot plants’—club moss

Pteridophyta—‘fern plants’—fern, horsetail

Cycadophyta—‘palm plants’—cycad

Ginkgophyta—‘ginkgo plants’—ginkgo— one species

Pinophyta—‘pine plants’—conifers— pine, cedar, cypress, fir, juniper, larch, redwood, spruce, yew

Gnetophyta—after a genus—small, diverse set of woody plants

Angiospermae—‘receptacle seeds’—flowering plants— the vast majority of plant species

Reading this list, your first question will undoubtedly be “What’s a wort?” It’s the OE word for ‘plant’, cognate to the Norse word that gave us root, and is often used for medicinal herbs.

The flowering plants were traditionally divided into monocots and dicots, based on whether there are one or two embryonic leaves; the flowers of monocots also typically have three petals, dicots four or five. However, it turns out that dicots don’t form a neat class. Most of them are now grouped as the eudicots; the biggest defectors are the Magnoliidae (named for the magnolia).

There are over 400 families of plants; here are the family assignments for a number of well known plants. (The etymologies are boring— most derive from the commonest examples, e.g. fabaceae = ‘beans’.)

Eudicots—

Ranunculaceae—delphinium, clematis, buttercup

—Caryophyllales—

Caryophyllaceae—carnation, pink (source of the color name), baby’s breath, chickweed

Cactaceae—cactus, peyote

—Asterids—

Balsaminaceae—impatiens, balsam

Ericaceae—cranberry, blueberry, azalea, rhododendron, heather

Theaceae—tea, camellia

Ebenaceae—ebony, persimmon

Boraginaceae—comfrey, forget-me-not, borage, heliotrope

Solanaceae—nightshade, potato, tomato, eggplant, tobacco, chili pepper, henbane, boxthorn, mandrake, petunia

Convolvulaceae—morning glory, sweet potato

Rubiaceae—coffee, quinine, madder, gardenia

Oleaceae—olive, ash, lilac, jasmine, forsythia, privet

Lamiaceae—mint, basil, rosemary, sage, savory, marjoram, oregano, thyme, lavender, teak, catnip

Apiaceae—carrot, celery, cilantro, cumin, dill, fennel, poison hemlock, parsley, parsnip, silphium, Queen Anne’s lace, anise

Araliaceae—ivy, ginseng

Asteraceae—aster, marigold, daisy, dahlia, zinnia, dandelion, lettuce, sunflower, artichoke, chrysanthemum, ragweed

—Rosids—

Euphorbiaceae—cassava, rubber tree, spurge, poinsettia

Violaceae—violet, pansy

Linaceae—flax

Fabaceae—bean, pea, chickpea, peanut, alfalfa, clover, carob, mesquite, tamarind, licorice, gorse, kudzu, lupin

Fagaceae—oak, chestnut, beech, chestnut

Betulaceae—birch, alder, hazel, hornbeam

Juglandaceae—walnut, pecan, hickory

Rosaceae—apple, plum, cherry, peach, apricot, almond, raspberry, strawberry, rose, rowan, hawthorn

Cannabaceae—hemp, hops

Ulmaceae—elm

Rutaceae—orange, lemon, lime, grapefruit, kumquat, rue

Cucurbitaceae—cucumber, pumpkin, watermelon, squash

Sapindaceae—maple, horse chestnut, lychee, guarana, soapberry

Brassicaceae—cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, turnip, rapeseed, radish, horseradish, mustard, watercress, woad

Malvaceae—okra, cotton, cacao, kola, durian, mallow, baobab

Monocots

Amaryllidaceae—onion, garlic, chive, leek, amaryllis

Arecaceae—palm, rattan, coconut, açaí, raffia

Poaceae—grass, wheat, barley, oats, rye, maize, sorghum, millet, bamboo, rice, reed, sugarcane

Iridaceae—iris

Liliaceae—lily, tulip

Musaceae—banana, plantain

Orchidaceae—orchid, vanilla

Asparagaceae—asparagus, hyacinth, bluebell

Magnoliids

Lauraceae—laurel (bay), cinnamon, camphor, avocado

Magnoliaceae—magnolia

Myristicaceae—nutmeg (and mace)

Myrtaceae—myrtle, clove, guava, allspice, eucalyptus, mangrove

Piperaceae—black pepper, betel

Vitaceae—grapevine (source of wine)

The functional view

Botanical classification is sometimes illuminating— e.g. it’s interesting that so many garden herbs belong to the Lamiaceae family— but for most purposes we use an informal classification based on what the plant is good for. Or bad for.

Food

grain—grassy plants where we eat the small seeds

fruit—plants with large fruit (that we eat)

bean—plants where the seed comes in a pod

nut—plants with a hard edible shelled seed

herb—small plant used for flavor or medicine

vegetable—basically, any other plant we eat

Wood

hardwood—wood from angiosperms— often but not always harder than evergreen wood; contains microscopic pores

softwood—wood from conifers; lacks those pores

Harmful

weed—plants that invade fields. To some extent this is an ecological niche: some plants are adapted to colonizing bare earth, e.g. after a fire

poison—weaponized plants— what harms their own predators, such as insects, often harms us big things as well

And...—

textile crops—plants used for cloth, e.g. cotton, flax, hemp

flowers—botanically, this would be any angiosperm, but in ordinary language it’s reserved for small decorative plants

ground cover—the garden center’s term for grass alternatives

Size and climate

Another classification is by size: big plants are trees, medium-sized woody ones are bushes or shrubs; small soft ones are grasses and herbs.

Plants can also be classified by climate— indeed, the type of plant cover is used to indicate what climate zones are alike, alongside latitude, temperature, and rain patterns.

rain forest—hot, wet, highly biodiverse tropical forest

savanna—tropical areas with a long dry season, covered by scrub and isolated trees

desert—dry areas with no trees; typical vegetation is shrubs and cactus

Mediterranean—subtropical but very dry; mostly shrubs and hardy trees like olives and cedars; most of our food grains evolved in this area

temperate forest—the natural ground cover of temperate regions, dominated by a mix of angiosperms and conifers; the best farmland is cleared forest

grassland—semi-arid regions covered by grass

taiga—cold areas dominated by conifers

tundra—arctic deserts, with frozen ground and no trees, dominated by shrubs, grasses, moss, and lichen

For more see the Biology chapter of the PCK.

Corn words

As Adam Smith pointed out, few careers require so much specialized and localized knowledge as farming— and in few is that knowledge so little valued by outsiders.

Farmers will have a wide variety of terms related to growing, harvesting, processing, and eating plants. As an example, here’s some of the Quechua terminology relating to corn (maize):

aha—chicha, alcoholic drink made from corn

atupa—a type of corn disease

chala—dried leaves of corn

chamcha—milled grain

chochoqa—dried corn kernels

choqllo—corn cob

chukcha—corn silk (also the general term for hair on the head)

chullpi—a type of sweet corn with wrinkled kernels

kalchay—cut down corn

kamcha—toasted corn (also, hamka or qamka)

kukmu—stubble, pieces of corn stalk remaining in the ground after harvest

kulli—the deep red or purple color of some corn and the chicha made of it

lawa—soup made from corn (or other) flour

muti—hominy, boiled corn

p’anqa—leaves covering the cob

pallpa—a crust of moist sod used to cover corn

panqa—corn husk

paraqay—white; a color used only for corn and oca

parwa—unthreshed grain (esp. of corn)

qarampa—corn husk

qominta—humita— ground corn tamale, cooked with spices in the husk

qoronta—tassel or corn silk

sara—general word for corn; in Peruvian Spanish, also refers to corn starch

sara haku—corn flour

sinqa—point of a corn kernel

sura—germinating corn

tanku—cooked corn bran

tipiy—to husk corn

ullihu—bud of corn

urwa—sterile corn

wiñapu—sprouts of corn used to make chicha

wiru—corn stalk

And I can’t resist mentioning tusa, a Cuban term for a cigar rolled in corn leaves.

POSSESSION

accept—Lt acceptāre ‘toward-take’

bear—OE beran, Lt ferre, Gk φέρω < IE *bher-

belong—ME bilongen intensive of ‘long’

• Fr appartenir < ‘be attached to’ • Ger gehören < ‘obey’

bring—OE bringan, cognate to Celtic words meaning ‘lead’

• Sp traer < ‘pull’ • Breton digas ‘send to’ • Ch nálái ‘carry-come’

carry—Old Fr carier ‘(convey by) cart’

• Fr lever ‘lift’ • Ger tragen < ‘drag’ • OCS nesti < ‘reach’ • Ch yùn ‘revolve’

cast—Norse kasta ‘throw’ > ‘put into shape’ > ‘cast metal’

catch—Norman Fr cachier ‘chase’ < Lt ‘captive’

drop—OE dropa; as verb, ‘fall in drops’ > ‘(cause to) fall’

fling—Norse *flinga

GET—Norse geta < IE ‘seize’

• Lt parāre ‘prepare’ • Fr obtenir < ‘hold for’ • Rum căpăta < ‘seize’ • Ir faigh < ‘find’ • Dutch krijgen ‘strive, exert’ • Ger bekommen ‘arrive at’ • Cz dobyti ‘be up to’ • Ch jiě < ‘connect’

GIVE/GIFT—OE ȝiefan, cognate to Ir gabh ‘take’

• Lt dare < IE *dō-

grab—ME possibly Dutch

grasp—ME graspen ∥ ‘grope’

• Gk ἁρπάζω < ‘hook’ • Lt prehendere < ‘hold/get before’ • Fr saisir < ‘claim’ • Dutch vatten ‘pack’ • Gothic fahan < ‘fasten’

grip—OE gripe ∥ ‘gripe’

• Ch jǐnwò ‘tight-grasp’

guard—Fr garde < Germanic, surviving as ‘ward’

• Ger wachen ‘be awake’ • Ch wèi < ‘encircle’

HAVE—OE habban ‘hold, possess’ < IE ‘seize’

• Gk ἔχω cognate to ‘gain, be victorious’ • Lt habēre < ‘hold’ • OCS iměti ‘take’

HOLD—OE haldan ‘guard, keep, hold’

• ModGk βαστῶ ‘carry’ • Lt tenēre < ‘stretch, last’ • Ger halten < ‘pasture’

KEEP—OE cépan, uncertain; earliest senses ‘seize, seek, observe’

• Gk φυλάσσω ‘guard’ • Lt servāre ‘serve, protect, watch’ • Ger bewahren < ‘beware’ • Lith saugoti ‘care for’ • Ch bǎocún ‘protect-preserve’

lack—OE lac ‘defect, fault’

• Fr manquer < ‘defective’ • Ch quē < ‘break, splinter’

load—OE lád ‘way, journey’ > ‘conveyance’ > ‘burden’

lose—OE losian ‘perish, destroy’ > ‘be deprived of’

• ModGk χάνω < χάος ‘abyss’ • Lt āmittere ‘let go’ • Ger verlieren ‘for-loose’ • Lith pamesti ‘throw away’ • Rus терять < ‘rub’ • Ch shí ∥ ‘escape’

NEED—OE níed ‘constraint, necessity’

• Fr besoin ‘by care’ • Sp faltarse ‘lack’ • Sw behov ‘use’ • Ir riachtanas ‘attaining’ • OCS nevolja ‘unwilled’ • Ch xū ‘await’

OWN—OE áȝnian < ‘owe’

pack—Dutch pak uncertain

possess—Lt possidēre ‘sit’ + (uncertain) ‘power’ or ‘onward’

• Gk κέκτημαι ‘have aquired’ • Ir sealbhaigh < ‘property’ • Ger besitzen ‘sit by’ • Rus владеть ‘rule’ • Ch suǒyǒu ‘place-have’

put—OE putian ‘thrust’

• Lt pōnere ‘put down’ • Fr mettre < ‘let go’, poser ‘make rest’ • Ger setzen causative of ‘sit’ • OCS položiti causative of ‘lie’ • Ch fàng ∥ ‘throw’

receive—Lt recipere ‘re-take’

remove—Lt removēre ‘move back’

send—OE sendan causative of ‘travel, go’

• ModGk στέλλω ‘equip, arrange’ • Lt mittere ‘throw’ • It mandare < ‘commit’ • Fr envoyer < ‘on the road’ • Ger schicken ‘prepare’ • OCS sŭlati poss. < ‘offer’ • Qu apachiy ‘make carry’ • Ch sòng ‘escort’

set—OE settan causative of ‘sit’

stick—OE sticca < Germanic ‘pierce’ (which also led to the verb)

TAKE—OE tacan ‘grasp’

• Fr prendre < ‘seize’ • Rum lua < ‘lift’ • Rus брать < ‘collect’ < ‘bear’ • Ch lǎn < ‘gather’

throw—OE þráwan ‘turn, twist’

• Gk βάλλω < ‘(let) fall’ • Fr jeter < frequentative of Lt iacere • Sp tirar ‘draw’ • Cz hazeti < ‘aim at’ • Skt kṣip- < ‘swift’

+—property, inherit, suffice, abound, deliver, garbage

Having

You might think that possession was a very basic concept, but normally it’s derived from something even simpler.

•              Location, as in Russian: У меня яблоко ‘The apple is near me’, or So (a Nilo-Saharan language): Mek Auca eo-a kusin ‘Clothes aren’t in Auca’s home’ = ‘Auca has no clothes’. Compare French c’est à moi, literally ‘it’s at me’.

•              Direction— the idea being that if something is headed your way, you have it: Quechua wasi tiyapuwan ‘a house is toward me’ = ‘I have a house’.

•              Holding or carrying: Spanish Tenemos un coche ‘We hold a car’ = ‘We have a car.’

•              Seizing or capturing (if you grabbed it, it’s yours): Cushitic Ani mín k’awa ‘I seize a house’ = ‘I have a house’.

There are also derivations from ‘rule, have power over’— e.g. Welsh meddu, Russian владеть, and possibly Latin possidēre. It’s hard to say whether ruling or possessing is more abstract. Perhaps the first, as dominating another goes back to our primate heritage, and makes a good analogy for our power over our own belongings.

A very easy transition is from possessing things to feeling obligations. We say I have to work, French j’ai à travailler, and as we’ve seen (p. 95) a similar Latin expression led to the Romance future tense.

Another easy transition is from possession to experience. If you simply allow people to own their own actions— I have ‘I ran’— you’re most of the way to a perfect: I have run. American English has recreated this with get, as in I got to drive the tank.

A German friend didn’t quite master these two developments, writing on a postcard “I have to spend a couple of days on this beautiful island”— turning an expression of gratitude into one of obligation!

Needs and wants

If you don’t have it, you want it and you need it... no surprise that words wander between these meanings; the original sense of want was ‘lack’. French manquer ‘lack’ is from Latin mancus ‘defective’; along with Spanish faltar this suggests blaming the object because it’s not in our possession.

French besoin ‘need’ is related to Frankish *sunjôn ‘be concerned with’— again, it’s natural to be preoccupied with what you’re lacking. The fact that French has gone for centuries without a proper verb corresponding to this noun is a good demonstration that not all languages are as happy to verb nouns as English is.

Transfer

In English, bring (like come) implies movement toward the speaker (Bring me ale!); if the movement is away you’re supposed to use take (Take this empty cup!). Irish beir is used for carrying things regardless of direction, and Irish English applies this to bring: “Bring the bottle with you when you go.”

Czech dát covers both ‘give’ and ‘put’.

RELIGION

bless—OE blóedsian ‘mark with blood’ > ‘consecrate’

• Lt benedīcere ‘speak well of’ • Ger segnen ‘sign (the cross)’ • Latvian svetīt < ‘holy’ • Skt svasti- ‘well-being’ • Ch zhùfú ‘wish-benefit’

curse—OE cursian, poss. < ‘wrath’

• Gk καταράομαι ‘pray against’ • Lt maledīcere ‘say ill of’ • Rum blestema < ‘blaspheme’ • Sw förbanna < ‘forbid’ • Ger verfluchen < ‘strike, blow’ • Latvian lādēt ‘revile’ < ‘bark’ • Ch mà ‘scold’

damn—Lt damnum ‘damage, hurt’

demon—Gk δαίμων ‘minor deity’

• Welsh cythraul < ‘contrary’ • Ger Unhold <‘unmerciful’ • OCS běsŭ ‘fright’ • Skt rakşas- ‘injury’ • Old Persian daiva- < ‘god’

devil—OE déofol < Gk διάβολος ‘slanderer, traitor’ < ‘throw across’

• Rum drac ‘dragon’ • OE féond ‘enemy’ • Hebrew Šātān ‘adversary’

fate—Lt fātum ‘(what was) spoken’

• Ch yùn ‘revolve’

fortune—Lt fortūna ∥ fors fort- ‘chance’

• Gk τύχη‘happening’ • It ventura ‘coming to’ • Cz štěstí ‘share’ • Ch mìngyùn ‘life-turn’

ghost—OE gást ‘soul, spirit’, cognate to words for ‘frighten, fury’

• Gk σκιά ‘shade’, φάντασμα ‘appearance’ • Lt mānes < ‘good’ • Fr revenant ‘returning’ • Ir taibhse ‘showing’ • Breton bugelnoz ‘night child’ • Norse draugr ‘deceit’ • Ger Gespenst ‘enticement’ • Pol strach ‘fear’ • Skt pitaras ‘ancestors’ • Ch guǐ poss. < ‘terrorizer’

god—OE god poss. < IE ‘(what is) invoked’

• Gk θεός uncertain • Lt deus, Gk Ζεύς, Norse Týr ∥ ‘day’, ‘shine’ • OCS bogŭ poss. < Scythian ‘lord, dispenser’ • Skt sura- < ‘spirit’ • Lushai pa-tʰian ‘father above’

hell—OE Hel, a goddess, ‘the hider’

• Gk ἅδης poss. < ‘unseen’ • Lt infernus ‘underground’ • Cz peklo ‘pitch’ • Skt naraka- ‘nether’ • Hebrew Gēihinnōm a valley associated with child sacrifice • Ch dìyù ‘earth prison’

luck—Dutch luk

• Fr chance < ‘falling’ • Sp suerte < ‘drawing of lots, prophecy, fate’ • Ch hǎoyùn ‘good-fate’

magic—Gk μαγικός < Persian maguš ‘priest’

• Fr sorcellerie < ‘oracle, lot’ • Sp hechiceria < ‘doing’ • Ir draíocht ‘druidism’ • Ger Zauberei poss. < ‘red lead’ • Sw svartkonst ‘black art’ • Ch móshù ‘demon-skill’

offer—Lt offerre ‘bring before, present’

• Ger bieten ∥ bid • Qu munachiy ‘make want’ • Ch tígōng ‘propose-supply’

pray—Old Fr preier < Lt precārī ‘entreat’

• Gk εϋχομαι < ‘speak, vow’ • Rum ruga ‘ask for’ • Danish bede < ‘request’ • OCS moliti sę < ‘tender, soften’

priest—OE préost < Gk πρεσβύτερος ‘elder’

• Gk ἱερεύς ‘holy’ • Lt sacerdos -dōt- ‘sacred-doer’ • Old Ir drui ‘know true’ • Breton beleg ‘staff’ • Lith kunigas ‘master’ • Skt hotar- ‘invoke’ • Ch shénfù ‘god-father’

religion—Lt religio -giōn- < ‘scruple’

• Gk θρηκεία ‘rites, worship’ • Ir creidamh ‘belief’ • Dutch godsdienst ‘God-service’ • OCS věra ‘faith’ • Skt mārga- ‘way’ • Ch jiào ‘teaching’

soul—OE sáwol

• Gk ψῡχή, Lt anima, Skt ātman- < ‘breath’ • Latvian gars ‘steam’ • Ch pò < ‘aspect of the moon’ ∥ ‘white’

spirit—Lt spīritus ‘breath’ (like Gk πνεῦμα)

temple—Lt templum ‘consecrated place’

• Gk νᾱός ‘dwelling’, ἱερόν ‘holy’ • OCS chramŭ ‘house’ • Old Persian āyadana- ‘place of worship’

witch—OE wicce uncertain

• Gk φαρμακίς < ‘drug, spell’ • Lt striga < mythical bird • Fr sorcière < ‘oracle’ • Welsh rheibes ‘ravager’ • Breton boudig ‘mumbler’ • Lith ragana ‘seer’ • Rus ведьма ‘knower’ • Ch wū poss. < ‘deceive’ or ‘dance’

wizard—ME ‘wise one’

• Fr enchanteur < ‘sing against’ • Rum fermecător < ‘drug, poison’ • Lith žynys < ‘know’ • Ch nánwū ‘male witch’

worship—OE weorðscipe ‘worthiness’

• Gk προσκυνέω ‘kiss (the ground)’ • Lt venerārī < ‘pray to Venus’ • Ger verehren intensive of ‘honor’ • OCS pokloniti sę ‘bow down’ • Pol wielbić ‘magnify’ • Ch chóngbài ‘high-salute’

+—angel, idol, holiday, prophecy, sacrifice, festival, ceremony, abstinence, heaven, omen

cleric, monk, hermit, shaman, disciple, pilgrim, atheist

lore, enchant, spell, taboo, blasphemy

‣             For creating religions, see the Religion chapter in the PCK.

Latin religio ‘piety, religion’ is of uncertain etymology, possibly related to religāre ‘bind’. Mandarin zōngjiào is roughly ‘sect-teaching’; note that in East Asia there is much less idea that one must choose a single belief system.

Hebrew neatly distinguishes ˀɛ̆lōah ‘the Hebrew God’, ˀɛ̆līl ‘a god besides the Hebrew God’, and ˀēl ‘either God or a god’.

The majority of Christian religious terms derive from Greek, the language of the early church— even Hebrew terms such as Sabbath, Messiah passed through Greek. (If they were direct loans they’d be Shabbath, Mashiah.) In some cases the word was borrowed so early that it doesn’t look very Greek: e.g. church < κῡριακόν ‘of the Lord’, priest < πρεσβύτερος ‘elder’, bishop < ἐπίσκοπος ‘overseer’. Words associated with a religion acquire some of its numinous power, and adherents may be reluctant to change them; note that Chinese, normally highly resistant to phonetic borrowings, made an exception for Buddhist terms (e.g. nirvana > nièpán).

Personally, I find it jarring when highly Judeo-Christian terms are used for other religions— e.g. in a translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses where a god is offered hosannas. It’s like they took up a collection in dollars. So I’d appreciate it if you use more general terms (e.g. priest for a leader), or conlang terms (aďom), or English calques (godspeaker).

Souls

There’s an obvious gulf between our internal and external life, and between a dead body and a living one. We can’t explain it all, but we can name it; the immaterial part is the soul. (Or if that sounds too religious, the mind; see p. 116.)

Paul distinguished ψῡχή ‘soul’ as the Old Person, the unredeemed portion of humanity, as opposed to πνεῦμα ‘spirit’, the New Person, the redeemed, perfect portion created through Christ. It might have been useful to continue the idea of ‘good spirit, bad soul’, but this wasn’t really pursued— though it’s why we speak of the Holy Spirit and not the Holy Soul.

To medieval Europeans (and Wilkins, p. 73), there were three types of soul (anima):

•              Vegetable Soul, associated with nutrition, growth, and reproduction. All life has this, and it’s the only kind of soul possessed by plants.

•              Sensitive Soul, or Sensuality, which adds sensation and movement. Animals share this with humans. Sensation included not only the five senses (p. 116) but the faculties of memory, instinct, retention in the mind, cogitation, and the amalgamation of sensory inputs into a perceived whole.

•              Rational Soul, which adds reason— understanding and morality. Philosophers in turn divided this into intellectus, which grasps truth instantly and holistically, and ratio, which must proceed step by step.

But how does the soul affect or control the body? The medieval habit of mind was to invent a tertium quid, something in the middle that is neither, but which can serve as an intermediary. This was the spirit or spirits. Galen divided these into natural spirits (found in the veins), vital spirits (in the arteries), and animal spirits (in the nerves). Alchemists considered the liquids they derived from distillation to be spirits, e.g. spirit of salt (hydrochloric acid); thus our own spirits for distilled liquors.

More loosely, and less usefully, spirit was also used as a synonym for soul. The Germanic ghost is a synonym, now narrowed to apparitions of the dead (once the body is gone, the soul / ghost is what’s left; its transparency and ability to move through doors are tokens of immateriality). Note Holy Ghost, the earlier term for Holy Spirit.

In Chinese thought, there are two types of soul, hún and pò. Axel Schuessler defines魄 pò as the ‘vegetative or animal soul’, responsible for growth and life, cognate to other words meaning ‘last quarter of the lunar month’ and ‘be white’;魂 hún is the ‘spiritual soul’ which produces the personality. Hún leaves the body after death, while pò stays with the corpse.

They are inevitably associated with yīn/yáng: hún is yáng (light and bright), pò is yīn (heavy and dark). Hún is seated in the liver, pò in the lungs.

As with spirit/soul, there were other interpretations. Some people didn’t bother to distinguish hún and pò, while some Daoists suggested that there are three types of hún and seven pò.

Ecclesiastical hierarchy

Few religions are centrally organized. If yours is, you may wish to refer to the Roman Catholic hierarchy:

pope—head of church

cardinal—bishop who can participate in papal elections

primate[18]—once had authority within a particular country (now honorary)

archbishop—oversees a large area (archdiocese) with multiple bishops

bishop—oversees a diocese with multiple priests; only a church with a bishop is a cathedral

priest—ordained by a bishop; responsible for pastoral care for one congregation (a parish)

deacon—reintroduced by Vatican II; can assist with but not perform mass; not required to be celibate

In early church history there were multiple patriarchs responsible for large regions; the Pope was the patriarch of Rome. With the Great Schism, the leaders of Eastern Orthodoxy retained the title, as do Eastern churches in communion with Rome. The head of the Church of England is the monarch.

A vicar is etymologically a substitute (cf. vicarious) or representative. In the Roman church there are several types of vicars, but the commonest is a priest assisting the pastor (principal priest) of a parish. In the Anglican church a rector received both greater tithes (grain) and lesser (other produce), while a vicar received only lesser tithes; the distinction is now merely historical.

Religious orders are organized separately. They are led by a superior general; an abbot is in charge of a particular monastery (Gk μονάζειν ‘live alone’). Monks and nuns live communally, and take solemn vows of poverty, obedience, and chastity. They start as postulants, then become novices. Monks in many orders may be ordained as priests. Monks and nuns are cloistered; friars and sisters are those who go out into the world for ministry.

SHAPE

Objects—

band—Fr bande < Germanic ‘binding’

• Ger Gurt < ‘gird’ • Ch dàizi dim. ‘belt’

bar—Fr barre uncertain

beam—OE béam < Germanic ‘tree’

• Gk δοκός ‘support’ • Lt trabs < ‘build, dwell’ • Fr poutre < ‘mare’ (prob. from carvings at end of beam) • Welsh trawst < ‘across’ • Ir sail ‘willow’

block—Fr bloc < Germanic

board—OE bord

• Lt planca < ‘flat’ • Lith lenta ‘linden’ • OCS dŭska < ‘plate’

circle—Lt dim. circus ‘circle’ ∥ ‘curved’

• Gk κύκλος ‘wheel’ • OCS krągŭ ‘ring, circle’ • Ch yuán ‘round, turn, encircle’

cross—Old Ir cros < Lt crux cruc-, poss. ∥ Norse hryggr ‘back, ridge’

• Gk σταυρός ‘stake’ • OE ród ‘rod’ • OCS krĭstŭ < ‘Christ’ • Ch shízì ‘ten (十)-character’

figure—Lt figūra ‘shaping, forming’

• Ch túxíng ‘draw-shape’

form—Lt forma ‘form, shape’

• Gk σχῆμα ‘holding’, μορφή uncertain, εἶδος < ‘appearance’ • Ger Gestalt ‘put in place’ • Lt stāvs ‘standing’ • Cz tvar < ‘make’ • Ch xíng < ‘model’

globe—Lt globus ‘ball’

heap—OE héap

• Sp montón < ‘mount’ • Ch duī < ‘mound’

line—Lt līnea ‘flaxen thread’

• Ger Strich < ‘line, way, stroke’ • Ch háng poss. < ‘go, road’

object—Lt objectus ‘thrown before’ = ‘presented’

• Ger Gegenstand ‘stand against’ • Ch wù ‘sort, class’

panel—Lt pannellus ‘small cloth’

pile—Lt pīla ‘pier, pillar’

POINT—Lt pūnctum ‘pricking, dot, point’

• Gk ἀκμή ‘edge’ • Breton beg < ‘beak, hook’ • Ger Spitze < ‘spit, spike’ • Pol koniec ‘end’ • Ch jiān ‘sharp’

post—Lt postis ‘door, door-post’

ring—OE hring, cognate to OCS kragŭ ‘circle’

• Gk δακτύλιος < ‘finger’ • Lt ānulus dim. ānus • Fr bague < ‘berry’ • Rus кольцо < ‘circle’ • Ch huán < ‘surround’

row—ME ráw

shape—OE ȝesceap poss. < ‘hewed out’

• Ch xíng < ‘model’

square—Old Fr esquare < ‘make square’ < Lt quattuor ‘four

• Gk τετράγωνον ‘four-cornered’ • Ir cearnóg < ‘corner’ • Sw fyrkant ‘four-edge’ • Ch fāng ‘side, region’

stick—OE sticca < Germanic ‘pierce’ (which also led to the verb)

• Fr bâton poss. < ‘carry’ • Ch bàng < ‘club’

strip—ME strippe < Low German

THING—OE þing ‘assembly, matter, thing’

• Gk πρᾶγμα ‘doing’ • Lt rēs re- ‘property’ • Fr chose < ‘cause’ • Ir ní < ‘someone’ • Welsh peth ‘piece, part’ • Lith daiktas < ‘point, sticking up’ • Pol rzecz ‘saying, matter’ • Skt vastu- < ‘dwell’

tube—Lt tubus

+—triangle, cube, ball, pyramid, dome, pole, rod, column, ribbon, lump

Attributes

area—Lt ārea ‘open space’

• Ch miànjī ‘face-amount’

bare—OE bær

• Fr nu ‘naked’ • Ch chì < ‘red’

firm—Lt firmus

• Ger hart ∥ hard • Ch dìng < ‘settle’

hollow—OE holh ∥ ‘hole’

• Lt cavus < ‘curved’ • Sp hueco prob. < ‘empty’ • Rus вогнутый ‘bent in’

loose—Norse louss ∥ less, lose

rough—OE rúh < ‘hairy’

• Gk τρᾱχύς ‘stirred up’ • It ruvido < ‘wrinkled’ • Sw ojämn ‘uneven’ • Cz drsný < ‘gritty’

round—Fr rond < Lt rotundus ‘wheel-shaped’

• Gk στρογγύλος < ‘twisted’ • OE sin-wealt ‘always rolls’ • OCS kruglŭ ‘circular’ • Cz kulatý < ‘ball’

sharp—OE scearp < IE ‘cut’

• Lt acūtus < IE ‘edge, tip’ • ModGk μυτερός < ‘snout’ • Rum ascuţit < ‘whet’

smooth—OE sméðe uncertain

• Lt lēvis < IE ’slippery, slimy’ • Ir mín ‘gentle’ • Breton kompez ‘equal’ • Ger glatt prob. < ‘shiny’ • Skt sama- < ‘same’ • Ch huá ‘slippery’

solid—Lt solidus

• Ger fest ‘firm, fixed’ • Ch gùtǐ ‘firm-body’

stiff—OE stíf

tight—Norse þéhtr ‘tight, dense, solid’

• Fr étroit ‘narrow’, raide ‘stiff’ • Ch jǐn < ‘tie, twist’

+—blunt, volume

Portions—

base—Gk βάσις ‘stepping’ < ‘go’

• Ger Grundlage ‘ground-site’ • Ch dǐ < ‘bottom’

bit—OE bita ‘bite’ > ‘fragment’

• Sp pedacito dim. ‘piece’

corner—Old Fr cornier < ‘horn’ = ‘angle’

• Gk γωνία prob. < ‘knee’ • Lt angulus ‘angle’ • Fr coin < ‘wedge’ • Sp esquina ‘spine’ • Ger Winkel < ‘turn, bend’, Ecke ‘edge’

crack—OE cracian

• Fr fente ‘split’ • Ger Knall ‘sharp sound’

edge—OE ecg < Germanic ‘edge, point’ < IE ‘sharp’

• Lt ōra < ‘mouth’ • It filo ‘thread’ • Ger Schneide ‘cut’ • Breton dremm ‘face’ • Ch dāokǒu ‘knife-mouth’

feature—Old Fr faiture ‘making’

• Ger Zug ‘pulled, drawn’ • Ch tèsè ‘special color’

fold—OE fealdan, cognate to Lt plicāre ‘fold, bend’

• Sp doblar ‘double’ • Sw vika < ‘move, yield’ • Cz skladati ‘lie with’ • Ch zhé ‘overlay’

hole—OE hol ‘a hollow place’

• Gk ὀπή < ‘eye’ • It buco < ‘empty’ • Ir poll ‘pool’ • Ger loch < ‘enclosed’ • Rus дыра ‘torn’

limit—Lt līmes līmit- ‘boundary’

• Ch jiè poss. < ‘guard against’

mark—OE mearca ‘boundary, sign’

part—Lt pars part-

• Gk μέρος ‘share’ • Ger Teil < ‘divide’ • OCS čęstĭ ‘bite’

piece—Fr pièce uncertain

scar—Old Fr escare ‘mark from a burn’ < Gk ‘hearth’

• Ch shānghén ‘injury-mark’

scrap—Norse skrap ‘scrapings’

spot—ME uncertain

surface—Lt superficiēs ‘under-face’

tip—ME typpe poss. < Germanic

• Fr bout < ‘hit’ • Sp punta ‘point’ • Ch jiān ‘sharp’

+—wrinkle, flaw, rim

The shape words are very useful for building other words— they can name building materials, machine parts, clothing details, bits of anatomy, portions of a chart.

The attributes too: we can speak of a rough character, a firm commitment, a tight schedule.

As ever, many of these metaphorical extensions are obscured by being made in Latin or Greek: asperity = roughness, lubricate = make smooth, apex = tip, radius = rod, margin = edge, punctual = like a point, cycle = circle, stele = slab, acme = tip, sclerotic = hardening.

In Czech, an inside corner is kout, an outside corner roh.

Simple shapes make good icons, and thus can represent nations or ideologies— consider how the cross is associated with Christianity, and thence with war (crusade). The typographical dagger † is not a cross but an ὀβελίσκος (‘little roasting spit’), used in ancient times to mark spurious passages in a text.

SENSATION

appear—Lt appārēre ‘come in sight to’

aware—OE ȝewær ‘wary’

hide—OE hýdan

• Gk κρύπτω ‘cover, hide’ • Fr cacher < ‘squeeze (into a small space)’ • Sp esconder < ‘build, hide’ + ‘away’ • Ger verbergen for-keep’ • Sw dölja < ‘confuse’ • Ch cáng ‘store’

ignore—Lt ignōrāre ‘not know’

• Ch bùlǐ ‘not recognize’

note—Lt nota ‘mark’

observe—Lt observāre ‘look toward, watch’

perceive—Lt percipere ‘seize through’

• Ger empfinden ‘find out’ • Cz číti < ‘notice’

reveal—Lt revēlāre ‘unveil’

SEEM—Norse søma ‘fitting, seemly’

• Gk φαίνομαι ‘made to appear’ • Fr sembler < ‘pretend to be’ • Sw synas ‘show oneself’ • Ger scheinen ‘shine’ • Ch kànlái ‘look-come’

sense—Lt sentīre ‘feeling’

• Ger Sinn < ‘go, travel’ • Ch jué ‘wake up’

smell—ME smellen, uncertain

• Lt olēre < IE • ModGk μυρίζω < ‘ointment’ • Sw lukta < ‘air’ • Ger riechen < ‘smoke, steam’, cf. reek • OCS vonjati ‘breathe in’

Hearing

echo—Gk ἠχώ prob. ∥ ‘sound’

• Ger Wiederhall ‘against-sound’ • Ch huíshēng ‘return-sound’

HEAR—OE híeran, poss. cognate to Gk ἀκούω

• Lt audīre < ‘ear’ • Fr entendre < ‘stretch toward’

listen—OE (Northumbrian) lysna < IE, cognate to OCS slušati

• Gk ἀκροάομαι ‘sharp ear’ • Qu uyariy < ‘face’ • Swahili sikiza ‘make hear’

loud—OE hlúd < ‘heard’

• Lt clārus ‘clear’ • Fr fort ‘strong’ • Sw hög ‘high’ • Rus громкий ‘thunderous’

noise—Fr noise ‘clamor, outcry’ uncertain

quiet—Lt quiētus ‘having come to rest’

• Rum liniştit < ‘mild’ • Welsh llonyd < ‘cheerful’ • Dutch rust ‘rest’ • OCS tichu ‘even’ • Skt çānta- < ‘weary’ < ‘toil’

silent—Lt silens ‘being silent’

• Sp callar < ‘slacken’ • Ger schweigen < ‘cease’ • Latvian klusēt < ‘listen’ • Ch mò ∥ ‘black’

sound—Lt sonus

• Ir foghar < ‘cry out’ • OCS zvonŭ poss. imitative

Sight

blind—OE blind poss < ‘dark’

• Lt caecus prob. < ‘squinting’ • Fr aveugle ‘without eyes’ • Gk τυφλός < ‘murky’ • Ch shīmíng ‘lose bright’

gaze—ME uncertain

glance—ME ‘glide off, pass over’

• Fr coup d’œil ‘hit of eye’ • Ger Blick < ‘flash, shine’ • Ch yíkàn ‘one-look’

image—Lt imāgo imagin- ‘imitation, likeness’

• Ch xiàng < ‘resemble’

LOOK—OE lócian, uncertain

• It guardare < ‘guard’ • Sp mirar < ‘wonder’ • Ger schauen < ‘show’ • Ch kàn ∥ Tibetan ‘know’

notice—Lt nōtus ‘(something) known’

SEE—OE séon, poss. cognate to Lt sequor ‘follow’

• Gk ὀράω < ‘watch’ • Lt vidēre < IE, cognate to ‘wit’

sight—OE ȝesihð nomn. of ‘see’

stare—OE starian

• Sp mirar fijamente ‘look at fixedly’ • Ch níngshì ‘concentrate-look’

view—Fr vu ‘seen’

visible—Lt vīsibilis ‘seeable’

vision—Lt vīsio nomn. of ‘see’

watch—OE wacian variant of ‘wake’

Taste

bitter—OE biter < ‘biting’

• Gk πικρός ‘pointed’ • Ir searbh prob. < ‘sour’ • Skt tikta- ‘sharp’ • Ket qə́làŋ < ‘bile’

sweet—OE swéte < ‘pleasant’

• Lt dulcis uncertain • Ir milis < ‘honey’ • OCS sladŭkŭ ‘seasoned’ • Ch tián poss. ∥ ‘lick’ • Ket hílàŋ < ‘birch sap’

taste—Old Fr taster < Lt frequentative of taxāre ‘touch, feel’

• Lt gustāre < IE • Sw smaka < ‘pleasing’ • Skt ras- < ‘juice’

+—salty, delicious, bland, spicy, sour

transparent, deaf, distract, stink

Mandarin uses the same word (kàn) for ‘reading’ books and ‘watching’ TV. And in Quebec French, you ‘listen’ (écouter) to the TV.

French sentir is also used for ‘smell’— thus English scent— while Italian sentire is used for ‘hear’. Welsh clywed is principally ‘hear’ but also refers to any of the senses but sight. English wit, originally ‘mind’, was also used for the senses.

English uses smell for both perceiving or having an odor, but Lithuanian distinguishes uost vs. kapėti. Latin distinguishes gustāre ‘taste something’ vs. sapere ‘have a flavor’.

‣             For touch, see Bodily actions, p. 116.

Human senses

The idea of five senses goes back to the ancient Greeks, though there was then disagreement over the number. Aristotle considered taste to be a form of touching, while Plato named “heat and cold, pleasure, pain, desire” as senses.

Neurology would add at least proprioception (the sense of where your limbs are, and their movement), nociception (pain), thermoception (heat and cold— there are different receptors for each), and equilibrioception (balance).

The basic tastes (sweet, sour, salty, bitter) correspond to different types of taste buds on the tongue. Umami does not have a good English equivalent (though savory has been suggested), and indeed its Japanese discoverer, Kikunae Ikeda, simply named it ‘delicious taste’. Monosodium glutamate gives a good wallop of umami; it’s also strong in cheese, soy sauce, fish and shellfish, cured meats, tomatoes, and mushrooms.

If you’re tempted to derive ‘sweet’ from sugar (< Arabic sukkar), note that most premodern peoples didn’t have access to sugar cane.

It used to be taught that each taste was localized to one part of the tongue, but this is not true— all five receptor types are found all over the tongue.

The five taste receptors are not the whole story, though. There are other receptors in the mouth:

•              Spiciness is a sort of pain reception; it responds exquisitely to capsaicin from chilis and piperine from black peppers.

•              Certain chemicals can trigger the cold receptors, producing the cool sensation of mint, menthol, and camphor.

•              An astringent sensation in the lining of the mouth is caused by tea, red wine, rhubarb, and some unripe fruit.

•              Some receptors are sensitive to a metallic taste.

In addition, taste is deeply tied to smell, which is why foods taste blander when you have a cold. Smells resist classification simply because there are several hundred kinds of receptors. Each is specialized to respond to a particular type of molecule.

In Czech, there’s no neutral word for ‘smell’— it’s either pleasant (vůně) or bad (smrad, zápach).

Our sense of touch is primarily a measurement of pressure; it should really be divided from the sense of itchiness which is communicated by different nerves.

In addition to the external senses, there are internal senses. There are nerves that respond to stretching of the lungs, fullness of the bladder or rectum, CO2 levels in the brain, dilation of blood vessels, etc. And Plato was not wrong— feelings of hunger, thirst, or sexual excitement can be described as senses.

People can have lacks or deficits of the less recognized senses. Oliver Sacks describes a patient whose sense of balance was damaged; he walked at an angle, completely unaware that something was wrong. (He was outfitted with a sort of spirit level attached to his glasses, which allowed him to optically compensate for his lack of equilibrioception.)

Responsiveness to all the senses follows a power law. This is widely known for sound, because of the decibel scale. If a sound is roughly 3 times louder than another, the loudness differs by 10 dB. But as Stanley Smith Stevens found in the last century, this is how all our senses work, and even our perception of value— e.g. if people are asked to think of how happy they’d be to have a free gift of $1000 they estimate that they’d be twice as happy as that if they got not $2000 but $4000.[19]

Another way of putting it is that our senses are finely tuned to relative difference, and lousy at detection of absolute magnitudes. It’s easy to create sensory illusions to show this.

Exotic senses

If your conpeople are nonhuman, they may have interesting new senses. For an overview, see Howard C. Hughes, Sensory Exotica.

•              Humans are notoriously bad at smell— though Richard Feynman points out that this is in part because our noses are up so high, and we just don’t bother to use them. E.g. he was able to detect by smell which book on a bookcase was touched by another person. He had to admit, however, that his dog was better at it, since the dog could not only find his trail on the carpet but know which way he’d gone.

•              Mammals really have two senses of smell, responding to different chemicals. In humans, most molecules are detected by the olfactory epithelium, at the top of the nasal cavity; but a few are detected by the vomeronasal organ in the lower nostril. The VNO is specialized to detect pheromones, chemicals produced by members of the same species, though snakes use them to detect prey. Whether humans have pheromones or even a functional VNO is unclear.

•              Our vision is adapted to the portion of the electromagnetic spectrum that the sun most strongly emits. Naturally, species adapted to other stars will have vision corresponding to their output spectra.

•              Birds and bees can see well into the ultraviolet. Flowers have co-evolved to display brightly in the ultraviolet.

•              Many animals can see into the infrared, which is particularly useful as all bodies turn thermal energy into light, and at ordinary earthly temperatures this means the infrared.

•              Birds and many invertebrates can sense magnetic fields (magnetoception). They usually perceive the direction rather than the polarity of the field— which is good since the polarity of the Earth’s magnetic field periodically flips. There are bacteria which sense the direction of the field; as the lines of magnetic force always lead into the earth, this lets them find the sea floor.

•              Flies have taste receptors on their feet, which allows them to taste whatever they’re standing on.

•              Bats gain a picture of the space around them, in the dark, via echolocation— emitting high-pitched sounds and listening to the echoes. Dolphins do the same in the water.

•              The lateral line of fish detects electric currents (electroreception), which allows sensing of prey and other fish.

•              Some fish go further, emitting a weak electric current and detecting changes in the resulting magnetic field. Other fish have lower electric resistance than water, which increases the local field intensity; inanimate objects usually have higher resistance, which reduces the local field. The current can also be used for social communication.

These electric fields are small, but some fish, like electric eels, can generate a high-current wallop than can kill a horse. (Not their usual prey.)

•              Bacteria can respond to gradients of various chemicals, allowing them to move toward food and away from irritants.

•              A radiation sensor would be useful in post-apocalyptia, as well as in outer space.

SEX

sex—Lt sexus poss < ‘cut’ = ‘a division’

• Gk γένος ‘kin, race’ • OCS polŭ ‘half’ • Pol płeć ‘flesh’ • Ch xìng ‘nature, property’

fuck—ModE uncertain

• Gk ὀχεύω < ‘master’ • Lt coīre ‘come together’ • OE swífan ‘sweep, sway’ • Ger beischlagen ‘sleep by’ • Lith pisti < ‘strike, push’ • Qu satiy ‘insert’ • Ch gàn ‘work’

+—fondle, orgasm, pregnant, erotic; chaste, virgin, prude

homosexual, lesbian, gay, transgender

adultery, perversion, rape, prostitute, harem, womanizer, orgy, bondage

Fuck of course occurs in the textual corpus mostly as an expletive, but it’s a convenient place to list words for having sex. Like words for the genitals, words for sex tend to be highly marked for register.

English lacks an all-purpose transitive which can be used for ‘have sex with’ for both sexes. Fuck can be used this way, but it’s still highly charged; for Verdurian I supplied the neutral rašir.

Sexual vocabulary is interesting in part because so little of it is purely descriptive. Merely to name the act of sex requires choosing an attitude: clinical (sexual intercourse), euphemistic (make love, come together), vulgar (fuck, screw), or misogynistic (tap that ass). Your culture’s terms should reflect its (various) attitudes.

You also have to decide what your culture considers acceptable, perverse, or criminal.

•              In pre-modern societies, disease, the risk of pregnancy, and the desire for a clear inheritance put free love into disrepute.

•              The contemporary view of oral sex as normal and minor is surely possible only due to modern good hygiene.

•              On the other hand, where marriages are arranged, people still fall in love, and their affairs will be adulterous. Attitudes to this may be complicated; an example is Malory’s Morte D’Arthur, where Lancelot’s affair with Guenever is simply characteristic of a heroic knight. (Indeed, when Arthur is made aware of challenges to her virtue, his response is spectacularly regressive: she’s condemned to death unless her champion defeats the accuser.)

•              Though rape is normally viewed as a crime, most premodern societies are highly male-dominant, so the crime was viewed as one against the woman’s husband or family rather than against her.

What are the local standards of modesty? At a first approximation, people wear less clothes in hot climates. At a second approximation, people tend to maintain their standards even when moving into a new climate zone. Thus you get descendants of Spaniards wearing three-piece suits in the Amazon, and Mennonites sweltering in wool coats in Paraguay.

On homosexuality, see the PCK, p. 165. Note that our terms are all modern— which doesn’t mean the practice is modern, just that earlier ages didn’t conceptualize sexual acts and orientations as we do.

In the future, possibly anything goes. In my sf world, the Incatena, sex changes are routine, which makes nonsense out of most present-day moralisms and even earnest debates about evolutionary psychology. But why stop there? It’s easy to imagine modified bodies allowing new sexes, new sex acts, and new perversions.

When devising sexual terms, recall that people often have a titillating eye on foreign cultures. Words like harem, seraglio, concubine, geisha, courtesan, even orgy evoke an Orientalist fantasy; bondage, beau, massage, lingerie, demimonde, coquette, madam (of a brothel), and even passion, romance, paramour are reminders that for the English, the French were viewed as a little too expert in matters of love. Who can your conculture blame illicit practices on?

Sexual slang is notorious for creating traps for foreigners... for instance, to call a woman bonne (literally ‘good’) in French is highly vulgar— it’s like saying she’s good in bed.

SIN

admit—Lt admittere ‘send to’

• Gk ὁμολογέω ‘same-reason’ • Fr avouer < ‘vow’ • Norse játa ‘yes’ • Ger gestehen ‘stand’ • Cz uznati ‘recognize’ • Skt svīkṛ- ‘make one’s own’ • Ch rèn < ‘know’

anger—Norse angr ‘trouble, affliction’

• Gk ὁργή ‘mood’, χόλος ‘bile’ (> Fr colère) • Lt īra < ‘strength’ or ‘passion’ • Ger Zorn < ‘torn’ • Sw vrede < ‘twisted’ • Latvian dusmas ‘panting’ • OCS gněvŭ prob. < ‘rot’ • Cz zlost ‘evil’ • Ch fèn prob. < ‘swell, increase’

kill—ME culle ‘strike, hit’

* Lt necāre < nex ‘violent death’ • Fr tuer < ‘extinguish’ • ModGk σκοτώνω ‘darken’ • Qu wañuchiy ‘cause to die’

lie—OE lyȝe, cognate to OCS lōža

• Gk ψεῦδος ‘false’ • Lt mendācium < ‘defect’, mentīrī < ‘mind’ • Welsh celwydd ‘hide knowledge’ • Skt asatya- ‘untrue’

MEAN—OE mǽnan ‘intend, mean’, cognate to Ger meinen ‘think’

murder—OE morðor < ‘death’

• Gk φόνος < ‘kill, strike’ • Lt nex nec- ‘violent death’ • Ir dúnmharú ‘man-killing’ • Welsh llofruddiaeth ‘red-handedness’ • Cz vražda < ‘enemy’ • Ch móushā ‘plan-kill’

proud—OE prút ‘boastful, lordly’ < Old Fr prod ‘valiant’ < Lt ‘be useful’

• Lt superbus adjn. of ‘over’ • Sp orgulloso < ‘distinguished’ • Fr fier < ‘fierce’ • Ir mórálach < ‘large’ • Dutch trotsch < ‘stubborn’ • Ger stolz < ‘strut’ • Rus надменный ‘blown up’ • Skt garvita- ‘heaviness’ • Ch jiāo < ‘tall’

shame—OE scamu poss. < ‘cover’

• Gk αἰδώς ‘reverence, modesty’ • Lt pudor poss. < ‘repulsed’ • Fr honte ‘< ‘dishonor’ • Sp vergüenza < ‘awe’ • OCS studŭ ∥ ‘hate’ • Ch xiū < ‘dirty’

+—sin, guilt, tempt, corrupt, fraud

honest, confess, forgive, pardon, excuse

villain, bully, sadist, brute, bastard, malice

lust, avarice, greed, sloth, gluttony

assassin, strangle, drown, slaughter

C.S. Lewis pointed out in The Abolition of Man that all cultures have a similar set of basic moral values. Fortunately for conworlding, though, there are still interesting differences.

•              How many wives are permitted? What’s the attitude toward homosexuality? How different is sexual morality for men and for women? Are marriages arranged, and by whom?

•              Are the worst crimes offenses against persons (e.g. murder), or against property (e.g. theft)?

•              Is it more important that a criminal offer recompense to his victim, that he be punished, or that he repent his crimes?

•              Urbanites are generally more tolerant of diversity; on the other hand, urban life creates whole new categories of crime: disputes over land; fraud and false advertisement; harassment by lawsuit; monopoly exploitation; copyright violation.

•              Premodern agricultural states (but not hunter-gatherers or nomads) are big on authority. Rulers are to be obeyed even when they’re lunatics; savants advise matching one’s belief system to the state’s; fathers may have life-or-death powers over even adult children.

A modern civilization is by contrast much more interested in justice and individual freedom. Earlier cultures might value ‘freedom’, but found it self-evident that only a fraction of society deserved it.

•              How far can the individual pursue personal wealth and fulfillment? In many cultures the chief economic unit is the extended family. And there have been cultures where social mobility is actively prosecuted (mostly as a ham-handed attempt to keep up production in a time of decline).

•              Is the material world a positive good, or a worthless snare? If you value only the spiritual world, that may affect your view of trade and rich men (exploitative Mammon-worshippers!), politics (vanity and foolishness), sex (disgusting animality), self-mortification (a valuable aid to focusing on the spiritual), and capital punishment (bodily life isn’t worth much).

•              Though everyone is against ‘cruelty’, what’s viewed as cruel varies by culture. Earlier cultures found it completely normal to punish people with grotesque mutilations. And for millennia, after all, the most powerful social class was that trained to carve each other up with sharp blades.

Though there was always an ethos to go along with this, it’s still the behavior of schoolyards and chimpanzee troupes: it’s good to be physically powerful and quick to violence. (Malory’s heroes are explicitly described as “big and strong”, and even the best of his knights occasionally brutally kill a relative or a woman— and that’s to say nothing of the horses they go through.)

•              Which of our own everyday actions will look inexcusably horrible to our descendants? Many would say war, or carnivorism, but I’d suggest it’s our offenses against sustainability. Destroying the ecosphere, or even using up its resources, is a sociopathic crime against the future.

It can be useful to attempt to categorize sins according to the values of your conculture. (See the discussion in the PCK, pp. 207-210.) This not only gives you a good set of words, but helps work out your culture’s belief system.

A neat derivation: the Ket word for ‘guilty’ is saʁan ‘without a squirrel’; the Ket paid their taxes to the tsar in furs, so it was bad to have none.

SOCIETY

agree—Fr agréer ‘make pleasing’

alien—Lt aliēnus ‘of another (place)’

• Ger ausländisch ‘outlandish’ • Ch wàilái ‘come from outside’

alone—ME ‘all one’

• Lt sōlus poss. < ‘by oneself’ • Ir amháin ‘no more’ • Danish blot ‘bare’ • Cz toliko ‘so much’ • Ch dú dialectal ‘one’

barbarian—Gk βάρβαρος ‘babbler’, imitative

• Ch yí an ethnic name

civilize—Fr civiliser ‘turn into citizens’

• Ch wénmíng ‘writing-bright’

colony—Lt colōnia from ‘farmer, cultivator’

• Ch zhímíndì ‘breed-people-place’

community—Lt commūnitas -tāt- ‘fellowship’, from ‘common’

• Qu ayllu ‘(theoretical) lineage’ • Ch shè ‘god of soil’

company—Fr compagnie ‘(people one has) bread with’

• Ch gōngsī ‘public-office’

confident—Lt confīdens intensive of ‘trust’

• Ger überzeugt ‘with evidence’ • Ch xìnxīn ‘believe-heart’

crowd—OE crúdan ‘press, push’ > ‘throng together’ > ‘mass of people’

• Lt multitūdo -din- ‘muchness’ • Fr foule < ’pound cloth’ • Lith minia < ‘trample’

dwell—OE dwellan ‘delude, stun’ > ‘hinder, delay’ > ‘abide’

explore—Lt explōrāre ‘search out’

faction—Lt factio ‘doing, making’

• Ger Splittergruppe ‘splitter-group’ • Ch zōng ‘clan’

favor—Lt favor ‘show goodwill, side with’

• Ger Gunst ‘benevolence’ • Ch hǎoyì ‘good-idea’

gentle—Rom ‘of good family’ < Lt gentīlis ‘of the same clan’

group—Fr groupe ‘mass, knot’ > ‘set of figures in a painting’ > ‘any group’

• Ch qún poss. ∥ ‘swarm’, ‘all’

join—Fr joindre < IE ‘join’, cognate to yoke

• Gk συνάπτω ‘fasten with’ • Ir ceangail ‘bind’ • Ger fügen ‘fasten’ • OCS sŭčetati < ‘crowd’ • Ch hé also ‘shut’

native—Lt nātīvus ‘by birth’

• Ger eingeboren ‘born in’ • Ch běnguó ‘origin country’

neighbor—OE néahȝebúr ‘near-dweller’

• Lt vīcīnus < ‘quarter, village’ • Welsh cymydog ‘live near’ • OCS sąsědŭ ‘sit with’

party—Fr parti ‘divided’

• Ch dǎng < ‘category’ < ‘equal’

patient—Lt patiens ‘suffering’

• Ger geduldig < ‘tolerate’ • Ch nàixīn ‘enduring heart’

PEOPLE—Fr peuple < Lt populus < IE, cognate to OE folc

• Gk δῆμος ‘district’ • Ir daoine ‘persons’ • Welsh gwerin ‘crowd’ • Lt gens gent-, Skt jana- < ‘beget’ • Ch mín ∥ ‘human’

populate—Lt populāre verbn. of ‘people’

public—Lt pūblicus ‘of the people’

• Ger öffentlich ‘openish’ • Ch gōng < ‘palace’

reside—Lt residēre ‘sit back’

• Lt habitāre frequentative of ‘have’ • Ir áitrigh ‘place’ • Breton chom < ‘shelter from heat’ • Ger wohnen < ‘seek, gain’ • ModE dwell < ‘delay’ • OCS žiti ‘live’ • Ch zhù < ‘stop (moving)’

settle—OE setl ‘sitting place’

society—Lt < socius ‘companion’

• Ger Gesellschaft ‘comradeship’ • Ch shè < ‘god of soil’

stranger—Fr étranger < Lt extrāneus ‘external, foreign’

• Ch qí ∥ ‘irregular’, ‘put aside’

together—OE ‘to’ + gador ‘together’

unite—Lt ūnīre ‘make one’

• Ch hé < ‘join, close with a lid’

+—league, gang, tribe, organization, solitary

foreign, newcomer, immigrant, refugee

appreciate, mercy, benevolent

‣             See Conflict (p. 116), Government (p. 116), Sin (p. 116), War (p. 116)

Most primates are social animals, so it’s no surprise there are lots of terms for human interaction. It can be wondered, in fact, whether sentience can develop in solitary animals. Though predation requires smarts, the most complicated things we deal with are other people.

I’ve covered how to create societies and cultures in the PCK, so I won’t add much here.

English, like all major languages, derives from conquering cultures, and thus has many words for expanding at the expense of unluckier peoples (settle, populate, civilized, colony, barbarian). The process, and the vocabulary, would look different for the people losing their territory— or for species that are less territorial.

Social relationships

accord—Lt accordāre ‘to heart’

admire—Lt admīrāri ‘wonder at’

• Ch qīnpèi < ‘respect’

agree—Fr agréer ‘make pleasing’

assist—Lt assistere ‘stand at’

contact—Lt contactus ‘touched together’

convince—Lt convincere intensive of ‘vanquish’

glory—Lt glōria

• Gk δόξα ‘expectation’, κῦδος ‘perception’ • Ger ruhm prob. < ‘call, cry’ • OCS slava ‘fame’ ∥ ‘word’ • Ch guāng < ‘extensive’

guide—Fr guide prob. < Germanic ∥ wit

help—OE helpan

• Gk ἐπικουρέω ‘run with’ • Lt adjūtāre poss. ∥ ‘please’, auxilior < ‘augment’ • Fr assister < ‘stand by’ • Ir cabhraigh < ‘bear with’ • OCS pomošti < ‘be able’ • Ch zhù < ‘hoe together’

honor—Lt honor

• Gk τῑμή ‘value, price’ • Old Ir oineach ‘face’ • Sw heder ‘clear, shining’ • OE weorðscipe ‘worthiness’ • Lith garbė ‘praise’ • OCS čĭstĭ ‘reckoning’ • Skt māna- ‘opinion, thought’

• Ch zūn ∥ ‘sacrifice’, ‘ancestors’

impress—Lt imprimere ‘press into’

invite—Lt invītāre ‘invite, entertain’

meet—OE métan

• Gk ἀναντάω < ‘face to face’ • It incontrare < ‘against’ • Ir casadh < ‘turn’ • Ger treffen ‘hit’ • OCS sŭrěsti < ‘find’ • Ch yù < ‘pair’

propose—Fr proposer ‘put forward’

respect—Lt respectus ‘looked back’

shame—OE scamu poss. < ‘cover’

• Gk αἰδώς ‘reverence, modesty’ • Lt pudor poss. < ‘repulsed’ • Fr honte ‘< ‘dishonor’ • Sp vergüenza < ‘awe’ • OCS studŭ ∥ ‘hate’ • Ch xiū < ‘dirty’

support—Lt supportāre ‘carry under’

• Ger stützen < ‘post, stud’ • Ch yǎng ‘rear’

trust—Norse traust

+—host, guest, introduce

benefit, advantage, worldly, cynical

inspire, praise, merit, famous, reputation

These are terms largely relating to how unrelated members of a community think of each other, or interact with each other. For negative reactions, see Conflict; for verbal interaction, see Speech.

Terms for bodily action (touch, link, bear, support, press) are good building blocks for social interaction.

Customs

custom—Old Fr costume < Lt intensive of ‘be wont to, used to’

• Gk ἔθος, Ger Sitte < ‘one’s own’ • It usanza ‘usage’ • Ir nós < ‘known’ • Ch sú poss. ‘common, vulgar’

greet—OE grœtan ‘approach, address’

• Fr accueillir < ‘collect’ • Ch zhù < ‘wish < ‘pray’

manners—Fr manière ‘handling’ < Lt ‘of the hand’

please—Lt placēre < ‘flatten’

• Gk ἀρέσκω ‘be fitting’ • Sp agradar < ‘agreeable’ • Portuguese gostar < ‘taste’ • Ger befallen ‘fall to’ • Rus нравится ‘character’

polite—Lt polītus ‘polished’

• Sp cortés ‘courtly’ • Ch lǐ ‘ritual’

proper—Lt proprius ‘one’s own’

thank—OE þanc ‘thought’ > ‘good will’ > ‘gratitude’

• Gk χάρις, Lt grātia ‘grace’ • Fr merci < ‘wages’ • Breton diolch < ‘prayer’

welcome—OE wilcuma ‘desired guest’, reanalyzed as ‘well come’

+—courtesy, tact, chivalry, faux pas, vulgar, rude, routine

‣             On politeness, see the LCK p. 145, and the PCK p. 181.

Polite expressions such as please, thank you, you’re welcome, goodbye are generally not roots, but entire phrases, usually quite worn down.

Playing games

game—OE gamen < Germanic, possibly ‘with-man’ > ‘communion’

play—OE pleȝan ‘move energetically’

• Gk παίζω ‘child’ • Fr jouer < ‘joke’ • Sw leka < ‘hop’ • OCS igrati ‘dance’ • Ch xì ∥ ‘joke’, ‘laugh’

race—Norse rás uncertain

• Fr course ‘running’

+—sport, score, toy, doll, puppet, athletic, prize, card, maze, bet, compete

The semantic space of play varies:

•              French agrees with English on the wide range of ‘play’, but the case structure differs: you joues à a game, you joues de an instrument, and you joues a role, a note, or a card.

•              In Swedish, you spela games, instruments, and roles, but children playing is leka.

•              Finnish has pelata for games or sports, soittaa for music, and leikkiä for children playing.

•              In Spanish, you use tocar (‘touch’) with musical instruments, and in Quechua waqachiy (‘make cry’).

•              Japanese asobi is having fun or relaxing in general— it’s the opposite of ‘work’. You can even invite people to asobi ni kuru ‘come to play’ meaning ‘come for a visit’.

•              Northern English laik can also be glossed ‘not work’; children laik, but adults who are laiking are striking or unemployed. French has chômer ‘be unemployed’.

•              In Mandarin, you must use specific verbs appropriate to the sport or instrument— you ‘hit’ a basketball, ‘kick’ a soccer ball, ‘pull’ a cello.

See Wittgenstein on game (p. 49). Note that languages don’t have to agree that all of his examples are games.

Words for games make good metaphors for war, for business, for seduction (make a play for her hand). The very useful word check, in all its senses, derives from chess, as do pawn ‘underling’ and rank and file.

It wouldn’t be a bad idea to come up with a few games and sports for your conculture. Baseball, for instance, supplies new meanings to pitch, battery, walk, base, strike, ball, hit, tag, steal, home, bean. More interestingly, it provides a rich set of metaphors: umpire, strike out, screwball, big leagues, softball questions, out of left field, off base, hit a home run, cover all the bases, take a rain check, a ballpark figure, he threw me a curveball, did you get to third base with her?

And to give equal time to the Brits, cricket gives us hat trick, bowled over, sticky wicket, not cricket, stumped, hit for six. And of course baseball terms such as inning, single, run, umpire, out started as cricket terms. (Pitch is different in cricket, though— it’s a part of the field; throwing the ball is bowling.)

SPEECH

communicate—Lt commūnicāre ‘make common’

• Ger mitteilen ‘share with’ • Ch tōngxùn ‘transmit-news’

converse—Lt conversārī ‘turn about’ > dwell

express—Old Fr expresser ‘press out’

language—Fr langage < Lt lingua ‘tongue’— cf. Gk γλῶσσα, OCS językŭ

• Ger Sprache ‘speech’ • Qu simi ‘mouth’

message—Fr message nomn. of ‘send’

name—OE nama, Lt nōmen, OCS imę, Skt nāman- < IE

• Lith vardas < ‘word’

SAY—OE secgan < IE prob. ‘point out’

• Lt dīcere < ‘point out’ • Ir abair ‘bring forth’ • Lith teikt < ‘bestow’ • Rus сказать < ‘show’ • Cz praviti < ‘guide, set right’

sign—Lt signum ‘mark, token’

• Gr σῆμα < ‘observe’ • Welsh arwydd ‘see before’ • OE tácen < ‘point out’ • Pol znak < ‘know’ • Ch fú ‘tally’ < ‘add to’

signal—Rom derivation from ‘sign’

• Ger Zeichen || teach, token • Ch hào < ‘call out’

SPEAK—OE sprecan < ‘crackle’

• Gk λέγω < ‘select’ • ModGk μιλῶ < ‘consort with’ • It parlare < ‘parable’ • Sp hablar < ‘story’ • Sw tala < ‘reckon, tell’ • Dutch praten prob. imitative • Rus говорить < ‘noise’ • Ch shuō ‘explain’

TALK—ME talkien, dim. ‘tale’ or ‘tell’

TELL—OE tellan verbn. of ‘tale’

term—Lt terminus ‘boundary’

• Ger Ausdruck ‘out-pressing’ • Ch qīxiàn ‘period-limit’

VOICE—Lt vox vōc- ‘voice, sound’ < IE ‘say’

• Sw röst < ‘loud talk’

WORD—OE word, Lt verbum < IE ‘speak’

• It parola < ‘parable’ • Fr mot < ‘mutter’ • Ir focal < ‘name’ • OCS slovo < ‘hear’ • Skt çabda- ‘noise’ • Ch zì ‘compound character’ < ‘progeny’

+—mute, dialect, accent, pidgin

There may not be a word for ‘language’; many languages make do with the word for ‘speech’ or ‘tongue’ (e.g. Lt lingua). Quechua uses simi ‘mouth’.

We generally use speak when concentrating on the action, say when reporting the utterance; Greek uses λέγω for both. Speak and talk differ mostly in formality. Tell emphasizes the listener; French gets by with dire à ‘speak to’ for this— though it has a verb raconter for stories.

Speech acts

address—Fr addresser ‘straighten’

• Ch chēng ‘weigh’

admit—Lt admittere ‘send to’

• Gk ὁμολογέω ‘same-reason’ • Fr avouer < ‘vow’ • Norse játa ‘yes’ • Ger gestehen ‘stand’ • Cz uznati ‘recognize’ • Skt svīkṛ- ‘make one’s own’ • Ch rèn < ‘know’

advise—Fr aviser ‘make seen’

announce—Lt adnuntiāre ‘bear news to’

• Gk ἀγγέλλω < ‘messenger’ • Sw kungöra ‘make known’ • Latvian sludināt < ‘rumor’ • Ch xuān < ‘spread, cast’

answer—OE andswaru ‘swearing against’ = ‘legal rebuttal’

• Lt respondēre ‘pledge back’ • Ir freagra < ‘shout against’ • Ger antworten ‘against-word’ • OCS utŭvěštati ‘speak away’

argue—Fr arguer < ‘prove, accuse’

bless—OE blóedsian ‘mark with blood’ > ‘consecrate’

• Lt benedīcere ‘speak well of’ • Ger segnen ‘sign (the cross)’ • Latvian svetīt < ‘holy’ • Skt svasti- ‘well-being’ • Ch zhùfú ‘wish-benefit’

ASK—OE áscian < ‘seek’

• Lt rogāre < ‘direct (oneself)’ • Fr demander < ‘entrust’ • Sp preguntar ‘test using a pole’• Danish spørge < ‘track’ • Ger fragen, OCS prositi < IE • Ch wén < ‘hear’

assure—Fr assurer ‘make safe’

CALL—Norse kalla

• Lt vocāre < ‘voice’ • It chiamare < ‘shout’ • Fr appeler < ‘drive to’

comment—Lt comminisci ‘contrive, invent’, from ‘mind’

• Ger bemerken ‘notice by’ • Ch duǎnpíng ‘short-discuss’

complain—Fr complaindre < intensive of ‘bewail’

• Ger beklagen ‘shout by’ • Ch bàoyuàn ‘embrace-spite’

curse—OE cursian, poss. < ‘wrath’

• Gk καταράομαι ‘pray against’ • Lt maledīcere ‘say ill of’ • Rum blestema < ‘blaspheme’ • Sw förbanna < ‘forbid’ • Ger verfluchen < ‘strike, blow’ • Latvian lādēt ‘revile’ < ‘bark’ • Ch mà ‘scold’

declare—Lt dēclārāre intensive of ‘make clear’

demand—Lt dēmandāre intensive of ‘order, charge’

• Ger fordern ‘(ask to come) forward’ • Ch xūqiú ‘need-seek’

describe—Lt dēscrībere ‘copy off, write down’

• Ger schildern ‘paint’ • Ch miáoxiě ‘sketch-write’

discuss—Lt discutere intensive of ‘shake, strike’

• Ger besprechen ‘speak by’ • Ch. lún poss. ∥ ‘advice’

explain—Lt explānāre ‘smooth out, flatten’

• Gk ἐξηγέομαι ‘lead the way’ • Lt explicāre ‘unfold’ • Dutch verklaren ‘make clear’ • Cz vysvětliti ‘illuminate’ • Ch jiě < ‘loosen, untie’ • Swahili eleza ‘make intelligible’

inform—Lt informāre ‘give form to’

• Ger benachrichtigen ‘by-for-righten’ • Ch tōngzhī ‘general-know’

insist—Lt insistere ‘stand in’

• Ch jiānchí ‘solid-hold’

joke—Lt jocus ‘joke, sport’

• Fr plaisanter ‘be pleasing’ • Sp broma ‘shipworm’ • Ch xiàohuà ‘laugh-talk’

lie—OE lyȝe, cognate to OCS lōža

• Gk ψεῦδος ‘false’ • Lt mendācium < ‘defect’, mentīrī < ‘mind’ • Welsh celwydd ‘hide knowledge’ • Skt asatya- ‘untrue’

mention—Lt mentio, verbn. of ‘mind’

question—Lt quæstio ‘asking, inquiry’

• Ger Frage < ‘ask for’ ∥ ‘beg’ • Ch wèn < ‘hear’

reply—Lt replicāre ‘fold again’

report—Lt reportare ‘carry again’

• Ch bào ∥ ‘return, reply’

respond—Lt respondēre ‘pledge back’

suggest—Lt suggerere ‘carry under’

swear—OE swerian ‘make an oath’

thank—OE þanc ‘thought’ > ‘good will’ > ‘gratitude’

• Gk χάρις, Lt grātia ‘grace’ • Fr merci < ‘wages’ • Breton diolch < ‘prayer’

+—mock, flatter, exaggerate, vow

Speech acts are the activities that are accomplished or performed by speaking. The prototypical examples (as J.L. Austin points out) are statements that are inherent parts of a deed or ritual: I pronounce you man and wife; you are hereby made a Fellow of our society; I’ll name him Cuddles.

But this is only a stepping stone to realizing that all utterances are performative. Grammarians talk about statements, questions, imperatives, as if language was used only to make statements of fact, ask questions, and give orders. These things are likely to be grammaticalized, but speech is used for all sorts of purposes: to reinforce relationships, to make jokes, to express emotions, to seduce, to praise. The speech acts listed above are only a sampling.

Manner

cry—Fr crier < Lt ‘wail, scream’

• Ch kū < ‘lament’ ∥ ‘call out, shriek’

exclaim—Lt exclāmāre ‘call out’

murmur—Lt murmur imitative

mutter—ME imitative

roar—OE rárian imitative

scream—ME scræmen

shout—ME schoute uncertain

• Gk κράζω ‘croak’ • Lt clāmāre < ‘call out’ • Ger schreien < ‘shriek’ • OCS kričati ‘wail’

sob—ME imitative

tone—Gk τόνος ‘stretching, tension, pitch’

• Ger Klang imitative • Ch shēng ‘sound’

whisper—OE hwisprian

whistle—OE hwislian imitative

yell—OE ȝellan

+—whine, irony, sarcasm

The manner words deal with how the utterance (including non-linguistic ones) sounds, which in turn expresses the speaker’s feelings or attitude. These may be merely descriptive, but often express speech acts, or judgments. E.g. whisper can suggest not only a low volume but secretiveness, even evil. Whine is often used as an unsympathetic description of any complaint.

Note the large number of imitative words in this domain; also consider babble, prattle, jabber, howl, bark.

Other things you can do with the mouth are also fair game for speech: you can spit out an epithet, gasp a cry for help, breathe a seductive remark.

SUBSTANCES

air—Gk ἄήρ ‘wind’, cognate to Lt ventus, OE wind

• OE lift < ‘loft, ceiling’ • OCS vŭzduchŭ ‘up-breath’ • Ch qì < ‘anger’

dirt—Norse drit ‘excrement’

• ModGk λερός < ‘turbid’ • Lt sordēs cognate to Ger schwarz ‘black’ • Sp suciedad < ‘sap’ • Danish snavs < ‘food refuse’ • Ger Schmutz < ‘smut, filth’ • Ch ní ‘mud’

dust—OE dúst; same IE root as Lt fūmus ‘smoke’

• Ir luaithreach < ‘ashes’ • Lt pulvis ‘dust, powder’

emerald—Gk σμάραγδος

• Ch lǜbǎoshí ‘green-gem-stone’

glass—OE glæs < Germanic ∥ ‘shine, green, glow’

• Lt vitrum poss < ‘woad’ • OCS stĭklo < ‘(glass) vessel’

helium—ModE ‘sun element’

jewel—Old Fr joel either from Lt ‘joy’ or ‘play’

• Fr bijou < ‘finger-ring’ • Lt gemma ‘bud’ • Ir seoid ‘valuable’ • Breton braoig ‘beautiful’ • Ger Kleinod ‘fine-possession’ • Cz drahokam ‘costly stone’ • Ch bǎo ‘precious’

marble—Gk μάρμαρος probably from ‘sparkling’

paper—Gk ράπῡρος ‘papyrus’

• It carta < ‘sheet of paper’ • Rus бумага < ‘cotton’

powder—Fr poudre < Lt pulvis ‘dust’

• Ch fěn ‘flour’

rock—Old Fr roque uncertain

• Ir carraig ‘rugged’ • Sw klippa ‘cliff’ • Rus скала < ‘split’

sand—OE sand, cognate to Gk ψάμμος, Lt sabulum < IE ’crumble, crush’

• Rum nisip ‘strewn’ • Welsh tywod ‘shore’ • Lith smėlis < ‘ground up’

silk—Gk σηρικός ‘of the Sēres (an eastern people)’

stone—OE stān < IE ‘stiff, solid’

• OCS kamy < ‘edged’

stuff—Old Fr estoffe ‘equipment’, uncertain

substance—Lt substantia ‘standing under’

tar—OE teru prob. ∥ ‘tree’

• Lt pix pic- also ‘pitch’ • Ch jiāoyóu ‘burnt fat’

wood—OE widu ‘tree, copse’

• Lt lignum < ‘collected’ • Sp madera ‘material’

‣             See Metals, p. 116, and Elements, p. 116.

Minerals and other substances are the prototype of things that require real-world knowledge to name. Names are generally based on

•              surface properties (saltpeter)

•              where they’re found (ammonia)

•              what you can do with it (potter’s ore)

•              how they’re produced (spirit of hartshorn)

•              what you were really looking for when you found it (fool’s gold)

The old names are often quite charming (the green lion, flower of zinc, butter of antimony, lunar caustic, copperas, orpiment, realgar)— particularly when they’re wrong; e.g. black lead isn’t lead, and Paracelsus’s mercury of life contained no mercury.

Then, of course, there’s the modern chemical name, in the system introduced by Antoine Lavoisier, which you can’t produce till you have a knowledge of chemistry at the 18C level.

This overview is organized historically, and peters out in the 19C, when the number of known substances explodes, and their names are generally just restatements of their chemical formula anyway.

For more see especially Robert Multhauf, The Origins of Chemistry. Wikipedia articles on the various substances often have a History section that’s useful.

If you’re trying to apply this to a conworld, consider:

•              What’s the overall technological level? Discovery may depend on the hottest temperatures that could be produced, or the strength of glassware or other containers.

•              Who lives in the mountains, where the interesting minerals are likely to be mined?

•              What was the first use? Metallurgy, painting, decoration, medicine? Each domain might think of the same substance differently.

Prehistory

The basic metals have been known since prehistory. In later times they were associated with the seven planets, and shared their symbols:

gold

sun

☼

silver

moon

☽

mercury

Mercury

☿

copper

Venus

♀

iron

Mars

♂

tin

Jupiter

♃

lead

Saturn

♄

Iron and manganese oxides were found in the caves of Lascaux, and used as pigments.

Flint or silex is a grayish hard stone, often with white incrustations, a very pure form of silicon dioxide. Quartz is a crystalline form, with many variations depending on impurities.

Natural glasses such as obsidian were long valued for making sharp weapons.

Clay is chemically a hydroxyl-bearing alumino-silicate with a sheet structure.

Earliest civilizations (Egypt, Mesopotamia)

Electrum is a naturally occurring alloy of gold and silver. The Egyptian name is asem.

Pottery was fired in pits ~ -70C and in kilns ~ -35C. The results depend on heat. Unfired clay is leather-hard but melts when exposed to water. Low-fired earthenware (e.g. fired in open campfires) is rather soft. At white heat, 1800° F, the sheetlike structure collapses and a hard, less porous stoneware is produced. And at 3000° the minerals melt into a semi-glassy state, forming a very hard, non-porous porcelain.

Salt is of course sodium chloride NaCl. It’s not important for hunter/gatherers, but it is for agriculturalists (-60C).

Natron (Gk νίτρον = saltpeter; Egyptian n-t-r) is sodium sesquicarbonate Na2CO3. An alkaline salt, occuring naturally in dry lakes. In Egypt it was more important than ordinary salt. Along with salt and gypsum, used in embalming, cleansing, and preservation. Known as early as -50C.

Quite a few minerals later important in metallurgy were first used as pigments. The Egyptians used malachite and galena; later we have azurite, ochre, realgar, orpiment, stibnite. All these were obtained naturally rather than prepared chemically.

Copper was smelted from malachite (Gk ‘mallow-like’) starting ~ -40C, probably in Iran, which was rich in ores. The temperatures necessary are obtainable only with an air blast, and it seems areas of strong wind were used for furnaces (e.g. in Palestine and in Peru). Very likely metallurgy co-developed with pottery kilns. Malachite (hydrous copper carbonate) is a deep green, glassy mineral. The Egyptians used it as a pigment, notably for painting the eyes.

Gypsum [Gk γύψος] is hydrous calcium sulfate. Heated, it could be used as plaster, and was in Paris: thus plaster of Paris. Used as a plaster in Egypt before -34C.

Tinstone or cassiterite (Gk κασσίτερος ‘tin’) is the most common ore of tin— stannous oxide. It was known to the Phoenecians.

Bronze was smelted before -30C, probably in Iran. Bronze is an alloy of copper and tin; the latter was probably obtained from tinstone.

Lime (Calcium oxide, Lt calx) is an alkaline earth formed by roasting limestone or seashells; made by -25C in Babylonia. A brittle white solid, very caustic. Combined with clay and water, forms mortar. Also used in making glass and leather; and in the Middle Ages, soap and fertilizer.

Bitumen (Lt) is a type of pitch, occurring naturally in the Mideast, and used for plaster; it’s basically a stew of hydrocarbons. Naphtha is a liquid form, which can also occur naturally.

Tar is a dark, oily substance produced by distilling wood, coal, or peat. It’s used for its antiseptic properties and to protect wood. Further distillation produces pitch, used for waterproofing, caulking, and paving.

Steatite (‘tallow-like stone’) or soap-stone or French chalk is a heavy type of talc Mg3Si4O10(OH)2, grayish-green, soapy in feel. Used for writing, statues, lubrication, even as a soap. Powdered, it’s talcum powder. Talc itself originally meant any shiny substance.

Artificial, non-transparent glass appears -25C; it’s made from sand plus 2-10% lime and 15-20% soda or natron. The mixed ingredients, just before melting to form glass, are called frit, and this was also used (ground up) as a blue pigment— the first artificial pigment. Up to 1500 years earlier, glazed stones were produced (quartz or soapstone covered with soda or lime water and heated). Intermediate in technology is faience: heated quartz powder mixed with soda or lime water.

Charcoal was the usual source of carbon, a black porous substance formed by imperfect combustion of organic matter. If pure it’s wholly carbon. Essential for making iron as it reduces the melting point. Also used for coloring and heating and in many (al)chemical operations. “Coal” originally meant charcoal but now implies mined coal. Earliest reference to it is in Egypt, -20C, but it was probably known earlier.

Alum (potassium aluminum sulfate) is a whitish transparent crystalline mineral salt, found naturally as a crystal efflorescence on rocks in rain-poor regions. Mordant for dyes, astringent (binding or constricting substance). Known in Egypt by -20C. Tended to be confused with vitriol.

Powdered sulfur plus lead, copper, or silver produced a blackened alloy named niello (‘little black’), used for decoration (-8C); Homer mentions shields with colored designs produced from niello, gold, silver, and copper.

Glazes are applied to pottery about -15C.

Litharge (Gk ‘stone silver’) is lead oxide, PbO. It can be produced by exposing melted lead to a current of air; it’s also produced in extracting gold and silver from lead ores. Gk μολύβδαινα from μόλυβδος ‘lead’, latinized as molybdaena or plumbago, a word later applied to graphite. Litharge was used along with antimony oxide to form Naples yellow, a yellow glaze, in Assyria, -8C.

Stibium— Gk στίβι, Lt stibium, Ar. ithmid, whence antimony. Originally used for antimony trisulphide, which in native form is gray antimony, later called stibnite, and when calcined and powdered, black antimony or kohl (the latter word is related to ‘paint’). Used as a pigment. Antimony was used in the -7C to decolorize glass.

The Greeks

Identification of many of these substances is not always easy. Ancient terms may have given their names to different modern substances. And the ancients often confused similar substances, or gave different names to the same substance based on where it came from.

Greek alchemy was based on knowledge of metallurgy, dyeing, and medicine. Belief in the transmutability of metals was helped by a) philosophies which derived everything from the basic elements anyway, and b) none too firm a grasp on the differences between metals or on what exactly an alloy was.

The basic goal was to remove a property from a substance, creating a blank slate for adding others. E.g. lead is dense, soft, grey; gold is dense, soft, and yellow. All that should be necessary is to change the color!

Amid all this silliness, a real insight— or good guess— from Plato, who held that oxides were produced by the weathering of metal.

Sulfur (= brimstone) is a greenish-yellow substance found abundantly in volcanic regions. Occurs naturally as crystal. Highly flammable. “Flower of sulfur” is powdered sulfur.[20]

Cinnabar is red or crystalline mercuric sulphide, the most important ore of mercury. Because it was red, it was often used to make “gold”. Known by 1612 to be made of ‘quick-silver’ and ‘brimstone’. As a pigment, known as vermilion (the name comes from ‘worm’ but refers to cochineal) and valued for its scarlet color. Mercury can be formed from cinnabar by heating.

Orpiment or [yellow] arsenic (Lt auri pigmentum, Gk ἀρσενικόν) is trisulfide of arsenic As2S3: a bright yellow mineral which made a good pigment.

Realgar (Arabic rehj al-ghār ‘powder of the cave’; Gk/Lt sandaraca), or ruby sulfur or red arsenic or red orpiment; arsenic disulfide, As2S2. Occurs as a native mineral; known as a poison.

White lead or cerusse or calx of lead is a lead carbonate and lead hydrate PbCO3·Pb(OH)2, used as a pigment and medicine (e.g. for eye ointments). Seems to have a waxy quality to it. White lead doesn’t occur in nature; rather, it’s created by corroding lead with vinegar.

Similarly ios, copper acetate, verdigris or verdet ‘little green’, was produced by corroding copper with vinegar. Used as a pigment and medicine.

Marble (Gk ‘sparkling’) is chemically a crystalline form of limestone.

The Romans

Petroleum (‘rock oil’, a hydrocarbon stew) has been known from ancient times— it’s mentioned in Pliny. It occurs naturally on the surface in some rocks and bodies of water, especially in the Middle East. A cute later name was Seneca oil, from the Indian tribe which collected it.

Argentite or silver-glance, silver sulfide, was mentioned by Pliny.

Chalcopyrite is also mentioned by Pliny as a copper ore. It’s an iron-copper mixture, normally found below the normal sources of malachite, which indicates deeper mining going on by this time.

Pyrites, mentioned by Pliny, could be used for chalcopyrite or for flint (hence its name, from ‘fire’); but in modern times it’s used for iron sulfide FeS2, also called fool’s gold. It’s a very common mineral, a yellowish grey in color— to me it looks like nickel. In ancient times it was mined mostly to get the copper or gold nearby; today it’s mined as a source of sulfur. Roasted, the sulfur is driven off and is recovered in water as sulfuric acid.

Galena (Lt) or potter’s ore is the common lead ore, lead sulfide. The source for lead of course, but also used in glazing pots. Extraction is particularly easy: you can toss it in a campfire and pick up the lead fragments later.

Calamine or cadmia (zinc carbonate) was used, with charcoal and copper, to make brass, starting in Roman times. The zinc existed only as a vapor and was not yet known as a metal.

Minium was used for cinnabar or for lead oxide, used as a pigment. Multhauf identifies it as Pb3O4 and notes it can be obtained from litharge by further oxidation; it’s not certain if this was realized in ancient times. Dioscurides knew it could be made by heating white lead, or from heating certain stones occurring with silver ore.

Vitriol (from ‘glass’) or copperas (from ‘coppery water’): a protosulfate of copper, iron, or zinc. Generated from the weathering of pyrites; but run off with water except in special circumstances, as in mines. Three types:

•              Green vitriol, or simply vitriol, or (confusedly) green copperas, proto-sulfate of iron, used in dyeing, tanning, and making inks (in alchemy called the “green lion”). Gathered from iron mines; later (16C) formed by weathering pyrite.

•              Blue vitriol is of copper; it occurs in the drainage of copper mines, and is also called chalcanthum (Gk ‘copper flower’); this term is also sometimes applied to the iron form.

•              White vitriol is of zinc.

Potash is an alkaline substance formed by leaching the ashes of land plants and evaporating the solution in iron pots— thus the name. Used to make soap. Chemically this is a crude form of potassium carbonate.

An alkali is Arabic al-qalīy (‘roasted’), originally the roasted ashes of certain marine plants, producing sodium carbonate, also in this sense soda or soda ash; used in making glass and soap. It later was used for any caustic substance which could make soap and neutralize acids.

Lye, sodium hydroxide, also caustic soda, is made from a precipitation reaction of lime and soda ash. Pliny lists it, made from lime and natron. As a strong base, it will dissolve grease and hair. It was at first (by the 3C) used only to make soap.

A lodestone (‘way-stone’) is a magnetic iron oxide. In ancient times often called magnesia ‘Magnesian stone’

Pliny mentions opium (from a Gk dim. of ‘vegetable juice’), though I’m not sure it was used in its present significance. The OED mentions the word from the 12C.

Distillation— boiling a substance and letting it condense in another vessel, removing impurities— was known in the ancient world, going back to -30C devices used for making perfumes. It was greatly improved in Alexandria, 1C; Maria the Jewess is credited with inventing much of the classical distillation apparatus, though Multhauf thinks it couldn’t have been very effective if the alchemists never discovered alcohol or the mineral acids. Or it could be that the failure derives from an excessive interest in sulfur and the arsenic sulfides— the later alchemists were more interested in alums and salts.

Calcination is reduction of a solid to a powder via heat. This produced a calx, taken to be the essential form of the mineral, though actually it’s usually an oxide.

Fluorspar is calcium fluoride CaF2, of various colors, and usually crystallized. Fluor was first a term for a class of minerals, lighter than gems and used in smelting; and later applied to fluorspar in particular.

Manganese is a black mineral, manganese oxide, later called pyrolusite, used in glass-making. The name is a corruption of magnesia (which however meant either magnets or talc) and it’s also called black magnesia.

In the 3C gilding was done by painting an object with gold amalgam (the term originally was any softened metal, but came to mean a compound with mercury). Heat then removes the mercury. Or, you dip the object in a molten alloy of lead and gold, then corrode it, which removes the lead. The latter process is older, and was also known in the Americas.

White arsenic, later called arsenolite and flowers of antimony, is arsenic trioxide As2O3. A white mineral, very poisonous. Obtained by roasting one of the arsenic sulfides, orpiment or realgar. Known to the Hellenistic alchemists, and used in the Renaissance as a medicine.

Arsenic, antimony, and bismuth are similar in properties, and all their compounds were not really disentangled till the 19C. The metals themselves were often mistaken for lead, and the oxides with sulfur.

China

1C: The blast furnace was known in China, 15 centuries before Europe. Used to produce high-quality cast iron, as opposed to the impure wrought iron produced in primitive furnaces.

By the 4C the Chinese could distill alcohol from wine; done in Europe in 12C.

Gunpowder is saltpeter, charcoal and sulfur, produced by 1050.

Saltpeter (potassium nitrate) or niter is found naturally as a white crystalline substance with a salty taste. Used in gunpowder and medicine. Lt sal petræ ‘salt of stone’, since it occurs as an incrustation on rocks. Also formed by evaporating certain earths containing animal refuse. Some historians say the Babylonians knew it, but the identification isn’t supported by archeology. The Arabs and Europeans got it in the 13C.

Porcelain (clay of high glassiness requiring immense heat) was first made by the Chinese in the -1C, and European imitations appeared in the 16C.

Arabs

Arab medicine relied much more on mineral than on botanical preparations. Just about all the minerals known were used somehow— e.g. antimony was used for eye diseases.

The Arabs maintained that metals were a compound of mercury and sulfur (or abstract essences given these names). Lawrence Principe points out that this may have been based on observation: powdered iron and copper emit a sulfurous smell when burned, and melted tin and lead look much like liquid mercury. The fact that the common metals corrode or rust was also taken as evidence that they were compounds.

By the 9C the Arabs had nusadir, sal ammoniac (ammonium chloride NH4Cl), from distilling hair with salt and urine. The OED says they used camel dung from the temple of Jupiter Ammon (thus the Latin name); it also occurs naturally in volcanic deposits (e.g. in the Tarim basin). A hard white opaque crystalline salt, useful in coloring and dissolving metals.

Borax is a white salt, sodium tetraborate; it occurs naturally in central Asia in saline deposits. Tincal is an unrefined form, greasy greenish or yellowish crystals, found in lakes or in the earth.

In the 9C it was discovered how to manufacture cinnabar from mercury and sulfur.

Antimony was isolated as an element. It’s a flaky crystalline metallic substance, bluish white. Presumably made from black antimony or kohl, and originally called regulus of antimony. A regulus (‘little king’) is the purer or metallic part of a mineral, which sinks to the bottom of your crucible.

Mercury was sublimed with vitriol and salt by the Spanish Islamic alchemists to produce corrosive sublimate (mercuric chloride, HgCl2). A white crystalline substance and a strong acrid poison. One use was to eat away dead flesh.

Medieval

Medieval alchemists were not so much interested in Galenic compounds, as in “essences” and “elixirs” formed by distillation.[21] The urge to decompose substances was instrumental in the development of chemistry.

In the 12C Europeans got round to distilling alcohol, called aqua vitæ ‘water of life’ or aqua ardens ‘burning water’. Some identified it with quintessence, the fifth element. Gold dissolved in it produced potable gold, believed to have healing powers.

The mineral acids were known in Europe in the 13C, and revolutionized chemistry. They couldn’t be produced till distillation apparatus was improved (for alcohol, cooling was key), and glassware was stronger!

•              Nitric acid, HNO3, aqua fortis, is a clear liquid with a very pungent smell and acrid taste. It separates gold and silver (and indeed dissolves silver, though not gold). Said to be isolated by Geber, who however is probably not the Arab Jābir but a European taking his name. Distilled from vitriol and saltpeter.

•              Sulfuric acid H2SO4was vitriolic acid or oil of vitriol. Distilled from vitriol or alum.

•              Hydrochloric acid (HCl) was muriatic acid or spirit of salt. From muria ‘brine’, formed by heating salt with a solution of sulfuric acid.

•              Aqua regia, a mixture of hydrochloric and nitric acids, could dissolve gold (but not silver).

Sphalerite (from Gk ‘deceptive’; the name is modern), blende (German ‘deceptive’), or zinc sulfide is the most common ore of zinc. The disapprobatory names come because it resembles galena, but yields no lead.

Zinc or spelter (both words are obscure). A hard bluish-white metal, recovered by heating zinc ores with carbon, first done in India in the 13C, and in Europe in the 16C.

Red precipitate or calx of mercury or mercuric oxide (HgO) was first formed (13C) by gentle heating of mercury in air, or by the thermal decomposition of mercury nitrate. The alchemists’ goal was to ‘redden’ mercury, presumably to turn it into gold. Later important in medicine, e.g. as an 18C treatment for syphilis.

Substances known to Chaucer:

alkali, alum, argol, Armenian bole, arsenic, ashes, borax, brimstone, bull’s gall, burnt bones, chalk, clay, dung, egg white, hair, iron scales, litharge, oil of tartar, prepared salt, quicklime, quicksilver, ratsbane, sal ammoniac, saltpeter, silver, urine, vitriol, waters albificated (‘whitened’), waters rubificated (‘reddened’), wort (a stage in producing beer), yeast

Armenian bole is more usually bole armoniac; a “soft friable fatty earth of a pale red color.”

Argol is crude potassium bitartrate, the unpurified cream of tartar, which was used as a medicine (and, today, in baking powder). It’s found caked on the sides of wine casks.

Salt of tartar is potassium carbonate, a transparent white powder KClO3, used in making glass, pigments, ceramics, and soaps. It liquefies if exposed to air. A saturated solution of this is called oil of tartar. It was known in the 17C at least. (Potash has the same formula, so I suppose this is just a purified form.) It could also be produced by burning tartar (wine lees).

Black lead, also called plumbago and now graphite, is a grayish-black shiny substance, mostly carbon with a little iron, and used for drawing and for polishing iron.

Renaissance

Tin-glass, later called bismuth, a reddish-white metal, found pure and in ores (16C). Brittle and easily melted; similar to antimony. Used for alloys; oxides and salts used in medicine (often confused with antimony and arsenic). It occurs native, or in its common ores, bismuth oxide (Bi2O3) or bismuth ocher or bismite (yellowish white, earthy or flaky), and bismuth sulfide (Bi2S3) or bismuth glance or bismuthinite (a lead-grey lustrous mineral, hard to tell from stibnite, antimony sulfide).

Early 16C: calomel or sweet precipitate, mercurous chloride Hg2Cl2, produced. A yellowish-white powder much used in medicine (it’s much less caustic than mercuric chloride). (The name means ‘beautiful black’ and has various explanations, the most likely referring to a stage in its manufacture.)

Cobalt was named for a demon, because of its uselessness and unhealthiness— it often contained sulfur or arsenic. The term first meant the ores of the metal. The most common ore is an arsenide of cobalt (CoAsS) called cobalt glance, cobaltine, cobaltite or silver-white cobalt— silvery but not silver, thus considered enchanted by kobolds.

Copper-nickel or niccolite or nickeline, a compound of arsenide and nickel was named for its disappointing resemblance to copper.

Wolfram is a tungstate of iron and manganese. It received attention mostly for the problem of separating it from useful metals like tin.

The word tungsten (Sw. ‘heavy stone’) or ponderous stone originally referred to calcium tungstate.

Paracelsus is a major name in the 16C; he focused on medical uses. An advance was to localize diseases; previously all diseases were problems of whole body. He had “three principles” of salt, sulfur, and mercury.

Paracelsus had a remedy he named laudanum, whose recipe is obscure. It was widely taken as, and came to mean, a less caustic preparation of opium.

He also obtained butter of antimony, antimony trichloride, by subliming antimony. He got its origin wrong, calling it mercury of life. Later we find other butters— all anhydrous chlorides.

A contemporary, Cordus, distilled ether (diethyl ether, C4H10O) from sulfuric acid and alcohol. It was sometimes (mistakenly) called sulfuric ether. Paracelsus’s “sweet oil of sulfur” also seems to be ether.

Antimony (sulfide) was a popular remedy, often used as a purgative. The confusion of antimony with arsenic and the use of the latter by unscrupulous or uninformed physicians contributed to the disrepute and sometimes prohibition of antimony remedies.

Van Helmont (d. 1644) put emphasis on quantitative and careful methods— e.g. he grew trees in a jar, weighing the soil first, allowing him to conclude that only water was needed for growth. He didn’t consider the air; still, it was a real experiment with an emphasis on control. He invented the word gas.

In the 17C, spirit of hartshorn was obtained from, oddly enough, harts’ horns. This was an aqueous solution of ammonia; also called aquila cœlestis ‘the celestial eagle’.

A spirit obtained from distilling urine (which seems to have been done as early as the 14C), was later (early 18C) called volatile alkali; it turned out to be ammonia itself.

1620: Sala synthesized sal ammoniac from ‘volatile salt of urine’ (ammonia) and ‘spirit of salt’ (hydrochloric acid).

1649: Elemental arsenic isolated. This can be done by reducing the oxide with coke (the impure carbon residue left by roasting coal— heating without air).

1661: Boyle’s Sceptical Chymist attacks 4-element and Parcelsian doctrines, e.g. pointing out that not all substances can be divided into all 4 Aristotelian elements. The old theory of elements had to be destroyed before a new concept could emerge. He found that “syrup of violets” changed color when touched to an acid or a base— forerunner to litmus paper. Boyle also used the new air pump to investigate combustion; linked pressure and volume: Boyle’s law.

1674: Mayow shows that a candle or a mouse removes the “nitrous part” of the air and loses pressure (“elasticity”). This did not refer to nitrogen but to another proposed simplification into overall principles, derived from the idea of gunpowder, hypothesized to cause lightning and combustion.

1675: Hennig Brand, an alchemist, extracts phosphorus from urine. (He boiled urine to a paste, then heated it, causing phosphorus to form by sublimation.) This produces white phosphorus, a waxy solid that burns (glowing blue-green) when exposed to air; it’s quite poisonous. Roasting it produces the powdery, less toxic red phosphorus. It glows in the dark; thus the name (‘light bringer’). At first it was considered just one of several glowing substances, such as Bolognian phosphorus or barium sulfide, which glows under calcination (1602), or heated nitrates or sulfides of calcium.

1675: Epsom salts (chiefly magnesium sulfate) isolated from the mineral water of Epsom. Seidlitz in Bohemia has similar salts.

1693: Molybdena referred to molybdenum disulfide, the principle ore of molybdenum, occurring in bluish-grey crystals. The name comes from a confusion with ores of lead; it also closely resembles graphite. Now usually molybdenite.

Crystalline ammonium carbonate was first called salt of hartshorn (attested 1698) and later called smelling salts.

17C: It’s noticed that iron placed in copper vitriol “turns into copper”: the solution becomes iron vitriol and copper precipitates. By the end of the century it’s understood that copper and iron participles are exchanging places, and it’s said that iron has a greater “affinity” for the acid.

17C: Various nitrates (of tin, mercury, copper, lead, silver, and calcium) produced. These were at first called vitriols; later, niters.

18th century

Chemists were interested in “elective affinities” and created tables showing what reacts with what. It wasn’t yet realized that mass, temperature, and pressure have an effect too.

1702: Narcotic salt of vitriol, later boric acid H3BO3, distilled by Homberg from borax and vitriol. Springs of sedative salt discovered in Italy later in the century proved to be the same substance.

Stahl (d. 1734) created phlogiston theory. There were three invisible earths or elements; they formed secondary principles like gold, silver, and many calxes (=oxides); these in turn produced higher “mixts” like salts. He thought of oxidation not as a metal gaining oxygen but as a metal losing phlogiston. It was later noticed that calxes are heavier; some saved the theory by giving phlogiston negative weight! Stahl also distinguished inorganic and organic chemistry and thus nixed the old idea that metals grow in the earth like plants.

Jargon or zircon, a silicate of zirconium, was found in tetragonal crystals of various colors. Probably known for a long time in its place of origin, Ceylon.

1730s: Brandt isolates cobalt, a reddish-grey brittle metal, much like nickel.

1735: Platinum is isolated. It was discovered by the Spanish in the Americas, but seems to have been generally recognized as a metal only at this time.

Heavy spar or barytes or barite (words all referring to its density), barium sulfate. Used in medicine and later as a white paint.

Feldspar (‘field shiny-metal’) is the most abundant aluminosilicate (containing also potassium, sodium and calcium), the commonest form of aluminum. A white or pink quartzy mineral, pretty much omnipresent. (The principal rock of the Earth’s crust is granite, composed of feldspar and quartz with some other minerals. The name is Italian (‘grained’) but the substance was undoubtedly known in ancient times.)

1754: Earth of alum, later called argil and then alumina; aluminum oxide. A white insoluble substance, the chief part of clay, and found crystallized as sapphire.

1754: Nickel is isolated from copper-nickel. A hard but malleable silvery-white lustrous mineral.

1754: Fixed air (carbon dioxide CO2), made from alkaline substances by solution in acids or by calcination, was first isolated by Black.

1756: Black shows that potash is really a compound. Remove the CO2 and you get a powerfully caustic substance, hard white and brittle, potassium hydroxide KOH, which is what chemists now mean by ‘potash’— also called caustic potash.

1758: Pitchblende, a native uranium oxide, was found in blackish pitch-like masses, sometimes crystalline. Blende is German ‘deceit’, because it looked like galena but wasn’t.

1760s: “Fixed air” (CO2) was shown to make plants thrive; in the 1780s plants were found to give off “dephlogisticated air” (O2).

Lavoisier (d. 1794) revolutionized chemistry. He improved equipment, showed that demonstrations of “water turning to earth” was due to leaching of glass from the apparatus, understood the transition of water to vapor and thus the three states of matter. Understood oxidation as “fixing” of air (thus the increase in weight).

Priestly (d. 1804) performed experiments on air, producing over 20 “new airs”, including what he called dephlogisticated air (oxygen), 1774; the Swede Scheele isolated it in 1772 and called it fire air.

1774: Manganese was isolated from its oxides (and now takes their name). It’s grayish white and of almost no use in metallic form.

It was known that mercury could be produced from mercuric oxide just by heating, without charcoal (a difficulty for phlogistonism). The air produced is of course oxygen; Lavoisier invented the name (1778) on the ground that it was the key element of acids— incorrect as it turns out. But he produced a theory explaining oxidation, acid formation (oxygen reacting with nonmetals), and even the internal heat of organisms.

The non-respirable part of air (nitrogen ‘niter-forming’) was first called azote ‘non-life-(supporting)’ or mofette, which however is also a term for volcanic exhalations of CO2.

1778: Molybdenum was isolated from molybdena. A brittle, hard to melt silver-white metal which rapidly oxidizes.

1782: Tellurium, a tin-white brittle substance, is found, occurring naturally in crystals.

1783: Tungsten isolated from calcium tungstate (previously called tungsten) and/or wolfram. A heavy grey metal.

Flower of zinc = zinc oxide; appeared in large quantities in the flues of brass furnaces.

1780s: Water determined to be hydrogen + oxygen. Several did the experiment but Lavoisier interpreted it correctly. In 1789, water was synthesized using an electric spark. He also produced a new theory of acids and largely generated today’s system of naming elements and compounds (replacing a mishmash of names). He invented terms such as sulfate and oxide and defined elements as things that couldn’t be decomposed further.

Another of his few mistakes: Lavoisier called chlorine oxygenated muriatic acid— muriatic acid being hydrochloric acid.

See p. 116 for Lavoisier’s list of elements.

He didn’t make the alkalis (potash and soda) elements— he suspected they were compounds, like ammonia. Davy indeed decomposed them in 1808.

Hydrogen was called inflammable air, produced when a metal was treated with an acid.

1785: Ammonia (NH3) decomposed into nitrogen and hydrogen. Obtained from sal ammoniac, from which it takes its name.

1787: Guyton comes up with name carbon, from Lt carbo ‘charcoal’.

1789: Zirconium, a black powder or a grayish crystalline substance, isolated from zircon.

1789: Uranium was isolated from pitchblende or other ores. A rare, heavy, grayish metallic element. Its radioactivity wasn’t recognized for a century.

1791: Titanium, an iron-grey lustrous powder, isolated from rutile (‘reddish’) = titanium dioxide.

1792: Richter quantifies acidity/baseness by seeing how much of what substances neutralize others.

1797: Chromium isolated from its brilliantly-colored compounds. What we call chrome these days is usually chromium plating.

1797: Yttria or a yttrium oxide, a white powder obtained from gadolinite, a silicate of yttrium. Very soon decomposed into yttrium.

1798: Beryllium or glucinum isolated from its oxide, glucina (‘sweetish’) or beryllia (from the gem beryl).

19th century

Dalton (d. 1844) is known for the idea of atomism. He explained ratios of substances and their compounds as arising from the combination of integral numbers of atoms. He assumed the smallest integers first and thus first misinterpreted water as HO and ammonia as NH. This of course led to the wrong atomic weights, but the idea was good.

Dalton created a theory of static gases based on sizes of particles; this was superseded in 1850s by the kinetic theory of gases.

1800: Invention of battery or pile, literally a pile of zinc and silver disks. Many experiments with electrolysis followed.

Nitrous oxide (laughing gas) was investigated by Davy (1800s); it was used as an anesthetic in 1846.

1803: Cerium isolated, named after the recent discovery of Ceres. It was the first of the lanthanides, which are all so chemically close and hard to separate that it would take a century to isolate them all.

1808: Davy isolates calcium (a gold-like but highly oxidizing metal—expose it to air and you get lime), strontium and barium from alkaline earths. (Barium, a white metallic element, comes from baryta, the protoxide of barium; strontium from strontia, strontium monoxide.) Renamed oxymuriatic acid chlorine. He isolated potassium from potash, 1807.

1813: Berzelius introduces element abbreviations and subscripts; varied his system over time. In the 1840s Thomas Graham culminated a century of graphical experimentation by creating the chemical equation.

Berzelius also understood that two volumes of H to one of O are needed to synthesize water, and so corrects the formula for water to H2O.

1815: Prout notices that atomic weights are all close to whole numbers and suggests that all “elements” are compounds of hydrogen.

1825: Aluminum was isolated by Wohler— another book says Oersted— by reduction of aluminum chloride with potassium dissolved in mercury.

1859: The spectroscope is invented; used to identify new elements like thallium and rubidium; and in 1868, based on the solar spectrum, helium.

1869: Dmitri Mendeleev noticed that the elements listed by atomic order displayed certain patterns, which led him to create the periodic table (p. 116). He boldly left gaps for elements that ‘should’ exist that hadn’t yet been discovered; chemists vindicated him by duly finding them in nature.

‣             See Elements, p. 116, for the elements per se, and Physics, p. 116, for where the periodicity comes from.

TIME

abrupt—Lt abruptus ‘broken off’

AFTER—OE æfter ‘farther off’

age—Fr < late Lt *ætāticum ‘aginess’

• Gk ἡλικία < ‘same (age’) • Ger alter ‘oldness’ • Dutch leeftijd ‘life-time’ • OCS vŭzdrastŭ < ‘growth’

ago—ME ‘gone’

already—ME ‘all ready’

ancient—Fr ancien < Lt ante ‘before’

• Ger uralt ‘origin-old’ • Ch gǔ < ‘old’

brief—Lt brevis ‘short’

century—Lt centuria ‘a hundred (things)’

current—Lt currens ‘running’

early—OE árlíce ‘ere-like’

• ModGk ἐνωρίς ‘in time’ • Fr tôt ‘toasted’ • Sp temprano ‘timely’ • Ger früh < ‘before’ • OCS rano ‘morning’ • Ch zǎo prob. < ‘begin, make’

elder—OE eldra ‘older’

ever—OE ǽfre uncertain

final—Lt fīnālis ‘of the end’

• Ger letzt < ‘laziest’ • Ch zuìhoù ‘most-behind’

fresh—OE fersc < Germanic

• Ch xiān ∥ ‘new’

future—Lt futūrus ‘what is to be’

• Ch jiānglái ‘soon-come’

haste—Old Fr < Germanic ‘violent, impetuous’

hurry—ModE, possibly imitative

• Gk σπεύδω < ‘press’ • Fr se dépêcher ‘dispatch oneself’ • Ir brostaigh ‘incite’ • Latvian traukt ‘strike down’

immediate—late Lt immediātus ‘with no mediate’ = ‘directly’

• Lt statim ‘standing’ • It subito ‘suddenly’ • Ir láithreach ‘on the spot’ • Sw strax ‘straight’ • Ger sofort ‘so forth’ • Rus тотчас ‘that hour’ • Ch lì ‘stand’

instant—Lt instans ‘standing in’

• Ger Augenblick ‘eye-glance’ • Ch shùnjiān ‘blink-interval’

LAST—OE latost ‘latest’

• Gk τελευταῖος ‘end’ • Lt ultimus ‘beyondest’ • Fr dernier < ‘from behind’ • OCS poslědĭnĭjĭ ‘following’ • Ch chíjiǔ ‘hold-long’

late(r) —OE late ‘slowly, in time, afterward’

• Fr tard < ‘slow’ • Ir deireanach ‘end’ • Ger spät prob. < ‘drawn out’ • OCS pozdě < ‘after’

meanwhile—ModE; ‘mean’ < Lt ‘of the middle’

MOMENT—Lt mōmentum ‘motion, balance, moment, influence’

month—OE mónað < ‘moon’ < ‘measure’

NEW—OE níwe, cognate to Lt novus, Gk νέος, OCS novŭ

• Ch xīn poss. ∥ ‘alive, green’

next—OE néahst superlative of ‘nigh’

NOW—OE nú, cognate to Lt nunc, Gk νῦν

• Fr maintenant ‘in the hand’ • Sp ahora < ‘this hour’ • Breton brema ‘time-here’ • Rus теперь < ‘first’ • Ch xiànzài ‘presently’ < ‘appearing’

OLD—OE ald < ‘nourished, grown up’

• Gk παλαιός < ‘long ago, far away’, ἀρχαιός ‘beginning’ • Lt vetus prob. < ‘year’ • Ir críonna ‘wise’ • OCS starŭ < ‘big’ < ‘standing’

past—ME ‘passed’

present—Lt præsens ‘be before = be at hand’

soon—OE sóna ‘immediately’

• Gk τάχα ‘quick’ • It presto ‘ready’ • Fr bientôt ‘well early’ • Ir go gairid ‘shortly’ • Ger bald ‘bold’ • Ch bùjiǔ ‘not long’

STILL—OE stille ‘quiet’ > ‘unchanging’ > ‘continuing’

sudden—Lt subitus < ‘go under’

swift—OE swift < ‘swept’

TIME—OE tíma

• Lt tempus prob. < ‘stretch’ • Lith laikas ‘remainder’ • OCS vrěmę < ‘turning’ • Ch shí < ‘what is proceeding’

week—OE wice < ‘change’

• Lt septimāna ‘of seven’ • Welsh wythnos ‘eight nights’ • OCS nedělja ‘no work’ > ‘Sunday’ > ‘week’ • Ch zhōu ‘circuit’

YEAR—OE ȝéar, cognate to Gk ὥρα ‘hour’

• Gk ἔτος < IE • Lt annus poss < ‘go, wander’ • Rus год ‘period’

YET—OE ȝíet

young—OE ȝeong, cognate to Lt juvenis

• Gk νέος ‘new’ • Rus моподой > ‘tender’ • Ch qīngnián ‘green year’

+—period, era, permanent, eternal, temporary

It’s common in European languages for old to be the opposite of both young and new. But Indonesian, to give just one example, has separate words for not-young (tua) and not-new (lama).

Ancient Egyptian had two words for ‘always’ or ‘eternity’— ḏt for the unchanging, nḥḥ for the cyclical. Thus, the Nile always flows (ḏt) but the Sun always rises (nḥḥ).

How do you divide up time? Astronomy provides some benchmarks (days, months, seasons, years); this could get interesting if you have multiple suns or moons, or a slow-rotating inner planet.

Some novels and video games used invented day and month names— a relatively painless way to display your conlang, though don’t count on readers to remember the order.

By the TIME IS SPACE metaphor, words relating to space can be applied to time (short, long; close to 4:00; in summertime; over time). But time can get its own words instead.

An sf society may routinely deal with multiple planets, and thus need a way of keeping apart multiple worlds’ days and years. Charles Stross is fond of using megaseconds (11.57 days); a gigasecond is 31.7 years.

The day

afternoon—ME ‘after noon’

dawn—ME prob. < Norse dagn ‘day’

• Gk ἔως, Lt aurōra < IE • It alba < ‘white’ • Sw gryning ‘graying’ • Ger Morgenrot ‘morning red’ • OCS zora ‘shine’ • Ch límíng ‘much bright’

DAY—OE dæȝ poss. < ‘heat, summer’

• Lt dīes, OCS dĭnĭ < IE ‘shine, heaven’ • Old Persian rauča < ‘light’ • Ch rì ‘sun’

evening—OE ǽfnung nomn. of ‘move toward even’, cf. Ger. Abend, cognate to after

• Lt vesper < IE ∥ west • It sera < ‘late’ • Sp tarde < ‘slow’ • Ch wǎnshàng ‘night-at’

hour—Gk ὥρα ‘season, hour’

• Sw timme ‘time’ • Ger Stunde < ‘stand’ • Pol godzina ‘period’

minute—Lt minūta abbr. of ‘first small part [division by 60]’

morning—ME morwening ‘morn’ + ‘-ing’, cognate to words meaning ‘dark’ or ‘light’!

• Lt mātūtīnus < goddess Mātūta, cognate to ‘mature’ • OCS utro < ‘dawn’ • Ch chén < ‘stir’

NIGHT—OE niht, cognate to Lt nox noct-

second—Lt secundus ‘following’ > ‘2nd’ > ‘2nd division by 60’

today—OE tó dæȝ ‘to day’

• Fr aujourd’hui ‘to the day of today’ • Ger heute < ‘this day’

tomorrow—ME ‘to morning’

• Gk αὔριον < ‘dawn’ • Fr demain < ‘of morning’ • Breton arc’hoaz ‘on again’ • Ch míngtiān ‘bright-day’

tonight—ME ‘to night’

+—dusk, noon, midnight, yesterday

The day may start at any time, not just midnight; and there’s nothing sacred about 24 hours, though this is a nicely divisible number.

Do the hours track with the sun (and thus vary in length by season) or are they fixed? Does everyone use local time, or standard time based on longitude? This may depend on clock technology, or even transportation— it was the railroad that drove the adoption of standard time.

Though the 60-fold division of hours into minutes and minutes into seconds dates back to Babylon, before accurate clocks were available ordinary people could hardly care much about them. The first mechanical clocks had only an hour hand.

The ancient Hindus applied the 60/60 pattern at the day level: i.e. a day was divided into 60 ghaṭikas (each 12 minutes long), the ghaṭika into 60 palas, the pala into 60 vipalas.

The Roman day was divided into 24 hours, which were simply numbered from dawn and dusk; e.g. hōra secunda was the 2nd hour. Early Christians prayed at the 3rd, 6th, and 9th hours after dawn— tertia, sexta, and nōna, which became the ecclesiastical tierce, sext, nones. The latter word gave us noon, with a curious shift earlier in the day.

English distinguishes afternoon / evening / night where Spanish has only tarde / noche (roughly separated by sunset). We can refer to the events of yesterday as ‘last night’, but in German if something happened gestern Nacht it woke you up. In Spanish buenas noches can be used as a greeting after dusk, but in French it has to be bonsoir; you say bonne nuit only when going to bed.

Latin American Spanish uses ahora for both ‘today’ and ‘now’. Though as there is little urgency in the Latin American now, there’s also ahorita meaning ‘right now’.

Bengali uses the same word kalke for both ‘yesterday’ and ‘tomorrow’— the meaning is clear from the tense used. And poršu means either the day before yesterday or the day after tomorrow.

The week

The Babylonians and Jews both used a seven-day week. The seven-day week is close to being a quarter of a lunar month— but not quite, as the lunar cycle is 29.53 days. The Babylonians added a day or two to the end of each month so that the next month, and week, began on a new moon.

The Etruscans had a week of eight days, inherited by the Romans; every eight days came the nundinae, the market day. The seven-day week began to be used in the early Empire, and was made official by Constantine.

The Greeks associated the days of the week with heavenly bodies and their associated gods, and the Romans and the Germanic peoples adapted the system to their own pantheons:

Greek

Roman

Germanic

Helios

Sol

Sun

Selene

Luna

Moon

Ares

Mercury

Tiw

Hermes

Mars

Woden (Odin)

Zeus

Jupiter

Thor

Aphrodite

Venus

Frige

Chronos

Saturn

(Saturn)

In the Romance lands, Christians renamed Sunday for the Lord (e.g. Italian domenica), and associated Saturday with the Hebrew Sabbath (sabato). The Portuguese, Greeks, and Slavs piously removed the references to pagan gods, simply numbering the days.

The French Revolution briefly used a ten-day week (décade), with the days named primidi, duodi, tridi, quartidi, quintidi, sextidi, septidi, octidi, nonidi, décadi. In the 1930s the Soviets tried a five-day and then a six-day week.

The Chinese week (xún) was ten days long; with a bit of wrangling three weeks fit into a month. A seven-day week was also used for astrology, probably influenced by Middle Eastern models:

sun

日              rì

moon

月              yuè

fire / Mars

火              huǒ

water / Mercury

水              shuǐ

wood / Jupiter

木              mù

metal / Venus

金              jīn

earth / Saturn

土              tǔ

On Bali, there are concurrent weeks of 2, 3, 5, and 7 days, giving a cycle of 210 days.

Dwiwara—Menga, Pept

Triwara—Pasah, Beteng, Kajeng

Pancawara—Paing, Pon, Wage, Keliwon, Umanis

Saptawara—Redite, Coma, Anggara, Buda, Wraspati, Sukra, Saniscara

As any fool can see, the day named Pept Beteng Wage Redite can only be the 113th day of the cycle.

(There are actually weeks of every length up to 10 days in the system, but as most of these numbers don’t evenly go into 210, kludges are required.)

The Maya had a similar system (the sacred round) based on 13 and 20, giving a 260-day cycle. The 13 days were simply numbered, using the base 20 Mayan numbers:

hun

ca

ox

can

ho

wak

uxac

waxac

bolon

lahun

buluc

lahca

oxlahun

canlahun

holahun

waclahun

wuclahun

waxaclahun

bolonlahun

kal

The 20-day cycle had day names:

imix’

ik’

ak’b’al

k’an

chikchan

kimi

manik’

lamat

muluk

ok

chuwen

eb’

b’en

ix

men

k’ib’

kab’an

etz’nab’

kawak

ajaw

Thus the cycle starts with hun imix’ (1 - 1) and ends with oxlahun ajaw (13 - 20). (The names are meaningful— e.g. ik’ is ‘wind, breath, life force’, b’en is ‘young maize’, ix is ‘jaguar’.)

Months

The word month is related to moon; thus months derive from the lunar cycle. The length of the lunar cycle (29.53 days) and the tropical year (365.242 days) are designed to intrigue and ultimately frustrate calendar makers, who would really prefer whole numbers and neat fractions.

The ancient Jews, and Muslims to this day, strictly began a month when the new moon was spotted. When the lunar calendar diverged from the solar, the Jews inserted an extra month (or technically, repeated the last month, Adar). The Muslims simply define a year as 12 months (354 or 355 days) and let it drift through the seasons.

The earliest Roman calendar seems completely slapdash. It began with the vernal equinox (~ March 21), but contained only ten months (of 31 or 30 days). The first four were associated with deities (Mars, Aprīlis, Maia, Jūno), and the rest were numbered.

In 713 BC king Numa named January (after Jānus) and February (after a purifying ceremony). A leap month was intermittently added to keep the year in track with the seasons. Julius Caesar regularized the system, lengthening the months so that the year was 365 days long, with a leap day inserted every four years.

Augustus renamed Quintilis as Julius and Sextilis as Augustus. Other early emperors renamed some of the remaining numbered months, but none of these changes survived.

The French Revolution introduced new months and began the year on September 22, the date of the proclamation of the Republic. The season-specific suffixes are a nice touch.

vendémiaire—‘grape harvest’

brumaire—‘foggy’

frimaire—‘frosty’

nivôse—‘snowy’

pluviôse—‘rainy’

ventôse—‘windy’

germinal—‘germination’

floréal—‘flowering’

prairial—‘pasture’

messidor—‘harvest-giving’

thermidor—‘heat-giving’

fructidor—‘fruit-giving’

The Slavs (except the Russians) have their own nice earthy names for the months. Here are the Czech names:

leden—‘ice’

únor—‘toss about’

březen—‘birch’ or ‘with young’

duben—‘oak’

květen—‘blossom’

červen—‘red’

červenec—‘redder’

srpen—sickle

září—‘it shines’

říjen—‘rutting (of deer)’

listopad—‘leaf-fall’

prosinec—prob. ‘pig (slaughter)’

The Mayans had a 365-day year, known as the vague year as it drifted away from the seasons. It was composed of 18 months of 20 days each (plus a 5-day special period, wayeb):

pop

wo

zip

zotz’

zec

xul

yaxkin

mol

ch’en

yax

zac

ceh

mac

kankin

maun

pax

kayab

cumku

Combine the sacred round with the vague year— e.g. 4 Ajaw 8 Cumku— and you have the calendar round (baktun). These have a common multiple at 18,980, which produces a 52-year period. Now you number the baktuns to get the long count, starting in 3114 BC.

The Almean year has 328 days. The Verdurian calendar is as follows:

days

meaning

season

olašu

27

beginning

demeča spring

reli

27

sowing

cuéndimar

28

festival

vlerëi

27

a planet

esta summer

calo

27

heat

recoltë

28

harvest

yag

27

hunt

peleti fall

želea

27

calm

išire

28

a planet

šoru

27

dark

iveri winter

froďac

27

cold wind

bešana

28

promise

Almea has three moons, of which the largest, Iliažë, has a period of between 27 and 28 days. The Uytainese had cycles following both Iliažë and the second largest moon, Iliatál, used for different purposes— the first was used for civic and administrative schedules, the second for religion and trading.

The Xurnese never bothered with months, but numbered the days of the four seasons.

Seasons

spring—OE spring ‘water spring’ > ‘source, origin’ > ‘1st season’

Lt vēr, OCS vesna < IE • Fr printemps ‘first season’ • Ger Frühling ‘earliness’ • Dutch voorjaar ‘fore-year’ • Breton nevez-amzer ‘new time’ • Croatian projeċe ‘pre-summer’ • Ch chūn < ‘sprout’

summer—OE sumor

• Gk θέρος ‘heat’ • Lt æstas < ‘fire’ • Sp verano < ‘spring’ • OCS žętva ‘harvest’ • Ch xià ‘great’

FALL—OE fealle ‘a fall’

Lt autumnus uncertain • Ir fómhar ‘under-winter’ • Ger Herbst ‘harvest’ < ‘gather’ • Danish eferaar ‘after-year’ • Lith ruduo ‘red’ • Ch qiū poss. < ‘end’

winter—OE winter poss. < ‘watery’

• Lt hiems, OCS zima < IE • Ch dōng poss. < ‘terminate’

season—Lt satio ‘sowing’

We’re used to the astronomical seasons being given priority, but seasons can be defined by climate or the agricultural year as well. As the environment takes time to heat up or cool down, the hottest period of summer and the coldest period of winter are some weeks after the solstice.

In India there are six seasons, of two months each: Vasanta (spring, moderate temperatures), Grishma (summer, very hot), Varsha (monsoon, hot and wet), Sharad (autumn, mild temperatures), Hemant (“winter”; rice harvest), Shishir (cold season).

In Swahili the seasons are kiangazi (when the sun is strongest, also kaskazi ‘monsoon’), masika (heavy rains), kipupwe (cool season), and vuli (lesser rains).

Tolkien’s Quenya also has six seasons: tuile ‘spring’, laire ‘summer’, yávie ‘autumn’, quelle ‘fading’, hríve ‘winter’, coire ‘stirring’.

TOOLS

bolt—OE bolt ‘crossbow bolt’

• Fr verrou < ‘little spit or broach’

brush—Fr brosse ‘(broom made of) small twigs’

• Lt pēniculus dim. ‘tail’ • Sp cepillo dim. ‘bough’ • Rum perie < ‘feathers’• Rus щётка ‘bristle’

car—Lt carrus ‘cart’

• Gk ἄμαξα ‘framework’ • Fr voiture < ‘transport’ • Sp coche < Hungarian place-name Kocs • Lith ratai ‘wheels’ • Ch chē < ‘chariot’

chain—Lt catēna

• OE racente < ‘(part of) rigging’ • Norse hlekkir ‘links’ • Lith grandinė ‘rings’ • Rus цепь ‘stick to’

engine—Fr engin < Lt ingenium ‘talent’ < ‘innate (quality)’ < ‘in birth’

• Ch fādòngjī ‘issue-move-machine’

equip—Fr équiper ‘fit out a ship’

• Ger ausrüsten ‘prepare out’ • Ch bèi < ‘prepare’

handle—OE handlian verbn. of ‘hand’

• Fr poignée < ‘fist’ • Ger Griff < ‘grab’ • Ch bǐng < ‘grasp’ • Ket dūl ‘something’s pole’

hook—OE hóc

• Lt uncus < ‘bend’ • Lith kablys ‘hanger’ • Ch gōu < ‘crooked’

knife—OE cníf

• Gk μάχαιρα ‘fight’ • Lt culter < ‘cutter’ • OCS nožĭ ‘piercer’

lamp—Gk λαμπάς nomn. of ‘shine’

• OE léohtfæt ‘light-vessel’ • Lt lucerna < ‘light’ • Ch dēng poss. < ‘high-legged vessel’ < ‘rise’

machine—Gk μηχανή ‘contrivance’

• Ger Apparat < ‘preparation’ • Ch jī poss. < ‘joint’ = ‘with moveable parts’

mechanical—Late Lt adjn. of ‘machine’

mirror—Fr miroir < ‘something to look at’

• Lt speculum < ‘look’ • Ir scáthán ‘shade’ • OE glæs ‘glass’ • Lith veidrodis ‘show-face’ • Ch jìng < poss. ‘light-thing’

motor—Lt mōtor ‘mover’

operate—Lt operārī ‘work, labor’

prepare—Lt præparāre ‘make ready beforehand’

ready—ME rædiȝ, from an OE verb ‘put in order, prepare’

• Lt parātus ‘prepared’ • Sp pronto < ‘produced’ • Ir ullamh ‘at hand’ • Ger fertig < ‘journey’ • Skt kḷpta- ‘fitted’

rope—OE ráp

Gk σχοῖνος ‘reed’ • Fr corde < Gk ‘gut, string’ • Sw tåg < ‘pull’ • Sw lina < ‘linen’ • OCS vrŭvĭ < ‘twisted cord’ • Cz provaz < ‘bind’

scale—Norse skál ‘bowl’

screen—prob. Old Fr. escrin < Ger ‘grill’ or Dutch ‘windbreak’

• Ger Wandschirm ‘wall-shade’ • Ch píng < ‘protect’

string—OE streng ∥ Lt ‘stretch’

• Fr ficelle < ‘little cord’

switch—Dutch ‘whip, branch’

train—Fr traîner ‘draw, drag’

use—Lt ūsus

• Gk χρῶμαι ‘need’ • Fr employer < ‘enfold’ • Sp servirse ‘serve’ • Breton ober gant ‘do with’ • Danish nyde ‘enjoy’ • Ger anwenden ‘turn to’ • Cz užiti ‘live through’

waste—Lt ‘empty, desolate’

• Sp malgastar ‘spend badly’ • Ch làng < ‘disperse’

watch—OE wacian variant of ‘wake’

wheel—OE hweoȝol < IE *kwel- ‘turn’, cognate to Skt cakra-, OCS kolo, Gk κύκλος ‘ring’

• Lt rota < ‘run’

+—abuse

boiler, pump, loom, mill, kiln, computer

net, hinge, broom, sponge, scissors, towel, torch, comb, razor, napkin, umbrella, candle, ticket, lever, brake, fan, pipe, ladder, thread, sickle

hammer, saw, screw, nail, chisel, pliers, wrench

yoke, rake, hoe, shovel, axe, pitchfork, plow

lens, clock, spectacles, gauge, telescope, microscope, thermometer

wagon, sled, carriage, cart

‣             For ships, see Water, p. 116; for weapons, see War, p. 116

Some naming strategies for tools:

•              Their use: computer, boiler, razor (‘shaver’), lever (‘lifter’), pliers (‘folders’), chisel, scissors, saw (all from ‘cut’), candle (‘little shiner’), rake (‘gatherer’), hoe (from ‘hew’), lamp (‘shiner’), wrench (‘twister’), mirror (‘looker’).

•              What they’re made from: sponge, glass, iron, broom, pen (‘feather’), tin (can).

•              Their shape: nail (the ‘fingernail’ sense is primary), lens (‘lentil’), pencil (‘little tail’), cannon (‘big tube’), balloon (‘big ball’), (computer) mouse, scale (‘bowl’).

•              The sound it makes: drum, bomb, trumpet, clock, petard (‘farter’, a type of bomb).

•              A description: gunpowder, telescope (‘far-seeing’), dirigible (‘directable’), submarine, spinning wheel, bicycle, vacuum tube, dishwasher.

•              The inventor or manufacturer: zeppelin, macintosh (jacket), guillotine, daguerrotype, Gatling gun, Mason jar, diesel, Xerox, Kalashnikov, Luger, Petri dish.

•              In modern times, abbreviation— e.g. radio, from terms such as radio-telegram; auto from automobile, cel from cellular telephone— or acronyms, such as laser, radar, PC.

Words for tools are naturally applied to variants or similar items— e.g. cannon barrels started out resembling the ordinary kind. The new sense may become more common and replace the old:

•              A fan was a winnowing tool, now used for ventilators.

•              A bolt was a short thick arrow used in crossbows, now used for various fasteners.

•              A car was a wagon or chariot, now used for automobiles.

•              A pipe was the musical instrument (named for its sound), later applied to larger tubes.

•              A pencil was originally a paint-brush.

Tools can be used as metaphors (hammer out an agreement, carry a torch for someone, wear rose-colored glasses), though they seem curiously underutilized. A few more are hidden by Latinization: equilibrium (‘equal scales’), concatenate (‘chain together’), agglutinate (‘glue together’), cardinal (‘hinging’).

Words for tools and bits of hardware are likely to vary spectacularly between languages. As just one example, French assigns our bolt to six different words:

•              You fasten a door or window with a verrou.

•              A lock has a pêne.

•              The thing that goes with a nut is a boulon.

•              A roll of cloth is a rouleau.

•              A crossbow fires carreaux.

•              A shaft of lightning is an éclair.

Strings and cords

Logically, long flexible connectors would seem to need just one word, with size affixes. But we have quite an array. By size there’s cable, rope, cord, string, thread, filament. If it’s made of metal, we use wire rather than string or thread. A rope is made of several strands twisted together. A lace was once a loop or length of cording, but only survives in that sense in shoelace (and, with a detour into Spanish, lasso).

Spanish cuerda covers anything from a string to a rope, and is used in the technical sense of cords on a string instrument; a telephone cord is however a cordón.

Note some of the useful extensions: a string is anything that extends in a linear sequence; e.g. the programmer’s string of characters. Wired goes from ‘supplied with electricity (by wire)’ to ‘energetic’. A message transmitted by cable also takes that name. Animals with a notochord (‘cord along the back’) are chordates, the supercategory for vertebrates.

(A musical chord is a shortening of accord ‘harmony’ < Lt ‘(bring) to the heart’. The h is caused by confusion with Latin chorda ‘string’, itself from Gk χορδή ‘gut’.)

Sailing ships had a dizzying variety of rope-related terms:

belay—coil a rope round a cleat to secure it

bight—the portion of a rope excluding the ends

brails—ropes fastened to the edges of a sail to truss it up

breast-fast—large rope to attach a ship to a wharf by its side

cable—a very thick rope, esp. that used to suspend the anchor

clew-lines—ropes connecting the lower edge of a sail to its yard, allowing it to be furled

cringle—a ring formed within one rope allowing another to be attached to it

dolphin—a mass of plaited rope round a mast to hold it up in case the ropes supporting it are shot off

downhaul—a rope fasted to the upper corner of a sail to allow it to be shortened or taken in

fag-end—the untwisted or frayed end of a rope

grummet—a circlet of rope used in place of a rowlock

guy—rope used to steady and guide something being hoisted or lowered

halyard—rope used to lower a sail, yard, flag, etc.

horse—a rope stretched under a yard as a foot-hold; also one that allows a sail to move

jeers—ropes used to hoist or lower the lower yards

lanyards—small ropes used to secure large ones (shrouds, stays)

lead line—rope with markers on it, used to measure water depth

lifts—ropes connecting the mast head with the ends of the yards

nippers—plier-like instrument for grabbing ropes; also, braided cordage wrapped round a cable to keep it from slipping

oakum—loose fiber made by untwisting old rope, used in caulking

painter—rope attached to the bow, used to hold the boat in place

pay out—allow a rope to run out by slackening it

pudding—plaited cording round the masts under the lower yards

reeve—pass a rope through a hole or block

rigging—all the ropes on the ship

rounding—rope wound around a cable to prevent chafing

rowse—to pull on a rope without the use of a tackle

sheet—rope fixed to the lower corner of a square sail

shroud—large ropes fixed to the head of the mast, relieving lateral strain

stay—ropes fixed to a mast, leading to other masts or to the side of the vessel

sternfast—a rope tying the ship’s stern to the wharf

stoppers—short ropes knotted at the ends, used to suspend a weight or keep a cable in position

truss—a rope used to keep a yard close to the mast

whip—to bind twine around the ends of a rope to keep it from fraying

yarn—one strand of a rope— to spin a yarn is to make one of these, extended metaphorically to telling a tale.

Any technology your people rely on extensively is likely to generate such a list. This can be fun to work out for magic or future tech.

TRADE

account—Old Fr acunt ‘calculate’

• Gk λογισμός ‘reckoning’ • Norse tala ‘tale, number’ • Ger Rechnung < ‘right’ • Rus счёт < ‘count, read’

bank—It banca ‘bench’

• Ch yínháng ‘silver shop’

beg—ME beggen, uncertain

• Lt mendīcāre < ‘defective’ • Sw tigga < ‘accept’ • Rus просить < ‘ask’

business—OE bisiȝnis ‘busy-ness’

• Fr affaires ‘(things) to do’ • Ger Gesellschaft ‘comradeship’ • Ch shāng < ‘trade’

buy—OE bycʒan

Gk ἀγοράζω ‘market’ • Lt emere < ‘take’ • Sp comprar < ‘prepare with’ • Fr acheter < ‘receive’ • Ger kaufen < ‘tradesman’

company—Fr compagnie ‘(people one has) bread with’

• Ch gōngsī ‘public-office’

deal—OE dǽlan

display—Lt displicāre ‘unfold’

due—Fr dû ‘owed’

• Ger fällig ‘fallen’ • Ch yīngfù ‘should-pay’

gain—Fr gagner < Germanic ‘forage, secure food’

• Ger gewinnen < ‘toil’ • Ch huò ‘catch, take’

interest—Lt interesse ‘be between, matter’

Gk τόκος ‘offspring’ • Lt ūsūra ‘use’ • Ir breis ‘increase’ • Dan rente ‘income’ • Ger zins ‘tax’ • Lith nuošimčiai ‘percentages’ • Cz úrok ‘term’ • Qu wachay ‘birth, fruit’ • Ch lì ‘advantageous’ < ‘sharp’

job—ModE uncertain

merchant—Lt mercātor ‘trader’

• Gk ἔμπορος ‘traveler’ • Ger Kaufmann ‘trade-man’ • Lith pirklys ‘buyer’

money—Lt Monēta, a name of Juno, in whose temple money was coined

• Lt pecūnia ‘cattle’ • Fr argent ‘silver’ • Sp dinero < name of a coin • Ger Geld < ‘payment’ • Ch qián < ‘coin’ < ‘hoe(-shaped)’

offer—Lt offerre ‘bring before, present’

• Ger bieten ∥ bid • Qu munachiy ‘make want’ • Ch tígōng ‘propose-supply’

pay—Fr payer < ‘pacify’

• Gk ἀποδίδωμι ‘give back’ • Lt solvere ‘release (a debt)’ • Ger zahlen ‘count’ • Lith mokėti ‘know how’ • Rus платить < ‘linen’ • Skt dā- ‘give’ • Ch fù ‘hand over’ < ‘store’

poor—Fr pauvre < Lt pauper, reduplication of ‘little’

• Gk πένης ‘toiling’ • Ir bocht ‘broken’ • Sw fattig ‘taking little’ • Ger arm ‘miserable’ • Pol biedny ‘needful’ • Skt nir-dhana- ‘no wealth’ • Ch qióng ‘extreme’

promise—Lt prōmittere ‘sent forward’

• Gk ὑπιςχνέομαι ‘undertake’ • Ir geall < ‘pledge’ • Sw lova < ‘permit’ • Ger versprechen ‘for-speak’ • Skt pratijñā- ‘recognize’ < ‘know toward’ • Qu churakuy ‘put oneself’ • Ch nuò ‘agree’

refuse—Lt refūsum ‘poured back’

• Ir eitigh ‘swear off’ • Dutch weigeren < ‘fight, resist’ • OCS otŭrešti ‘say away’ • Skt pratiākhyā- ‘tell back’

rich—OE ríce ‘powerful, noble, wealthy’

• Gk πλούσιος ‘wealthy’ • Lt dīves dīvit- < ‘god’ • Breton prinvidig ‘princely’ • OCS bogatŭ < ‘share’ • Qu kapuqniyoq ‘with means’ < benefactive of ‘be’ • Ch fú ∥ ‘good fortune’

sell—OE sellan < causative of ‘take’

• Gk πωλέω prob. < ‘come and go’ • Lt vendere ‘give a price’ • Ger verkaufen ‘for-buy’ • OCS prodati ‘give for’ • Ch mài ‘cause to buy’

share—OE scearu < Germanic ‘division’

• Fr partager verbn. of ‘part’ • Ch jūnfēn ‘fair-divide’

show—OE scéawian ‘look at’

• Gk δείκῡμι ∥ Lt index indic- ‘forefinger’ • Lt mōnstrāre < ‘portent’ • Sw visa < ‘wise’ • Ch gěikàn ‘give-look’

spend—Lt expendere ‘hang out, pay’

store—Lt instaurāre ‘renew, restore’ > ‘furnish’

Shop: Lt taberna ‘booth’ • Fr boutique < ‘storehouse’ • Sp tienda ‘tent’ • Welsh maelfa ‘gain-place’ • Dutch winkel ‘corner’ • Danish forretning ‘business’ • Rus лавка ‘bench’

trade—ModE < Low German ‘track’ > ‘course’ > ‘way of life’

• Gk ἐμπορεύομαι ‘travel’ • Lt mercārī ‘market’, negōtiārī ‘affair’ • It trafficare < ‘put across’ • Breton kenwerza ‘with-sell’ • Ger handeln < ‘handle’ • Cz obchoditi ‘walk around’

treasure—Gk θησαυρός, uncertain

• Rum camoară < ‘vault’ • OE hord < ‘cover’ or ‘hidden’ • Danish skat < ‘property, money’ • Rus клад < ‘layer’ • Ch bǎo ∥ ‘value, price’

value—past participle of Lt valēre ‘be worth’

• Ger Wert ‘price, splendor’ • Ch jià ‘price’

worth—OE weorþ ‘price, value’, uncertain

+—affair, capital, coin, price, cost, fee, cheap, expensive

market, shop, festival, moneylender, counterfeit, partner

luxury, alms, prosper, purse

loan, rent, negotiate, mortgage, advertise

file, ledger, profit, debit, credit, asset, liability, bill

‣             See the section on the Economy in the PCK, p. 140.

The biggest thing for conlangers to remember is that everything about capitalism is a technology. Coins, markets, interest, insurance, accounting, banks, stocks, corporations are all inventions, and once made their inventors the high-finance centers of their time. Names for these things would be borrowed from their languages, or calqued.

In the case of English, the source language is mostly French or Italian, sometimes hidden by Latinization. Note the homely origins of bank, cognate to bench; it was one the plank where the moneylender did his business. The word interest is an example of a financial metaphor applied to things of the mind: the original meaning is ‘share, partnership’; one’s financial concern was generalized to other forms of careful attention.

Where we have the cumbersome stock exchange, French has bourse, literally ‘purse’, said to be taken from the sign on an inn where some early traders met.

Prize is a variant of price; French still uses prix in both senses.

Finnish has one word, lainata, for ‘loan’ and ‘borrow’; they’re disambiguated by case.

Money systems

Even if a fantasy writer cheerfully shows his Europeanish peasants eating potatoes, with a fork, while giving grace to the Twelve Gods, he knows not to have them use dollars.

Many things have been used for currency— oil, cowrie shells, beads. In many societies livestock is the main gauge of wealth— the word cattle derives from ‘capital’, and Latin pecūnia ‘wealth, property’ derives from pecus ‘livestock’. But advanced urban societies have always moved to metal, which has the magic triplet of being valuable, durable, and portable.

Here’s some historical currency systems. Non-English names are given in the singular.

In imperial Athens, all coins were silver:

1 δεκάδραχμος = 2.5 στατήρ = 10 δραχμή = 60 ὀβολός.

Hades had a one-ὀβολός entry fee.

The Romans could not avoid the perennial temptation to water down and thus inflate the currency; note the declining worth of the denarius:

Republic:

1 dēnārius (silver) = 4 sestertius (silver) = 5 dupondium (brass) = 10 as (copper)

Empire:

1 aureus (gold) = 25 dēnārius = 100 sestertius (brass) = 400 as

Under Diocletian:

1 solidus = 10 argenteus = 40 nummus = 1000 dēnārius

In China, the first emperor Shǐ Huángdì introduced a uniform copper coin, the wén (cash). They were of low value, and had holes allowing them to be strung on a thread— strings of 1000 were commonly used.

Later there was a silver coinage system, which persisted to the 19C. The English terms for the units derive from Malay.

1 liǎng (tael) = 10 qián (mace) = 100 fēn (candareen) = 1000 lí

The Umayyad caliphate has the silver dirham (the name comes from δραχμή), the silver dinar (parallel to the Byzantine solidus, but taking its name from the dēnārius), and the copper fulus.

Venice was the economic star of the late Middle Ages; the ducat (3.5 g of gold) was never devalued from 1284 to 1797, and was widely accepted throughout Europe.

1 ducato = 24 grosso = 32 piccolo

Charlemagne established the French system, though till the 13C only the deniers were actually minted:

1 livre = 20 sou = 240 denier

This was adopted by the British:

1 pound = 20 shillings = 240 pennies

These were made in sterling silver, which is 92.5% pure; the rest is copper. This is actually a plus, as pure silver is too soft to stand up to the wear and tear of being currency.

The coin ratios are obviously based on convenience, but if multiple metals are used, they’re based on the relative abundance of the mined metals, which of course can change when a new source is found. Historically gold has been 10 to 20 times more valuable than silver.

Classical Islamic sources declare that 7 dinars (4.25 g) = 10 dirhams (3 g); this makes sense only if they’re made of the same metal.

Some common naming strategies for coins:

•              Composition: aureus = ‘golden’

•              Quantity: dēnārius = ‘of 10’, doubloon = ‘double’

•              Weight: livre = ‘pound’, στατήρ = ‘weight’[22]

•              Issuing authority: ducat = ‘duchy’; florin = ‘Florentine’, dollar = ‘from Joachimsthal’, euro

•              What they depict: eagle, loonie

•              You can’t go wrong with the name of a prestigious foreign coin— note the persistence of the Roman dēnārius.

Paper money was used by the Chinese from the 9C. The medieval Italian traders pioneered using personal letters of credit, which led to banks issuing banknotes payable to the bearer. European states began offering paper money around 1700.

The term credit, introduced into sf by E.E. Smith, is highly plausible— it recognizes that money, like language, is ultimately a social invention— though the idea of a futuristic credit being universal is I think naive. There is no such thing as universal value; things have different costs depending on location and people’s differing and changing desires, and the ubiquity of computation allows these to be taken into account in increasingly sophisticated ways. In my sf universe, the Incatena, things don’t have prices, they have pricing algorithms. At any given moment they will spit out a number which you can compare to the hopefully higher number emitted by your funding algorithm.

VALUATION

Quality

awful—OE eȝefull ‘full of dread’

• Fr affreux < ‘terror’ • Ch kěpà ‘can-fear’

bad—ME badde ‘worthless’ prob. < ‘effeminate’

• Gk κακός ∥ κακκάω ‘shit’ • Lt malus poss. < ‘deceive’ • Rum răŭ < ‘defendant’ • Breton gwall < ‘defect’ • Sw dålig < ‘unconscious’ • Ger schlecht ‘straight’ > ‘dumb’, also schlimm < ‘crooked’! • Lith negeras ‘not good’ • Pol zły < ‘bent’ • Rus плохой < ‘timid’ • Farsi gast ‘stinky’ • Ch huài < ‘ruin’

dear—OE déore ‘glorious’ > ‘esteemed’ > ‘beloved’

• Gk φίλος < ‘one’s own’ • Lt cārus < ‘love’ • Rum drag < ‘precious’ • Rus милый < ‘pitiful’

evil—OE yfel < ‘exceeding’

• Fr mal < Lt ‘bad, evil’, méchant ‘ill-falling’ • Sw ond < ‘harm’ • Rus злой < ‘bent’ • Ch xiōng < ‘inauspicious’, è ∥ ‘hate’

fancy—ModE abbreviation of ‘fantasy’ < Gk φαντασία nomn. of ‘make visible’

fine—Fr fin ‘finished’ > ‘of high quality’

• Ch měihǎo ‘beautiful-good’

GOOD—OE gód < ‘fitting’

• Lt bonus uncertain • Lith geras < ‘praise’ • OCS dobrŭ ‘becoming, fitting’ • Rus хороший < ‘orderly’ • Ch hǎo poss. < ‘nourish’

GREAT—OE gréat ‘coarse, thick’ > ‘stout’

nasty—ME ‘foul, disgusting’ uncertain

nice—Lt nescius ‘not knowing’ > ‘foolish’ > ‘fine’ > ‘kind’

perfect—Lt perfectus ‘completed’ < ‘done through’

terrible—Lt terribilis ‘frightening’

WELL—OE wel ∥ ‘will’

+—foul, naughty, wicked

Degree

absolute—Lt absolūtus ‘absolved’ < ‘loosed away’

• Ch juéduì ‘very correct’

(e)special—Lt. speciālis ‘individual = of a species’

intense—Lt intensus ‘stretched, taut’

mere—Lt merus ‘undiluted, pure’

pure—Lt pūrus ‘clean, pure’

quite—Lt quiētus ‘quiet’ > ‘free, clear’ > ‘clean, complete’

slight—ME ‘sleek’ > ‘thin, weak’

Beauty

beauty—Fr beauté < Lt bellus < ‘good’

• Gk εὐειδής ‘well formed’ • Breton kaer < ‘mighty’ • Ger schön < ‘shining’ • Dutch mooi < ‘washed’ • OCS krasĭnŭ < ‘glowing, hot’ • Skt çubha- ‘adorned’ • Ch měi ∥ ‘good’

grace—Lt grātia ‘pleasingness’

• Ger Anmut < ‘desire’ • Ch yōuměi ‘superior-beauty’

pretty—OE prættiȝ ‘tricky’ > ‘clever’ > ‘admirable’ > ‘pleasing’

• Fr joli < ‘gay’ poss. < Yule • Sp bonito dim. ‘good’ • Ger hübsch < ‘courtly’ • Ir deas ‘well arranged’ < ‘right’ • Rus миловидный ‘dear-looking’

ugly—Norse uggligr ‘fearsome’

• Gk δυσειδής ‘ill formed’ • Lt turpis < ‘turn (away)’ • It brutto ‘stupid’ • Fr laid < ‘hateful’ • Sp feo < ‘foul’ • Breton divalo ‘unsoft’ • Sw ful < ‘stinking’ • Rus дурной ‘bad’ • Ch nánkàn ‘hard to look at’

+—cute, hideous, homely

Wisdom

fool—Old Fr fol < Lt ‘bellows’ > ‘windbag’

• Cz blazén < ‘err, stumble’ • Danish taabe < ‘fumble’ • Sw tok < ‘crazy’ • Ir baoth poss. < ‘timid’

prudent—Lt prūdens ‘foresightful, experienced’

silly—ME sely ‘happy’ > ‘innocent’ > ‘pitiable’ > ‘foolish’

wise—OE wís ∥ witan ‘know’

• Lt sapiens ‘taste’, prūdens ‘foreseeing’ • Breton fur < ‘cunning’ • OCS mądrŭ < ‘learn’ • Ch shèng < ‘renowned’

Clarity

clear—Lt clārus ‘bright, clear, manifest’

direct—Lt dīrectus ‘put straight’

evident—Lt ēvidens ‘seen out’

• Gk δῆλος ‘visible’ • Ir follasach < ‘bright’ • Ger deutlich ‘explained’ < ‘in the vernacular’ • Skt vyakta- ‘revealed’ • Ch xiǎn ‘bright, clear’

obvious—Lt obvius ‘in the way’ > ‘in front of’ > ‘evident’

• Fr évident < ‘seen’ • Rus открытый ‘open’ • Ch míngxiàn ‘bright-appear’

Suitability

exact—Lt exactus ‘driven out’ > ‘demand’

• Ger genau ∥ enough • Ch quèqiè ‘true-agree’

fit—ModE uncertain

• Gk εὔθετος ‘well placed’ • Lt convenīre ‘come together’ • Ger passen < ‘pass’ • Rus итти ‘go’ • Ch hé ‘joined, harmonious’

suit—Fr suite ‘following’ (> ‘pursuing (a case)’, ‘uniform outfit’)

Normality

extreme—Lt extrēmus ‘outermost, most advanced’

• Ger äußerst ‘out-first’ • Ch jìntóu ‘last-head’

familiar—Lt familiāris ‘of the family’

• Fr habituel ‘customary’ • Ch shú ‘ripe, ready’

normal—Lt normālis adjn. of ‘carpenter’s square’ > ‘pattern’

• Ch zhèngcháng ‘always straight’

odd—abbr of Norse odda-maðr ‘angle-man’ = ‘third man’

queer—ModE uncertain

strange—Lt extrāneus ‘external, foreign’

• Ch qí ∥ ‘irregular’, ‘put aside’

usual—Lt adjn. of ūsus ‘use’

Hardness

delicate—Lt dēlicātus, prob. ∥ dēlicium ‘delightful’

hard—OE heard, cognate to Gk κρατύς ‘strong’

• Gk σκληρός < ‘dry’ • Lt dūrus < ‘solid’ • Ir crua < ‘flesh’ • OCS tvrŭdŭ ‘firm’

soft—OE sófte ‘agreeable, calm’

• Lt mollis < ‘tender, weak’ • Sp blando < ‘smooth’ • Ir bog < ‘pliant’ • OCS mękŭkŭ < ‘knead’ • Ch ruǎn < ‘bend’

Complexity

complex—Lt complexus ‘folded together’

• Ch fùzá ‘repeat-mix’

plain—Lt plānum ‘flat’

• OE emnet < ‘level, even’ • Ir má ‘expanse’ < ‘big’

simple—Lt simplex -plīc- ‘once-folded’

+—ordinary, popular, regular

Remember that you can multiply this list by four simply by having a morphological negative (indirect) and diminutive (direct-ish).

Words for quality refer to very different things for different referents: consider what good means when applied to dogs, paintings, investments, chess moves, mayors, and wines. But I’m not aware of any language that has any trouble with this.

Words for beauty can be culturally complex. Applied to women, I believe English terms are best thought of as having different prototypes:

beautiful—a mature woman: Marilyn Monroe, Angelina Jolie, Halle Berry

pretty—young: Zooey Deschanel, Janelle Monaé, Maggie Cheung

cute—girlish: Audrey Hepburn, Faye Wong

These have fairly close equivalents in French (belle / jolie / mignonne) and German (schön, hübsch, niedlich). Swedish snygg seems to cover both ‘beautiful’ and ‘pretty’ (but not ‘cute’ which is söt).

Sometimes terms sound different applied to men or women. Spanish guapo is the go-to adjective for handsome males; guapa applied to women has more of the connotations of hot. Handsome applied to women seems to imply ‘surprisingly well-preserved’.

Spanish hermoso is ‘beautiful’, but in Peru to call a woman hermosa implies that she’s fat. Possibly this developed from the sense ‘luxuriant, healthy’.

Hebrew cheerfully applies yāp̠ɛ/yāp̠ā ‘beautiful’, ħāmūd̠/ħămūd̠ā ‘cute’ to either gender.

WAR

ally—Fr allier ‘make bound’

• Ch méngguó ‘oath-country’

army—Fr armée ‘armed (force)’

• Gk στρατός ‘spread out’ • Lt exercitus ‘training’ • Rum oaste < ‘enemy host’ • Dutch leger ‘camp’ • Ger heer < IE ‘army, crowd’ • OCS vojĭ ∥ ‘war’ • Skt senā- ‘missile’

arrow—OE arwe ‘bow-thing’

• Gk τόξευμα < ‘shoot’ • Fr flèche < ‘feather’ • Sw pil < ‘javelin’ • OCS strela < ‘beam of light’ • Cz šip ‘thorn’ • Farsi tīr ‘sharp’

attack—It attaccare ‘attach’ > ‘commence (battle)’

• Gk προσβάλλω ‘strike against’ • Lt aggredi ‘march toward’ • Ir ionsaigh ‘go after’ • Ger anfallen ‘fall upon’ • Ch gōng < ‘apply oneself’ < ‘work’

battle—Fr bataille < ‘beatings’

• Gr μάχη ‘fight’ • Ir cath < IE • Sw slag < ‘blow’ • Rus бой ‘strike’ • Ch zhàn poss. < ‘tremble’

blade—OE blæd ‘leaf’

• Fr lame < ‘plate, leaf’

blast—OE blǽst ‘blow, gust’

bomb—Sp bomba imitative

• Ch zhàdàn ‘explode-bullet’

bow—OE boʒa < ‘bent’

• Lt arcus ∥ arrow • Latvian stuops ‘stretched’ • Ch gōng < ‘curved, bent’

camp—Lt campus ‘field’

captain—Fr capitaine < ‘of the head = principal’

• [military] Ger Hauptmann ‘main man’ • [nautical] Ch chuánzhǎng ‘ship-chief’

castle—Lt castellum ‘citadel, fort’, poss. < ‘laid out’

• Gk τεῖχος ‘wall’ • Fr forteresse ‘strongness’ • Ir dún < ‘enclosure’ • Ger Burg ‘fortified place’, Festung ‘firm’ • Skt pūr ‘fortified place’, cognate to πόλις • Ch chéngbǎo ‘wall-fort’

combat—Fr combattre ‘fight with’

conquer—Lt conquærere intensive (here a completive) of ‘seek’

• Ger erobern ‘begin-above’ • Ch zhēng < ‘target’ < ‘straight’

enemy—Lt inimīcus antonym of ‘friendly’

• Gk ἐχθρός ‘outcast’ • Ir namhaid < ‘curse, retribution’ • Breton enebour < ‘against’ • Ger Feind < ‘hate’ • OCS vragŭ < ‘misery’ • Avestan dušmainyu- ‘bad-minded’ • Ch dí ∥ ‘vengeance’

gun—ME gunne, apparently from a nickname

• Fr arme ‘weapon’ • Ch qiāng ‘spear’ • Ket bogdóm ‘fire-arrow’

invade—Lt invādere ‘walk into’

• Ger einfallen ‘fall in’ • Ch qīn poss. < ‘sweep’

military—Lt mīlitaris ‘of soldiers’

raid—Scots form of ‘road’

revolt—Fr révolter ‘roll back’

• Sp rebelarse < ‘go to war again’ • Ch gémìng ‘change-life’

ruin—Lt ruīna ‘falling down’

• Qu pirdichiy ‘make to lose’

scout—Old Fr escoute ‘listener’

• Ger Pfadfinder ‘path-finder’ • Ch zhēn < ‘test, verify’

shoot—OE scéotan ‘rush, dart, cast’

• Fr lancer ‘hurl’ • Ch fā < ‘go out, eject’

soldier—Old Fr soudoier, one paid by the sou (Lt solidus)

• Gk στρατιώτης < ‘army’ • Norse hermadr ‘war-man’ • OE wígend ‘fighter’ • Avestan raθaēštar- ‘chariot-stander’ • Ch bīng < ‘weapon’

spear—OE spere < ‘spar, beam’

• Gk δόρυ ‘beam’, ἄκων ‘spike’ • Lt pīlum poss. ‘pestle’ • Ir sleá poss. < ‘release’ • OCS kopĭje < ‘hoe’, sulica < ‘thrust’

spy—Old Fr espie probably < Lt ‘look at’

squad—Fr escouade < ‘square’

• Ger Mannshaft ‘man-ness’ • Ch bān < ‘classify’ < ‘distribute’

sword—OE sweord poss. < ‘pain, wound’

• Gk σπαθί ‘blade’ • Ir claíomh < ‘dig, strike’ • Avestan karəta- ‘cutter’ • Ch jiàn poss. < ‘sharp thing’

WAR—OE wyrre < Germanic ‘discord, strife’ (> Fr guerre)

• Lt bellum uncertain, poss. < ‘battle’ • Ir cogadh ‘battle with’ • Ger Krieg < ‘defiance’ • Lith karas ‘army’ • Rus война < ‘pursuit’ • Icelandic ófriðr ‘un-peace’ • Ch zhàn poss. < ‘fear’

weapon—OE wǽpen

• Gk ὅπλον ‘instrument’ • Lt arma ‘upper arms’ • Lith ginklas < ‘defend’ • Ch wŭqì ‘military tool’

+—surrender, retreat, loot, parry, wield

strategy, tactics, logistics, campaign, headquarters

navy, cavalry, infantry, veteran, recruit, fort

bullet, rifle, club, pike, dart

armor, helmet, shield, chainmail, greaves

‣             See the War chapter in the PCK, p. 243.

‣             For less blood and guts, see Conflict, p. 116.

Military terms are likely to be borrowed from whoever has the best armies. We retain some from ancient times (e.g. legion, strategy, victory, martial), but take many terms from the French, once the premier military power of Europe: army, battalion, campaign, mêlée, sortie, squad, reconnoiter, rapier, parry, surrender, maneuver, combat, battle, fortress, castle, cannon, bullet, camouflage, spy, artillery, cavalry, as well as the military ranks (below).

As Lakoff points out, war is used as a metaphor for politics, arguments, and even love. For the art-obsessed Xurnese, I created metaphors for war based on painting:

nelima                             frame > context, casus belli
rímex                             sketch > strategy
šonasudo               brushwork > tactics
ravom                             canvas > battlefield
šuke                             paint > blood

There’s a close relationship between war and games— we make games based on war, and obsolete military skills like archery become sports events. The highly evolved and enlightened humans of the far future will probably climb into VR simulators and play at phalanx warfare.

The powers that be, naturally enough, tend to glorify and value war, but there’s been no shortage of people who deplore it— many cultures even viewed common soldiers very negatively. It’s curious that linguistically, war is almost always taken as a positive— Paul even uses it, bizarrely, as a metaphor for the spiritual life (Ephesians 6). The most frightening sort of destruction, nuclear warfare, becomes a metaphor for using the microwave. Perhaps not even those future pacifists will have a slang expression That’s war to refer to something terrible.

Military ranks

Here are the basic British/American ranks, with their etymologies. This is not enough to write modern military fiction— but I’m not sure why a conlanger would need to translate senior chief petty officer rather than creating their own system.

Army

General

‘general’ = ‘not limited in scope’

Brigadier Gen.

Fr ‘fighting’

Colonel

It ‘little column’

Major

Lt ‘greater’

Captain

Lt ‘head’

Lieutenant

Fr ‘place-holder’, i.e. deputy

Sergeant

Fr ‘servant’

Corporal

It < ‘head’

Private

‘private soldier’, i.e. ‘hired’

Navy

Admiral

Arabic ‘commander’;
cf. emir

Commodore

Dutch ‘commander’

Captain

Commander

Lieutenant

Ensign

Fr ‘insignia’; i.e. ‘standard-bearer’

Petty officer

‘little officer’

Seaman

Marshal (from a Germanic term for ‘horse-servant’) can be used for a rank above general.

Some ranks are named by two terms. Lieutenant can be used for a rank below (a lieutenant colonel serves below a colonel) and major for a rank above (a sergeant major outranks a sergeant). But a major general actually falls below a lieutenant general.

The great divide in military organization is between the officers and the enlisted men. In medieval times the officers were generally nobles; indeed, the feudal system can be seen as a low-overhead way to provide a well trained and equipped cavalry and officer corps. Since the last century, officering has been a profession, taught in military academies.

Another useful distinction is between commanding officers and staff officers, who take on logistics, intelligence, planning, personnel, and other functions.

The English names are almost all borrowed from the French. The French scale is général, colonel, commandant, capitaine, lieutenant, major, adjudant, sergent, caporal, soldat.

There are also special terms for the units that officers command:

army—50,000 soldiers—Lt. general or higher

corps—20,000 to 45,000—Lt. general

division—10,000 to 15,000—Major general

brigade—3,000 to 5,000—Colonel

company—60 to 200—Captain

platoon—15 to 50—Lieutenant

squad—10—Sergeant

The ancient Roman system, after the reforms of Marius (-2C):

Consul

Legate—Legion —4800 soldiers

Tribune—(staff officer)—

Centurion—Cohort —480

Centurion—Century—80

Optio—(staff officer)—

Decurion (cav.)—Turma—10 to 30

Decanus (inf.)—Contubernium —10

Legionary

Under the Republic, consuls were the supreme leaders, elected for just a year; during wartime they each commanded half the army. In an emergency a single leader was elected, called a dictator. Note how many Roman political terms are still in use, though often with an altered meaning.

An imperātor (from imperāre ‘command’) was originally a supreme military commander; it of course became the word for ‘emperor’. Legally, the emperor was also a consul (among other offices).

Some of the titles above use the metaphor of THE LEADER IS THE HEAD; for my conlang Xurnese I generalized this as THE BODY IS THE ARMY, providing an entire military hierarchy as well as numerous other military terms:

newe               brow > general
juysu               head > commander
teyš               chest > colonel
pučisu               belly > major
reyxu               thigh > lieutenant
xuc               leg > sergeant
neja               foot > infantryman

breš               arm > vanguard

waysu               nose > scout

The movements of the body are also used for armies: neymore ‘sleep = camp’, jivi ‘walk = march’, etc.

The internal organs are used for nonce meanings, but these have not been lexicalized, except for the general xímex ‘organs > support staff.’

WATER

bath—OE bæð

• Ch zào < ‘wash’

clean—OE clǽne < ‘clear, pure’

• Lt mundus poss. < ‘washed’ • It netto < ‘polished’ • Fr propre ‘proper’ • Sp limpio ‘limpid’ • Ger rein < ‘sifted’ • Skt çuddha- ‘purified, cleansed’ • Ch qīng ‘pure, clear’

dry—OE drýȝe prob. < ‘strong, holding up’

• Lt siccus poss. ∥ sitis ‘thirst’ • Rum uscat ‘sucked out’ • OCS suchŭ < IE, cognate to sere • Ch gān ‘dried by heat’

ice—OE ís

• Gk κρύσταλλος < ‘frost, crust’ • Lt glacies < ‘icy cold’

pour—ME pouren uncertain

• Fr verser < ‘turn’ • Welsh tywallt ‘empty’ • Sw hälla ‘lean’ • Ger schütten ‘shake’ • OCS lĭjati < ‘flood, river’

wash—OE wæscan ∥ water

• Lt lavāre ‘bathe’ • Lith mazgoti ‘immerse’ • Cz práti ‘beat’ • Rus стирать ‘rub’

WATER—OE wæter

• Lt aqua < IE ‘running water’ • Skt jala- ∥ ‘drip’ • Ch shuǐ < ‘what flows’

wave—OE wafian ‘move up and down’

• Gk κῦμα < ‘swelling’ • Lt unda < ‘water’ • Welsh gwaneg < ‘course, gait’ • Ch bō poss. < ‘uneven’

wet—OE wǽt ∥ water

• Lt ūmidus < IE • Fr mouillé < ‘soften’ • Lith drėgnas < ‘dirty’ • OCS mokrŭ ‘moist’ ∥ ‘puddle’ • Ch shī ∥ ‘swamp’

+—steam, liquid, splash, dam, drip, spill, wipe

Where we have water, Japanese has mizu ‘cold water’ and yu ‘hot water’. This gives a different flavor to the comic Ranma 1/2, whose title character turns into a girl when doused with mizu and back into a boy when hit with yu. In Malay, ayer covers both liquid water and solid ice. Yidiɲ has biriɲ for salt water, bana for fresh.

Indo-European seems to have had two words for water, one animate (*āp-) and one inanimate (*wed-).

Lakota distinguishes several types of dryness:

púza—not wet

šéča—withered, applied to something that used to be alive: bones, wood, grass

sáka—dried, hardened: hides, fruits, carcasses

oyáȟe—dried up, applied to things that used to have liquid: empty lakes, a milkless udder

tȟatȟápa—partially or nearly dried (meat, mud, clothes, etc.)

Water can be used informally for any liquid, particularly alcoholic ones. Vodka is ‘little water’; whiskey is Irish uisge-beatha ‘water of life’; French eau de vie is brandy.

Many languages distinguish washing the body from washing clothes— e.g. Greek λούω vs. πλύνω. Recall that premodern clothes-washing was a fairly intensive process, thus the words deriving from ‘beat’.

We have flow for moving water, but many languages just use ‘run’, e.g. Irish rith.

Bodies of water

bank—It banca ‘bench’

island—OE ‘isle land’ < íȝ
• OCS ostrovŭ ‘around-stream’ • Skt dvīpa- ‘two-watered’

lake—Lt lacus ‘basin, lake, pond’

• Gk λίμνη < ‘depression’

pool—OE pól

river—Lt place nomn. of rīpa ‘bank, shore’

• Gk ποταμός < ‘falling (water)’ • Lt fluvius < ‘flowing’ • OE ēa ‘water’ • Skt nadī- ‘roaring’

sea—OE sǽ

• Gk πέλαγος < ‘flat’ • Lith jūra < ‘water’ • Skt sāgara- ‘swallowing (the rivers)’ • Ch hǎi prob. ∥ ‘dark’

spring—OE spring ‘water spring’ > ‘source, origin’ > ‘1st season’

stream—OE stréam < IE ‘flow’

+—ford, delta, rapids, brook, pond

bay, strait, peninsula, coast, beach, cape, archipelago

French distinguishes fleuve, a river that ends in the sea, from rivière, which flows into another river. In German Floss is a river and Strom is a subcategory of Floss reserved for the largest rivers.

The OED suggests that a stream is larger than a brook, but I’m not sure if all English speakers would agree. In England a creek is an inlet, but in the US it’s the same as a brook.

Greek ὠκεανός was conceived of as the sea on the outer edge of the flat earth, encircling all the land; Germanic sea retains the larger sense (‘the law of the sea’, ‘at sea’) but can also be used for specific large bodies of water (the North Sea, the Caspian Sea). The Low Germans, who had an ocean nearby, called it die See (f.); the High Germans, who didn’t, used der See (m.) for lakes; the standard language retains both terms.

In many areas the ocean notionally begins past any coastal islands or reefs; the water in between these and the inner shore is a sound— or in Maryland, the Bay.

If your conpeople live in the ocean (like the iliu of Almea), imagine the geographical (pelagographical?) terminology they’d create. What are two-dimensional areas to us are just the surface of complex three-dimensional shapes to them.

Ships

boat—OE bát, uncertain

• Gk σκάφη ‘tub’ • Lt barca < Egyptian • Ir curach < ‘hide (covering)’ • Rus лодка dim. ‘ship’ • Cz člun < ‘dugout’ • Skt plava- < ‘float’ • Ch chuán < ‘hollow out’

bow—ModE < Low German ‘shoulder’ ∥ bough

fleet—OE fléot < Germanic, prob. ∥ ‘flow, float’

• Gk στόλος ‘expedition’ • Sp armada ‘armed’ • Welsh llynges collective of ‘ship’ • Ch jiànduì ‘warship-squad’

launch—Fr lancer ‘pierce’ > ‘hurl’ > ‘set in motion’

pilot—Fr pilote prob. < Gk πηδώτης ‘steersman’

• Ch linghángyuán ‘guide-vessel-professional’

row—ME ráw

sail—OE seȝl

Verb: • Gk πλέω < IE, cognate to ‘flow’ • Lt nāvigāre < ‘ship’ • Welsh morio < ‘sea’• Dutch varen ‘travel’ • Ch hángxíng ‘boat-go’

Noun: • Gk ἱστίον < ‘mast’ • Lt vēlum ‘cloth’ • OCS jadrilo < ‘ride’ • Ch fān ∥ ‘wind’

ship—OE scip, uncertain

• Gk ναῦς, Lt nāvis < IE ‘rowboat’ • Sp buque < ‘belly’ • Breton lestr ‘vessel, pot’ • OCS korabljĭ < ‘horned beetle’ • Pol statek ‘property’ < ‘stand’

+—galley, raft, caravel

deck, stern, mast, anchor, rudder, oar, keel; steer, dock, embark, paddle; navigation

A ship is a big boat, but in different times or contexts a finer formula may be used. E.g. to the AHD, a ship is a vessel large enough for deep-sea navigation. In the sailing era, a ship should have a bowsprit and three masts.

A quick review of the major medieval ships:

Sailing ships

cog—smallish, one mast; steep sides with a flat bottom; built with overlapping planks

hulk—similar but larger, good for cargo; also flat-bottomed

caravel—15C — 1 to 3 masts, small, very maneuverable; built with butted planks; mainstay of Portuguese exploration

carrack—larger, with 3 to 4 masts, e.g. Columbus’s Santa María

Oared ships

galley—oared, and thus fast and unaffected by lulls in the wind, but not suitable for months-long journeys; little changed from ancient triremes; low on cargo room

longship—the Viking mainstay, cheap to produce; sometimes fitted with one sail

WORK

build—OE *byldan < ‘dwelling’

• Lt ædificāre ‘make building’ • Fr bâtir < (make with) bark’ • Breton sevel ‘make stand’ • OCS zĭdati ‘form’ • Rus строить ‘arrange’ • Skt kṛ- ‘make’ • Qu hatarichiy ‘make get up’

able—Lt habilis ‘holdable’

craft—OE cræft ‘strength, force’

• Gk τέχνη < ‘carpenter’ < ‘cut, hew, make’ • Lt ars < ‘fit together’ • Fr métier ‘ministry’ • Ger Gewerbe < ‘turn, be busy’ • Norse iðn ‘doing’ • Ch yì < ‘accomplished’ < ‘establish’

fix—Lt fixus ‘fixed’

maintain—Fr maintenir ‘hold in the hand’

MAKE—OE macian

• Gk ποιέω ‘construct’ • Sw göra ‘prepare’ • Lith veikti ‘struggle’ • OCS dělati ‘work’ • Ch zuò < ‘get up, start work’

patch—ME pacche uncertain

• Fr pièce ‘piece’ • Ger Fleck ‘spot’ • Ch bǔ ‘mend’

produce—Lt prōdūcere ‘lead forward’

• Ger erzeugen ‘begin-create’ • Ch chǎn ‘bear’

provide—Lt prōvidēre ‘see before’

practical—ModE adjn. of ‘practice’

remake—ModE ‘make again’

skill—Norse skil ‘distinction, difference’

supply—Lt supplēre ‘fill under’

• Ch gōng ‘provide with both hands’

structure—Lt structūra nomn. of ‘build’

task—Lt taxa ‘tax’ > ‘imposed fee’ > ‘imposed work’

WORK—OE wyrcan ‘do, perform’, cognate to Gk ἔργον

• Lt opus oper- < ‘power, wealth’, labōrem ‘toil, trouble’ • Fr travailler < ‘torture’ • Rum lucra < ‘gain’ • Ger arbeiten, Rus работать < ‘(work like an) orphan’ • OCS raditi ‘care for’ • Skt karman- ‘act’

+—invent, toil, artificial, manufacture, technique, mend, adjust, guild, factory

English is relatively unusual in distinguishing do and make— compare French faire which covers both. At a first approximation, we do <verbs> and we make <things>. (At a second approximation, do <thing> is generally a quirky idiom: there’s nothing common to do the dishes, do your taxes, do a play, do your hair, we’re doing the Islands this year.)

Dutch has a similar distinction (doen/maken), but doesn’t always agree on the applications— e.g. homework is done in English but gemaakt in Dutch.

Not a few of the words for work are rather negative— e.g. French travailler derives from the trepālium, a three-pronged instrument of torture. (The same word gave us travel, which doesn’t say much for medieval tourism.) Latin labor wasn’t much more positive— it meant ‘labor, toil, hardship’. This may relate to the fact that premodern agricultural societies were all aristocracies, where work was something the dirty commoners did. The aristocrat aspired to not work at all, though he might deign to lead armies or governments.

Guilds

In most medieval European cities, craftwork was organized by guilds— a self-governing business association. The guilds organized training in the craft (you went from apprentice to journeyman to master), encouraged quality work, participated in civic government, and served as health and life insurance for its members. Less benignly, they kept the trade a monopoly, keeping prices for their work high.

On the other hand, as N.J.G. Pounds points out, in most places trade was controlled by the big merchants, not by craftsmen. The merchants often supplied the raw materials and even the tools. And the guilds had no power to prevent the merchants moving the cloth trade to rural areas— the original cottage industry. Rural workers were cheaper and unorganized.

The guilds of Florence are a good snapshot of what were the important crafts of the 1300s. There was a strict ordering, the first seven guilds being recognized as the arti maggiori (greater guilds)

Arte dei Guidici e Notai—judges, lawyers, notaries

Arte di Calimala—merchants, finishers, and dyers of cloth

Arte della Lana—wool

Arte del Cambio—bankers, money-changers

Arte della Seta—silk weavers and merchants

Arte dei Medici e Speziali—physicians, apothecaries, painters, spice sellers

Arte dei Vaiai e Pellicciai—furriers, skinners

Arte dei Beccai—butchers, livestock dealers, fishmongers

Arte dei Fabbri—blacksmiths

Arte dei Calzolai—shoemakers

Arte dei Maestri di Pietra e Legname—stonemasons and woodcarvers

Arte dei Linaioli e Rigattieri—linen

Arti dei Vinattieri—vintners

Arti degli Albergatori—innkeepers, tavernkeepers

Arti dei Cuoiai e Galigai—tanners, curriers (worked in dressed leather)

Arti dei Oliandoli e Pizzicagnoli—olive oil dealers, chandlers, cheesemakers, glass-blowers, soap-boilers

Arti dei Correggiai—saddlers and harness-makers, horse dealers

Arti dei Chiavaiuoli—locksmiths, toolmakers, braziers

Arti dei Corazzai e Spadai—armorers, swordsmiths

Arti dei Legnaioli—carpenters

Arti dei Fornai—bakers, millers

Index

a, 222

abandon, 281

abdomen, 141

able, 396

abound, 312

about, 252

above, 252

abrupt, 363

absent, 204

absolute, 382

abstinence, 316

abstract, 275

abuse, 373

academy, 129

accent, 341

accept, 311

accession, 215

accident, 184

accompany, 278

accomplish, 183

accord, 337

account, 377

accurate, 261

accuse, 168

across, 252

act, 201

active, 201

actual, 237

add, 291

address, 281, 342

adjective, 225

adjust, 396

admire, 337

admit, 332, 342

adult, 228

advance, 278

advantage, 338

adventure, 183

advertise, 379

advise, 342

affair, 379

affection, 259

afraid, 197

after, 363

afternoon, 365

again, 201

against, 252

age, 363

agent, 201, 213

ago, 363

agree, 335, 337

ahead, 252

aim, 273

air, 185, 345

alarm, 197

ale, 207

alert, 268

alien, 335

align, 215

alive, 243

all, 171

Allen, W. Sidney, 9

alley, 150

alligator, 123

alliteration, 131

allow, 213

alloy, 263

ally, 386

almost, 172

alms, 379

alone, 335

along, 252

alphabet, 225

already, 363

also, 222

always, 201

amaze, 265

amid, 252

among, 252

amuse, 197

analyze, 275

ancestor, 227

anchor, 394

ancient, 363

and, 222

angel, 316

anger, 197, 332

animal, 115

announce, 342

annoy, 166

another, 223

answer, 342

anus, 141

anvil, 263

anxious, 197

any, 171

apart, 252

apartment, 152

apathy, 199

appear, 204, 324

appoint, 215

appreciate, 336

approach, 278

arch, 150

archaea, 117

archipelago, 393

area, 175, 321

argue, 166, 237, 342

arise, 278

arm, 140

armor, 388

army, 386

around, 252

arrange, 273

arrive, 278

arrow, 386

art, 129

arthritis, 243

artificial, 396

as, 223

aside, 252

ask, 342

asleep, 148

assassin, 332

assembly, 215

asset, 379

assist, 337

assume, 265

assure, 342

astonish, 265

at, 252

atheist, 316

athletic, 339

atom, 296

attack, 386

attempt, 183

attention, 265

attic, 153

attract, 293

audience, 129

aunt, 227

authority, 213, 240

avarice, 332

avoid, 281

awake, 148

aware, 324

away, 252

awful, 382

axe, 373

baby, 228

back, 140, 179

bacteria, 117

bad, 382

bag, 169

balance, 293

balcony, 153

bald, 142

ball, 321

ballad, 131

band, 320

bank, 377, 393

bar, 320

barbarian, 335

bare, 321

baron, 213

barrel, 170

base, 322

basement, 153

basket, 170

bastard, 332

bat, 124

bath, 151, 392

bathtub, 154

battle, 386

bay, 393

be, 204

beach, 393

beak, 144

beam, 320

bear, 311

beard, 142

beast, 115

beat, 134, 166, 293

beauty, 383

beaver, 124

because, 222

become, 204

bed, 154

beer, 207

before, 252

beg, 377

begin, 201

behind, 252

believe, 265

belong, 311

below, 253

belt, 156

bench, 154

bend, 282

beneath, 253

benefit, 338

benevolent, 336

beside, 253

bet, 339

betray, 168

between, 253

beyond, 253

bias, 268

big, 175

bill, 144, 379

bind, 293

bird, 115

bit, 322

bite, 148

bitter, 197, 325

black, 159

blade, 386

bland, 326

blanket, 154

blasphemy, 316

blast, 386

bless, 315, 342

blind, 325

blink, 147

blister, 243

block, 150, 320

blood, 144

blouse, 157

blow, 147

blue, 159

blunt, 322

board, 320

boat, 394

body, 140

boiler, 373

bold, 168

bolt, 372

bomb, 386

bone, 144

book, 130

boot, 156

bore, 197, 293

born, 243

boss, 213

both, 289

bother, 166

bottle, 169

bottom, 179

bow, 386, 394

bowl, 207

box, 169

boy, 228

boyfriend, 259

brain, 145, 265

brake, 373

branch, 304

brass, 263

brave, 166

bread, 206

break, 293

breakfast, 206

breast, 140

breath, 147

brew, 207

bride, 227

bridge, 150

brief, 363

bright, 248

brilliant, 248

bring, 311

broad, 172

bronze, 263

brook, 393

broom, 373

broth, 207

brother, 227

brown, 159

bruise, 243

brush, 130, 372

brute, 332

bucket, 170

bug, 115

build, 396

bullet, 388

bully, 332

bureau, 215

burn, 249

burst, 249

bury, 278

bush, 304

business, 377

busy, 201

but, 222

butcher, 207

butter, 207

buy, 377

by, 253

cabin, 152

cabinet, 170

cage, 170

cake, 207

calculate, 261

calf, 141

call, 342

calm, 197

camel, 124

camp, 278, 386

campaign, 388

can, 222

cancer, 243

candle, 373

candy, 207

canyon, 287

cape, 393

capital, 379

captain, 213, 386

capture, 278

car, 372

caravel, 394

card, 339

cardinal, 125

care, 259

caress, 146

carpet, 154

carriage, 373

carry, 311

cart, 373

cartoon, 133

case, 225, 273

cast, 311

castle, 386

cat, 115

catch, 311

cause, 183

caution, 197

cavalry, 388

cave, 286

cease, 201

ceiling, 153

cell, 153

cemetary, 150

center, 179

centipede, 120

century, 363

ceremony, 316

certain, 237

chain, 372

chainmail, 388

chair, 154

challenge, 184

chamber, 153

chance, 201

change, 204

chant, 131

chaos, 275

chapter, 130

character, 273

charge, 213

chart, 133

chase, 281

cheap, 379

check, 237

cheek, 141

cheer, 197

cheese, 207

chest, 140, 154

chew, 148

chicken, 125

chief, 213

child, 229

chin, 142

chisel, 373

chivalry, 338

chocolate, 207

choke, 148

choose, 265

chop, 294

chopsticks, 207

chord, 134

chorus, 131

cider, 207

circle, 320

city, 150

civilize, 335

claim, 265

clam, 121

clan, 227

class, 238, 273

claw, 143

clean, 392

clear, 237, 383

cleric, 316

clever, 265

cliff, 287

climb, 278

clitoris, 141

cloak, 156

clock, 373

close, 169, 174

closet, 153

cloth, 156

clothes, 156

cloud, 286

club, 388

clue, 275

coast, 393

coat, 156

code, 275

coffee, 207

coin, 379

cold, 296

collar, 157

collect, 169

colonel, 389

colony, 335

color, 159

column, 321

comb, 373

combat, 386

come, 278

comedy, 131

comet, 137

comfort, 166

command, 213

comment, 342

commit, 265

common, 201

communicate, 341

community, 335

companion, 259

company, 335, 377

compare, 237, 273

compel, 184

compete, 339

complain, 342

complete, 201

complex, 291, 384

computer, 373

concentrate, 265, 268

concern, 265

condition, 273

confess, 332

confident, 335

confuse, 197, 265

conjunction, 137

connect, 294

conquer, 386

conscious, 265

conservative, 215

consider, 265

constant, 201

constellation, 137

contact, 337

contain, 169

content, 169

continue, 201

contract, 241

control, 183

converse, 341

convince, 337

cook, 206

cool, 296

copper, 263

corner, 322

coronation, 215

corporal, 389

correct, 237

corridor, 152

corrupt, 332

cosine, 291

cosmos, 137

cost, 379

cotton, 157

couch, 154

cough, 148

could, 222

council, 213

count, 218, 261

counterfeit, 379

country, 286

couple, 289

course, 281

court, 240

courtesy, 338

courtyard, 150

cousin, 227

cover, 169

coward, 199

crab, 120

crack, 322

cradle, 154

craft, 396

crane, 125

crawl, 278

create, 204

creature, 243

credit, 379

creep, 278

crime, 241

criticize, 168

crop, 287

cross, 320

crow, 125

crowd, 229, 335

crown, 215

cruel, 197

cry, 344

cube, 321

culture, 129

cunning, 268

cup, 206

cupboard, 170

cure, 243

curious, 265

current, 363

curse, 315, 342

curtain, 154

custard, 207

custom, 338

cut, 293

cute, 383

cynical, 338

Cyrillic, 9

dam, 392

damage, 294

damn, 315

dance, 129

danger, 183

dare, 265

dark, 248

dart, 388

date, 259

daughter, 227

dawn, 365

day, 365

dead, 243

deaf, 326

deal, 377

dear, 382

death, 243

debit, 379

decay, 243

decide, 265

deck, 394

declare, 342

deduce, 275

deep, 172

deer, 124

defeat, 166

defend, 166

define, 268

delicate, 384

delicious, 326

delight, 197

deliver, 312

delta, 393

demand, 343

demon, 315

depart, 278

depression, 199

descend, 278

describe, 237, 343

desert, 286

design, 273

desire, 265

desk, 154

despair, 199

desperate, 197

dessert, 207

destination, 282

destroy, 204

detail, 274

determine, 265

develop, 201

devil, 315

dialect, 225, 341

diarrhea, 243

dictionary, 225

die, 243

differ, 274

differentiate, 291

difficult, 183

dig, 294

dim, 248

dine, 206

diplomacy, 215

direct, 179, 383

dirt, 345

disappear, 204

disappointed, 199

disaster, 139

discern, 268

disciple, 316

discover, 237

discuss, 343

disease, 243

disgust, 197

dish, 207

display, 377

distant, 174

distract, 326

divide, 291, 293

divorce, 227

do, 201

dock, 394

doctor, 243

dog, 115

doll, 339

dolphin, 124

dome, 321

door, 153

double, 289

doubt, 266

dough, 207

dove, 125

down, 179, 253

dowry, 227

dozen, 289

drag, 278

dragon, 115

draw, 132

dread, 197

dream, 266

dress, 156

drift, 278

drink, 206

drip, 392

drive, 278

drool, 148

drop, 311

drought, 287

drown, 332

drug, 243

dry, 392

duck, 115

due, 377

duke, 213

dull, 248

dungeon, 241

during, 253

dusk, 366

dust, 345

duty, 213

dwell, 335

dye, 157

dynasty, 227

each, 171

eager, 197

eagle, 125

ear, 141

earl, 218

early, 363

earth, 137, 185

earthworm, 121

east, 179

easy, 183

eat, 206

echo, 324

eclipse, 139

edge, 322

edit, 131

educate, 238

effect, 183

effort, 183

egg, 143, 206

eight, 289

either, 223

elbow, 141

elder, 213, 363

elect, 215

electron, 296

elephant, 124

elf, 115

elope, 227

else, 222

embark, 394

embarrass, 168

embassy, 215

emerald, 345

emotion, 197

empire, 213

empty, 169

enchant, 316

end, 202

enemy, 386

energy, 296

engage, 202

engagement, 227

engine, 372

enjoy, 197

enormous, 175

enough, 172

enter, 278

entire, 171

epic, 131

epilepsy, 243

equal, 291

equinox, 139

equip, 372

era, 364

error, 238

escape, 281

essay, 131

estate, 215

eternal, 364

even, 172, 291

evening, 365

event, 202

ever, 363

every, 171

evident, 383

evil, 382

evolve, 204

exact, 384

exaggerate, 343

examine, 237

example, 275

excel, 184

except, 253

excite, 197

exclaim, 344

excuse, 332

execute, 241

exhibit, 129

exile, 241

exist, 204

exit, 281

expand, 171

expect, 266

expensive, 379

experience, 197

explain, 237, 343

explode, 249

explore, 282, 335

exponent, 291

express, 341

extend, 175

extreme, 384

eye, 142

eyelash, 142

face, 142

fact, 237

faction, 213, 335

factory, 396

fade, 248

fail, 183

faint, 147

fair, 240

fake, 238

fall, 278, 371

fallacy, 275

fallible, 184

false, 237

familiar, 384

family, 227

famous, 338

fan, 373

fancy, 382

fantasy, 131

far, 174

farm, 286

fart, 145

fashion, 156

fast, 279

fat, 144, 172

fate, 315

father, 227

faux pas, 338

favor, 335

fear, 197

feather, 144

feature, 322

fee, 379

feel, 146, 198

fellow, 229

female, 229

ferment, 207

festival, 316, 379

fever, 243

few, 171

fiction, 131

field, 286

fierce, 198

fight, 166

figure, 320

file, 379

fill, 169

film, 133

fin, 144

final, 363

find, 281

fine, 240, 382

finger, 140

finish, 202

fire, 185, 249

firm, 321

fish, 115

fist, 140

fit, 384

five, 289

fix, 396

flag, 215

flame, 249

flash, 248

flat, 179

flatter, 343

flaw, 323

flee, 281

fleet, 394

flesh, 140

fling, 311

flirt, 259

flitter, 282

float, 279

floor, 153

flour, 207

flow, 279

flower, 304

fly, 279

fog, 286

fold, 322

folk, 229

follow, 281

food, 206

fool, 383

foot, 140

for, 253

force, 183

ford, 393

forehead, 142

foreign, 336

forest, 286

forever, 202

forge, 263

forget, 266

forgive, 332

fork, 207

form, 320

fort, 388

forth, 253

fortune, 315

forum, 150

forward, 179

foul, 382

foundation, 153

four, 289

fox, 124

fraction, 171, 291

frame, 252

fraud, 332

free, 166, 213

freeze, 286

fresh, 363

friend, 259

frighten, 166

frog, 122

from, 253

front, 179

frown, 147

fruit, 206, 304

fuck, 330

full, 169

funeral, 243

fur, 143

further, 179

future, 363

gain, 377

galaxy, 137

gallery, 129

galley, 394

game, 338

gang, 336

gap, 252

garbage, 312

garden, 286

gasp, 147

gate, 150

gather, 169

gauge, 373

gaze, 325

gender, 225

general, 274

generate, 204

gentle, 335

gentleman, 213

genuine, 238

gesture, 146

get, 311

ghost, 315

giant, 175

girl, 229

girlfriend, 259

give, 311

glacier, 287

glad, 198

glade, 287

glance, 325

glare, 147

glass, 345

gleam, 248

globe, 320

glory, 337

glove, 157

glow, 248

gluttony, 332

gnome, 115

go, 279

goal, 275

goat, 124

god, 315

gold, 263

good, 382

goose, 125

gossip, 168

govern, 213

grab, 311

grace, 383

grammar, 225

grandfather, 227

grandmother, 227

grasp, 311

grass, 304

grave, 198

gravity, 296

gravy, 207

gray, 159

graze, 115

great, 382

greaves, 388

greed, 332

Greek, 9

green, 159

greet, 338

grief, 199

grin, 147

grip, 311

groom, 227

ground, 286

group, 169, 335

grow, 243

guard, 311

guess, 237

guest, 338

guide, 279, 337

guild, 396

guilt, 332

guilty, 241

gull, 125

gun, 387

habit, 203

hail, 286

hair, 142

hall, 153

halt, 281

hammer, 373

hand, 140

handle, 372

hang, 146

happen, 202

happy, 198

hard, 384

harm, 240

harmony, 134

harvest, 287

haste, 363

hat, 156

hate, 166, 259

have, 311

hawk, 125

he, 223

head, 142

headquarters, 388

heal, 243

heap, 320

hear, 324

heart, 144

heat, 249

heaven, 316

heavy, 296

hedgehog, 124

heel, 141

heir, 227

helium, 345

hell, 315

helmet, 388

help, 337

hemp, 157

herd, 115

here, 222

hermit, 316

hero, 166

hesitate, 266

hide, 143, 324

hideous, 383

hierarchy, 215

high, 173

hill, 286

hinge, 373

hip, 141

hippopotamus, 124

hiss, 147

history, 130

hit, 166

hive, 115

hoe, 373

hold, 311

hole, 322

holiday, 316

hollow, 321

home, 151

homely, 383

honest, 332

honey, 207

honor, 337

hoof, 144

hook, 372

hop, 279

hope, 266

horizon, 137, 180

horn, 144

horror, 198

horse, 115

hospital, 243

host, 338

hot, 296

hotel, 151

hour, 365

house, 151

how, 224

however, 222

hug, 146

huge, 175

human, 229

hundred, 289

hunger, 148

hunt, 115, 281

hurry, 363

hurt, 293

husband, 227

hut, 152

I, 223

ice, 286, 392

idea, 237, 266

identical, 275

idiot, 266

idol, 316

if, 222

ignore, 324

ill, 243

illusion, 268

image, 325

imagine, 266

immediate, 363

immigrant, 336

imply, 275

important, 266

impress, 337

in, 253

inch, 261

include, 169

increase, 171

indeed, 172

indicate, 266

individual, 169

induction, 275

infantry, 388

infinity, 291

inform, 343

inherit, 312

ink, 131

in-law, 227

innocent, 241

insect, 115

inside, 253

insist, 343

inspire, 338

instant, 363

instead, 223

instruct, 238

insult, 168

integrate, 291

intellect, 268

intelligent, 266

intend, 266

intense, 382

interest, 266, 377

interpret, 268

interrupt, 202

intestines, 145

into, 253

intrigue, 215

introduce, 338

invade, 387

invent, 396

invite, 337

iron, 263

irony, 344

irritate, 168

island, 393

it, 223

jail, 241

jar, 170

jaw, 142

jellyfish, 119

jewel, 345

job, 377

join, 293, 335

joke, 343

journey, 281

joy, 198

judge, 240

juice, 207

jump, 279

jungle, 287

just, 172, 240

kangaroo, 123

keel, 394

keep, 311

kettle, 207

key, 169

kick, 146

kid, 229

kidney, 145

kill, 243, 332

kiln, 373

kilometer, 261

kind, 274

king, 214

kiss, 147

kitchen, 153

knee, 140

knife, 206, 372

knight, 218

knock, 293

knot, 294

know, 237

knuckle, 141

labor, 183

lace, 157

lack, 311

ladder, 373

lady, 214

lair, 115

lake, 393

lament, 199

lamp, 372

land, 286

language, 341

large, 175

last, 363

late, 364

laugh, 147

launch, 394

law, 240

lay, 146

lazy, 203

lead, 214, 263

leaf, 304

league, 336

lean, 146

leap, 279

learn, 238

least, 222

leather, 157

leave, 279

ledger, 379

leech, 121

left, 179

leg, 140

lens, 373

less, 222

lesson, 239

let, 214

letter, 130

level, 179

lever, 373

liability, 379

license, 241

lie, 332, 343

lieutenant, 389

life, 243

lift, 279

light, 248, 296

lightning, 287

like, 259, 266

limb, 140

limit, 322

line, 320

linen, 157

link, 293

lion, 124

lip, 142

liquid, 392

listen, 324

little, 175

live, 243

liver, 145

lizard, 123

load, 312

loan, 379

local, 174

locate, 252

lock, 169

log, 304

logarithm, 291

logic, 275

logistics, 388

loincloth, 157

long, 173

look, 325

loom, 157, 373

loose, 321

loot, 388

lord, 214

lore, 316

lose, 166, 312

lot, 172

loud, 324

love, 259

low, 173

loyal, 259

loyalist, 215

luck, 315

lump, 321

lunch, 206

lungs, 145

lust, 149

luxury, 379

lyrics, 134

machine, 372

mad, 198

magazine, 131

magic, 315

maid, 229

main, 266

maintain, 396

majesty, 214

major, 266, 389

make, 396

male, 229

malice, 332

man, 229

manage, 214

mane, 144

manifesto, 131

manner, 274

manners, 338

manufacture, 396

many, 171

map, 133

mar, 293

marble, 345

march, 279

mark, 322

market, 379

marquis, 218

marry, 227

marshal, 389

mass, 296

mast, 394

master, 214

match, 274

mate, 259

material, 296

matter, 296

mattress, 154

maxim, 131

may, 223

maybe, 237

maze, 339

mead, 207

meadow, 287

meal, 206

mean, 266, 332

meanwhile, 364

measure, 134, 261

meat, 206

mechanical, 372

medical, 243

meet, 337

melody, 134

member, 170

memory, 266

mend, 396

menstruation, 145

mental, 267

mention, 343

merchant, 377

mercury, 263

mercy, 336

mere, 382

merit, 338

merry, 199

mess, 274

message, 341

metal, 185, 263

metaphor, 131

meteor, 137, 139

meteorology, 139

meter, 134, 261

microscope, 373

middle, 179

midnight, 366

might, 223

mighty, 183

mile, 261

military, 387

milk, 207

mill, 373

million, 289

millipede, 120

mind, 267

miniature, 175

ministry, 215

minor, 268

minute, 365

mirror, 372

misery, 198

miss, 279

mission, 214

mist, 287

mistake, 183

mix, 293

mock, 343

mold, 243

mole, 124

molecule, 296

moment, 364

money, 377

moneylender, 379

monk, 316

monkey, 124

monogamy, 227

monster, 115

month, 364

moon, 137

more, 222

morning, 365

mortal, 243

mortgage, 379

most, 171, 222

mother, 227

motor, 372

mount, 279

mountain, 287

mouse, 115

moustache, 142

mouth, 142

move, 279

much, 171

multiply, 291

murder, 332

murmur, 344

muscle, 144

mushroom, 118

music, 134

must, 223

mute, 341

mutter, 344

mystery, 130, 267

myth, 131

nadir, 137

nail, 373

naïve, 268

naked, 156

name, 341

napkin, 373

narrow, 173

nasty, 382

nation, 214

native, 335

nature, 287

naughty, 382

nausea, 243

navel, 141

navigation, 394

navy, 388

near, 174

nebula, 137

necessary, 267

neck, 142

need, 312

needle, 157

negative, 291

negotiate, 379

neighbor, 335

neighborhood, 150

neither, 223

nephew, 227

nervous, 198

nest, 115

net, 373

neurosis, 268

neutron, 296

never, 202

new, 364

newcomer, 336

newspaper, 131

next, 364

nice, 382

niece, 227

night, 366

nightmare, 268

nine, 289

nipple, 141

no, 223

noble, 214

nobody, 171

nod, 147

noise, 324

none, 171

nonsense, 275

noodle, 207

noon, 366

nor, 222

normal, 202, 384

north, 179

nose, 142

not, 223

note, 134, 324

nothing, 171

notice, 325

nought, 171

noun, 225

nova, 139

now, 364

number, 261, 291

nurse, 243

oar, 394

obey, 240

object, 320

oblique, 180

observe, 324

obvious, 383

occasion, 202

occupy, 252

occur, 202

octopus, 121

odd, 291, 384

of, 253

off, 253

offer, 316, 377

office, 151, 214

often, 202

old, 364

omen, 316

on, 253

once, 202

one, 289

only, 172

onto, 253

open, 170

operate, 372

opossum, 123

opportunity, 202

oppose, 167

opposite, 274

opposition, 137

optimist, 268

or, 222

orange, 159

oratory, 131

orbit, 137

orc, 115

order, 183, 274

ordinary, 384

ore, 263

organization, 336

organize, 274

origin, 204, 282

other, 223

ought, 223

out, 253

outside, 253

oven, 207

over, 253

overhead, 253

overthrow, 168

owl, 125

own, 312

pace, 279

pack, 170, 312

paddle, 394

page, 130, 131

pain, 198

paint, 132

pair, 289

palace, 151

pale, 248

palm, 141

pan, 207

panel, 320

panic, 199

pants, 157

paper, 345

parallel, 180

pardon, 332

parent, 227

park, 150

parrot, 125

parry, 388

part, 322

particular, 274

partner, 259, 379

party, 336

pass, 279

passage, 282

passion, 198

past, 364

pasta, 207

pastry, 207

patch, 396

path, 282

patient, 243, 336

pattern, 274

pause, 202

pay, 378

peace, 167

peasant, 287

peel, 294

peer, 214

pelican, 125

pelvis, 145

pen, 131

pencil, 131

penguin, 125

peninsula, 393

penis, 141

people, 229, 336

perceive, 324

perfect, 382

perform, 130

perhaps, 223

period, 364

permanent, 364

permit, 214

perpendicular, 180

person, 229

personality, 268

pessimist, 268

petal, 304

photon, 296

physical, 296

pick, 267

picture, 132

pidgin, 341

pie, 207

piece, 322

pike, 388

pile, 320

pilgrim, 316

pill, 243

pillow, 154

pilot, 394

pimple, 243

pin, 157

pink, 159

pipe, 373

pirate, 241

pitchfork, 373

pity, 198

place, 252

plain, 287, 384

plaintiff, 241

plan, 274

planet, 137

plant, 304

plate, 207

plateau, 287

platypus, 123

play, 130, 338

plaza, 150

pleasant, 198

please, 338

pleasure, 198

pliers, 373

plow, 287, 373

pocket, 170

pock-mark, 243

poem, 131

point, 146, 320

poison, 207

pole, 321

police, 240

polite, 338

politics, 214

pollinate, 115

poncho, 157

pond, 393

pool, 393

poor, 378

popular, 384

populate, 336

port, 150

position, 252

possess, 312

possible, 237

post, 320

pot, 207

pour, 392

powder, 345

power, 214

practical, 396

practice, 183

praise, 338

pray, 316

predict, 268

prefer, 267

prejudice, 268

prepare, 267, 372

present, 204, 364

preside, 215

press, 281

pretty, 383

price, 379

priest, 316

prince, 215

prison, 152, 240

private, 389

prize, 339

probable, 237

problem, 274

proceed, 202

process, 202

produce, 396

professor, 239

profit, 379

program, 274

progress, 279

promise, 378

proper, 338

property, 312

prophecy, 316

propose, 337

prosper, 379

protect, 167

protest, 167

proton, 296

proud, 332

prove, 237

proverb, 131

provide, 396

prudent, 383

public, 336

pudding, 207

pull, 279

pump, 373

punish, 241

puppet, 339

pure, 382

purple, 159

purpose, 274

purse, 379

pursue, 281

push, 281

put, 312

puzzle, 274

pyramid, 321

quarrel, 168

quarter, 289

queen, 215

queer, 384

question, 343

quick, 279

quiet, 324

quite, 382

rabbit, 115

race, 279, 339

radiate, 248

radical, 215

raft, 394

rag, 156

raid, 387

rain, 287

rainbow, 287

raise, 280

rake, 373

range, 274

rank, 215

rapid, 280

rapids, 393

rare, 202

rash, 168, 243

rat, 124

rate, 261

rather, 223

ratio, 261

ray, 248

razor, 373

reach, 146

read, 131

ready, 267, 372

real, 238, 291

realize, 267

reason, 238, 274

receive, 312

recognize, 267

record, 131

recover, 243

recruit, 388

red, 159

reflect, 248

reformer, 215

refrain, 131

refrigerator, 154

refugee, 336

refuse, 378

regular, 384

relate, 274

relax, 198

relief, 198

religion, 316

remain, 280

remake, 396

remember, 267

remind, 267

remote, 174

remove, 312

rent, 379

repeat, 202

reply, 343

report, 343

represent, 267

reputation, 338

require, 267

reside, 336

resist, 167

respect, 337

respond, 343

responsible, 215

rest, 146

result, 184

retreat, 388

return, 280

reveal, 324

revenge, 168

revolt, 387

rhinoceros, 124

rhyme, 131

rhythm, 131

rib, 145

ribbon, 321

rich, 378

riddle, 275

ride, 280

rifle, 388

right, 179, 238

rim, 323

ring, 320

rip, 294

rise, 278

risk, 184

river, 393

road, 150, 282

roar, 344

robe, 156

robin, 125

rock, 345

rod, 321

role, 203

roll, 282

romance, 131, 259

roof, 153

room, 153

root, 304

rope, 373

rose, 304

rot, 243

rough, 321

round, 321

routine, 338

row, 320, 394

royal, 215

rudder, 394

rude, 338

ruin, 387

rule, 215, 240

run, 280

rush, 280

Russian

alphabet, 9

sack, 170

sacrifice, 316

sad, 198

sadist, 332

safe, 167

sail, 394

salamander, 122

salt, 207

salty, 326

same, 274

sand, 345

sandal, 157

sane, 268

sarcasm, 344

sated, 148

satisfy, 199

sauce, 207

sausage, 207

savanna, 287

save, 167

saw, 373

say, 341

scale, 143, 261, 373

scar, 322

scarce, 172

scene, 131, 252

scheme, 275

school, 239

science, 238

scissors, 373

score, 339

scout, 387

scrap, 322

scratch, 146

scream, 344

screen, 373

screw, 373

script, 131

scurvy, 243

sea, 393

search, 281

season, 371

seat, 154

second, 289, 366

secret, 267

see, 325

seed, 304

seek, 281

seem, 324

self, 223

sell, 378

semen, 145

send, 312

sense, 324

separate, 274

sergeant, 389

serious, 199

serve, 215

set, 312

settle, 336

seven, 289

several, 171

sew, 157

sewer, 150

sex, 148, 330

shadow, 248

shake, 282

shall, 223

shallow, 173

shaman, 316

shame, 199, 332, 337

shape, 321

share, 378

shark, 122

sharp, 321

shave, 142

she, 223

shed, 152

sheep, 124

sheet, 154

shelf, 154

shell, 170

shelter, 152

shield, 388

shift, 282

shine, 248

ship, 394

shirt, 157

shit, 144

shiver, 282

shock, 199

shoe, 157

shoot, 387

shop, 379

short, 173

should, 223

shoulder, 140

shout, 344

shovel, 373

show, 378

shrew, 124

shrug, 146

shudder, 282

shut, 170

shy, 199

sick, 243

sickle, 373

side, 179

sigh, 147

sight, 325

sign, 341

signal, 341

significant, 267

silent, 325

silk, 157, 345

silly, 383

silver, 263

similar, 275

simple, 384

sin, 332

since, 253

sine, 291

sing, 134

single, 289

sink, 154, 280

sir, 215

sister, 227

sit, 146

situation, 274

six, 289

size, 175

skeleton, 145

skill, 396

skin, 140

skirt, 157

skull, 145

sky, 287

slap, 146

slaughter, 332

slave, 215

sled, 373

sleep, 148

sleet, 287

sleeve, 157

slide, 280

slight, 383

slip, 280

sloth, 332

slow, 280

small, 175

smell, 324

smile, 148

smoke, 249

smooth, 321

snail, 121

snake, 115

snap, 293

sneak, 281

sneeze, 148

snore, 148

snot, 145

snow, 287

so, 223

sob, 344

society, 336

soda, 207

soft, 384

soldier, 387

sole, 141

solid, 322

solitary, 336

solstice, 139

solve, 275

some, 171

somewhat, 172

son, 227

soon, 364

sorry, 199

sort, 275

soul, 316

sound, 325

soup, 207

sour, 326

source, 282

south, 180

sow, 287

space, 252

sparrow, 125

speak, 341

spear, 387

special, 382

spectacles, 373

speed, 280

spell, 316

spend, 378

spice, 207

spicy, 326

spider, 115

spill, 392

spin, 157

spine, 145

spirit, 316

spit, 145, 148

splash, 392

spoil, 294

sponge, 373

spoon, 207

sport, 339

spot, 322

spread, 282

spring, 371, 393

spy, 387

squad, 387

square, 150, 321

squeeze, 281

squirrel, 124

stab, 294

stable, 202

stage, 131

stair, 153

stalk, 115, 304

stand, 146

star, 137

stare, 325

start, 202

startle, 199

state, 275

station, 152

statue, 133

stay, 280

steady, 202

steal, 240

steam, 392

steel, 263

steer, 394

stem, 304

step, 153

step-, 227

stern, 394

stew, 207

stick, 304, 312, 321

stiff, 322

still, 364

sting, 294

stink, 326

stir, 293

stocking, 157

stomach, 145

stone, 185, 345

stool, 154

stop, 203

store, 378

stork, 125

storm, 287

story, 131

stove, 154

straight, 180

strait, 393

strange, 384

stranger, 336

strangle, 332

strategy, 388

stream, 393

street, 150

stretch, 282

stride, 280

strike, 167

string, 373

strip, 156, 321

stroke, 243

strong, 184

structure, 396

struggle, 167

study, 239

stuff, 345

stumble, 281

stump, 304

stupid, 267

subject, 203

subpoena, 241

substance, 345

subtract, 291

succeed, 184

such, 172

suck, 148

sudden, 364

suffer, 199

suffice, 312

sugar, 207

suggest, 343

suit, 241, 384

summer, 371

summons, 241

sun, 137

supply, 396

support, 215, 337

suppose, 267

sure, 238

surface, 322

surgery, 243

surprise, 199

surrender, 388

surround, 252

survive, 243

suspect, 167

swallow, 125, 148

swamp, 287

swarm, 115

swear, 240, 343

sweat, 145

sweet, 325

swift, 364

swim, 280

swing, 282

switch, 373

sword, 387

sympathy, 268

system, 275

table, 154

taboo, 316

tact, 338

tactics, 388

tail, 143

take, 312

tale, 131

talk, 341

tall, 173

tame, 115

tapestry, 154

tar, 345

task, 184, 396

taste, 325

tax, 215

tea, 207

teach, 239

tear, 145, 293

technique, 396

telescope, 373

tell, 341

temple, 316

temporary, 364

tempt, 332

ten, 289

tent, 152

term, 341

terrible, 382

terror, 199

test, 238

testicles, 141

testimony, 241

than, 223

thank, 338, 343

that, 222

the, 222

theater, 131

then, 222

theory, 238

there, 222

therefore, 222

thermometer, 373

they, 223

thick, 173

thief, 241

thigh, 141

thin, 173

thing, 321

think, 267

third, 289

thirst, 148

this, 222

thorn, 304

thou, 223

though, 222

thousand, 289

thread, 157, 373

threat, 167

three, 289

throat, 142

throne, 215

through, 253

throw, 312

thrust, 280

thumb, 141

thunder, 287

thus, 222

ticket, 373

tie, 294

tiger, 124

tight, 322

time, 364

tin, 263

tiny, 175

tip, 323

tire, 148

to, 253

today, 366

toe, 141

together, 336

toil, 396

toilet, 154

tomorrow, 366

tone, 344

tongue, 142

tonight, 366

too, 172

tooth, 142

top, 180

topic, 238

torch, 373

torture, 168, 241

total, 261

touch, 146

toward, 253

towel, 373

tower, 152

town, 150

toy, 339

trace, 281

track, 282

trade, 378

tragedy, 131

trail, 282

train, 184, 373

translate, 131

transparent, 326

trap, 167

travel, 282

treasure, 378

treat, 243

treaty, 215

tree, 304

tremble, 283

triangle, 321

tribe, 336

trick, 167, 275

trip, 282

triumph, 167

troll, 115

trouble, 184

true, 238

trunk, 304

trust, 337

try, 184

tube, 321

tunnel, 150

turn, 283

turtle, 122

tusk, 144

twelve, 289

twenty, 289

twice, 289

twig, 304

twin, 290

twist, 283

two, 289

typewriter, 131

tyrant, 215

ugly, 383

umbrella, 373

uncle, 227

under, 253

underling, 215

understand, 267

unite, 336

universe, 137

university, 239

unless, 222

until, 253

up, 180, 253

upon, 253

upper, 253

urgent, 268

urine, 145

use, 373

usual, 384

usurp, 215

vacation, 282

vagina, 141

valley, 287

value, 379

vampire, 115

vanish, 204

various, 171

vary, 203

vassal, 215

vast, 175

veil, 157

velvet, 157

verb, 225

vertical, 180

very, 172

vestibule, 153

veteran, 388

victim, 203

victory, 167

view, 325

village, 150

villain, 332

violent, 167

virus, 117

viscount, 218

visible, 325

vision, 325

visit, 282

voice, 341

volcano, 287

volume, 322

vomit, 148

vote, 215

vow, 343

vulgar, 338

vulture, 125

vulva, 141

wagon, 373

waist, 141

wait, 268

wake, 148

walk, 280

wall, 153

wander, 280

want, 268

war, 387

warm, 296

warn, 167

wart, 243

wash, 392

waste, 373

watch, 325, 373

water, 185, 392

wave, 392

way, 282

we, 223

weak, 184

weapon, 387

wear, 156

weary, 199

weave, 157

web, 294

weed, 304

week, 364

weigh, 296

welcome, 338

well, 382

werewolf, 115

west, 180

wet, 392

whale, 124

what, 224

whatever, 223

wheel, 373

when, 224

where, 224

whether, 224

which, 224

while, 222, 224

whine, 344

whip, 293

whisper, 344

whistle, 148, 344

white, 159

who, 224

whole, 171, 291

why, 224

wicked, 382

wide, 173

wield, 388

wife, 227

wild, 287

will, 223, 268

win, 168

wind, 287

window, 153

wine, 207

wing, 143

winter, 371

wipe, 392

wise, 383

wit, 268

witch, 316

with, 253

within, 253

without, 253

witness, 241

wizard, 316

wolf, 124

woman, 229

womb, 145

wombat, 123

wonder, 268

wood, 185, 345

woodpecker, 125

wool, 157

word, 341

work, 396

world, 287

worldly, 338

worry, 199

worship, 316

worth, 379

would, 223

wound, 243, 294

wrap, 156

wrench, 373

wrinkle, 323

wrist, 141

writ, 241

write, 131

wrong, 238

yard, 287

yawn, 148

year, 364

yeast, 118

yell, 344

yellow, 159

yesterday, 366

yet, 364

yoke, 373

you, 223

young, 364

zenith, 137

zinc, 263

zombie, 115

[1] “Sf” means science fiction or science fantasy or speculative fiction, as you like.

[2] Since we’re doing etymology, let’s answer the question. Of course, you drive on a driveway. A parkway was originally a broad boulevard with a grassy (park-like) margin. The verb park was once to leave a vehicle in a yard (a park).

[3] The continuum may vary in different domains, however. A cool star, for instance, is far hotter than a hot car engine.

[4] I’ve included the original partly to point out how much smoother it is. The cumbersome repetitions of ‘ones’ and ‘those’ are not needed in Spanish.

[5] When thou visitest R. Androse’s house, taste not his alchymical concoctions.

[6] There’s a reason for the rabbits: they were introduced to England by the Normans.

[7] Compare colloquial He got it. Children often mistake this as He gots it, ‘correcting’ what now looks like a strange use of the past tense.

[8] Greek εὐ- is normally ‘good’, as in euphony, but in taxonomic names should be taken as ‘true’.

[9] Except that a brimless hat or a bonnet are gorros.

[10] More accurately, there is a second parameter, called polarization. Our eyes aren’t sensitive to it, probably because most light in nature is unpolarized. There are exceptions— e.g., light bouncing off water is polarized. Patterns in the sky made by polarization are used by some insects to orient themselves.

[11] Really they’re named for a mine near the village. Lanthanides are very hard to separate, so if you have a sample with one, you’ve pretty much got them all.

[12] I’ve used traditional characters here, as they’re what you’re most likely to see on restaurant menus outside China.

[13] This originated in expressions like Je ne vais pas ‘I won’t go a step’. This was extended to any verb; then in the modern spoken language ne could be omitted, leaving pas as the marker of negativity.

[14] Freud’s terms were Es, Ich, Über-ich ‘it, I, over-I’; his English translator Latinized them.

[15] Those are the usual English terms, but Paul actually used the sex-neutral ἄνθρωπος.

[16] There are exceptions— e.g. metals, where the outermost electrons aren’t tied to an atom, but smear out over the substance. Ions (atoms with extra or missing electrons) also persist happily dissolved in water.

[17] The mass of the neutrons can be important chemically, however.

[18] This sounds amusing today, but of course the ecclesiastical sense precedes the biological. Both derive from Latin prīmum ‘first’.

[19] For more see William Poundstone’s Priceless; his subject is prices but this turns out to involve a lot of psychology.

[20] In medieval usage flower could be used for the best part of anything— the flower of chivalry. Refined grain was flower (of wheat), now spelled flour.

[21] A ξήριον was originally a healing powder, then an agent of transmutation. It was Arabized as al-iksīr, and came back to Europe as elixir.

[22] Yet another derivative of ‘stand’.