Posts Tagged ‘language’
“Once upon a time, words began to vanish from the language of children. They disappeared so quietly that at first almost no one noticed – fading away like water on stone.”*…
Tales of love and adventure from 1,000 years ago reveal a dazzling range of now-extinct English pronouns. They capture something unique about how people once thought about “two-ness.” Sophie Hardach on why they died out…
Which word would you use to refer to yourself? “I”, presumably, in the singular. And how about you and a group of people? “We”, of course, in the plural.
But how about you and one other person?
In modern English, there is no word for that. You would probably just use “we” or “the two of us”.
But more than 1,000 years ago, you would have said: “wit”.
This term, once also used affectionately to describe the closeness between two people, is one of many personal pronouns that have been lost or transformed amid huge social and political change over the centuries. The English language has become simplified – but at times this has left gaps, creating confusion.
“Wit” means “we two” in Old English, a Germanic language spoken in England until about the 12th Century, which evolved into the English we speak today. Now completely lost, “wit” was part of an extinct group of pronouns used for exactly two people: the dual form, which also includes “uncer” or “unker” (“our” for two people) and “git” (“you two”). That dual form vanished from the English language around the 13th Century. (You can hear how some of these were pronounced in the short clips later in this article.)
“There’s a whole history in the [personal] pronouns”, including the impact of Viking and Norman invasions on the English language alongside shifting norms and customs that have changed how we talk, says Tom Birkett, a professor of Old English and Old Norse at University College Cork in Ireland.
Many Old English pronouns are still in use, says Birkett. Our oldest English personal pronouns include “he” and “it”, as well as “we”, “us”, “our”, “me” and “mine”, Birkett says. They have made it through more than 1,000 years of history and upheaval, almost intact.
“‘He’ definitely is a very old English form, and also ‘hit’, which lost the ‘h’ and became ‘it’,” Birkett says. The Old English “Ic” has also been resilient, losing only one letter, to become the modern English “I”.
But other pronouns were cast off – such as the once-common dual form. “It’s fairly widespread in Old English texts. Particularly in poetry, we get the use of ‘wit’ and ‘unc’ for ‘us two, the two of us’,” says Birkett…
Fascinating- read on: “Wit, unker, git: The lost medieval pronouns of English intimacy.”
* Robert Macfarlane, The Lost Words
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As we choose our words, we might recall that it was on this date in 1828 that Noah Webster copyrighted the first edition of his American Dictionary of the English Language. Published in two quarto volumes, it contained 70,000 entries, as against the high of 58,000 of any previous dictionary. Webster, who was 70 at the time, had published his first dictionary, A Compendious Dictionary of the English Language, in 1806, and had begun then the campaign of language reform (motivated by both nationalistic and philological concerns) that initiated the formal shift of American English spelling (center rather than centre, honor rather than honour, program rather than programme, etc.). His 1828 dictionary cemented those changes, and continued his efforts to include technical and scientific (not just literary) terms.
“One does not inhabit a country; one inhabits a language”*…
Our language is constantly evolving. Colin Gorrie offers a nifty illustration of the development of English…
A man takes a train from London to the coast. He’s visiting a town called Wulfleet. It’s small and old, the kind of place with a pub that’s been pouring pints since the Battle of Bosworth Field. He’s going to write about it for his blog. He’s excited.
He arrives, he checks in. He walks to the cute B&B he’d picked out online. And he writes it all up like any good travel blogger would: in that breezy LiveJournal style from 25 years ago, perhaps, in his case, trying a little too hard.
But as his post goes on, his language gets older. A hundred years older with each jump. The spelling changes. The grammar changes. Words you know are replaced by unfamiliar words, and his attitude gets older too, as the blogger’s voice is replaced by that of a Georgian diarist, an Elizabethan pamphleteer, a medieval chronicler.
By the middle of his post, he’s writing in what might as well be a foreign language.
But it’s not a foreign language. It’s all English.
None of the story is real: not the blogger, not the town. But the languageis real, or at least realistic. I constructed the passages myself, working from what we know about how English was written in each period.
It’s a thousand years of the English language, compressed into a single blog post.
Read it and notice where you start to struggle. Notice where you give up entirely. Then meet me on the other side and I’ll tell you what happened to the language (and the blogger)…
Read it and reap: “How far back in time can you understand English?” from @colingorrie.bsky.social.
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As we travel through time, we might note that not every new emergence becomes sedimented into the evolutionary path, as we recall that on this date in 1980 that the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences awarded the first– and last– Grammy for Best Disco Recording. By the time that the Academy got around to it, disco was pretty much dead.
“I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor was the big winner that night. The other nominees were: Earth, Wind & Fire for “Boogie Wonderland,” Michael Jackson for “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough,” Donna Summer for “Bad Girls,” and Rod Stewart for “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” (In January 2020, Gaynor won her second Grammy Award in her career for her gospel album Testimony.)
“Language is the road map of a culture. It tells you where its people come from and where they are going”*…
From Colin Gorrie, how our world also shapes our language– and in the example he uses, also our sense of duty…
Debt is old. It’s older than writing. The first writing system, Sumerian cuneiform, evolved out of marks used for accounting. From the beginning, writing was used to track who had what, and, crucially, who owed what to whom.
The influence of debt also extends to language more generally. In many languages, including English, the experiences of owing and being owed provided the blueprint for more abstract notions of duty, necessity, and obligation.
Words meaning ‘to owe’ developed into abstract expressions of obligation so often that it’s useful to have a name for the phenomenon. I call it the owe-to-ought pipeline, named after one of the clearest cases of this development. The word ought is, in fact, nothing but the old past tense form of owe.
This pipeline shows us something about how language changes and develops over time. First, it shows how easily words can slide from one meaning to another, although that’ll be no surprise to anyone who has watched the development of slang over a few decades.
The more important lesson owe-to-ought teaches us has to do with where grammar comes from. Wait, don’t run away! This isn’t a grammar lesson. What I want to show you is how languages create grammar — a collection of abstract meanings such as plurality and verb tense — out of the concrete realities of our shared human experience.
And what human experience is more common than debt?
This is the story of three families of words: owe, should, and the word debt itself. Understand these three families, and you’ll understand how the English language built its way of expressing duty, necessity, and obligation — not to mention guilt and sin — out of the raw materials of accounting…
A case study in how our vocabulary (and our sense of obligation) evolved: “How debt shaped the way we speak,” from @colingorrie.bsky.social.
* Rita Mae Brown
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As we acknowledge our antecedents, we might recall that it was on this date in 1950 that Rose Marie Reid was granted one of her several patents, US2535018A. A swimwear designer and manufacturer, Reid has already been the first swimsuit designer to use inner brassieres, tummy-tuck panels, stay-down legs, elastic banding, brief skirts, and foundation garments in swimwear, and the first designer to introduce dress sizes in swimwear, designing swimwear for multiple sizes and types of bodies, rather than just producing one standard size. This patent was, in its way, even more revolutionary– it was for a one-piece bathing suit made of elastic fabric “embodying a novel construction for causing it to snugly fit the body of a wearer in a flattering manner [that would] shape and support portions of the body of the wearer in areas of the bust and abdomen in a flattering manner without discomfort or impedance to free movements of the body.” The elastic fabric and elastic securing bands were designed to enable the garment to be put on without having buttoned openings which would “detract from the appearance of the garment.”
Reid assigned her patent to her company and enjoyed huge sales success, in part due to her impact in Hollywood and the motion picture industry. Famous screen actresses (e,g, Rita Hayworth, Marilyn Monroe, Jane Russell, and Rhonda Fleming) wore her swimsuits. And her suits also appeared in several California beach party films from the late 1950s and the early 1960s, including Gidget, Muscle Beach Party, and Where the Boys Are.
“When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less”*…
In an piece adapted/updated from his recent book, Unabridged: The Thrill of (and Threat to) the Modern Dictionary, Stefan Fatsis explores process(es) that determine our “Word[s] of the Year”…
Thirty-five years ago, the late English professor Allan Metcalf [see here] had an idea. “I was thinking that Time magazine has its Person of the Year,” he told me, “and why can’t we do for words what Time did for people?”
Metcalf assumed that the language pros at the American Dialect Society, which held the first WOTY vote in 1990, would nominate words “headed straight for our everyday vocabulary and secure places in the dictionaries.” But he misjudged human behavior. Lexicography is sober research committed quietly and alone. Word of the Year is a key party: You can’t be sure who you’ll go home with. The inaugural winner, bushlips, meaning “insincere political rhetoric,” barely lasted a news cycle.
After some eye-rolling, criteria were established: Was the word completely new? Had it been used before in other contexts? Was it “a major focus of human activity or behavior” in the previous year? Did it have staying potential? WOTY could be brand-new or newly popular. But it had to have been used widely and reflect the zeitgeist of the annum gone by.
Today there are around a dozen Words of the Year (Word of the Years?) in English, and WOTY season runs from late fall to early January. Dictionaries duke it out for attention, some touting their scientific methodology for picking a winner, others offering a nebulous alchemy of number-crunching and feel. The dialect society, the WOTY OG, conducts a live popular vote in a hotel ballroom at a language conference, the outcome based more often than not on vibes alone.
No matter the formula, selecting one word to define a year is serious business. It’s about the sharp lines of language and usage, how society adopts and spreads new terminology, and, increasingly, the dramatic ways that social media influence the way we write, talk, and interact. As a culture we’re forever searching for ways to make sense of our big, complicated, confusing world. WOTY neatly boxes up 365 days in a single, simple word (technically a “vocabulary item”; phrases, compounds, and affixes also are eligible). It’s media catnip and hot-take gold.
“It gives people this sense of ownership,” says New York Times Wordplay columnist Sam Corbin, who’s writing a book about what she calls the WOTY-verse. “We have always been exploring new ways to fill gaps in vocabulary but also respond to culture with words. It’s delicious.”
For the dialect society, which crowns a champ last, the job is so weighty that it takes two days to pick a winner—nominations one night, balloting the next. I’ve participated in around a decade’s worth of votes. I check my journalistic objectivity at the door and do my linguistic duty. Every year, a pattern emerges. A few words totally surprise, some a product of Gen Z (or Gen Alpha) or gamer culture that’s bypassed middle-aged me (hello, skibidi, a 2023 nominee). Recency bias is common—as you’d expect in a vote of trending language. So is observer bias, with crowd approval often directly proportional to shock value (the suffix -ussy winning in 2022; rawdog in 2024).
Looking at the victorious words from a distance, you might nod in recognition of a specific event (chad, 2000; bailout, 2008), cringe at terminology that dates you (World Wide Web, 1995), or wonder what the hell people were thinking (to pluto, a verb meaning to demote, as in what happened to Pluto when it was reclassified from full-fledged to dwarf planet, 2006). But that’s the genius of Word of the Year. We’re suckers for media-driven argument engines. It’s a short walk from “LeBron is better than Jordan!” to “They should have picked rizz!”
Since around 2010, when the newsy app defeated the funner nom—as in the onomatopoetic nomnomnom, to connote eating—younger voters (mostly grad students and junior faculty) have tilted the conversation away from dictionary-type words toward social media and online slang. “It’s generally who makes the best argument in the room, and you can’t predict that,” says Ben Zimmer, chair of the society’s New Words Committee.
A couple of votes stand out for me, for linguistic and cultural reasons. One was in Austin, Texas, in January 2017. Donald Trump had just been elected president, and nearly half of the WOTY nominees were related to him: post-truth, basket of deplorables, unpresidented, alt-right, fake news, locker-room banter, yuuuge. But the mood was ominous, not apocalyptic. It was, after all, pre-inauguration, pre-Charlottesville, pre-impeachments, pre-pandemic, pre-2020 election, pre-January 6, pre-felony indictments, pre-felony convictions, pre-assassination attempts, pre-2024 election, pre-ICE raids: pre-everything.
WOTY promised closure, and everyone was down for that. In the middle of the room, Dan Villareal, a linguistics postdoc, stood up. “Okay,” he said. “It’s 2016. Dumpster fire?” Earlier in the evening, the fire emoji, and also the trashcan and fire emojis used together to represent dumpster fire, won the emoji category. One of the older attendees had asked what dumpster fire meant. “It is used to describe an incredibly catastrophic situation,” Zimmer explained. “Like some people think 2016 was one long dumpster fire.”
Normalize, post-truth, and the fire emoji also got WOTY nominations—the first time an emoji had made the final group. So did woke. “Granted it’s been around a while,” cherubic Stanford linguist John Rickford, a titan in the field, said. “But only if you stay woke can you put out the dumpster fire.” The house was brought down, and I figured it was game over. But then another postdoc, Nicole Holliday, lobbied against the word—“because it was appropriated from the Black solidarity movement in the 1960s and I think that we are so late to this game and last year was anything but woke,” she said. Dumpster fire beat woke in a runoff.
The journey of the two words since then demonstrates WOTY’s unpredictability and its historical value. Dumpster fire was relatively new and the WOTY early-warning system worked; Merriam-Webster added it just 14 months later. Woke, by contrast, would take a far more disturbing linguistic ride. The dialect society voters who (literally) snapped their fingers in approval for woke would watch it get twisted by political commentators and a demagogic right-wing into what was tantamount to a slur.
The dialect society’s last two votes also feel, in hindsight, like markers. When the group gathered in New York to pick the 2023 winner, Joe Biden was president and Trump was a long shot to return to power. The Israel-Hamas war drew a nomination of ceasefire, but the Barbie movie, AI, and online slang dominated the discourse. The most spirited debate was over a word that didn’t appear in Sam Corbin’s Times write-up of the event: cunty, “having an audaciously exceptional appearance or attitude.”
The winner straddled the line between serious and fun: enshittification, meaning a gradual deterioration in the quality of internet platforms like Facebook, Twitter, and TikTok. The word captured the growing frustration with internet subservience and AI overlords. The 2024 vote, in Philadelphia, also was relatively apolitical; maybe we were all terrified about Trump’s impending inauguration. Rawdog was subversive and fun. The runner-up, sanewashing, was doomy, but more of a criticism of how the media handled Trump than of Trump himself.
Kicking off the 2025 WOTY campaign, Dictionary.com eschewed the perilous state of the union and opted for the ubiquitous (and annoying, to adults) Gen Alpha nonsense catchphrase 67 (also written 6-7 or six seven). The British dictionary Collins went with the AI term vibe coding, which it said “captures something fundamental about our evolving relationship with technology.” Other dictionaries are likely to lean into our quick descent into competitive authoritarianism and choose an existing word that was of the moment and looked up a lot: totalitarian, fascism (for which former Dictionary.com editor John Kelly made the case), deportation, crackdown, tariff, shutdown. (Surreal and unprecedented, fyi, have already had a turn; chaos is available.)
For the American Dialect Society voters, current-events words need to capture the seriousness of the political moment, possess some cultural stickiness, and be lexically dynamic. Language writer Nancy Friedman, who tracks potential WOTYs on her Substack, Fritinancy, flagged DOGE as a verb meaning to fire or purge and as a “combining form,” as in DOGEboys or DOGEbags. Various tariff spinoffs—such as tariffied, which has appeared in lots of headlines—also show promise. Other candidates unite the sober and the clever: Kavanaugh stop, broligarchy, trolligarchy, sadopopulism.
Brianne Hughes, a linguist and writer, maintains a running list of 2025 WOTY hopefuls on the alt-dictionary site Wordnik—around 250 of them so far, including #NoKings, Coldplayed, clanker, aura farming, Straw Hat Pirates, Gen Z stare, and chopped unc, a combo of the internet slang chopped and unc. (Some late additions: Young Republicans, in the wake of a Politico story revealing racist banter in a GOP group chat; Trumpstein files; and Gestapo Barbie, a derogative nickname for Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem.)
“Choosing the Word of the Year is No Easy Feat“- the history of who and how, from @stefanfatsis.bsky.social in @literaryhub.bsky.social
See also Fatsis on the precarious status of the dictionary: “I was reading the dictionary. I thought it was a poem about everything.”
* Lewis Carroll (Humpty Dumpty in Through the Looking-Glass)
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As we contemplate coinage, we might recall that it was on this date in 1964 that The Animals recorded “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood,” which had been first recorded by Nina Simone earlier that year. It was the first single released from their album Animal Tracks (followed by “We Gotta Get Out of This Place”).
“Show, don’t tell”*…
Some things are very difficult to explain using words alone; they require physical demonstration. Consider, for example, the distinction between right and left. It turns out that this difficulty has been at the heart of the great scientific debates about the nature of space…
… explain right and left to a friend using language alone and without using the words right and left. As you can only use language, you can’t show your hands or use pictures!
It’s tricky, isn’t it? The difference between right and left isn’t as straightforward as it seems. If we dig a little deeper, we will find that the science behind right and left is surprising, complex, and profound.
How can two things be identical yet different at the same time? This was the question that puzzled one of humankind’s greatest thinkers, Immanuel Kant.
Many of the great debates of the Scientific Revolution during the 16th and 17th centuries concerned the nature of space. The English polymath Sir Isaac Newton proposed that space was absolute: space is an entity in itself and exists even without objects, matter, or living beings filling it.
In contrast, Gottfried Leibniz, Newton’s bitter rival, argued that space was relational: it only existed because of the relations between the objects that fill it. If objects do not exist, then space doesn’t either.
Meanwhile, Immanuel Kant used handedness to give his two cents. He asked us to imagine a solitary hand floating in an otherwise completely empty space. The hand must either be a right hand or a left hand, and this will be the case even in a space where no relationships between objects can be observed. Kant noted that our hands are geometrically and mathematically identical in every way possible, whether it be the lengths of the fingers or the angles between them. Yet, the one fundamental difference between them—that one is a right hand, and the other is a left hand—exists in itself; it is intrinsic to the hand and not related to any other object, similar to space itself. Space has an absolute property.
Ultimately, Kant’s theories of handedness were not foolproof and could not be used to prove that space is absolute. Indeed, Kant would switch between the Newtonian and Leibnizian schools of thought during his lifetime. However, Kant did show just how puzzling and difficult it is to explain why right hands and left hands are identical but different. That intrinsic quality of handedness is almost impossible to explain without showing, and this is the root of the Ozma Problem.
In 1960, Project Ozma was launched in West Virginia. Named after the ruler of the fictional Land of Oz, Project Ozma was a huge telescope that listened for signals from space, signals that could be proof of extraterrestrial intelligence. Unfortunately, the project only ran for a few months, and it had no major success.
Let’s say the telescope had picked up these signals. How would we on Earth respond? We would need to convert their signals, after which we would send our own. Telescopes and computers use binary code. And directionality is crucial to understanding binary, as it is read left to right and decoded right to left. So, if we are sending binary signals to aliens, we need to be sure they understand which direction is left and which is right. How can we be sure they share our understanding of directions?
This is the Ozma Problem, a thought experiment first described by Martin Gardner [see the almanac entry here] in his 1964 book, The Ambidextrous Universe. In this book, Gardner pitched a number of solutions.
Before going into Gardner’s work, here’s a seemingly simple solution: lay your palms face down on a table and equally spaced from your body. The thumb that’s closer to your heart? That’s the left side. The right side is defined by the thumb farther away from the heart.
Another potential solution would be to use north and south as reference points: when facing north, everything towards east is the right side, and everything pointing west is the left side.
The problem with these solutions is that they both rely on a shared point of reference, like the direction of north-south-east-west and the location of the heart. In no way can we be certain that an alien species would share these!
Some of the solutions that Gardner proposed in his book use magnetic fields, planetary rotation, and the direction of current flow. And as we discussed before, they all fail because of the need for a shared point of reference.
So, after centuries of wondering whether we are alone in the universe, we finally make contact with an alien species, only to find that our inability to explain something as mundane as right and left precludes meaningful dialogue. The Ozma Problem demonstrates the limits of our language, and it challenges anthropocentrism, which is the notion that human beings and our experiences are the center of the universe.
Many thought problems are hypothetical and can’t be solved, but the Ozma Problem does have a solution. In fact, the solution already existed when Gardner first described it. But it’s not immediately associated with right-left asymmetry or aliens.
While we cannot be sure that aliens share our anatomy or our perception of north-south-east-west, if they inhabit the same universe as us, we can assume the fundamental forces of physics apply to them too.
There are four fundamental forces of physics: gravity, electromagnetism, strong nuclear forces (the force that binds atomic nuclei together), and weak nuclear forces (the force that causes atomic decay).
Up until 1956, it was assumed these fundamental forces all display parity. Parity is an important concept in physics, and it can be demonstrated visually by using a mirror. If we stand in front of a mirror holding an apple in our right hand and then drop it, the reflection will show it falling to the ground, but the apple will fall from your left hand. Gravity still works in the reflection. Likewise, if we look at the strong forces binding atomic nuclei and then observe them in a mirror, the images would be identical, just with right and left switched.
But in 1956, Professor Chien-Shiung Wu, a physicist, conducted a ground breaking experiment. She was able to prove that the weak nuclear force—the decay of atoms—did not always demonstrate parity. The weak nuclear force does not adhere to mirror symmetry.
Professor Wu showed this by observing the decay of cobalt-60 atoms. When atoms decay, they spin out electrons. Up until then, scientists had always observed these electrons spinning out equally in all directions. But Professor Wu saw that cobalt-60 will always preferentially spin out electrons in a certain direction. In other words, the movement is asymmetric. For some reason, the decay of atoms is the one fundamental force that does not adhere to parity or mirror symmetry, thus showing that directionality is intrinsic to the universe, just as Kant had postulated in the 18th century.
For the first time in history, it was proven that nature can prefer one direction. Very soon after Wu’s findings, physicists were able to prove that elementary particles known as neutrinos always spin towards the left.
What does this mean for our communication with aliens? If the aliens can replicate Professor Wu’s experiment and visualize the spin of electrons while cobalt-60 decays, they can orient right and left!
Ironically, Professor Wu was not afforded any sort of parity herself during her working life. Other scientists were recognized for research that could not have been achieved without hers. Today, the weak force remains one of the most important and mysterious topics in physics today, thanks to Professor Wu.
So, if the only way to scientifically and definitively define the difference between right and left is to build a particle accelerator and observe the decay of cobalt-60, clearly the difference is not as straightforward as it may first seem! The Ozma Problem is proof that the most mundane concepts are sometimes directly linked to the cosmos and speak to the nature of existence itself…
An essay by Dr. Maloy Das (see the bio in this unrelated– but also fascinating– article by him). From the remarkable blog, Fascinating World, scored a highly credible source by the MBFC for having proper sourcing, no failed fact-checks, and “highly factual” reporting. It’s the work of Krishna Rathuryan, currently a senior at a prep school in Princeton (where he’s also apparently a pretty accomplished distance runner) and team of his friends.
When language fails: “What Is The Ozma Problem, And Why Does It Matter?“
* attributed to playwright Anton Chekhov, who said said “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” It has, of course, become a motto for many writers across genre.
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As we explore explanation, we (especially any readers in or near Manhattan Beach, California) might note that today is one of the two days of the year (symmetrically on either side of the winter solstice, 37 days before and 37 after) when the public sculpture there, “Light Gate,” becomes a portal “unlocked” by the rays of the setting sun… as Atlas Obscura puts it, “a bit of Druidic paganism by way of high modern design.”
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