Writing with Puddleglum starts a week from today, on Tuesday, January 30.
In this week’s episode of The Habit Podcast, Brian Brown brings up Isaac Watts’s hymn “Jesus Shall Reign” (one of my favorites). Particularly, Brian speaks about these lines, which sound a little funny now:
Let every creature rise and bring
Peculiar honors to our King.
Peculiar, of course, is the word that got our attention. In the eighteenth century, when the hymn was written, peculiar didn’t mean “odd or strange” so much as “particular” or “special,” or “belonging to one person.” Watts’s idea was that every person and creature had unique and specific gifts to offer back to the King who gave those gifts in the first place.
Peculiar’s decline from “special” to “weird” is an example of pejoration, the semantic process by which a word goes from positive or neutral connotations to negative connotations. When words move the other direction, from negative connotations to positive, the process is called amelioration. Terrific, for example, used to mean “eliciting terror” before amelioration turned it into a synonym for neato.
You may be surprised to learn that the etymology of peculiar involves cows. In Latin pecū meant a herd of cows. Since cows were an important measure of wealth, the Latin word for private property was peculium. The same root, pecū appears in pecuniary (“relating to money”) and impecunious (“lacking in money). Peculiaris meant “relating to one’s personal property”—or, you might say, “relating to what belongs to a individual person.” So then, that which is peculiar belongs specifically to one person. One suspects that somewhere along the line, some church ladies somewhere started using peculiar half-euphemistically, half-ironically because it wouldn’t be nice to call somebody weird.
Fee is another word with cows in its past. The Old English word feoh originally meant “livestock” or “moveable property.” Again, since livestock was an important signifier of wealth, the meaning of feoh expanded to mean “riches, treasure, money.” There’s another strand going back through the Norman French side of the English language family, related to the word fief, but that strand also apparently ties back to the same origin as feoh. It’s cows all the way down.
This one really blew my mind: the word cattle comes to us along the same path, perhaps from the opposite direction. One way to calculate your wealth is to count the heads of your cows. Latin for “head” is caput; capitalis is the adjective form, “relating to the head.” Apparently that’s why the word capital came to mean “wealth.”In Norman French, the word became catel. In English we ended up both with capital (money-wealth), and cattle (cow-wealth).
One last bit of cow-related wordery: the Sanskrit word for war, gavisti, means literally, “the desire for more cows.” You go to war in order to get other tribe’s wealth—cows—for your tribe.
Moving on from cows, I also got interested in words related to idiosyncrasy, which is more or less a synonym for peculiarity, though it is more value-neutral. The first part of the word derives from the Greek idios, meaning “personal, private, pertaining to oneself.” The second part of the word, -syncrasy, means something like “personal makeup” or “mixture of characteristics.” Specifically, that’s syn (together) + krasis (mixture). Idiosyncrasy, then, is the way a particular person is mixed together. An idiom is a way of talking that is specific or peculiar to a group of people.
In case you have ever wondered whether the word idiot is related to idiom and/or idiosyncrasy, it is, though not directly. Again, idios means “personal, private, pertaining to oneself.” In ancient Greek, an idiotes was a person who, lacking professional skills, did not participate in public life, instead keeping to himself. In literal terms, an idiotes was a private person, but the usage came to be applied to the ignorant and the mentally challenged.
Tomorrow (Tuesday) evening I’ll be hosting a live half-hour discussion/mini-lesson/preview of Writing with Puddleglum called “Weather, Atmosphere, and Setting.” (Here’s the Zoom link.) I’ll send out another reminder with a Zoom link a couple of hours before the event this afternoon, but if you want to go ahead and add it to your calendar, you can do that here.
“Writing with Puddleglum” is a six-week online writing class based on C.S. Lewis’s book The Silver Chair. (Habit members, you won’t need to register; this class is included in your membership.)
Dates:
January 30 - March 4, 2023
Times for Live Zoom Discussion:
Student cohort: Tuesdays, 10-11 AM Central
Adult cohort: 1-2 PM Central
(Lectures are pre-recorded; you will watch them at your convenience before the Tuesday discussions)
Cost: $97
Intended Audience:
Student cohort: High-school and middle-school
Adult cohort: College-age and up
Registration is closed for The Habit Winter Writers’ Retreat, Feb 9-10. If you’d like to be added to the waiting list, send me an email.
Virtual Writing Rooms on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday
Tuesday Evening: “Weather, Atmosphere, and Setting”
Wednesday Morning: Habitations Poetry Group
There's a place for you in this vibrant community of writers. Find out more about The Habit Membership here.
Brian Brown knows why we create.
Brian Brown is the founder and executive director of The Anselm Society, an organization dedicated to a renaissance of the Christian imagination. Along with Jane Scharl, Brian edited a collection of essays called Why We Create: Reflections on The Creator, The Creation, and Creating. In this episode, Brian and I talk about the Creation, bringing order out of disorder, and the distinctions between cultivating, naming, and subcreating.
Thanks for this post. Linguistic pejoration is an important topic for me, having a son with a disability. Every Christmas, I write a post asking churches and musical groups to change a line in “Mary, Did You Know?” because of pejoration. I request that groups consider changing the line “The dumb will speak” to “The mute will speak” (same number of consonants and doesn’t change the meaning of the line or pacing of the song at all).
My twelve-year-old son can’t speak, you see. I cannot in good conscience wrap my arm around his shoulder at Christmastime and cry out, “The dumb will speak.” (I’m happy to cry out, and anticipate, that the mute will speak, however!) As of yet, no one in a position of power has changed that line for a church service or concert as a result of my pleas. However, these pleas have changed a few hearts and minds on an interpersonal level. I’ve convinced friends and family members to turn off the radio station when the song is played. Personally, I quietly walk out of the room anytime the song is played.
Many people don’t understand my anguish. “‘Dumb’ is a term that was used to describe muteness,” they say, blinking rapidly. I then try to explain the process of pejoration: “I know, but today the word ‘dumb’ has taken on a negative meaning. As such, we should choose a different word.” Some people get it. Others don’t. I write the same plea every Christmas either way.
Ooook, that explains “a peculiar people” as mentioned in 1 Peter. It all makes sense now.