Category: RaufLikesEtymology

Unveiling Surprising Etymological Connections | April 11 2025, 17:22

The seventh day of etymological excavation. Possibly the last—but who knows. The script still churns through dictionaries, and I continue to be amazed at how words distant in meaning can be close in origin.

Let’s start with something vivid. The words “peacock” and “crimson” are etymological relatives. “Peacock” entered Russian through German Pfäulein ← Pfau ← Latin pavō — “peacock.” And “crimson” is the color of a poppy in French ponceau, derived from paon (“peacock”), which also comes from pavō. Thus, “crimson” is essentially “peacock” color. Who would have thought.

“Apothecary” and “boutique” are etymological cousins. “Apothecary” comes from the Greek ἀποθήκη (“storehouse”). “Boutique” through Occitan and French, also from Greek, through Latin. One is about medicines, the other about dresses. But both are about “a place where something is stored and sold,” and both share the same ancestor.

“Lasso” and “lapel” are two words with opposite aesthetics, but share a common Latin ancestor laqueus — “noose, loop.” “Lasso” came through Spanish lazo → French lasso — pure cowboy stuff. “Lapel” came through the German Lätzchen, also pulling a thread from laqueus.

“Church” (kostel) and “chateau” might sound like the first is about Vilnius, the second about Bordeaux. In reality—both words come from the Latin castellum (“fortress”). “Church” came through Polish kościół — a church as a fortified building. “Chateau” — French castle, from the same source. Knights and priests—in the same etymological boat.

“Blackmail” and “chanson” have different meanings, but a common past. Both words trace back to Latin canō — “I sing.” “Chanson” directly means song. “Blackmail” through the French chantage, literally “singing” in the sense of “public disclosure” of something—i.e., compromising material. Didn’t know that, there’s a connection.

“Hyphen” and “motto” come from the Latin dīvidō (“to divide”), through different languages. “Hyphen” — “divider,” borrowed through German Divis. “Motto” — “slogan,” came from French devise. Both originally about division, but one divides words, the other—meanings.

“Sole” and “soil” are etymological twins. Both words come from Old Slavic подъшьва — “base, bottom.” One is in footwear, the other underfoot. Basically, the same: what you stand on. Come to think of it—logical.

“Hussar” and “course” are unexpected comrades in etymology. “Hussar” through Serbian gusar (“brigand”), from Latin cursus — “run, course.” Thus first: “fugitive,” then: “raider,” then: “hussar.” “Course” directly from cursus. All from the Latin verb currō — “to run.” Knights, universities, the currency market—all running.

The words “know,” “note,” “noble,” “cognition,” “notorious,” “gnosis,” etc., all in one form or another trace back to the Proto-Indo-European root ǵneh₃- — “to know, to recognize.”

“Cow” and “beef” are also twins: one from the Germanic root through Old English, the other from Latin bos through French boeuf. Historically from gʷṓws.

Decided to look for words ending in “age,” but not French. Found a dozen, but only “инструктаж” (“briefing”) passed the check. No instructage, of course, in French. More French morphology than French meaning.

Thank you for reading these posts all seven days. I think we can continue periodically, as more material accumulates.

Remember, all this was extracted through the automatic processing of an etymological dictionary. The script found words that were maximally distant in meaning but shared a common ancestor, plus filtered somewhat frequent words. Unfortunately, the dictionary is not perfect in marking and very much was omitted, but the result could be unhurriedly and not without pleasure processed.

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Exploring Surprising Etymological Connections | April 10 2025, 20:20

The sixth day of etymological curiosities, #RaufLikesEtymology. My script is still running, which parses dictionaries and finds unexpected pairs and groups of words with a common origin but different destinies. Today features an entire series of such etymological doublets and even triplets.

Canvas (canvas), cannabis (cannabis), and hemp (industrial cannabis) are relatives. All three stem from the ancient word κάνναβις (kánnabis) — “cannabis,” possibly of Scythian or Thracian origin. Cannabis came directly from Latin, denoting the plant. Canvas came through French canevas — it’s a fabric, initially made from hemp fibers. Hemp came through Germanic languages (Old English henep), all with the same root (henep<-hanapiz<-cannabis).

Cannibal, Caribbean, and Carib — another intriguing triplet.

The word cannibal is a corrupted form of Cariba, as Columbus and his crew called the local tribes. They were thought to be cannibals. Caribbean — a geographical name of the same root. Carib — an ethnonym, the self-name of the people. Thus, “cannibal, “Caribbean, and “Caribs are words from one etymological family, just with different reputations.

Deutsch and Dutch (as the Japanese call Germany) are etymological twins, all stemming from one Proto-Germanic root þeudō — “people.” Deutsch is “German” in German, literally “people’s language.” Dutch formerly referred to any Germanic people, now strictly the Dutch.

Doitsu — a Japanese loanword from German, introduced through exchange in the 19th century. But in general, each neighboring country calls Germany differently in their languages because Germany as a single state appeared relatively recently (in 1871), and before that, it was a mosaic of separate principalities, duchies, free cities, and other political entities. Hence, different names have become entrenched in various languages — most often not for all of Germany, but for a particular tribe, region, or ethnic group. The French call it Allemagne — from Alemanni, Italians — Germania, but in casual conversation might also say tedesco (German), from the same root as Deutsch, Latvians — Vācija, from an ancient Baltic word meaning “foreign or “foreigner, Finns and Estonians — Saksa and Saksamaa, from the Saxons — one of the Germanic tribes, Poles — Niemcy, from the Slavic němьcь, meaning “mute — those who don’t speak “our way,” are unintelligible. The same root is also in Old Slavic.

However, the Japanese say Doitsu — an adaptation of German Deutsch through Dutch intermediation, as the first Europeans to actively trade with Japan were indeed the Dutch.

Species and spice — both from the Latin speciēs, meaning “appearance, form. Species retained its scientific meaning — “species. Spice came through Old French espice, initially meaning “rare goods, and then narrowed down to “spices.” So spices are also “forms, just aromatic ones.

Corpus, corpse, corps — all from the Latin corpus (“body). But “Corpse” — a dead body, came through Old French cors, and “Corps” — an army corps, pronounced as “core, stuck with the French pronunciation, and “Corpus” — a legal or scientific “assembly of bodies, used in the academy.

Map and mop — etymological twins. Both originate from Latin mappa — “cloth, napkin. Simply, one through Old French became “map (because maps were drawn on fabric), and the other — “mop (by the direct use of the fabric).

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Exploring the Roots: A Daily Dive into Etymology | April 09 2025, 19:25

Day four of fascinating etymology! Here I am, scripting away at processing an etymological dictionary, discovering all sorts of curiosities, and sharing them daily.

The surname Biden likely originates from the verb bide, meaning “to endure, to wait. From the Old English bīdan and Germanic root. However, etymological dictionaries also mention Biden as a phonetic doublet of the root bouter (through the variant beat, “to hit”). Choose whichever you like more.

Interestingly, the word кретин (cretin) in Russian comes from the German word “Kretin” (simpleton). In turn, this word entered the German language from the French “crétin.” The French borrowed it from Latin, where it designated a Christian (Christiānus). By the way, Christ (Χριστός) literally means “the anointed one.”

The words sovereign (ruler, monarch) and soprano (soprano) originate from the same Latin root super — “above, beyond,” but entered the English language through different languages and cultural contexts, acquiring different meanings.

Everyone knows that the word “шедевр” (masterpiece) is French, from chef-d’œuvre — literally “chief work.” Chef comes from the Latin caput — head; hence la capitale (capital), captain, and capitol, which I wrote about a few days ago. And immediately it’s clear why in French chapitre is a chapter in a book, and capiteux means intoxicating, heady. Thus, Œuvre is work, labor. Interestingly, this word traces back to the Latin opera (in nominative case opus). Modus operandi — method of operation. Our operation is of the same lineage. From the same root also come the words ouvrier (worker) and les jours ouvrables (working days). Thus, opera is labor, as is opus. Right now, I’m listening to “Samson and Delilah,” quite fitting.

And this morning, I went to return some Amazon purchases to the Kohl store. They accept them there. So, not sure what else they accept, but Kohl is the same as alcohol. Both words derive from the Arabic root — الكحل (al-kuḥl). Initially, it meant “stibnite — a powdery mineral (usually antimony), used as a cosmetic for the eyes. Later, the meaning expanded in alchemy. First, it referred to any fine powder, then to a concentrated substance obtained by distillation, and finally to alcohol, as a product of distilling wine. In English, Kohl remained associated with cosmetics. But the Kohl’s store, of course, comes from the surname Kohl, German, Maxwell Kohl, and his surname in German means “cabbage.”

The word bedlam (meaning “chaos,” “mayhem”) originates from the name of the London hospital “St. Mary of Bethlehem,” which, since the 1400s, was designated for treating the mentally ill. Over time, the pronunciation of “Bethlehem” shifted to bedlam, and this term came to denote any situation where chaos and confusion reign.

Also, flask (“flask”) and fiasco (“fiasco”) share a common origin — the Proto-Germanic *flaskǭ — “bottle, container, encased container.” In Italian, a fiasco is a bottle. The expression fare fiasco — “to make a bottle” → “to mess up on stage” (in theatrical slang). Metaphorically: failure = “like a broken bottle” or “the loser pays for the bottle.” It entered English with this meaning through French.

It turns out Alice and Adelaide originate from the same Old High German name Adalheidis (adal — “noble,” heid / heit — “nature, essence, condition”).

Array and ready are etymological relatives, originating from the same Proto-Germanic root *raidaz, meaning “ready, organized, prepared.”

Going back to our cretins. I didn’t mention details earlier because it would have disrupted the “flow.” The word “cretin” appeared in Switzerland. More precisely, among the French-speaking people living in the Alps (this area is called Romandy). It’s particularly in mountainous areas where they often encounter endemic cretinism. The disease develops due to insufficient iodine in the mother’s diet during pregnancy.

In the 18th century, in Romandy, patients with cretinism were called “poor Christians” (pauvre chrétien). But they didn’t say chrétien, but crétin due to regional language characteristics. Other regions picked up this distorted word and started using it to describe people suffering from this disease. Hence the medical term “cretinism (when the thyroid gland releases insufficient hormones due to iodine deficiency, leading to serious mental and physical development disorders).

Originally, “cretin” meant “unfortunate Christian” (foolish, blessed). At the end of the 18th century, the term “cretinism” spread through European languages. But it entered the Russian language in the early 19th century via German!

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Exploring the Intriguing Origins of Words | April 09 2025, 03:51

Well, shall we continue with the fascinating etymology? I’ve been writing scripts for processing an etymological dictionary, and I’m finding all sorts of interesting stuff.

It turns out that the word “ciao” comes from the word “slave”. It derives from the Venetian expression s-ciào vostro or s-ciào su, which literally means “(I am) your slave”. The Venetian word for “slave” — s-ciào [ˈstʃao] or s-ciàvo — comes from the medieval Latin sclavus, which, in turn, was borrowed from medieval Greek Σκλάβος (“sklavos”), itself related to the ethnonym “Slavs”, as most of the slaves during that time came from the Balkans.

Also, it was a revelation to me that the words Kubernetes, governor, and cybernetics are etymologically related. They all derive from κυβερνήτης (kubernḗtēs) — “helmsman, one who steers a ship”. Consequently, governor came through Latin and Romance languages, cybernetics as a scientific loan through French, and Kubernetes as a direct calque from Ancient Greek, via Latin transliteration.

The words fuel and focus originate from the same Latin word focus (“hearth”). Focus was actually coined by Johannes Kepler, who used it as a geometric term for ellipses: “the point where rays converge”.

The words Madeira, mata, mater, matrix, matter, and mother are related and all trace back to the same Proto-Indo-European root *méh₂tēr — “mother”.

The words madam and madonna come from the Latin mea domina — “my lady”.

It’s hard to imagine, but the words merry (cheerful) and brief (short) originate from the same Proto-Indo-European root *mréǵʰus, which means “short”.

The words lobby and leaf also have a common origin — both stem from the ancient Germanic *laubą or its derivatives, related to foliage, leafy shelters, and coverings. In old buildings, laubia/lobby was a covered gallery or arbor, literally a shelter made of leaves. Thus, “lobby originally meant “leafy shelter” or “leafy arbor”.

Common origins or roots also link names like Yuri and George, Étienne and Stephen/Steven, William and Guillermo, Zeus and Jupiter, Zhenya and Yana, Joel and Elijah, Hansel and John, as well as Agnes, Nancy, and Inez, Diego and Jacob, Dorothy and Theodore, and Isabel, Elizabeth, and Lisa, Iskander and Alexander, Patroclus and Cleopatra. Many of these essentially denote the same thing, just modified differently across cultures.

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Exploring Linguistic Connections with #RaufLikesEtymology | April 08 2025, 16:22

I continue with etymological curiosities. This is my third consecutive post, #RaufLikesEtymology. It all started when I stumbled upon an etymological dictionary and began processing it programmatically, extracting all sorts of things.

It turns out that the words “жёлтый” (“yellow”), “зелёный” (“green”), and “золото” (“gold”) share a common Indo-European root related to brightness and luster — *gьltъ, which in English, for instance, became the basis for both gold and yellow. In German, “gelb” (yellow) comes from there too. In Russia, “желтый” has been known since the 13th century as a nickname, and as an adjective in written sources only since the 14th century.

It turned out that “известь” (“lime”) and “асбест” (“asbestos”) come from the same word, the Greek ἄσβεστος.

It turns out that the words шифр (“cipher”), цифра (“digit”), and zero all come from the same word — the Arabic صِفْر (ṣifr, “nothing, zero”), which itself is a calque from Sanskrit शून्य (śūnya, “emptiness, nothing”).

Pushkin wrote in “Poltava”: “In the night’s darkness they, like thieves… // Craft the ciphers of universals…” “Universals” in the Ukrainian language of those days were called Hetman’s edicts, and “цифр” back then meant what we now call a cipher — “secret writing”.

Interestingly, the word “кантон” (Switzerland consists of 26 cantons) – originates from Chinese, from Guangdong.

It turned out that grotto and crypt — come from the same word, Latin grupta/crypta. Well, about Saturday and sabbath everyone knows (that they are one word by origin).

The Russian word “колесо (wheel) and the Indian “чакра (chakra) are linked by origin — both come from the same ancient root in Proto-Indo-European — *kʷékʷlos — “circle”, “wheel”, “rotating”. “Колесо came through the Slavic branch, while “чакра — through the Indian (Vedic-Sanskrit) branch.

The words cloak (“cloak”) and clock (“clock”) derive from medieval Latin clocca — “bell”, but entered English differently. Cloak arrived in the 13th century through French cloque, which meant both “cloak” and “bell” — due to the shape of the garment. Clock appeared later through Dutch clocke, denoting a church bell that marks the time; subsequently, it came to mean “clock”. The word bell (“bell”) already existed in English as a designation for a metallic ringing object, so there was no need to introduce another word for this.

The apricot has had a very interesting journey. Here, look at the attached picture. Borrowed in the early 18th century from Dutch, which itself had borrowed from Romance languages (for example, French abricot). It’s interesting to trace this word further: it turns out that in French, it came from Arabic, and in Arabic from Latin. Latin praecox meant “early-ripening”. Thus, praecox became abricot.

My little script churned out about 2 thousand examples from wiktionary. I pick the most interesting ones, but I think there’s enough material for about five more posts like this 🙂 Plus, I have more ideas on how to process to uncover even more interesting things.

Read more good stuff by clicking here –> #RaufLikesEtymology

Unveiling Surprising Connections in English Etymology | April 07 2025, 21:09

In the previous post, I wrote about the little program I developed that searches for words far apart but sharing common etymology. It keeps bringing me new discoveries. Sharing them!

The words chaos and gas are essentially the same. The chemist Jan Baptista van Helmont introduced ‘gas’ as he deciphered ‘chaos’ in his Dutch interpretation, from the Greek χάος. The letter g in Dutch conveys a sound remotely echoing the modern Greek ch. “In the absence of a name,” he wrote, “I called this vapor ‘gas’, as it stems closely from the ancient concept of chaos.” Meanwhile, the word gasoline has no relation to gas. It derives from Cazeline (possibly influenced by Gazeline—a name from an Irish imitation), a trademark for petroleum-based lamp oil, originating from the surname of the man who first started selling it in 1862—John Cassell—and the suffix -eline. The name Cassell itself comes from the Anglo-Norman castel (related to the English castle), which, in turn, traces back to the Old French castel.

Cattle, capital, and chattel are etymological twins of each other, also linked to capital—all through the root caput (“head”), reflecting the ancient practice of counting wealth in terms of cattle heads. By the way, caput also gives rise to chief and captain.

The same goes for the twins bank and bench. “Bank” originally meant “bench,” where a money changer sat, or the “counter” of a money exchanger. Compare typologically with the Russian word “лавка”—both “bench” and “store” (in old times—these were the same), “counter”—the place where trading happens, i.e., “by the bench.” The breaking of a bench—banca rotta—has also given us the word bankrupt (“bankrupt”), literally “broken bench.”

Separately interesting are Chicago/skunk. Chicago comes from the French Chécagou, a transcription of the word from the Miami people’s language šikaakwa—”wild onion” (or ramps, Allium tricoccum) and also “striped skunk.” Skunk means, in the same language, roughly “urinates badly” and indeed designates the skunk itself.

Hospital and hotel/hostel are also etymological twins. They trace back to hospes (“host, guest”).

Discussing that dress and director share a common root would take a lot, a supporting image is attached for help

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Exploring Words with Distant Meanings Through Their Common Roots | April 07 2025, 16:32

I wrote a script that finds pairs of words connected by a common origin but have evolved to differ significantly in modern meaning.

I actually came up with this project an hour and a half ago, between meetings I threw together something using Python and ChatGPT, and here are the first results. Importantly, these results come not from ChatGPT, but from the script working with dictionaries.

For example, grammar – glamour. The word glamour originates from the Scottish pronunciation of the word grammar (meaning “knowledge,” especially magical). The early association of grammar with secret knowledge transformed into “glamour” as “magical enchantment.”

It turns out that Jack is a diminutive form of John, evolved through Jankin.

It turns out that espresso and sprain share a common root—the Latin exprimere, meaning “to press out, extract.”

debut and butt. They share a common root: Old French but—”goal.” Debut: from French débuter—”to start a game,” literally “to make the first strike at the goal.” Butt: in the sense of “target” (e.g. the butt of a joke), also from but—”goal, target.”

Technical details: What does the script do?

1. First, it downloads a vast array of data from the English Wiktionary (Kaikki) and a large language model FastText, which knows the “meaning” of words in the form of vectors.

2. Then it analyzes the etymology (origin) of words, finding their common “ancestors”—ancient words (etymons) from which the modern ones derive.

3. It then selects only those words that are full dictionary entries in Wiktionary and are commonly found in modern English (filtering out very rare or archaic words).

4. Then it measures the “distance” between meanings using word vectors (word embeddings) from FastText. By comparing these vectors, the script calculates how far the meanings of words with a common root have diverged. Low similarity in vectors indicates a significant difference in meaning.

5. It then finds “distant relatives”: Ultimately, the script searches for and displays pairs of common words that were once “relatives” but today their meanings are as distant from each other as possible.

The script still generates quite a lot of “noise,” but I have a clear idea of how to clean it up.

Read more of such goodness by clicking here –> #RaufLikesEtymology