Is Etymology Relevant?
It did
not take us long to transform civilization. In fifty years, we have almost
stopped making war, standardised the possibility of
making love without increasing the population, quarantined half of humanity,
taken from our children the games once played by hands and offered them video
games instead, and replaced books with social networks! The digital world, the
global world and the pictorial world have become our holy trinity.
Our
children will barely remember the texts that their disenchanted literature
teachers reluctantly transmit to them. Francis George Steiner, the
Franco-American literary critic who died in February and who wrote extensively
on the relationship between language, literature and society, had long
prophesied this shift from the age of books to that of pictures. The brilliant
polyglot had no illusions. No more than Marc Fumaroli,
another virtuoso, who spoke against the invasion of ‘globish
English’. Fumaroli was a defender of the French
language and culture against the all-pervading American influence, another
champion who dreamed of an eternal revival of the Ancients. M. Fumaroli often warned that French culture was being
impoverished by lack of ideology, mercantilism, mass consumption and capitalism
from within and threatening tides of “American soft power” from without —
cultural influences that include a globalised form of English. He too left us
recently. The hourglass will not be reversed. Farewell to the Elders who would
no longer return.
Do
we need the ancients? Perhaps we do, or why would a book like La Langue Géniale,
a fiery lamentation in favour of the ancient Greek
language sell 200,000 copies and be translated into many languages? The author
of that book, Andrea Marcolongo, has recently written
another book (Etymologies
pour survivre au chaos) and hopes to
survive the present chaos with the help of etymology. Does she have followers?
Some people are surely tempted by the challenge of learning a strange language.
Many students do not know patience, but learning a language well takes time. It
is obviously not a short sprint but a long marathon. Even before you embark,
you need some preparation.
So
we should no longer dream of a spontaneous generation of little Hellenists and
Latinists. We seem to be powerless to counter the astounding power of a
civilization of images. Yet, we still have the freedom to recharge our
batteries thanks to a few couriers of memory. If we exercise that freedom, we
may deliver ourselves from the poverty of the contemporary political language,
and its breathless, repetitive, amnesiac rhythm. Then perhaps we could slowly
move away from a rhetoric that thrives on agility and surprise and gives very
little leeway to reflection and grace. Isn’t that the reason politics, once so
infused with memory and history, today has degenerated into nothing more than
an amnesiac comedy where words are euphemized and held by the shackles of what
is ‘politically correct ‘?
Perhaps
in every etymologist there is a relentless genealogist who distrusts the
present. The words appear bland. They lose their dominion because we no longer
know anything about their history. We forget that the present does not exist,
except in the distension of the soul which recovers memories and projects them
towards what will happen. The present is therefore ineffable, a simple limit
established between a past that we remember and a future that we predict with
the help of memories. The etymologist links words to their archaic meanings as
a sailor anchors his ship.
The
history of words never tires of correcting the misinterpretations of the
present time. So, it would be wrong to see only a difference in degree between
‘hate’ and ‘detest’. Hate is an eternal vow of total enemy annihilation. It is
like Polyphemus cursing Odysseus. On the other hand,
‘detest’ is derived from the Latin detestari,
literally, to curse while calling a deity to witness. The root is the
word terstis that
has given to English the verb ‘testify’. So in order to ‘detest’ we need a
witness, a third party who can decide between adversaries, who needs to confirm
that the person has wronged us! The quarrel can be purged in court. So to
‘detest’ is legal and free from the extreme, murderous hatred. Isn’t it equally
interesting that in Latin “I love you” is diligo te, I choose you. If the Romans feared
nothing more than blind and irrational chaos, how could they accept that the
noblest feeling was the result of mere coincidence? So love was a choice for
them. Never mind if Cupid shoots arrows at random. Nothing would happen out of
turn. Everything is pre-planned. Love is a choice, not an accident.
Again,
if ‘happiness’, is either the result of chance, or sheer
good fortune, the word being derived from the old Norse ‘happ’
(good luck), the happy man is happy only by chance! The word ‘felicity’, on the
contrary, is derived from felix which
is related to fecundus,
being fertile. Felicity comes to the person who is fertile and
productive, even when he experiences hard knocks. To be felcitous
is not to know a peaceful life but an energetic life which signifies the joy of
doing. In the same manner, infelicity is the inability to move, it is to remain
motionless without being able to chase away painful thoughts. Similarly, for
the Hellenists, a poem or ‘poesy’ signifies a ‘creation’ and the poet is a
‘maker’. Hence, the opposite of poetry is not prose, but ataraxia,
mental or emotional detachment. It will be concluded that poets are not idle beings, they make, and by making, lead a fruitful life.
Therefore, to make our present we need to poetise it!
And
the word ‘destiny’? It comes from the Latin destinare,
namely to fix, establish, allot or assign a goal. The ‘destinies’ are therefore
points of support, the foundations of life. Again, no trace of chance! We know
the destination we want to reach. We need to plan our trip well before arriving
at that destiny. Etymology teaches us that our Ancients did not leave much in
the hands of the sadistic gods or malevolent spirits. They have imparted to us
language, a tool that lets us dominate, by dint of our activity and enterprise,
any trace of fate (fatum)
or chance. Let that be our first Greco-Latin lesson!