Kel's previous Ozwords of the day...

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Vent your spleen Debra writes: “I had cause to use the phrase ‘to vent your spleen’ the other day and I thought of you. How on earth did this come about?” The spleen is an organ near your stomach that controls the quality of your blood. That is how modern medicine understands it—however it was not always thus. In the days before modern medicine, the ancients were basically guessing when they cut open a corpse and tried to work out what each organ did. This was back in the days when the body was thought to be controlled by the four fluids called ‘humours.’ These four fluids that controlled your health and your temperament were: blood, bile, black bile, and phlegm. These they thought (back in the days before modern medicine) had to be kept in balance—too much of one or another would mean you were unwell or behaving badly. Back then it was wrongly believed that the spleen produced bile (it’s actually the kidneys that make urine, or yellow bile as the ancients called it). Yellow bile was also called ‘choler’ and was believed to be the source of irritability and anger. That’s why people who are irritable are often called ‘choleric.’ (Or used to be—is this word ever used these days? Or has this been lost in the dumbing down of the English language?) For that reason the spleen was assumed to be the source of rage and anger. From this belief comes the notion of venting, or letting out, your anger—venting your spleen. The origin of the idiom ‘to vent your spleen’ seems to date back to Hippocrates in 400 BC. And for the reader who is often writing in, or calling in to 2GB, to claim that everything in modern English comes from Greek—well, this one did, so this should make you happy!

Death doula According to news reports, Nicole Kidman is training to be a ‘death doula.’ This is clearly a strange expression—and an even stranger idea. It appears that a ‘death doula’ is someone, said Kidman, whose role is simply to sit with someone, to provide comfort and presence during the last hours, or days, of their life. According to these news reports death doulas, are non-medical professionals who support people in the final stages of life. Their role is not to replace doctors, nurses or palliative care teams, but to complement them. The expression comes from Greek. The Greek word ‘doula’ originally meant ‘a slave or bondswoman’ but it changed over time. ‘Doula’ came into English around 1969 to mean: ‘A person, originally and typically a woman, who gives assistance to a new or expectant mother, either informally or professionally; especially a person (usually without formal obstetric training) employed to provide guidance and continuous support during labour or postnatally’ (Oxford English Dictionary). Now the expression has been applied to the other end of life—creating this idea of a ‘death doula.’ The question that occurs to me is: why is such a person necessary? I suspect one reason is the decline of Christianity. For Christians there will always be a priest or pastor or minister available to provide spiritual guidance, support and care at the end of life. In hospitals there is usually a chaplain available to do that. But for those people who have spent their lives ignoring God and have turned their backs on Christianity—what do they do? Well, I suppose they invent a substitute—rather like those ‘civil’ marriage celebrants who are so common these days. And that secular substitute is, it appears, called a ‘death doula.’ One other thought—isn’t this role (support and care at the end of life) the traditional role of family members? But does the very existence of a ‘death doula’ tell us that families are no longer there for each other? Just asking.

Wordle Have you ever played ‘Wordle’? My guess is that most Ozwords readers have played ‘Wordle’ at one time or another. As you probably know, it’s an online word guessing game, which involves guessing a five-letter word in six attempts. It was invented by British designer John Wardle—and, yes, the name ‘Wordle’ is a play on his own name ‘Wardle.’ He invented it during the Covid lock-down of 2020 as a game to play with his girlfriend Palak Shah. At first he thought it was just a game for them to play on the sofa together. Then he tested it on his family and decided rather more people might like to play it. So he launched it as an online game in October 2021. By January 2022 more than two million people were playing it. However, according to a recent newspaper report—all this attention and success didn’t make him happy. In fact, he says he found it very stressful. (He became, he says, quite miserable.) He didn’t invent the game to make money—but he ended up doing exactly that! In February 2022 he sold ‘Wordle’ to The New York Times for an undisclosed sum of money—but reported to be several million dollars. And if you want to play, the game is still available online, free, every day from The New York Times (just Google ‘wordle’ and you’ll find it). There is one new ‘Wordle’ puzzle each day. You start with five blank squares and have to invent your own five-letter word to get you started. Using colour codes the game then tells you which letters are in the target word, but that you have in the wrong place; which are right letters in the right place; and which letters don’t belong at all. You have a total six lines, six guesses, to work your way to the correct five-letter word for the day. Obviously, with this sort of game a great deal rests on your starter word. According to some obsessive ‘Wordle’ players the best starter word is ‘adieu’—because it gives you four of the five vowels. John Wardle himself says that his starter word on ‘wordle’ used to be ‘stare’—which gives you two of the most common vowels and one of the most consonants (‘s’). So, let’s do a little a poll, with two questions: (1) what do you think is the best starter word; and (2) how quickly have you solved a ‘Wordle’ puzzle (what’s your best score?).

William Tyndale One of the world’s leading linguists is Welshman David Crystal. I have many of his books on my shelves, and I have interviewed him (more than once) on my radio show. David Crystal’s latest book is called William Tyndale and the English Language. So, who was this William Tyndale and why does he matter to the English language? Tyndale (1494-1536) was the first scholar to translate the Bible from its original languages into English. The Old Testament part of the Bible was written in Hebrew (with a small amount in Aramaic) and the New Testament part of the Bible in Greek (in what is called koine or the ‘marketplace’ Greek of ordinary people). Tyndale mastered those languages and (for the first time) translated them into English. And he matters because he had an amazing gift for language (second only to Shakespeare). The full Oxford English Dictionary contains quotations (which they call ‘citations’) under each definition to show the use of a word over its history. The Oxford cites Williams Tyndale as the first user of 768 words, including ‘appropriate’, ‘daylight’, ‘pleasure’, ‘scapegoat’, ‘respect’, and more than 700 others. And as the first user of these words he may well have coined them himself. He clearly coined such expressions as ‘fell by the wayside’, ‘the powers that be’, ‘judge not’ and ‘daily bread.’ (For comparison Shakespeare has about 1,500 ‘first use’ citations.) Tyndale had a profound influence on the English language through the King James Bible, first published in 1611. Tyndale had, by then, been killed on the orders of Henry VIII and Sir Thomas More for having committed the crime of making the Bible available in the language of the people. Tyndale’s New Testament was smuggled into Britain (from the Netherlands where he was hiding from his would-be killers) from 1524 onwards (then distributed secretly and hidden by their owners). When, on the orders of King James, an official English Bible (also called the Authorised Version) was compiled and published in 1611 around 70% of it was from William Tyndale’s translation. And that was how Tyndale profoundly shaped the English language—a story that David Crystal tells (brilliantly as always) in his new book. 

Crater When the Artemis II astronauts flew around the far side of the moon (and, thankfully, back again!) the word ‘crater’ became a highly looked up word on the Merriam-Webster website. A lunar crater is fundamentally a bowl-shaped depression in the surface, nearly always formed by a hypervelocity collision with an asteroid, comet, or meteoroid. Although the term “crater” can also refer to volcanic vents on Earth, the Moon’s features are overwhelmingly the result of external impacts. The vast majority of the estimated 1.85 million craters larger than one kilometre in diameter are impact structures. Many of the moon’s craters have been given names by the International Astronomical Institution. The moon has millions of these things—from tiny depressions to huge basins. During their journey around the moon the four astronauts passed on to mission control their request that an unnamed crater on the moon be dedicated to Carroll Wiseman, the wife of mission commander Reid Wiseman. She was only 46-years-old when she died of cancer in 2020. (And, yes, their request was granted.) The word ‘crater’ has been part of English since around 1613. It came into our language directly from an identical Latin word meaning ‘bowl or basin.’ Behind the Latin word is an ancient Greek word meaning ‘mixing bowl.’ When it first appeared ‘crater’ was only used to mean the mouth of a volcano; so, it meant a ‘bowl or funnel shaped hollow at the summit or on the side of a volcano, from which eruptions can take place.’ From this it came to mean ‘a depression formed by an impact (as of a meteorite).’ Which is exactly how the moon’s millions of craters were formed. One of which is now called the Carroll Wiseman Crater—a nice touch!

Highly Irregular One of my favourite books on the English language is called Highly Irregular. I think I’ve written about this before, but it has come up again because one of our small grandsons is in second class at primary school, and he is finding that every time he is taught a spelling rule he then has to learn lots of exceptions to the rule. That’s just the way the English language is. I keep saying to my wife, ‘I have a book on my shelves that explains all of this. It is called Highly Irregular.’ And it is directly relevant to the language that puzzled that seven and eight-year-olds are struggling with in our schools. It explains why ‘tough’, ‘through’ and ‘dough’ don’t rhyme; why there are two ways of saying the letter ‘G’; why so many verbs are irregular; why the ‘teen’ numerals don’t begin until 13 (instead of at 11 and 12); where the H comes from in ‘ghost’; why we pronounce ‘colonel’ the way we do. And so on and on. Highly Irregular was published by Oxford University Press in 2021. The author is Arika Okrent (yes, she does have a highly irregular name!)—a linguist and a writer about language. There are so many puzzles this book covers—such as why Y is sometimes a vowel and sometimes a consonant; why we can be ‘clean-shaven’ but not ‘clean-shaved’; and why ‘of’ is pronounced with a V but spelled with an F. Have you ever wondered why we can go slow, but fall fast asleep? Where the ‘egg’ comes from when we egg someone on? Why there is a P in ‘receipt’ a B in ‘doubt’ and an L in ‘salmon’? I noticed recently that the distinguished chef Marcus Waring pronounces the L in ‘almond’—which the rest of don’t. Why not? I think this is a wonderful and enlightening book. So if your local library doesn’t have a copy of Highly Irregular ask them to get a copy in for you. Or, if like me, you want a copy on your shelves, it is a relatively recent publication and should be available at Booktopia or Amazon. (If not, every second-hand book in the world is available at ABE Books.) And what are we telling out grandson about all this? Sorry, but it’s back to rote learning—you just have to memorize these Highly Irregular words!

Phubbing Recently the word ‘phubbing’ made a brief appearance in a news story. ‘Phubbing’ means ‘phone snubbing’ and is a portmanteau word packing those two component parts into one new word. I’m sure you know what ‘phubbing’ is—it happens when someone treats their phone as more important than the human being standing immediately in front of them. Their phone rings in the middle of a conversation and they immediately respond to the phone, cutting you short and ignoring you— ‘phubbing’ you. A recent news story from Britain complained that shops are becoming increasingly annoyed by this habit. Rouz Habibi is the owner of More Munchies in Acton Vale, London. She says called it a ‘constant’ frustration, adding: ‘They walk in on their phones, order on their phones, sit down on their phones. They don’t even look up when you’re serving them. I find it very rude.’ And she is just one of many. Bakery and café owner Beverly Botha is in the same camp, saying it’s become ‘more and more common’ over her 12 years in business. The article went on to quote numerous shop owners all with the same complaint—constant ‘phubbing.’ Now, this interests me because I was one of the small team of people who invented the word ‘phubbing.’ I’m sitting here trying to remember how long ago this was—it was perhaps 20 years ago. A small group of us were assembled by Sue Butler, who, at the time, was the publisher of the Macquarie Dictionary—with the aim of inventing a new word. I can’t now remember who the others were on the team—although I’m sure one of them was David Astle (cruciverbalist and ABC radio host). We came up with several options, but the one we settled on was this one ‘phubbing.’ I always had my reservations about whether ‘phubbing’ would catch on or not—on the grounds that it doesn’t work when spoken aloud (it sounds like ‘fubbing’ which means nothing). It only works in print—and 90% of communication in English is spoken not written. But I am happy to be proved wrong, and to see phubbing is listed in at least some of the world’s great dictionaries (the Cambridge and the Collins to name two) and continues to bob up from time to time in news reports. So, perhaps we didn’t do too badly after all.

Enjoy Derrick has written to ask about an uncommon use of a common word—namely this familiar word ‘enjoy.’ In modern usage it normally means something like ‘to take pleasure in’—as in ‘you’ll really enjoy the food as this café, it’s terrific.’ But Derrick has found ‘enjoy’ in a 1647 document that he finds a bit puzzling. The document in question is something called The Westminster Shorter Catechism. This is a document that consists of 107 short questions and answers. What puzzled Derrick is the very first question and answer. Here is it is (in the words of 1647): Question: What is the chief end of man? Answer:  Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever. Derrick asks ‘What does “enjoy” mean here? Surely it can’t mean “take pleasure in” as we mean by “enjoy” these days? Can you help me with the history of the word “enjoy”?’ Well, I can try! ‘Enjoy’ came into English from Latin via Old French around 1380. There is some evidence that the Old French source word was also related to our word ‘jewel’—meaning something of value. The Latin source word meant ‘rejoice’ is the sense of ‘a source of joy.’ But there is more. ‘Enjoy’ has had a long and varied history as part of the English language. Around the time this Westminster Shorter Catechism was written in 1647 ‘enjoy’ also carried the meaning of ‘to benefit from.’ So, it is possible. Derrick, that when the document was written the intention was to say that the chief end of man was ‘to benefit from’ the blessing, acceptance and approval of God. Does that make sense? Of course, the word ‘man’ in the document is being used in the old way to mean ‘mankind’ (that is, humanity considered collectively and individually). The other less familiar word here is ‘glorify’—which means to acknowledge, to honour, to respect, to exalt. So there is a whole worldview embodied in these short sentences, Derrick. It is a worldview that says the universe is basically personal not impersonal—making it possible to have a relationship with the Mind Behind the Universe, the Big Brain Behind the Big Bang. And it sees this relationship as the core meaning and purpose of every human life. So, big picture stuff, Derrick, in these short sentences.

Anti-Zionist What does the term ‘anti-Zionist’ mean? If someone calls themself an ‘anti-Zionist’ are they really a Jew hater who is trying to conceal the truth? The more familiar word ‘antisemitic’ really means nothing or less than ‘Jew hater’—and I have written about that word and its origin in the past. So, what about ‘anti-Zionist’? Is that in the same category? The positive form of the expression, ‘Zionist,’ is recorded from 1891 with the meaning of ‘an advocate or supporter of a movement among Jewish people for the re-establishment of a Jewish nation in Palestine.’ This notion was embodied in the Balfour Declaration—a public statement issued by the British Government in 1917 during the First World War announcing its support for the establishment of a ‘national home for the Jewish people’ in Palestine. Of course, that was well before the establishment of the state of Israel by the United Nations in 1948. (‘Zion’ is the Biblical name for Jerusalem.) The negative form, ‘anti-Zionism’ is recorded from 1899—so even before the state of Israel was re-established in 1948 there were people opposed to Jews having their own homeland. I find it difficult to understand this opposition. They claim Jews arriving in the new state of Israel drove out the Palestinians. This is historically untrue—the Palestinians who left chose to flee rather than live in Israel (and were encouraged to do so by radical Islamists). Sometimes they say Jews and Palestinians should have equal rights—but in modern Israel they do. There are around seven million Jews and two million Arabs living in Israel—all with exactly the same civil, political and legal rights. There are Arabic members of the Israeli parliament, and Arabic judges in Israeli courts. Palestinians who live in Israel have greater freedom and greater prosperity than Palestinians living in Gaza or the West Bank. Given the mixed, democratic, and egalitarian nature of modern Israel it is hard to see how a so-called ‘anti-Zionist’ can be anything except anti-Jewish. The argument that Jews should not be allowed to live in their own ancestral homeland (occupied by Jews three thousand years ago) can be nothing but racist hatred of the Jewish people. To argue that every other people in the world should be allowed their own homeland except the Jews can be nothing but racist hatred of Jews. I may be wrong, but it looks to me as if people who call themselves ‘anti-Zionist; are really just ‘antisemitic’—but are too cowardly so say so.

Godspeed Staying on yesterday’s topic of the current NASA moon mission, the word used when they were launched was the word ‘Godspeed.’ As Reuters reported: ‘Launch director Charlie Blackwell-Thompson said: “Reid, Victor, Christina and Jeremy, on this historic mission you take with you the heart of this Artemis team, the daring spirit of the American people and our partners across the globe, and the hopes and dreams of a new generation.” She then added, “Good luck, godspeed, Artemis II. Let’s go!”’ Now this is a very dated (and to us rather odd) word ‘Godspeed’—so where does it come from, and what does it mean? The word goes back to around 1500, and the Oxford English Dictionary says it is used to express a wish for the success of a person who is setting out on some journey or enterprise. It is used as a formal and old-fashioned way to wish success to someone who is leaving especially on a journey. ‘Speed’ comes from the Old English spēd, which referred to prosperity, good fortune, and success. ‘Godspeed’ comes from the Middle English phrase God spede you (meaning “God prosper you”) and is now used to wish someone a prosperous journey. Today we think of ‘speed’ as meaning rapid movement. In fact, that’s almost the only way we use it these days. But something of the older, broader, meaning of ‘speed’ lives on in the phrase ‘up to speed’ which we still use. In the past the word was used to name the result of speed—namely, getting on top of things and succeeding (often with the result being prosperity). The expression ‘up to speed’ later picked up an extended meaning in reference to the act of giving someone all the information they need in order to be effective. So, now you are up to speed. And I can only wish you ‘Godspeed’!

Artemis and Orion As you read these words there is a small crew of four astronauts flying towards the moon. The plan is that they will orbit the moon (travelling further from Earth than any human beings have done before—some 250,000 miles from Earth) and then return. This is all part of the NASA plan to build a moon base which will be permanently inhabited by astronauts (much as the international space station currently is—but much larger and further away). This mission is called Artemis II and the space capsule (although I prefer to call it a ‘spaceship’—the term I used in my childhood) is called Orion. So, this probably a good time to look at the origin of those two words. Firstly, the mission: Artemis is the name of a Greek moon goddess often portrayed as a virgin huntress. Artemis was the daughter of Zeus and Leto and the twin sister of Apollo. Among the rural populace of ancient Greece, Artemis was the favourite goddess. Her character and function varied greatly from place to place, but behind all forms lay the goddess of wild nature, who danced, usually accompanied by nymphs, in mountains, forests, and marshes. So, a wild name for a wild ride on a giant rocket! Now—Orion. This is the name of a major star constellation lying on the celestial equator, at the edge of the Milky Way, which is interpreted as looking like a hunter with a belt and sword. The constellation took its name from ‘Orion’ one of the Giants of Greek mythology, a mighty hunter, killed by Artemis. The risings and settings of the constellation Orion were associated with stormy weather. So lots of Ancient Greek mythology in those names. And perhaps this mission is of mythological proportions!

Pray hard In the current issue of the Weekend Australian Angela Shanahan has a column about the crisis currently facing Australia (and the world). She spells out how dire this could become. Now I draw this to your attention not to make you pessimistic (although I suppose it might do that!) but because of the last two words in her column. She ends by writing: ‘this Easter this suburban mum will do the only thing she or any of us can in the face of this war. Pray—hard!’ And I draw this to your attention for two reasons: (1) this is Easter; and (2) my latest book is called Pray Like This. In that book I offer the following definition of the word ‘prayer.’ It means: ‘asking God for things.’ Of course, the book says a lot more than that—and ends with a list of practical suggestions about praying. In the Introduction I write this: “There is, deep within the human heart, an instinct not to stand alone—to find comfort, help, support and a sense of belonging in prayer. We now know the universe around us to be a vast, measureless place. And we have a deep longing not to be the orphans of the universe. We long to see meaning and purpose in our lives and in the bigger picture of the world around us—to find our connection to the Mind Behind the Universe. And we intuitively feel that prayer is the pathway to this.” To look at prayer I do what I do in these Ozword columns: I go through the most famous prayer in the world (The Lord’s Prayer, also known as the Our Father) and unpack it word by word—each chapter being a short word-study on a key word in that prayer. There is a total of 21 words studies in all. To find out more, here’s a link to the publisher’s website (where you can buy a copy if you wish): Pray Like This – matthiasmedia.com.au

See a man about a dog Have you heard the expression ‘I’ve got to see a man about a dog’ used when someone is leaving the room? Have you ever used it yourself? Why on earth would such a phrase be used as a jocular excuse for leaving? And (as you probably know) some people use it when they’re leaving to go the toilet—which, if anything, is odder still. Mind you, it’s not always used that way—quite often ‘I have to see a man about a dog’ is just a flippant way of excusing one’s departure for some undisclosed appointment. Where did it come from? Well, there is quite a long history behind this phrase—and a lot of the story is told by the brilliant Nigel Rees in his book A Word in Your Shell-Like. There he tells us the phrase turns up in a line of dialogue in Dion Boucicault’s play The Flying Scud, or a Four-Legged Fortune—on the London stage in 1866. In that play, one of the characters says: ‘Excuse me Mr Quail, I can’t stop; I’ve got to see a man about a dog.’ However, the Oxford English Dictionary has tracked down a use of the phrase a year earlier, in 1865, in a publication call the Anti-Teapot Review—a magazine that combined politics, literature, and art (published between 1864 and 1866, so it didn’t last long). A year after its establishment it included this line: ‘The husband will… find that he has to absent himself by going to London, to “see a man about a dog”, or on some other important business.’ Did Boucicault pick up the phrase from the magazine? Did he then make it widespread by putting it into a popular play? Quite possibly. Which means it just started as a false (jocular) excuse for refusing to say where you were going and what you were going to do. In 1938 crime writer Ellery Queens (in Devil to Pay) turned it around, and had someone say they had to ‘see a dog about a man’ (very cute!) Then the most famous Australia songwriter of the 1930s and 40s Jack O’Hagan (who wrote ‘The Road to Gundagai’) put the words into a song—in these immortal lines: ‘Excuse me for my hurry / But I tell ya boys I’m worried / ‘Coz I’ve got to see a man about a dog.’ The song was called ‘I’ve Got to See a Man About a Dog’. I’d tell you more, but I have to go now (to see a man about a dog).

Two times / twice Is the word ‘twice’ disappearing from modern English? Is it being replaced by the term ‘two times’? They are exact synonyms—so using one or the other does not change the meaning. I have encountered one website that claims there is a difference—that ‘twice’ always refers to succession while ‘two times’ refers to something which is countable. That’s completely idiotic. There is no such distinction. They mean exactly and precisely the same thing. ‘Twice’ is the older of the two expressions, coming from the days when the Anglo-Saxons spoke Old English more than a thousand years ago. ‘Two times’ is recorded from 1450 and comes from the cardinal number ‘two’ (which was rather more like ‘twain’ in Old English). Another claim being made these days is that ‘twice’ is seen as a formal word, and is used more often in writing, while ‘two times’ is more informal and is likely to found in conversation. Perhaps. But I’m sure this was not always the case. For some reason exact words such as ‘twice’ seem inclined to fade in our modern world, and be replaced by what strike me as more childish versions, such as ‘two times.’ Young children will understand, and say, ‘two times’ some years before they learn the word ‘twice’ (if they ever do). So to my (ancient) ears ‘two times’ sounds infantile, while ‘twice’ sounds adult. But things do seem to be changing—as the frequency of use figures tell us. The form ‘two times’ appears around one thousand times per million words in English, while ‘twice’ appears on average around thirty times per million words. The related word ‘thrice’ has suffered even more from this steady dumbing down of our society. ‘Thrice’ now only appears around once per million words. But I am convinced ‘twice’ was more common back in our grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ day. So, are you going to say, ‘I walk to the park twice a day’ or ‘I walk to the park two times a day’? In other words, are going to sound literate? Or illiterate?

Barrel With the oil crisis continuing it is clearly time to ask why oil measured in ‘barrels.’ The word ‘barrel’ came into English around 1300 from a French source word, with closely related words in Portuguese and Spanish and a medieval Latin word lurking somewhere in the background. ‘Barrel’ has always meant, from the beginning, what it means today—a cylindrical cask. But to be used as a measurement for oil these barrels must, we assume, be of a standard size—so how does that work out? Apparently the story is that in the early days of the American oil industry (mid 1800s) oil was produced in relatively small quantities, and it was often transported in wooden barrels. The use of barrels as a unit of measurement was largely a matter of convenience, as it allowed oil producers and traders to easily quantify their products. Eventually the need for standardization became important. In the late 1800s, the American Petroleum Institute was established, and one of its main goals was to standardize the measurement of oil. They defined a standard barrel as 42 US gallons, and this has remained the standard unit of measurement for oil to this day. Of course there are other complications. An American gallon is 128 fluid ounces, while a British gallon is 160 fluid ounces. From the days of Richard III a barrel of wine was defined as 42 ‘wine gallons’—and for some reason ‘wine gallons’ (128 fluid ounces) were less than ordinary water gallons (160 fluid ounces). In 1824 Britain standardized a gallon as being 20% larger than a ‘wine gallon’—which was then re-labelled a ‘US gallon’ (also known as a ‘short gallon’) because the Americans refused to follow suit. The result is that a barrel of oil contains 42 US gallons but only 35 British gallons. And I suspect I have told you more about barrels of oil than you ever wanted to know!

De-escalate In recent days both Anthony Albanese and Penny Wong have said their policy is that the Iran War should ‘de-escalate.’ Both have announced that their ambition is to see the battle in the Middle East ‘de-escalate.’ But what do they mean by that word? Do they even know what they mean? The word ‘de-escalate’ is recorded from 1964, as the negative form of the verb ‘to escalate’. That goes back to 1922, and it comes from the noun ‘escalator’—which (in turn) was coined by the Otis Elevator Company in 1900 as the trade-name for its newly invented moving staircase. By 1934 the verb ‘to escalate’ was being used in both business and military contexts to mean ‘to increase.’ And the word still means ‘to increase or be increased rapidly in scale or degree’ (Chambers English Dictionary). Hence, when ‘de-escalate’ finally appeared (in 1964) it meant ‘to decrease, to grow smaller.’ So, when Wong and Albanese call on the Iran War to be ‘decrease’ or ‘grow smaller’ what (exactly) to they mean? Are they saying that both sides should keep on firing missiles, but should fire slightly fewer missiles? Are the saying that both America and Israel can keep on attacking Iranian targets, but should attack fewer targets less often? Are they saying that Iran can keep attacking gulf states, but should attack fewer gulf states, and only occasionally? It looks as though Wong and Albanese are proposing a military tactic, but it’s not at all clear what military tactic they have in mind. Or are they simply using the English word ‘de-escalate’ in an empty and meaningless fashion to show that they are nice people who don’t like to see a war going on? Is their use of ‘de-escalate’ just being used by Wong and Albanese as signal of their niceness, with no real suggestion as to what should happen in the Middle East? Is ‘de-escalate’ the policy you have when you don’t have a policy?

Disinterested (follow up) A few days ago I wrote about the battle between ‘disinterested’ and ‘uninterested.’ Quick reminder: most educated people use ‘disinterested’ to mean ‘impartial’—having no vested interest (what a judge on the bench should be). If you say, ‘I have no dog in this fight’ or ‘I have no skin in this game’ you are being ‘disinterested.’ You may follow the battle with interest, but you are not cheering for one side or the other. On the other hand ‘uninterested’ has classically meant— ‘having no interest.’ If you don’t like watching formula one motor racing on TV then you are ‘uninterested’ (it just doesn’t interest you, in the way it interests the petrol heads!) But, as I also pointed out, when ‘disinterested’ came it English in the 1600s it had both meanings—both neutral and impartial and lacking any interest in the subject. So should we allow people to use ‘uninterested’ in the way which we were taught is wrong? The votes are in, and the votes have been counted. The vast majority of you believe we should stick to the old distinction. As one reader pointed out—having ‘disinterested’ and ‘uninterested’ having different meanings makes the English language a bit richer and more nuanced. And, yes, I agree. I can’t bring myself to use ‘uninterested’ when I am ‘not interested.’ I don’t think we should follow the masses. If we misuse ‘disinterested’ to all the educated people around us we will sound semi-literate—and we don’t want that! Two other thoughts. One reader (Brian) suggested that the current confusion is a good reason to ban both words from our vocabulary—if English language users are so muddled, then we should just drop the words and use the alternatives that our rich language provides. And another reader (Irene) says we only need to drop the vague and unhelpful word ‘uninterested’ and make it a rule to constantly use the verbal phrase ‘not interested’ instead. Problem solved! Thank you everyone!

Neo-idiocy Writing in The Australian newspaper Henry Ergas used the term ‘neo-idiocy.’ Now this is, I think, a fairly new, and still very rare expression. On its own ‘idiocy means: ‘(1) a foolish action or foolish behaviour; or (2) the state of being an idiot or extremely retarded mentally’ (Chambers Dictionary) or ‘extreme foolishness or stupidity’ (Merriam-Webster Dictionary). The prefix ‘neo-’ comes from Ancient Greek and means ‘new.’ So, what is this ‘new idiocy’ that’s being referred to? Henry Ergas is talking about the way the internet—and especially social media—has had the impact of undermining our democracy. If you are old enough to remember what things were like before the internet, you’ll remember political debates and discussions in which people tried to persuade each. They produced what they said was supporting evidence, and then argued in a logical and reasoned way to the conclusion they had reached. This is what seems to have disappeared—to be replaced by this ‘neo-idiocy.’ My own explanation is that people these days seem not to understand the difference between the two As—Assertion and Argument. Politics used to be something we had arguments about. Nowadays people don’t argue, don’t examine evidence, don’t consider logic—they shout assertions at each other. When Grace Tame (not a good example I know) shouts angrily ‘From Gadigal to Gaza globalize the intifada’ she is making an assertion. Now, she may have carefully thought-out arguments to support her angry shout—but, on the other hand, she may not. Many people who attend demonstrations appear to have little or no understanding—just simple-minded assertions. They shout, ‘From the river to the sea, Palestine shall be free’—but if you ask them, ‘Which river?’ and ‘Which sea?’ they have no idea. They are succumbed to the neo-idiocy of unthinking assertion. Globalizing the intifada means globalizing violence against Jews—which (sadly) has already happened (remember Bondi?) But if you abandon reasoned argument and have nothing but empty assertions you don’t understand this. You have fallen into the ‘neo-idiocy’ that pervades our society. Very sad.

Disinterested Marcia writes: ‘My husband said he offered to take the kids to the footy, but they were “disinterested.” Surely he should have said “uninterested.” What is your ruling on this?’ For many years I have been insisting that ‘disinterested’ means impartial, unbiased—in the way that a judge is impartial at a trial, having no vested interest in either party, keeping himself quite neutral. That, I have been saying, is what ‘disinterested’ really means. To say there is a lack of interest what you should say is ‘uninterested.’ That is the argument that I have been putting up for years. And the vast majority of educated people have agreed with me on this. But there is now a fly in that ointment. I have now learned that when ‘disinterested’ came into English in the 1600s it meant BOTH of those things—both ‘impartial and unbiased’ and also ‘uninterested, unconcerned.’ Over the centuries this distinction gradually eroded, and the word came to have only one meaning—the meaning that I have been defending for years. But in the 20th century the ‘uninterested’ meaning has been revived. Educated people still maintain that it is wrong—but given the history of the word, do we need now need to allow this? The Chambers Dictionary people have written this up in their delightful little book Terms to Make You Squirm. In their entry on ‘disinterest’ they tell the story that I have just told you. The conclusion they come to is that you are still better to stick to ‘uninterested’ for a lack of interest and ‘disinterested’ for impartial—simply because it’s what literate people now expect. But that seems to clash with the history of the word. So, now over you. What is your ruling? Have I got to stop insisting on restricting ‘disinterested’ to mean impartial? Do I have to allow that it sometimes means ‘uninterested’? You are the jury. What is your ruling?

Streisand effect This is a phrase that is not yet included formally and officially in any of the major dictionaries. However, the Collins English Dictionary has it listed in their collection of suggested new words. And here’s their definition of the ‘Streisand effect’: ‘an internet phenomenon whereby an attempt to hide information or an image etc results in the information becoming more widespread.’ This slightly bizarre effect (and phrase) arose because Barbra Streisand attempted to suppress the publication of a photograph of her hilltop home in Malibu. The photo was taken by Mike Masnik in 2003 as one of 12,000 California coastline photographs in a project that was attempted to draw the problem of coastal erosion to the attention of the Californian government. It was marked as ‘Image 3850’ and was labelled as ‘Streisand Estate, Malibu’ in an aerial photograph in which Streisand’s mansion was visible. (Of course the point of the photo was to show the coastal erosion below her house!) Streisand sued the photographer and publisher for $50 million. She lost the case and was ordered to pay legal fees of $177,000. Before her lawsuit the image had been viewed online six times. The publicity generated by the lawsuit meant that the image was viewed by more 420,000 people. That’s the ‘Streisand effect.’ In her autobiography (My Name is Barbra, 2023) Streisand wrote: ‘My issue was never with the photo ... it was only about the use of my name attached to the photo. I felt I was standing up for a principle, but in retrospect, it was a mistake. I also assumed that my lawyer had done exactly as I wished and simply asked them to take my name off the photo.’ But that’s how it works. Draw attention to something you don’t want people to notice—and whammo, they notice! Every time Anthony Albanese gave detailed reasons why there shouldn’t be a royal commission into the Bondi terrorist attack he was making it more and more certain that there would be a royal commission. He didn’t talk it down—he drew attention to it. That is the ‘Streisand effect.’ There are countless examples. You may remember the attempt by the British government to ban the publication of Peter Wright’s book Spycatcher (his memoirs of working for MI5). All that did was to attract attention and ensure the book was read and not forgotten. The ‘Streisand effect.’

Kick the can down the road There I was, relaxing one evening, when my phone burbled with a text. It was my distinguished editor at The Spectator Australia Rowan Dean with a question: ‘who first came up with the brilliant expression “kick the can down the road”?’ Rowan is right—it is a brilliant phrase that captures the sole political tactic of many or our esteemed leaders. As you probably know ‘kick the can down the road’ (or ‘down the street’—both versions exist) means ‘to delay dealing with a difficult situation.’ There are many methods of ‘kicking the can down the road’—ordering an inquiry (preferably a long, slow inquiry) or saying ‘we can’t consider this until after the budget’ are but two of many. It’s an American expression first recorded in 1984—in the United States Senate! (This phrase, with this meaning, has always lived in the world of politics!) The expression is recorded in the proceedings of the Senate from 1984—specifically in The First Concurrent Resolution on the Budget for the Fiscal Year 1984: Hearings before U.S. Senate Budget Committee: National Security. That’s a snappy title, isn’t it? Sounds like perfect bedtime reading. The immortal words were uttered by United States Airforce General David C. Jones (giving evidence to the senate) when he said: ‘The key question is whether we are going to face up to that problem today, or kick the can down the street.’ But for General Jones to have used ‘kick the can down the road / street’ without explanation (and without inverted commas in the official papers) must mean it was already well known, and part of the spoken language. The image behind the words is clear enough. When we were small boys it was fun to find an empty tin can (perhaps fallen out of a rubbish bin) and taking turns kicking it down the street as we walked along with our hands in our pockets yarning to each other. There was no goal and no purpose in our activity. It was just filled in a bit of time. Which is exactly what our political masterminds intend when they nod sagely, agree that the problem is serious, and find a way to ‘kick the can down the road’—there’s no goal, and no purpose, except to fill in some time. During which time they hope we’ll forget all about it. (But we won’t! We’ll remember it when we hold that pencil in our hand in the polling booth!)