If you do a little searching on the internet you might find the assertion that the Greek word Kerberos is cognate with Sanskrit karbarah, sabalah “spotted, speckled;” and, therefore, that it is related to our pet name “Spot”. This is a nice story, but like many nice stories, it is probably not true.
Pierre Chantraine lists this as a “doubted for good reasons”. (Here’s a link for a free download of the dictionary). I don’t really have a better suggestion, but I can quote some equally valid nonsense from antiquity.
Kerberioi: Weak-men. They also call the Kimmerians Kerberians. And some call their city Kerberia, but others call it Kimmeria. Others say that Kimmê is as place in Hades.
“….Divine Philonis
Who bore Autolykos and Philammon*, famous for his voice;
She gave birth to the first after she was impregnated by Apollo,
And then, after she had lovely sex with Hermes too,
She gave birth to Autolykos with the Kyllenian slayer of Argos.”
*Philammon became a powerful singer thanks to his father, Apollo, and in some traditions is credited with founding the practice of singing hymns to Leto, Artemis and Apollo. He has a son with the nymph Argiope, Thamyris, who challenges the Muses in a singing competition and loses. Autolykos’ daughter, Antiklea, is Odysseus’ mother.
Fragment 67
Aeidelon means unseen. Eido is to recognize something, whence we derive “I know” (oida) Eidelos is formed the way pempelos is from pempô. Formed with a suffix, aeidelos is someone that is not seen. In the work of Nicander, it comes from that which is always apparent. He explains about this that it is derived from aeidêlon with a shortening of the eta to an epsilon. But a very clear meaning has been established for aeidelos. For Hesiod uses the word concerning Autolykos to indicate what is unseen:
“Whatever he took with his hands, he made it all unseen” (fr. 67 MW)
For, since he was a thief, he would steal horses and make them look different. He changed their colors. Cf. to aidêlon.
“One Should Avoid Very Archaic Words That Have Become Antiquated and Fallen Out of Use”
“Using words that are obsolete and worn down seems as affected as using uncustomary or new ones of harsh or unpleasant character. Personally, I find more annoying and offensive those words that are new, unknown, or previously unheard rather than those that are merely colloquial and vulgar. I do insist, however, that phrases seem new when they are unused and abandoned, even if they are really ancient. In truth, it is a common vice of learning late in life, what the Greeks call opsimathia, when there’s something you’ve never said and of which you were ignorant for a while, which, once you have begun to understand it, you manage to work it into any place or into any matter you’re discussing.
For example, at Rome we met an experienced man famous for his work as a public defender who had achieved a rapid and incomplete education. When he was speaking to the prefect of the city and wanted to say that a certain many lived on poor and miserable food—he ate bread made of bran and drank old, spoiled wine—he said “this Roman knight eats apluda and drinks flocces.” Everyone who was there looked at one another, at first rather severely and with confused, inquiring faces wondering what either word meant: then, as if he had spoken in Etruscan or Gallic, they all laughed together. That man had read that ancient farmers had called grain apluda—the word is used by Plautus in a comedy called Astraba, if that is a Plautine comedy. Similarly, “flocces” in ancient usage indicated the lees of a vine pressed from grapes, like the fruit from olives, a thing he read in Caecilius’ Polumeni. And he had saved these two words for decorating a speech!”
7 Verbis antiquissimis relictisque iam et desitis minime utendum.
1 Verbis uti aut nimis obsoletis exculcatisque aut insolentibus novitatisque durae et inlepidae par esse delictum videtur. Sed molestius equidem culpatiusque esse arbitror verba nova, incognita, inaudita dicere quam involgata et sordentia. 2 Nova autem videri dico etiam ea, quae sunt inusitata et desita, tametsi sunt vetusta. 3 Est adeo id vitium plerumque serae eruditionis, quam Graeci opsimathian appellant, ut, quod numquam didiceris, diu ignoraveris, cum id scire aliquando coeperis, magni facias quo in loco cumque et quacumque in re dicere. Veluti Romae nobis praesentibus vetus celebratusque homo in causis, sed repentina et quasi tumultuaria doctrina praeditus, cum apud praefectum urbi verba faceret et dicere vellet inopi quendam miseroque victu vivere et furfureum panem esitare vinumque eructum et fetidum potare, “hic” inquit “eques Romanus apludam edit et flocces bibit”. 4 Aspexerunt omnes, qui aderant, alius alium, primo tristiores turbato et requirente voltu, quidnam illud utriusque verbi foret; post deinde, quasi nescio quid Tusce aut Gallice dixisset, universi riserunt. 5 Legerat autem ille “apludam” veteres rusticos frumenti furfurem dixisse idque a Plauto in comoedia, si ea Plauti est, quae Astraba inscripta est, positum esse. 6 Item “flocces” audierat prisca voce significare vini faecem e vinaceis expressam, sicuti fraces oleis, idque aput Caecilium in Poltimenis legerat, eaque sibi duo verba ad orationum ornamenta servaverat. 7
“Spondere is to say spondeo,”I promise”, related to sponte, something done willingly—this has the same force as a voluntate, “with personal inclination”. This is why Lucilius writes about the woman from Crete that she came to his bedroom willingly, that she tossed off her clothes of her own desire. Terence intends the same willingness when he says that it is better: “to do something right because of your own correct desire rather than fear of another.”
From the same sponte on which spondere is based, are derived the words despondet (“he pledges”) and respondet (“he promises in return, answers”), desponsor (“promiser”), and sponsa (“promised bride”), and many others that are similar. For one spondet (“solemnly swears”) when he says sponte (“willingly”) spondeo (“I pledge”). He who has promised (spondidit) is thus a sponsor. He who is by “formal promise” (sponsus) bound to keep a pledge to another person is called a cosponsus.
This is what Naevius is thinking when he says consponsi. If money or a daughter “were promised” (spondebatur) as part of a marriage arrangement, both the money and the girl who was promised (desponsa) would be called sponsa (“pledged”). The money which had been agreed upon under the engagement agreement (sponsu) was called a sponsio (“guarantee”); the man to whom the things were promised would be called a sponsus (“betrothed”) and the day of the agreement would be called “betrothal day” (sponsalis).
Spondere est dicere spondeo, a sponte: nam id idem valet et a voluntate. Itaque Lucilius scribit de Cretaea, cum ad se cubitum venerit sua voluntate, sponte ipsam suapte adductam, ut tunicam et cetera reiceret. Eandem uoluntatem Terentius significat, cum ait satius esse
Sua sponte recte facere quam alieno metu.
Ab eadem sponte, a qua dictum spondere, declinatum despondet et respondet et desponsor et sponsa, item sic alia. Spondet enim qui dicit a sua sponte “spondeo”; qui spopondit, est sponsor; qui idem ut faciat obligatur sponsu, consponsus.
Hoc Naevius significat cum ait “consponsi.” Si spondebatur pecunia aut filia nuptiarum causa, appellabatur et pecunia et quae desponsa erat sponsa; quae pecunia inter se contra sponsu rogata erat, dicta sponsio; cui desponsa quae erat, sponsus; quo die sponsum erat, sponsalis.
On the discussion board for the course HeroesX, someone asked about the etymology of the word Erinys (Fury). I had never really thought about this before, so I started to look into it. The inquirer started by citing some decent etymological texts:
“For Ἐρινύες, Chantraine says there isn’t etymology (DEG p. 371 s. v. ἐρινύς); but A. Carnoy (Dictionnaire étymologique de la mythologie gréco-romaine, Louvain 1957) links the word to ἐρινύειν, arcadic form of ὀρίνω, to stir, raise; so Ἐρινύες should mean “the Furious”.”
I looked more deeply and found nothing really that satisfying. But, since I enjoy a false etymology as much as anyone, I decided to share some findings here. The Etymologicum Magnum, a text created in the 12th century in Byzantium, has some interesting things to say about the etymology of Erinys.
“Furies, vengeful goddesses of paternal transgressions. They pursue the children of those who have committed wrong. The name comes from the fact that they live in the earth [era, reconstructed from the form ἔραζε], which means they live in the earth.
Or, something that comes from the earth is called eranus, which becomes erinus. For the Fury is a khthonic goddess.
The name is also said to come from “completing curses” as if aranus (curse-bringer?) also becomes erinus, since she brings curses or fateful things to pass. Another explanation is that the particle eri [inseparable elsewhere as an intensifier] is added to “completing” [to anuein], since she “accomplishes greatly”.
Another explanation is that the name comes from “resting” [to elinuein], which means to be at peace, and that erinus forms from elinus, for the “one who is at peace”. This is a construction based on an opposite idea, since she is not one who is actually at peace.”
I love the fact that there is an entire category for etymologies that come from the opposite of what something really is.
I also love the fact that this text just throws everything out there.
I had always tacitly assumed some connection with Eris, especially since in Hesiod (Works and Days and Theogony), Eris is associated with the earth. The Etymologicum Gudianum (and others) associated Eris with the act of speech: “Eris comes from “speaking” [eirô], which is the same as legô; this is a type of conflict that comes from words…
On Eris, Chantraine is similarly unhelpful, writing “Pas d’etymologie”…, although he points to ἐρέθω as a possible origin.
Any other ideas?
PS: Chantraine is available online! I cannot tell you how many car-trips, subway journeys, and other odysseys I have made in the past to consult this text. Do the young know what charmed lives they are living?
What the Word “Religiosus” Properly Signifies; and How That Meaning Has Changed; and the Words of Nigidius Figulus, Taken from His Commentaries, Concerning That Matter
Nigidius Figulus, who was – in my opinion – the most learned man next to Marcus Varro, in the eleventh book of his grammatical commentaries recalls a verse from an ancient song which seems truly worthy of note:
‘You should be religious (religentem), so that you do not become superstitious (religiosus).’
He does not however record whose poem this was. And in the same place, Nigidius says, ‘The suffix -osus in words of this sort, such as vinosus, mulierosus, religiosus, indicates a certain unseemly abundance of the thing in question. On that account someone is called religiosus if he has bound himself up with a certain excessive and superstitious religion. That sort of thing is reckoned up as a fault.'”
Quid significet proprie “religiosus”; et in quae diverticula significatio istius vocabuli flexa sit; et verba Nigidii Figuli ex commentariis eius super ea re sumpta. Nigidius Figulus, homo, ut ego arbitror, iuxta M. Varronem doctissimus, in undecimo commentariorum grammaticorum versum ex antiquo carmine refert memoria hercle dignum:
religentem esse oportet, religiosus ne fuas,
cuius autem id carmen sit, non scribit. 2 Atque in eodem loco Nigidius: “Hoc” inquit “inclinamentum semper huiuscemodi verborum, ut “vinosus”, “mulierosus”, “religiosus”, significat copiam quandam inmodicam rei, super qua dicitur. Quocirca “religiosus” is appellabatur, qui nimia et superstitiosa religione sese alligaverat, eaque res vitio assignabatur.”
In a recent post, Palaiophron talks about seeing me lecture and kindly does not make it clear that when a student first asked me for the etymology of Nausikaa, I was flabbergasted and admitted it. The context was a discussion of the names Nausithoos (“swift-in-ships”) and Nausinoos (“ship-minded”) in the Homeric and Hesiodic traditions. Why wouldn’t I think that the offering of two etymologies might prompt an audience member to wonder about a third, when I mentioned the name as a parallel?
The embarrassing truth is that for some unknown reason I had never really thought about the meaning of the name Nausikaa. So, on the spot, I suggested Ναυσι+ καίω for something like “ship-burner”. Palaiophron rightly reacted that this would be preposterous for the narrative of the Odyssey and eventually dug up the records of the ancients who tied the name to either a form of καίνυμι (to excel, or surpass) or from κοσμέω (to arrange, adorn).
So, he cites Pseudo-Zonaras, in his Lexicon, writes: “Nausikaa. Excelling in ships.” (Ναυσικάα. ταῖς ναυσὶ κεκασμένη) confirmed by Etymologicum Magnum which adds Nausikaa: “Excelling (that is, honored [or, an ornament to?]). Ναυσικάα: Κεκασμένη (ὅ ἐστι κεκοσμημένη). Kallierges repeats this (598.28): Ναυσικάα: Κεκασμένη (ὅ ἐστι κεκοσμημένη) ταῖς ναυσί.
