Those Darned Phonetic Corruptions
By this it appears how necessary it is for any man that aspires to true Knowledge, to examine the Definitions of former Authors; and either to correct them, where they are negligently set down; or to make them himselfe. For the errours of Definitions multiply themselves, according as the reckoning proceeds; and lead men into absurdities, which at last they see, but cannot avoyd, without reckoning anew from the beginning; in which lyes the foundation of their errours.
--Hobbes, Leviathan
I read this quote years ago not in the original source, but quoted in Neil Stephenson's Quicksilver. The quote appears at the head of a chapter titled Epsom, 1665-1666 in the first book (the original Baroque Cycle consists of three large volumes broken each into three books). For those reading Quicksilver, the irony/dissonance of the quote should be immediately apparent. You see, Stephenson makes masterful use of modern terms by exploring their etymology and probable origins, weaving words like "phant'sy" and concepts like what the enlightenment would resemble before it has actually happened. For the most part, he also avoids using modern terms like "scientist" ( coined by William Whewell in 1833).
This encyclopedic research into our language's history becomes all the more puzzling, though, when he slips. His former care makes his errors glare.
Gottfried Leibniz
One of the many historical characters making an appearance in the fiction, Gottfried Leibniz says, "I concluded that there was little point in jury-rigging something." (Stephenson, Quicksilver, Harper Collins, 2003, p. 273)
Jury-rigging? Ah, no.
To be fair, Stephenson is hardly the first respectable author to have been tripped by this phonetic corruption. It sounds right. After all, one hears all the time about rigged juries, a convened panel of peers illegally influenced to side with either the defense or the prosecution. Since this smacks of manipulation, fiddling about with complex systems to effect repairs or (more often) poorly-executed engineering changes seems consistent as a definition.
Larry Niven made this mistake at least once in his early sci-fi writings, but changed after he started collaborating with Jerry Pournelle. Pournelle, better versed in military history than Niven, realized that "jury-rigged" was a phonetic corruption of "jerry-rigged," a term of derision dating back to the Great War. Anti-german sentiment ran high in the United States during what later had to be renamed the First World War. Patriotic restauranteurs pulled hamburgers from the menu, serving fried ground beef paddies as Victory Steaks. Frankfurters and Wieners became Victory Dogs, later just Hot Dogs. Americans adopted a favorite racially derisive term for low-cost baling-wire fixes and re-applied their scorn toward the jerries. For some reason, long after the war, long after folks forgot the emnity toward all things German, the conflation with juries was made, even though many still use the term to describe metal, rectangular portable gas cans.*
With this in mind, I hardly think the Austrian Leibniz would describe low budget fudging in decidedly anti-German terms, especially not 250 years before Americans coined the term itself.
Stephenson later refers to the barbaric act of bear bating. This was once a popular past time in Europe. Essentially one captures a bear, stakes it in the center of a square, then attacks it with several hungry hounds. Betting ensues. Sometimes the bear wins, sometimes not, but blood will be shed. The trouble is, throughout the books Stephenson calls it "bear baiting." (He's not alone; check out the name of the graphic I appropriated. The website source makes the same mistake. It's becoming far too common. Sigh.)
This mistake I can almost understand. You see, there is such a thing as bear baiting, often employed prior to bating. One sets something sweet and fragrant to lure bears to a trap. I was once, in fact, introduced to a very German sweet honey liqueur called bärenbat (sp?), or bear bait, a name which supposedly reflects the reason it was originally distilled.
After the bear is caught, though, a very different bating commences for the entertainment. "Bating" shares a root with the modern term "abate," both based upon a Middle English legal term meaning "to stop." The bears were stopped by a chain -- held at bay -- from chasing the hounds that beset them. (The bear in the above woodcut got lucky!) From this meaning we can also better understand Shakespeare's “Shall I bend low and, in a bondman’s key, / With bated breath and whisp’ring humbleness, / Say this ...” from The Merchant of Venice.
(Addendum December 3, 2007: It seems Stephenson committed an even greater misuse than I originally thought. Later in Quicksilver, I read: ". . . I am only bating until I have raised money for the passage. . . ." (ibid, p. 725) That's right, a correct use of the term, albeit outside any reference to bears.)
I don't mean for my complaints to scare potential Stephenson readers. Despite the slips, The Baroque Cycle is often a mesmerizing read (though it takes place about 50 years before Franz Anton Mesmer made his fortunes, secured his fame and later infamy; but that's another story). I've read each of the three volumes twice now, and regard his Zodiac as one of my favorite novels ever. Do, please, read Stephenson.
But do be aware that, as a writer, if you choose to execute a difficult style, sometimes readers will most easily remember those times you trip along the way.
*Giving further credence to Hobbes' quote, see firstashore's correction below.
--Hobbes, Leviathan
I read this quote years ago not in the original source, but quoted in Neil Stephenson's Quicksilver. The quote appears at the head of a chapter titled Epsom, 1665-1666 in the first book (the original Baroque Cycle consists of three large volumes broken each into three books). For those reading Quicksilver, the irony/dissonance of the quote should be immediately apparent. You see, Stephenson makes masterful use of modern terms by exploring their etymology and probable origins, weaving words like "phant'sy" and concepts like what the enlightenment would resemble before it has actually happened. For the most part, he also avoids using modern terms like "scientist" ( coined by William Whewell in 1833).
This encyclopedic research into our language's history becomes all the more puzzling, though, when he slips. His former care makes his errors glare.
Gottfried Leibniz
One of the many historical characters making an appearance in the fiction, Gottfried Leibniz says, "I concluded that there was little point in jury-rigging something." (Stephenson, Quicksilver, Harper Collins, 2003, p. 273)
Jury-rigging? Ah, no.
To be fair, Stephenson is hardly the first respectable author to have been tripped by this phonetic corruption. It sounds right. After all, one hears all the time about rigged juries, a convened panel of peers illegally influenced to side with either the defense or the prosecution. Since this smacks of manipulation, fiddling about with complex systems to effect repairs or (more often) poorly-executed engineering changes seems consistent as a definition.
Larry Niven made this mistake at least once in his early sci-fi writings, but changed after he started collaborating with Jerry Pournelle. Pournelle, better versed in military history than Niven, realized that "jury-rigged" was a phonetic corruption of "jerry-rigged," a term of derision dating back to the Great War. Anti-german sentiment ran high in the United States during what later had to be renamed the First World War. Patriotic restauranteurs pulled hamburgers from the menu, serving fried ground beef paddies as Victory Steaks. Frankfurters and Wieners became Victory Dogs, later just Hot Dogs. Americans adopted a favorite racially derisive term for low-cost baling-wire fixes and re-applied their scorn toward the jerries. For some reason, long after the war, long after folks forgot the emnity toward all things German, the conflation with juries was made, even though many still use the term to describe metal, rectangular portable gas cans.*
With this in mind, I hardly think the Austrian Leibniz would describe low budget fudging in decidedly anti-German terms, especially not 250 years before Americans coined the term itself.
Stephenson later refers to the barbaric act of bear bating. This was once a popular past time in Europe. Essentially one captures a bear, stakes it in the center of a square, then attacks it with several hungry hounds. Betting ensues. Sometimes the bear wins, sometimes not, but blood will be shed. The trouble is, throughout the books Stephenson calls it "bear baiting." (He's not alone; check out the name of the graphic I appropriated. The website source makes the same mistake. It's becoming far too common. Sigh.)
This mistake I can almost understand. You see, there is such a thing as bear baiting, often employed prior to bating. One sets something sweet and fragrant to lure bears to a trap. I was once, in fact, introduced to a very German sweet honey liqueur called bärenbat (sp?), or bear bait, a name which supposedly reflects the reason it was originally distilled.
After the bear is caught, though, a very different bating commences for the entertainment. "Bating" shares a root with the modern term "abate," both based upon a Middle English legal term meaning "to stop." The bears were stopped by a chain -- held at bay -- from chasing the hounds that beset them. (The bear in the above woodcut got lucky!) From this meaning we can also better understand Shakespeare's “Shall I bend low and, in a bondman’s key, / With bated breath and whisp’ring humbleness, / Say this ...” from The Merchant of Venice.
(Addendum December 3, 2007: It seems Stephenson committed an even greater misuse than I originally thought. Later in Quicksilver, I read: ". . . I am only bating until I have raised money for the passage. . . ." (ibid, p. 725) That's right, a correct use of the term, albeit outside any reference to bears.)
I don't mean for my complaints to scare potential Stephenson readers. Despite the slips, The Baroque Cycle is often a mesmerizing read (though it takes place about 50 years before Franz Anton Mesmer made his fortunes, secured his fame and later infamy; but that's another story). I've read each of the three volumes twice now, and regard his Zodiac as one of my favorite novels ever. Do, please, read Stephenson.
But do be aware that, as a writer, if you choose to execute a difficult style, sometimes readers will most easily remember those times you trip along the way.
*Giving further credence to Hobbes' quote, see firstashore's correction below.