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What is the origin of the scientific name of the apple tree “malus”?
This has been answered already, I’ll just answer it more anecdotally.
Indo-European has two words for apple, that show up in different daughter branches:
- *h₂ébōl shows up in Germanic (… apple), Celtic, Balto-Slavic, and probably Hittite šam(a)lu- ‘apple tree’
- *méh₂lom shows up in Greek (Doric mālon, Attic mēlon), Latin (mālum), Albanian (mollë), and Hittite maḫla ‘apple’
This has been a puzzle for Indo-Europeanists.
- Some Indo-Europeanists have assumed the genuine Indo-European word was *h₂ébōl, and *méh₂lom was a pre-Greek loanword.
- Some Indo-Europeanists have assumed that Indo-European had split up into northern and southern dialects, and dialects are allowed to have different words for the same thing—without one word being necessarily more Indo-European than the other.
- This was news to me: Proto-Indo-European phonology – Wikipedia says that some Indo-Europeanists have tried to unify the two forms as *h₂eml-:
- *h₂eml- > *h₂ebl- > *h₂ébōl
- *h₂eml- > *meh₂l- > *méh₂lom
- EDIT: And add the speculation by Guus Kroonen in On the origin of Greek μῆλον, Latin mālum, Albanian mollë and Hittite šam(a)lu- ‘apple’ that *méh₂lom, which he reconstructs as *smh₂l, is related to proto-Kartvelian (as in Georgian) *msxal- ‘pear’.
So much for apple. What’s the story with mălus ‘evil’?
As others have pointed out, the vowel in malus is short; so whatever it’s derived from, it’s not going to be derived from *méh₂lom (where the laryngeal h₂ serves to lengthen the preceding vowel).
From Proto-Italic, related to Oscan mallom and mallud (“bad”). Originally associated with Ancient Greek μέλας (mélas, “black, dark”), but support for this is waning. Perhaps from the same Proto-Indo-European root as Avestan [math]unicode{x10B28}unicode{x10B00}unicode{x10B0C}unicode{x10B2D}unicode{x10B0C}unicode{x10B0C}unicode{x10B00}[/math] (mairiia, “treacherous”).
Which means… we don’t know. All we do know is, it is indeed a coincidence. Although yes, it’s a coincidence mediaeval theologians have had a field day with. In fact, it’s likely the reason why Westerners assume the forbidden fruit was an apple: Forbidden fruit. De ligno autem scientiae boni et mali “of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil/apples”. Jewish tradition instead pointed to the fig, the grape, or wheat.
What is said at Greek funerals?
Constantinos Kalampokis’ answer to What is said at Greek funerals? covers everything that happens at a funeral; but I’m assuming the question is particularly after what the condolence formula is.
Both Greek and Turkish are notorious in linguistics for having a formulaic expression for just about every occasion; it’s part of good social behaviour that you’re expected to come up with the right formula for the right occasion. Hence the proverbial expression for someone tactless: Πάρ’ τονα στο γάμο σου να σου πει «και του χρόνου», “Take this guy to your wedding, and he’ll wish you ‘Many Happy Returns!’”
In funerals, the formulaic expression is ζωή σε λόγου σας “life to you” (where λόγου σας “your word” is an old circumlocution for “you”, cf. “your lordship”). https://www.translatum.gr/forum/… offers the alternatives ζωή σε σας “life to you”, and να ζήσετε/ζείτε να τον/τη θυμάστε “may you live/keep living, so that you can keep remembering him/her” (i.e. may his/her memory survive in you).
Τα συλλυπητήριά μου “my condolences” is a more formal, stiff expression; I doubt you’d use it with friends. Κουράγιο “(have) courage!” is also heard, to acknowledge the hardship of family members.
I have a lot of time for the expression Να είναι ελαφρύ το χώμα που θα τον σκεπάσει “may the soil that covers him be light”. But that’s not used at funerals, it’s a valediction typically used for famous people.
What was Clearchus’ tragic flaw?
Desmond, I have the highest of regard for you who have A2A’d me, and you have the highest of regard to me to have A2A’d me.
The problem is, I don’t even know who Clearchus is. Yes, I am actually an impostor.
But Wikipedia remedies that!
So. Clearchus of Sparta – Wikipedia, and Battle of Cunaxa – Wikipedia. I’m going to go throw in the flaws I can discern in his biography, and then identify what Classicists would zero in on as his big lesson of a tragic flaw. And I’ll pose the question to my betters: was it actually a flaw?
Born about the middle of the 5th century BC, Clearchus was sent with a fleet to the Hellespont in 411 and became governor of Byzantium, of which town he was proxenus. His severity, however, made him unpopular, and in his absence the gates were opened to the Athenian besieging army under Alcibiades (409).
Flaw 1. Being too much of a hardass in a situation that called for more common sense: being military governor of an occupied town that could easily turn itself over to a more lenient enemy. Not a tragic flaw, but certainly bad judgement.
[Recalled to Sparta, sent back to Byzantium]. When the ephors [of Sparta] learned that the citizens of Byzantium considered him a tyrant, they recalled him through a messenger that reached Clearchus while he was still in the Isthmus of Corinth. Clearchus ignored the messenger and proceeded to Byzantium, and thus he was instantly declared an outlaw by the ephors.
Flaw 2. Disobeying the orders of your superiors. Being an outlaw is well and good—if you have the means to get back on top. He didn’t, so more bad judgement.
He fought the Thracian tribes successfully, in the process gaining the unofficial support of the Greek cities that were thus relieved. Clearchus, counting on his successes to gain him back the Spartan ephors’ good graces, was ultimately disappointed in this expectation.
Flaw 3. He actually won back the favour of Byzantium and/or the neighbouring Greek colonies—but not, as he expected, the favour of Sparta. More bad judgement.
[Recruited as a mercenary by Cyrus the Younger]. Clearchus accepted not because of the money but because he knew that sooner or later he would have to face his fellow Spartans since he was still considered an outlaw by the ephors.
Not a flaw, but an outcome of Flaw 2: he didn’t have the means to get back on top, so his options were limited.
Clearchus tricking his men into staying on to fight for Cyrus in Anabasis 1.3 is not a flaw; it’s good management of an army. Sun Tzu would approve.
The infighting between Clearchus and Menon’s troops in Anabasis 1.5, when Clearchus lost his shit, I don’t count as a flaw more than usual in any headstrong commander.
(Some cutting and pasting of Wikipedia)
Cyrus then approached Clearchus, the leader of the Greeks, who was commanding the phalanx stationed on the right, and ordered him to move into the center so as to go after Artaxerxes. … Artaxerxes was in the center of his line, with 6,000 units of Persian cavalry (which were some of the finest in the world and by far superior to anything Cyrus or the Greeks could field).
So Cyrus is ordering Clearchus, commanding Cyrus’ elite mercenaries, to go after Artaxerxes’ even more elite troops. Which makes sense for Cyrus.
Clearchus refused this owing to the insecurity that the Greeks had for their right flank, which tended to drift and was undefended, as the shields were held in the left hand.
Which is a rational military precaution, I guess; but:
Clearchus, not desiring to do this – for fear of his right flank – refused, and promised Cyrus, according to Xenophon, that he would “take care that all would be well”.
Flaw 4. Fobbing off your superiors. He’s a mercenary of course, so that’s not outright treason, but it’s not going to get you rehired.
That Clearchus did not obey this order is a sign of the level of control that Cyrus had over his army, as a couple of other occasions throughout this campaign prior to the battle reveal also. This is inconsistent with military discipline, even in this day.
Flaw 5. Disobeying the orders of your superiors. Which Sun Tzu (again) explicitly approves of, if your superior is a militarily clueless king and you are a clueful general.
The Greeks, deployed on Cyrus’s right and outnumbered, charged the left flank of Artaxerxes’ army, which broke ranks and fled before they came within arrowshot.
Which means Clearchus’ gamble paid off for the Greeks.
the Greek mercenaries, who […] were heavily armed, stood firm. Clearchus advanced against the much larger right wing of Artaxerxes’ army and sent it into retreat.
Bonus! They defeated the left wing, and they defeated the right wing. That just leaves the elite centre wing, which Cyrus was to fight on his own.
Uh-oh.
However, on the Persian right the fight between Artaxerxes’ army and Cyrus was far more difficult and protracted. Cyrus personally charged his brother’s bodyguard and was killed by a javelin, which sent the rebels into retreat.
Well, that was stupid of Cyrus, and it’s not clear the Greeks could have defeated the cavalry. But Cyrus certainly didn’t.
Only the Greek mercenaries, who had not heard of Cyrus’s death and were heavily armed, stood firm. […] Meanwhile, Artaxerxes’ troops took the Greek encampment and destroyed their food supplies. Only after the battle did they hear that Cyrus himself had been killed, making their victory irrelevant and the expedition a failure.
So they defeated the left and right wings, but not the wing that mattered.
They offered their services to Tissaphernes, a leading satrap of Artaxerxes, but he refused them, and they refused to surrender to him.
Not having options. Again, a bad situation to find yourself in.
The Greek senior officers foolishly accepted the invitation of Tissaphernes to a feast. There they were made prisoner, taken up to the king and there decapitated.
Flaw 6. Accepting the proffered hand of yesterday’s enemy, who is still your enemy today. It’s what happens when you’ve run out of options though. The Greek senior officers decapitated included Clearchus, their commander. It did not include Xenophon, who took command of the mercenaries and led them back to the Black Sea.
Six flaws. Which is the tragic one?
Flaw 4–5 is the moment Clearchus is famous for: it’s why Xenophon ends up having to lead the march that is the focus of his Anabasis. And people would have sought to explain such a military failure as a character flaw in Clearchus.
Cyrus the Younger – Wikipedia characterises Clearchus’ disobeying Cyrus in terms of the character flaw we all expect in hamartia:
Clearchus, out of arrogance, disobeyed.
This random LaRouchist tract I found pinpoints a different character flaw, fear:
Clearchus had made the fatal mistake of worrying more about his own survival than about achieving victory. Had he obeyed Cyrus, and led the assault, instead of allowing Cyrus to lead the Greek forces into battle, Cyrus would have survived to become King of Persia!
All we actually know is what Xenophon says (or speculates) Clearchus did:
Clearchus, though he could see the compact body at the centre, and had been told by Cyrus that the king lay outside the Hellenic left (for, owing to numerical superiority, the king, while holding his own centre, could well overlap Cyrus’s extreme left), still hesitated to draw off his right wing from the river, for fear of being turned on both flanks; and he simply replied, assuring Cyrus that he would take care all went well.
The fobbing off could be arrogance, and the hesitancy could be genuine fear; and both of them would be tragic flaws. In the end, Clearchus’ gamble paid off tactically, and success overrules all flaws—but it did not pay off strategically, because Artaxerxes actually won (and left Clearchus with no way out). Clearchus not going after the centre flank looks like yet another error in judgement—a panicked caution to complement his wonted rashness. Bad judgement to me sounds like a flaw more consistent with Clearchus’ earlier career.
But I have to say, I’m not ruling out that Clearchus’ decision was militarily sensible— especially if he was more interested in keeping his Greek army alive than his employer. Wikipedia gives a tactical constraint which Xenophon knew, but did not make explicit: “the insecurity that the Greeks had for their right flank, which tended to drift and was undefended, as the shields were held in the left hand.”
So this question should go to someone who knows both their Xenophon, and their military tactics.
What is written on the Library of Celsus and is it still readable easily for a modern average Greek?
Well, there’s a whole bunch of writing on the Library. In order of size:
- The four statues: ΣΟΦΙΑ ΚΕΛΣΟΥ, ΑΡΕΤΗ ΚΕΛΣΟΥ, ΕΝΝΟΙΑ ΚΕΛΣΟΥ, ΕΠΙΣΤΗΜΗ ΚΕΛΣΟΥ. “Wisdom of Celsus, Virtue of Celsus, Meaning of Celsus, Science [Knowledge] of Celsus”. False friend in “Science”, but no problem.
- The facade: I actually got this from a Google Books publication of the inscription (“����������� ὕ�����” – ��������� Google —Année Épigraphique 1968), it is faded (and reconstructed—the stuff in brackets was not legible in 1968, and the library was reconstructed in the 70s).
Τι. Ἰού[λιον Πολεμαιανὸν] ὕπατον ἀνθύπατον Ἀσίας Τι. Ἰούλιος Ἀκύλας ὁ υἱὸς κ[α]τεσκεύασεν τὴν βιβλιοθήκην [ἀπα]ρτ[ισάντ]ων τῶν Ἀκύλα κ[λη]ρ[ονόμων καθιερώσα]ντος Τι. Κλαυδίου Ἀριστίωνος Γ Ἀσιάρχου
Haven’t sighted a translation, but don’t really need to:
Tiberius Julius Polemaeanus, consul, proconsul of Asia: Tiberius Julius Aquila his son built the library, which Aquila’s heirs completed, and Tiberius Claudius Aristion three-times Asiarch dedicated.
Two things throw an educated Modern Greek speaker like me: the use of ἀπαρτίζω to mean “complete”; the word has been reborrowed into Modern Greek, but there it only means “constitute”; and the use of Γ to mean “three times” instead of “the third”.
Then there’s the more detailed inscription in the middle; see Library of Celsus Ephesus. With no spaces between the words, it’s harder to read, but it’s mostly understandable. I beg you not to ask me to do a line by line of it.
What is the Latin translation of “Even the dead have not seen the end of war”?
Ne mortui quidem belli finem viderunt.
What are some beautiful Greek names for a girl?
I’m going to go all contrarian like Evangelos Lolos did. Way too much antiquity here.
Special shoutout to John Salaris, who also went with two overtly modern names: Panagiota (Greek equivalent of Madonna), and Argyro “Silver”.
Those names ending in –o are particularly delicious. If they aren’t truncations of other names (Βαγγελιώ < Evangeline, Βαλάντω < Chrysovalantes, Δέσπω < Despina, Λενιώ < Helen), they are often names of precious substances or things, suffixed with an –o: Αστέρω “Star”, Διαμάντω “Diamond”, Κρυστάλλω “Crystal”, Ζαφείρω “Sapphire”, Ζαχάρω “Sugar”.
Greeks like to tell themselves they are a continuation of Ancient Greek names like Sappho. Hence spelling them with an omega. But if they were, they wouldn’t sound so decidedly hayseed, and be snobbed off by so many Greeks.
The likeliest derivation of that -o? No surprise there. Slavonic vocatives; cf. Bulgarian babo “grandmother (vocative)”, which has been borrowed into Greek as μπάμπω.
Yes, they’re a contrarian choice. But I still think they are charming.
By what process(es) do complex inflection systems form in natural languages? What influences how they form?
There are languages with clean, atomic, nuggety units of meaning as separate words: isolating languages like Chinese and (mostly) English.
There are languages with suffixes as well as words, where those suffixes are still, for the most part, clean, atomic, easy to detect, and easy to take apart: agglutinative languages like Turkish.
And then you have horrid messy languages, where the inflections are laborious to learn, have only the faint traces of pattern, and where an inflection suffix often ends up conveying two or three grammatical categories at once. Fusional languages. Like most of the old Indo-European languages, and most of the new Eastern Indo-European languages.
There’s a hypothetical cycle (or rather spiral) of Isolating > Agglutinative > Fusional … > Isolating.
Assuming that fusional languages came from something, that there is a different type that they draw from, that type would have to be agglutinative: inflections going from clean and discrete, to messy and mooshed together. What perverse, counterintuitive force would make that happen?
Well, language change is often a messy compromise between two contrary forces; in theory it has to be, because we know that language varies and does not uniformly end up at the same endpoint. There are forces pushing it in one direction; there clearly have to be forces pushing it in the opposite direction, or else all language would converge at the endpoint of that first direction.
There is a force pushing language to be clearer: more communicative, easier to learn, more iconic, clearer in structure, more logical. That force would keep language agglutinative.
The force that usually ends up pushing in the opposite direction is the force pushing language to be easier: in particular, easier to utter. It’s phonetics.
So the old Germanic i-plurals make sense: one fōt ‘foot’, many fōt-i; one mūs ‘mouse’, many mūs-i. All very clean.
Until people start making those plurals easier to pronounce.
- fōti > föti > föt > fēt > feet
- mūsi > müsi > müs > mīs > mice
One foot, two feet makes no sense; neither does one mouse, two mice. But they used to make sense. And the changes can all be explained as regular sound changes, that make the words easier to pronounce. (That plus the Great English Vowel Shift.)
It’s the same with those complex inflections of classical languages. Those complicated verbal flexions of Ancient Greek do kind of suggest patterns; in fact, if you look at the fine print of classical grammars, you will see a section where the verb endings are taken apart letter by letter to make sense of them, in a way that tells you they used to be agglutinative. (That plus Indo-European e/o ablaut.)
But to get from that proto-Greek agglutinative pristine niceness, to the mess of Classical Greek, you go through a bunch of sound changes—many of them to do with smashing vowels together into new vowels. Dropping s between vowels is only the most irritating of those sound changes. (So irritating, Modern Greek ended up undoing it: Proto-Greek *lyesai > *lyeai > Classical Greek lyēi ‘thou art unbound’—and notice eai > ēi; Modern Greek linese < *ly-n-esai ‘you’re untied’.)
Answered 2017-04-26 · Upvoted by
, Linguistics PhD candidate at Edinburgh. Has lived in USA, Sweden, Italy, UK.
What is the word for the thief in the every day language of your country and in the New Testament?
Ancient Greek made a distinction between thieves and robbers: kleptēs vs lēistēs or harpax. Both kleptēs and lēistēs are used in the New Testament; the men crucified with Jesus were lēistai.
The Modern Greek vernacular had lost the word lēistēs, and had kept the word kleptēs (as kleftis) to refer to both thieves and robbers.
Brigands are robbers are thieves. Brigands were also celebrated in folksong as indomitable rebels, and formed the backbone of the Greek War of Independence. So brigands, as Klephts, were much feted in the newly independent Greece:
Klephts (Greek κλέφτης, kléftis, pl. κλέφτες, kléftes, which means “thief” and perhaps originally meant just “brigand”) were highwaymen turned self-appointed armatoloi, anti-Ottoman insurgents, and warlike mountain-folk who lived in the countryside when Greece was a part of the Ottoman Empire. They were the descendants of Greeks who retreated into the mountains during the 15th century in order to avoid Ottoman rule. They carried on a continuous war against Ottoman rule and remained active as brigands until the 19th century.
The catch is that Klephts were really just brigands. As folk songs make clear, they would rob rich Christian and rich Muslim alike. They fought the good fight during the War of Independence—and after the War of Independence, they went back to robbing the citizens of the new Greek State. Which was more than a little embarrassing if the new Greek State is using them as part of its foundation story.
The Greek State had a means to deal with this embarrassment: the introduction of Puristic Greek, as a move back towards Classical Greek. The indomitable heroes of the revolution could go on being called klephts. The current scoundrels holding up Greek nationals in mountain passes may well have been the exact same people; but they were not going to be called the same heroic name. They were listis (lēistēs): the ancient and Biblical word was brought back, to castigate them. (Those folk songs featuring the brigands robbing Christians were judiciously ignored, too.)
As a result, Modern Greek now has a word for robber, listis, a word for thief, kleftis, and a cognitive dissonance about the fact that kleftis is also a heroic indomitable hero type.
How did Byzantine Greeks regard ancient Greek civilization?
As a complement to Dimitra Triantafyllidou’s answer and Niko Vasileas’ answer:
There was an undercurrent of resentment of the ancients and their pagan wisdom, but it remained an undercurrent.
There’s the renowned hymn on the Pentecost by Romanos the Melodist, dismissing ancient learning with puns on the pagan scholars—and alas, a favourite of the Greek nationalist blogosphere:
Οὐκοῦν εδόθη αὐτοῖς πάντων περιγενέσθαι
δι’ ὧν λαλοῦσι γλωσσῶν;
καὶ τί φιλονεικοῦσιν οἱ ἔξω ληροῦντες;
τί φυσῶσι καὶ βαμβεύουσιν οἱ Ἕλληνες;
Τί φαντάζονται πρὸς Ἄρατον τὸν τρισκατάρατον;
Τί πλανῶνται πρὸς Πλάτωνα;
Τί Δημοσθένην στέργουσι τὸν ἀσθενῆ;
Τί μὴ ὁρῶσιν Ὅμηρον ὄνειρον ἀργόν;
Τί Πυθαγόραν θρυλλοῦσι τὸν δικαίως φιμωθέντα;
Τί δὲ καὶ μὴ τρέχουσι και σέβουσιν οἷς ἐνεφανίσθη
τὸ Πανάγιον Πνεῦμα; (On the Pentecost XVII)
Was it not granted to them [the apostles] to be superior, through the languages they spoke in? And what are the fools outside arguing about? What are the Hellenes [Pagans] bloviating and blabbing about? Why does their fancy go to Aratus the accursed [triskataraton]? Why are they deceived [planōntai] to follow Plato? Why do they care about Demosthenes the weakling [asthenē]? Why don’t they see that Homer is an idle dream [oneiron]? Why do they keep going on about Pythagoras, who was justly muzzled? Why won’t they run and pay respect to those to whom the Most Holy Spirit appeared?”
The fact that Romanos was Syrian is not relevant; so was Lucian. The fact that Romanos was writing in the 7th century is relevant: there were still pagans in the Empire, and Christianity was still trying to assert itself.
This was not the elite response to antiquity: the elite response, as Dimitra said, was to embrace antiquity, and the Cappadocian Fathers, Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of Nazianzus, pioneered the reconciliation of Christian and Pagan learning in the 4th century. But Romanos was not part of the elite.
I’ve elsewhere spoken of how Modern Greek peasants were in distant if suspicious awe of the ruins around them: Nick Nicholas’ answer to How do Greeks feel about references to Ancient Greece?
The unlettered peasants 300 years ago had a much more straightforward relationship with the Hellenes: they were this race of pagan giants, the folk who built all them ruins; and they died out because they fell over, and couldn’t get back up…
The Parastaseis syntomoi chronikai, a 9th century description of the sights of Constantinople, shows a similar confused apprehension of the highlights of the Ancient World that Constantinople was strewn with: little-understood receptacles of magic and fear. Like Romans, the commoners of Constantinople were ambivalent about their past.
And of course, there was the ongoing feeling of inferiority towards the ancients, memorably expressed by Theodore Metochites: Nick Nicholas’ answer to Do many modern Greeks feel a sense of failure or perhaps inferiority when compared with their ancient Greek ancestors? The ancients have not left us anything to say, he laments—in the introduction to an 800-page collection of essays.
What is the origin of the terms “Bourazeris” and “Vlamis”, obsolete from the 21st century Greek language?
The Triantafyllidis dictionary is online:
βλάμης [vlamis] “blood brother” < Albanian vlam: Λεξικό της κοινής νεοελληνικής. Obsolete, but certainly familiar from rebetiko and later songs. The 1951 song Παλαμάκια is probably the best known instance of the word—or rather, of its feminine vlamissa:
μπουραζέρης [burazeris], variant μπραζέρης [brazeris], was not familiar to me, and is not in Triantafyllidis. But it is in the Papyros dictionary, which is available (unattributed) online: μπουραζέρης. It is glossed as “blood brother”, and also derived from Albanian. (I recognise burrë ‘man’.)
The term occurs mostly as a surname in Google, but I found an instance of it in its literal meaning here: Ο λεοντόκαρδος και ακατάβλητος οπλαρχηγός Μ.Μπότσαρης . It mentions Theodoros Kolokotronis becoming blood brother of Markos Botsaris during the Greek War of Independence. Not coincidentally, Botsaris was ethnic Albanian (and not Arvanite: Souli is across the border from Modern Albania), and he wrote one of the earliest dictionaries of Albanian.
I note this article online: Αδελφοποιΐα – Βλάμης (Μπραζέρης)
Στην Ήπειρο, κι όχι μόνο, λέγονται βλάμηδες «από την αλβανική λέξη βλαμ» και μετά την αδελφοποίηση «οι βλάμηδες» το γιορτάζουν με φαγοπότι και χορό. Στη Μακεδονία και στη Θεσσαλία λέγονται μπράτιμοι «από βουλγαρική λέξη» και στην Πελοπόννησο μπουραζέρηδες ή μπραζέρηδες.
In Epirus and beyond, blood brothers are called vlamides, from the Albanian word vlam, and after the ritual vlamides celebrated with feasting and dancing. In Macedonia and Thessaly they are called bratimi, from a Bulgarian word, and in the Peloponnese they are called burazerides or brazerides.
EDIT: the Standard Albanian equivalents are given in Kelvin Zifla’s answer to What is the origin of the terms “Bourazeris” and “Vlamis”, obsolete from the 21st century Greek language? and in User-13249930999434776143’s comment below: vëllam, byrazer.