A lot has changed from 762 BC to 2020.
The Greek poet Homer wrote the Iliad many moons ago. It was published in 762 BC. It was an epic. Epic a long poem, typically one derived from ancient oral tradition, narrating the deeds and adventures of heroic or legendary figures or the history of a nation. It detailed the last few weeks of the Trojan War and it was truly epic.
An epic epic? It’s curious how language evolves.
I think there are a good number of scholars and linguists out there who would say that the general trajectory of language is more of a downward spiral. Rather than evolve, language devolves. While I definitely don’t agree whole-heartedly with that statement, I can see where it comes from.
Epic as an adjective described the hero’s journey in great literary detail. It’s since devolved into something that merely means “cool” to skateboarders and millennials. OK, fine, I’ve been guilty of using it too. It’s fun.
According to one website, there are two main ways that words change—narrowing or broadening.
With narrowing, as you can guess, words acquire a more literal meaning and lose their more abstract connotations. I think of it like squeezing all the juice out of a lime. You’re basically left with the rind.
With broadening, words acquire a more abstract meaning and lose their literal one. I think we can safely say that’s the case with epic. Not a great analogy but I think of fruit that’s been genetically modified to be massive. At a certain point, when a tomato is looking like a cantaloupe (in size), then you have to wonder… is it still technically a regular old tomato?
So language can either narrow or broaden, or, it can go the way of fashion—in and out of style.
I can’t help but think about how much of the lovely Victorian-age language has fallen out of favor and use. Jane Austen and the Bröntes lived and breathed words like amiable, disconsolate, opprobrium, fastidious, pallid, pernicious, plebeian, propriety, sanctimonious, sanguine, scintillating, scrupulous, spurious, venerable, cordial, haughty, impertinent and trifling. Now they pretty much only exist in the dusty pages of dictionaries and novels long-ago read.
On the whole though, while scholars and linguists might hold their secret opinions and fears of the devolution of language, for the most part, I think they’re overwhelmingly positive. Why? Because they love language and they’re curious observers to all that’s being spoken and written around them. In that case, judgment isn’t a part of the equation. Like all of us, they still may prefer their bell-bottoms over extra slim-fit skinny jeans, but they’re just pumped about fashion and how it evolves in general. (And by fashion I mean language.) One site goes as far as saying that “you can only truly believe in linguistic devolution if you’re a straight-up language snob.” As with all things, there’s a spectrum and I don’t think it’s particularly helpful to be camped out at either end.
To attempt to get this out of the real of the conceptual, I’ll mention a few examples of words whose meanings have evolved over time so you can get a sense of how very commonplace it actually is.
Media, for example, was a very neutral term meaning modes of transferring information. It’s not that it doesn’t mean that anymore, it’s just that in “modern usage” we employ it to mean “the press” as a whole. And the singular of media, medium, has pretty much fallen by the wayside altogether.
If we think about the press, it referred specifically to the printed newspaper. It equated to the printing press—the machine. Now we think of “the press” as encompassing the entirety of the news industry (and it too noew has all kinds of baggage attached to it). It has almost nothing to do with the act of transferring ink from type to paper.
Liberal once meant generous or enlightened. For example, a liberal helping of mashed potatoes. Pile it on, baby. I’m not even going to try to define liberal now, but it’s almost entirely political and partisan.
We don’t think twice about using the word pretty to mean fairly or moderately. That steak was pretty good. Before, it strictly meant handsome or beautiful, referring to physical appearance. Interesting. Because I’d much rather have a good steak than a pretty one that’s tough and gamey.
And this last one was a real “wow” for me. We know the word clue as a piece of evidence or a hint. Apparently the origin of the word in Old English and Dutch was “clew” and it meant a rounded mass of a ball of yarn or thread. If you follow the thread, you’ll find the kitty playing with the ball of yarn in the dining room. Don’t need Sherlock’s magnifying glass for that one!
Whether language evolves or devolves and whether epic still retains its epic-ness are not questions of life or death. I think we can all agree though that language is alive and has power. I’ll end with the brilliant words of others since I’m not coming up with a brilliant ending of my own.
The limits of language are the limits of my world. – Ludwig Wittgenstein
Language is the road map of a culture. It tells you where its people come from and where they are going. – Rita Mae Brown
“Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.” ― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind
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Blog Image Source:
https://medium.com/nyc-design/how-to-use-the-heros-journey-as-a-design-thinking-tool-c4901be5ce