A fallacy of ambiguity, whereby the original (or etymologically derived) meaning of a word is considered authoritative, regardless of the specific context in which it is used.
Example:
A: That really was a lousy idea.
B: An idea can’t have lice, so that statement makes no sense.
The term “lousy” did indeed originally refer to a garment, mattress or similar item infested with lice. However, the meaning has changed over time, and today it can be used as a derogatory or intensifying adjective to describe almost anything that falls short of expectations; this includes ideas that, in hindsight, have turned out not to be so good after all.
The “etymological fallacy” is based on a unique form of ambiguity that results from the fact that language and its usage change, and that the meanings of words and terms are therefore not static.
Which meaning is implied in each case therefore often depends on the time at which the term is used. This means that a historical text may use the original meaning, whilst a contemporary source is more likely to refer to the modern meaning.
The fallacy underlying this is that language is viewed as a static construct that does not change. In fact, every actively used language evolves, and as a result, the meanings of words and terms are constantly changing.
Here are a few examples of English terms that have undergone a significant shift in meaning over time:
Such shifts in meaning do not only affect words. Other symbols and signifiers can also change their meaning. For example, the Christian cross symbol originally referred to an instrument of torture and execution (Crucifixion), but is today generally no longer understood as such.
Similarly, one possible origin of the wedding ring is a symbolic “chain link”, intended to symbolise the wife’s “bond” to her husband (although this etymology is disputed). However, this does not mean that today it is still understood in this way. If only because, nowadays, both spouses receive a ring (which, interestingly, was not always the case).
While the etymological fallacy involves reducing a word’s meanings to its oldest form, the reverse can also occur: a modern meaning may be considered the only correct one, with older meanings being dismissed.
This is often seen with terms used in youth slang, which, of course, may still have a long history. Young people are usually only familiar with the modern usage and are surprised by the older meaning, which they consider to be “wrong”.
To give just a few examples: Words like “sick”, “dope” or “wicked”, as used in the context of youth language today, only bear a distant relationship to their original meanings.
But even outside of youth slang, we find many examples of the reverse etymological fallacy: One perfect example concerns the word “gay” which was already mentioned above. Expressions such as “The Gay Nineties” (referring to the 1890s) and references to the Scottish “Gay Gordons” dance, clearly retain the word’s original meaning of “joyful” or “happy”.
The “reverse etymological fallacy” is the assumption that, because of the modern meaning of the word, it must actually refer to homosexuality.
The “etymological fallacy” is categorised here as a “fallacy of ambiguity”, as it fundamentally concerns the equivocation of different meanings of a term.
Alternatively, one could also emphasise the fact that this is a case of “false knowledge” regarding the meaning of a word – namely, the mistaken assumption that a word’s current meaning can consistently be derived from its etymology. In this case, classifying it as a fallacy of knowledge would be more accurate.1)
The term “racism” was originally rooted in the idea that there were different “human races” – a view that is now considered outdated. Meanwhile, the meaning of the term has changed: today, it generally refers to discrimination on the grounds of ethnic, national, religious or cultural affiliation.
A typical example of the etymological fallacy in this context is the claim that the term “racism” is incorrect or meaningless, since the biological concept of human races has been disproved and we all belong to the same race (namely Homo sapiens). Conversely, some argue that discrimination on the grounds of religion or cultural heritage does not constitute “racism” because these categories do not count as “races”.
Both positions fail to recognise that the term’s meaning has evolved. Today, it no longer refers to discrimination on the grounds of “race” – just as the word “lousy” is no longer primarily used to describe a garment infested with lice – but rather to discrimination on the basis of various other characteristics.
Furthermore, such reasoning overlooks an important function of language: it serves to describe reality. Discrimination based on group affiliation exists regardless of what we call it. Claiming that the term is incorrect on the basis of its etymology distracts from the fact that the phenomenon it describes is real. In this sense, focusing on the origin of the word rather than on the phenomenon itself can be seen as a rhetorical “red herring”.
The word “propaganda” is derived from the Latin verb “prŏpāgo ”, which means as much as “to propagate” or “to multiply”. The term was originally used in the context of horticulture. In the late Middle Ages, the Catholic Church adopted it in a figurative sense to describe the spread of the faith. This was already very similar to the word’s modern meaning, but was clearly still thought of as something positive.2)
The term acquired its current negative connotations only through its misuse by totalitarian regimes in the 20th century. Since then, “propaganda” has primarily come to be associated with political lies and insincere communication.
The word “virus”, on the other hand, took the opposite path: originally, in Latin, it meant as much as “poison” or “mucus”. During the 19th century, it was believed that diseases were caused either by bacteria or by poisons. It was not until the turn of the century that it became apparent that many of the diseases previously attributed to “poisons” were in fact caused by pathogens much smaller than bacteria. It was then that the already-established Latin name for poison, i.e. “virus”, was adopted to describe these newly discovered microorganisms.
With the proliferation of computer technology, the term came to be used more broadly, as malicious programmes that could spread from one computer to another (initially with the user’s assistance) came to be known as “computer viruses”. However, the connotations associated with this type of software remained overwhelmingly negative.
This changed with the advent of early computer networks and, eventually, social media. A phenomenon emerged whereby information, jokes and even personalities would sometimes become widely and quickly disseminated. Drawing a parallel with the spread of a viral infection, this phenomenon became known as “going viral”.
Basically, “viral” now has a similar meaning today to “prŏpāgo ” in Roman times: much like plants were propagated back then, it is now tweets and posts that reproduce themselves. Whether this propagation is a positive (beliefs, information) or a negative thing (lies, malware) depends on the context.
Both terms are thus susceptible to etymological fallacies. Whether one reinterprets “propaganda” as the harmless dissemination of beliefs (Redefinition) or equates “viral” social media posts with “poison”, referencing the etymology may seem very clever, but it does not actually clarify the meaning of the words.
In many Indo-European languages, the word for “human” or “humanity” is related in one way or another to the word for “man”, in the sense of referring to a male human being.
This issue has already been raised elsewhere on this site in connection with terms such as the Latin “homo ” or the Ancient Greek “ánthropos ” [ἄνθρωπος]. To give just one example: an “argumentum ad hominem ” is an “argument against the person”, without any gender being implied (see the linked article for more information).
A similar situation exists in English. The modern word “man” originates from the Proto-Germanic root “*mann- ”, which originally referred to any person. We know of Old English that a qualifier was needed to specify the gender: “wer-man ” for male and “wif-man ” for female. The latter then evolved into the modern form “woman”3), while the old word “wer(e) ” for a male human almost completely disappeared4). Consequently, “man” is now used both as a collective noun for humans of any gender as well as a specific term for a male human.
While the older meaning is still present and understood today – for example, one can find it in the title of Charles Darwin’s book “The Descent of Man”, or in the phrase “No man is an island” – this usage is already starting to sound antiquated. It seems likely that we will eventually lose this meaning altogether and that in the future “man” will only be used to refer to a male human. For now, however, the term is ambiguous.
A widely known – and, in the author’s view, particularly compelling – example of how this ambiguity can lead to confusion is a plot twist used by the British author J. R. R. Tolkien in his fantasy novel “The Lord of the Rings” (1954/1955):
The backstory (within the Tolkien universe) is that, at the end of the “Battle of Fornost” (T.A. 1975), the elf Glorfindel urged the human king Eärnur not to pursue the fleeing Witch-king of Angmar with the words: “Do not pursue him! […] Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall.”5)
In this situation, Glorfindel was probably just trying to talk his hot-headed ally out of embarking on a reckless and dangerous adventure. Over time, however, this exclamation was reinterpreted as a “prophecy” and came to be taken to mean that the Witch-King was completely invulnerable to humans. A legend whose spread was certainly also in the Witch-King’s own interests.
This leads to the events that take place more than a thousand years later in “The Return of the King” during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields (T.A. 3019)6): When the Witch-King was confronted on the battlefield, he cried out: “No living man may hinder me!”, presumably to intimidate the enemy before him by alluding to Glorfindel’s “prophecy”.
In response, however, his challenger revealed herself to be Éowyn, the King’s niece, and replied with a laugh: “But no living man am I! You look upon a woman.”
This unexpected twist threw the Witch-King into enough confusion that he failed to notice the hobbit Merry creeping up behind him. The latter was then able to critically wound the Witch-King with his weapon, enabling Éowyn to quite literally “bring him down” with another blow of her own sword.
The author leaves open the question of whether the “Witch-King” actually possessed any kind of “magical protection” against attacks by “men” (in either sense of the word), or if the legend of his invulnerability was merely part of his own propaganda, intended to instil fear. Ultimately, his downfall came about through the collaboration between Éowyn, a human woman, and Merry, a male hobbit, who thus both represented, each in their own way, the homonymy of the English word “man”.
In this way, the “Witch King” did indeed fall victim to the etymological fallacy (and presumably also to his own propaganda), in that he assumed the older meaning of the word “man” as fact. Unexpectedly confronted with a situation that challenged his understanding and his carefully nurtured self-image, he was so bewildered and enraged that he failed to notice the real danger – the stealthily approaching hobbit – which ultimately led to his own demise.