In college, I took a Linguistics class as an elective, partially because I needed the credits, and partially because I assumed the material would be cake. Don't ask me why... the course description read something like: "an examination of theory and methodology of linguistics, including phonology, morphology, syntax and semantics." It should have intimidated me, but I blissfully skimmed over the syllabus terms I didn't know, figuring I'd make sense of them the way any liberal arts genius would - through context.
I could not have been more wrong, both in my concept of linguistics and my presumed affinity for it. Linguistics is a huge and fascinating field, but this class focused only on the building blocks of sounds and the theories behind them - to me, the least interesting bits. I'd expected to learn about actual words and where they came from. Instead, my class spent a lot of time deconstructing word parts, such as the prefixes and suffixes of indigenous Pacific islander languages. Even on a good day, this was the opposite of interesting, no thanks to the professor's anemic personality and exceptionally dry lecture style. Every lecture, I fought sleep and the urge to snack to stay awake. As a result, I left most classes hungry, cranky and groggy. Waking up in class was an unpleasant feeling, akin to waking up mid-flight in an economy-class airplane seat: cramped, cotton-mouthed, clammy and mildly disoriented.
Anyway, "cognate" was a word I kept hearing during those interminable linguistics lectures. (Sorry for the long intro, but I reeaally wanted to use that Hercules clip.) Instead of the baby noises we were analyzing (differences between "bah" versus "beh" or some such bullcrap), I fixated on the word "cognate" because I didn't know exactly how to define it. This bothered me. Without owning a smartphone or having a laptop in lecture, I couldn't look up the definition. But from my memory of high school Latin, I knew that cognosco meant "I learn," and that the infinitive "to learn" was cognoscere. BOOM. English has the related words "cognition" and "cognitive." I knew that the closest-sounding Latin word to "cognate" was cognatus, but I couldn't remember its translation. I logically concluded: "Any word with cogno- in it must have to do with cognition - learning or understanding. So, 'cognate' must be the linguistic term for words that help make connections between other words." It was close enough to help me follow its use in lecture whenever I was actually awake.
But I was still wrong about "cognate." Evidently I required still further intellectual humbling. As it turns out, the key to understanding the meaning of "cognate" is not the "cog" part, but rather the "nate" part. Natus to be exact, in Latin (sounds like "NAH-toose"). Any idea what natus means? Think "natal," "prenatal," and "Nativity"... that's right, natus has to do with birth. Or more broadly, with origin. Literally, the noun natus means "son" in Latin. In English, we have the term "native son," e.g., "Ernest Hemingway was one of many famous native sons of Illinois." Any old Roman would consider "native son" to be a product of the Department of the Redundancy Department. But here in the US of A, we don't care that "native son" basically translates to "son-like son."
Because 'Murica.
According to Webster's Dictionary, natus is also the past participle of the Latin verb nasci - "to be born." Therefore, co + natus roughly translates into being "born together" or a "co-son." Thus, the Latin meaning of cognatus is "kinsman" or " blood relative." (Hence the title of this blog post.) In linguistics, two words are considered cognate if they share a common origin. The first known use of the word cognatus to describe things generically similar or sharing a common origin was in 1645. The first known use of "cognate" was in 1754.
Here's the full Webster's definition of the adjective "cognate," in case you didn't click the above link:
1: of the same or similar nature : generically alike
2: related by blood; also : related on the mother's side
3
a : related by descent from the same ancestral language
b of a word or morpheme : related by derivation, borrowing, or descent
c of a substantive : related to a verb usually by derivation and serving as its object to reinforce the meaning
Examples of cognate words are the English word "cold" and the German word "kalt." They mean exactly the same thing, and they sound pretty similar, too. Also consider the cognates for "night" in the following European languages: the original "nox/nocte" in Latin; "nuit" in French; "Nacht" in German; "notte" in Italian; "noche" in Spanish; "natt" in Swedish and Norwegian; "nat" in Danish; "noc" in Czech, Slovakian, and Polish; "noč" in Russian, Belarusian and Slovenian, "noć" in Serbo-Croatian, "nich" in Ukrainian, etc. However, cognates need not always share the same meanings, as the languages develop separately.
Another interesting example of cognate words across cultures are the typical greetings in Middle Eastern cultures. The standard greeting in Hebrew, as most Westerners probably know, is "shalom." It means "peace" or "prosperity" and is used as an idiom in saying either "hello" or "goodbye." Islamic cultures have a very similar expression. For those not as familiar with Arabic, maybe you've at least watched a movie set in the Arabian desert, where a character says "salaam" to another in greeting. If you're not Muslim, or you've never seen Lawrence of Arabia or even The Black Stallion Returns, then I hope you can at least place this line from your childhood: "Ahhh! Salaam and good evening to you my friend! Please, please come closer!" Ringing any bells?
I cannot believe I just used Disney's Aladdin to illustrate an actual Islamic cultural point. But now that you're all nodding your heads in recognition, we can move on. Like "shalom," the greeting "salaam" also means "peace." In the Islamic world it's often used within the expression, "as-salamu alaykum" - "peace be upon you." In Amharic, a Semitic language spoken in Ethiopia (because the first Christians, who would have been culturally Jewish, evangelized Ethiopia in the first century), the word "selam" means "peace" as well. All these cognates derive from the vowel-less Proto-Semitic root, "S-L-M." How cool is that!
The adjective "cognate" describes more than just single words; whole languages can be cognates (that is, share the same origin). For example, the Romance languages are all cognates, because they derive from Latin. You could therefore accurately describe Spanish, French and Italian as cognates.
But watch out for false cognates - words that would appear to be related but are not. Examples of false cognates include the Spanish "mucho" and the English "much," which have similar meanings, but completely different origins. The Spanish word comes from the Latin "multum," which originates from the Proto-Indo-European "mel-." The English word comes from the Proto-Germanic "mikilaz," which in turn derives from a different Proto-Indo-European word, "meg-."
So there you have it: the origin and meaning of "cognate." Pretty neat. As a kid, I always suspected "shalom" and "salaam" were related. I just didn't know I could use the word "cognate" to describe them. Huzzah for expanding our vocabularies guv'na, wot wot? If you've followed this post so far, pat yourself on the back - you've just earned yourself some serious nerd points. We'll encounter the term "cognate" in describing word origins in future posts.
For now, try to work "cognate" into educated conversation at your next cocktail party. Instead of saying, "Well, you know they share the same origin," just say, "Well, clearly they're cognates." Then casually sip your cocktail. If you have a mustache, twirl it. I guarantee that everyone within earshot will automatically think you're nerdier than you actually are. You're welcome.
See you next time, and thanks for following!
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