The font Aegean is required to correctly display all
used symbols.
Linguists generally accept Herodotus’
thesis that the Greek writing system descends from the Phoenician
one (Jeffery 1961). More accurately, the Phoenicians brought the alphabet to Greece
(Hdt. 5.58). Today, the term Phoenician
is an ethnonym referring to an enigmatic Semitic-speaking people of unknown origin
contemporary to the Minoans in Crete and Mycenaeans in Peloponnese. The Phoenicians
allegedly emerged in the Levant, modern-day Lebanon, at the beginning of the second
millennium BC and flourished in the region after 1200 – about when the Minoans and
Mycenaeans disappeared – and the Western Mediterranean until 300 BC. The western
Phoenician civilisation centred in Carthage is better known as Punic (Markoe 2000).
Figure 1. Top: Writing with a stylus on a folding wax tablet. Painter Douris, circa 500 BC (Berlin). Artwork by Pottery Fan. Creative Commons license. Bottom: A wooden wax tablet with a Roman stylus. Artwork by Peter van der Sluijs; Creative Commons license.
The relevant Wikipedia article
(“Phoenicia” 2023)
states that the first
account of the Levantines relates to the conquests of Pharaoh Thutmose III (1479
– 1425 BC). The written records talk about the ‘carpenters’ (Fenekhu; fnḫw, from
fnḫ, carpenter)
of Byblos, Arwad, Ullasa, Tyre, and Sidon. These cities provided Egypt with abundant
stocks of cedar wood, a softwood also used for making wax tablets to write (Fig.
1).
An extensive archive of diplomatic correspondence known as the Amarna letters from the 14th century BC testifies that the prevailing writing system in the region was still cuneiform. Egypt subsequently lost its coastal holdings from Byblos near central Lebanon to Ugarit, the nearest harbour for Cyprus in northern Syria (“Phoenicia” 2023). Sparse non-cuneiform scripts vaguely dated to the second millennium BC and classified as linear syllabaries or pre-alphabetic writing were also found in Egypt and the Levant. This archaeological evidence is reviewed elsewhere in detail (see sections of Archaic scripts). But the term ‘Phoenician alphabet’ conventionally applies to Semitic inscriptions dated after 1050 BC, the oldest being the Ahiram inscription, variably dated between 1050 and 850 BC (Markoe 1990; Bernal 1990; Cook 1994; Sass 2005; Rollston 2008; Sass and Finkelstein 2013; 2017). This is probably the only occurrence of Phoenician alphabetic writing dated before the earliest Greek inscriptions (800 – 700 BC) written with a similar script (e.g., Nestor’s cup, dated to about 730 BC). The so scarce archaeological evidence is insufficient to draw confident conclusions about the origin of the alphabet as long as the dating debate lasts and the reading of the inscriptions remains uncertain (Giegerich 2005).
Only about 10,000 inscriptions in Phoenician-Punic are
known from the entire Mediterranean of all times (Lehmann 2013; Richey 2019), such that ‘Phoenician probably remains the worst transmitted
and least known of all Semitic languages’ (Röllig 1983). A few dozen inscriptions come from Byblos, the most productive
site of the Phoenician’ homeland’. For comparison, the Linear B corpus already has
more than 6000 inscriptions from 150 years between 1450 and 1200 BC. More than 4200
inscriptions come from Knossos, Crete, about 1000 from Pylos, Peloponnese, and the
rest from at least 17 other sites around the Aegean Sea. According to Röllig (1983), the Phoenician-Punic corpus contains 668 words, including
321 hapax legomena, i.e., terms attested once. The only other significant source
for Phoenician-Punic are two Punic prayers inserted in Poenulus,
an otherwise Latin play written by the Roman writer Plautus (circa 254 – 184
BC; López-Ruiz and
Doak 2019). Plautus probably
spoke and taught Greek but did not speak Punic; he only transcribed what he heard
using Latin characters (Sznycer 1967).
How is it possible that the Greeks took the alphabet from
the Phoenicians and built a vast culture and literature while its alleged inventors
left no writers, books, and practically no reliable vocabulary? My answer here is
that Herodotus, and later Greek authors, meant something else by the term ‘Phoenicians’.
There are still unique cultures developing without vowels in their scripts. The
addition of vowels to a Semitic abjad by the Greeks is not a good reason.
Figure 2. The characters of the so-called Phoenician alphabet (left) compared to characters attested in Greek-speaking territories as documented in the LSAG database (right).
Indeed, many of the earliest Archaic Greek letters are
identical or rotated Levantine Phoenician characters (Fig.
2). Better stated, all the Phoenician letters have their counterparts in some Archaic
Greek alphabet. Herodotus’ hypothesis is, however, only one out of 29 theories listed
by the Hellenistic grammarian Dionysius Thrax (170 – 90 BC) for the provenance of
the Greek alphabet (Antonakos 2018). Herodotus does not claim evidence
but expresses his reserved opinion (‘ὡς ἐμοὶ δοκέειν’; Hdt. 5.58 in Greek; as I think, suppose,
imagine). He supposes that the letters were called Φοινικήια (Phoinikēia;
Phoenician) or Καδμήια (Kadmēia; Cadmean) because the Phoenicians, and a
certain Cadmus, had brought them from Phoenicia to Greece. He claims to have visited
Tyre in Phoenicia by ship (Hdt. 2.44), but he does not explain where
this place is; or how many days it took him to get there. The Greek word for Tyre
belongs to a large family of terms about cheese and dairy products and is unrelated
to the Levantine town Ṣūr. Herodotus likely visited a dairy factory, not the Levant (see section
Sidon and Tyros).
Josephine Quinn questions the
existence of Phoenicia and its people as ethnic or political entities. She argues
that the ‘Phoenician’ identity, history, and culture are a product of modern nationalist
ideologies, part of a political agenda (Quinn 2017). Many others have disputed the age, greatness, and impact
of the Levantine civilisation since the publication of Reinach’s famous booklet,
Le Mirage Orientale (Reinach 1893;
Albright 1941; Sassine 2020).
Greek archaeological documents
are compiled in the Local Scripts of Archaic Greece (LSAG) database (Haarer
et al., 2004). The plethora of variants suggests much research towards a standard
Greek Alphabet before classical times. Meanwhile, the Phoenician set presents only
slight variation and evolution. In fact, the letter set known as the Phoenician
alphabet (or abjad) is only a subset of a great variety of characters attested in
Greek-speaking territories and dating from the 8th century BC onwards (Fig.
3). Following the mainstream superficial interpretation of Herodotus, the Greeks
would have adopted the standard Phoenician alphabet and spent a few centuries and
a lot of research effort to adapt it to their language.
If the dating of the Ahiram inscription from Byblos converging to around 850 BC (Cook 1994; Sass and Finkelstein 2017) is accurate, the Levantine specimen would be contemporaneous
with a Phoenician inscription found in Limassol, Cyprus, i.e., mid-way between Greece
and the Levant, and dated to 900 BC (Honeyman 1939). The Nora inscription in Sardinia, the oldest known
in the west, dates circa 800 BC. Phoenician inscriptions appear around the same
time in Greek and other sites of Anatolia (Posani 2022; Permanent Delegation of Turkey to UNESCO
2020; Bernardin 2021; Yakubovich and
Hawkins 2015). Therefore, the Phoenician alphabet
did not occur only in the Levant.
Figure 3. Local Archaic Greek variants of the Phoenician letters (Source LSAG). The standard Phoenician variants are shown at the top, and their equivalent Greek versions are framed.
A reasonable alternative interpretation
is that one of the various alphabets developed simultaneously across the Eastern
Mediterranean was used in the Levant. Others were used locally in Greece, Sardinia,
Anatolia, and elsewhere. The reasons for this hypothesis are: (i) the dating of
the inscriptions is fuzzy; (ii) relative dating of the Greek and Phoenician versions
is based on very few specimens and may change with new evidence; (iii) the greatest
concentration of early ‘Phoenician’ writing was around the Aegean Sea.
Indeed, the letters are always
called Phoenician, Cadmean, or Pelasgian in ancient Greek texts. Antonakos argues
that, for Herodotus, the so-called ‘Phoenician’ letters were Greek letters because
the ancient author says (Hdt. 5.59-61) he saw them on three tripods
(presumably of Greek origin) dedicated to the temple of Apollo (a Greek cult). He
could read, understand, and interpret them. If what Herodotus saw were Semitic scripts,
he wouldn’t be able to read and understand them. According to Dionysius Thrax, Greek
letters were not invented at once but gradually, with different people adding letters
at different times. For example, Dionysius says Simonides of Kos invented the two
long vowels, H (Eta) and Ω (Omega) and the double letters Ksi (Ξ; equivalent to
Latin X; /ks/) and Psi (Ψ; /ps/), while Palamedes or Epicharmus of Syracuse invented
Z and the aspirates. This proposition of the gradual development of the alphabet
makes better sense today than Herodotus’ myth. Although the idea of an alphabet
and the first letters might have been of foreign origin, the Greeks gradually developed
a substantial part of their alphabet, as Fig. 3 clearly suggests. We should
better consider the origin of each letter separately instead of that of an alphabet
as a block.
I have argued that Cadmus was,
among other things, a generic fluid dispenser that functioned by suction (see section Cadmus in Boeotia and Thebes). The same mythological
persona was used in various myths for specific applications. It signified the pen
(quill), the baby bottle, or a characteristic rapid and repetitive hand movement
for writing, rubbing, vigorous liquid mixing, or sexual stimulation. If true, this
result would be enough to reject Herodotus’ proposition – or its literal interpretation
– that the letters were imported from somewhere else. The myth would be better interpreted
as that the letters came about by the practice of writing (Phoenicians = writers).
But, for the moment, let us examine some alternative hypotheses about the meaning
of the term Phoenician more conventionally.
Dionysius Thrax lists several
alternative people who may have invented the letters. Apart from the absurd idea
that the letters have fallen from the sky, he first mentions mythical or semi-mythical
personae, Prometheus, Athena, Achilles’ teacher Phoenix, or Cadmus of Miletus, as
possible inventors of the alphabet. Some scholars, including the extensive Byzantine
encyclopaedia Suda (10th-century), believe that Cadmus of Miletus was not a mythical
personage but a real ancient historiographer of the 6th century BC. But Dionysius
of Halicarnassus, a Hellenistic historian of the 1st century BC, states that the
name Cadmus of Miletus is probably a forgery of the mythical Cadmus from Phoenicia
who transformed the Phoenician letters into the first Milesian alphabet (Smith 1873).
Then, Dionysius Thrax makes more
propositions about the origin of the Greek alphabet of seemingly historical validity,
frequently citing his sources following scientific deontology. He mentions Ephorus
of Cyme (c. 400 – 330 BC), a historian who wrote a universal history and treatises
about discoveries and words. Dionysius mentions Pythodorus, who wrote about the
elements, and Phillis of Delos, a grammarian who wrote books about music. He cites
the Milesian writers Anaximander (pre-Socratic philosopher; c. 610 – c. 546 BC),
Dionysius (?), and Hecataeus (historian and geographer; circa 550 BC – circa 476
BC), as well as Apollodorus (?), who confirmed these hypotheses. Other probable
inventors of letters were, according to Dionysius Thrax, Dosiades of Crete, who
wrote a history of Crete, or the poet Pronapides of Athens, who is said to be Homer’s
master (Mortimer 1789). He also cites the historian Antikleides of Athens, claiming
that the letters came from Egypt; Aeschylus, attributing the letters to Prometheus
(in the homonymous drama) or to the lyric poet Stesichorus (in the Oresteia);
and Euripides, who nominated Palamedes. Besides, Plato remarks that Palamedes had
invented the numbers (Pl. Rep. 7.522D), the Greek numbers being the letters. Further, Dionysius
continues, the historian Mnaseas of Patrae (3rd century BC) thinks it was Hermes.
Apollonius of Messena says, always according to Dionysius, that Pythagoras took
care of the letter aesthetics, adjusting their curves, angles, straight lines, etc.,
according to geometrical rules (Fig. 4).
Figure 4. The geometry of the Greek letters.
Dionysius goes on with more hypotheses
and citations. He claims that Pronapides of Athens ordered the letters in horizontal
lines because, previously, writing was done in various inconsistent and unorderly
ways. Then, he examines hypotheses as to why the letters are called Phoenician.
According to Herodotus and Ephorus of Cyme, the Phoenicians invented them. Others
attribute the name to various people called Phoenix or Phoenicia (a woman). The
most appealing hypothesis is about Euphronios (circa 535 – after 470 BC), an
ancient Greek vase painter and potter from Athens. Euphronios pioneered the change
in pottery painting from the so-called black-figure to red-figure pottery. He was
one of the first and most influential potters using the red-figure technique and
the first known artist in history to have legibly signed his work. According to
Euphronios, as Dionysius states, the letters were called Phoenician because they
were written with red earth, red ochre, or ruddle, and were, hence, red.
The Homeric word φοῖνιξ
(phoinix; common noun version of Phoenix) and its derivatives are generally
translated – actually, only transliterated – as Phoenician, but it also means deep
red, purple, crimson (Hom. Il. 4.141; 6.219;
Od. 23.201). The following two best-known uses of the word Phoenix
in Greek are for the date-palm tree, of which the fruit attains crimson hues (Hazzouri
et al. 2019), and for the famous mythical bird that regenerates from the ashes
of its predecessor (“Phoenix” 2023). Naming objects after their colour, or colours after the
objects that best represent them, has always been a common practice. Perhaps, crimson
was called phoinix after the palm tree’s crimson fruits, which have always
been around. The trouble is that palm trees do not naturally grow in Greece (except
in Crete). It is unlikely that the Greeks had a word for something they hardly ever
saw. It is more likely that they called the tree after the colour of its crimson-red
fruits.
Crimson is an intense red colour,
inclining to purple. Purple and rust red, along with black, are popular ink colours.
Inks were independently discovered and formulated by many ancient cultures worldwide
to write and draw. Chemical analysis of ancient inks can tell us about the recipes
and techniques used for their production. Egyptian red and black inks date from
at least the end of the fifth Dynasty, mid-24th century BC (Tallet 2012). The earliest (black) inks were probably made with lampblack,
soot readily found as a by-product of fire (Tsuen-Hsuin 1985). The red inks contained
iron and ochre (Christiansen et
al. 2020),
producing reddish, rust, or purple hues depending on particle size. Iron oxides
like limonite or goethite have golden-yellow
or brown colours, respectively.
Figure 5. Paintings with symbols on Naqada II pottery, 3500-3200 BC, in Ägyptisches Museum, Berlin. Artwork by Einsamer Schütze. Creative commons license.
Everybody knows the colour of
blood. The LSJ lexicon suggests that the colour phoinix (blood colour) was named after the people called Phoenicians,
who were the first to use it. This may be inaccurate because red has been used in
pottery paintings in Egypt since pre-dynastic times (Fig.
5) and in cave paintings throughout prehistory. Tyrian purple, an organic red dye,
became known only after the 12th century BC. Curiously, Phoenicians were known by
that name only to the Greeks. The Egyptian term fnḫ, if it existed, meant
carpenter, lumberman, or forest dweller, not red. Inversely, the corresponding Hebrew
term, Canaanites, was never used in classical or pre-classical Greek, at least in
texts about the alphabet and writing methods. The dictionary’s proposition implies
that the Greeks named a foreign nation Phoenicians for unknown reasons, and then
they used this name to call the colour of the blood, which must have been known
to them from the onset of self-awareness.
There is chaos around the origin
and meaning of Phoenicia, Canaan, and their derivatives. It has been suggested (Krahmalkov 2000; Scriptural-Research-Institute 2020) that the words Phoenix
and Phoenicia are Greek exonyms of the Semitic endonyms Pūt, for the land,
and Pōnnim, for its people. The Phoenician endonyms would have reached Greek
via the Mycenean Linear B po-ni-ki-jo. But po-ni-ki-jo is usually
interpreted by Linear B specialists as a commodity, aromatic substance, a spice,
or the date-palm fruit, not as a place or people (Melena 1975). The Greek and the local Phoenician names are considered
cognates of the Ancient Egyptian root fnḫw meaning carpenter, lumberjack,
or people from Syria (“Fnḫw” - Wiktionary n.d.; “Fnḫw” - WordSense n.d.). The Egyptian
toponym, ethnonym, or place of cult fnḫw, also spelt fnxw, would variably mean carpenters, forest dwellers, or Canaanites
because Canaan was the primary source of wood used in Ancient Egypt. However, I could not cross-validate fnḫw, or anything similar, in the
standard Ancient Egyptian dictionaries (Budge 1920; Dickson 2006). Both give several other lemmas meaning carpenter. If fnḫw meant carpenter, it wouldn’t necessarily also mean Canaanite
because carpenters are everywhere. If it meant the people of Canaan, it wouldn’t
necessarily mean carpenter; Canaanites presumably exercised all sorts of professions.
It seems to me that these associations are arbitrary. Circular logic could lead to the interpretation of fnḫw as Phoenicians because the hieroglyphic
cluster sounds like Phoenix. This hypothesis is subsequently used as evidence that
the toponym referred to Canaan.
The toponym Canaan derives from
the Canaanite, Phoenician, or Paleo-Hebrew word kenā‘an, from Hurrian kinaḫḫu,
meaning red-dyed wool. It is believed that Canaan was a primary source of red and
purple dyes for textiles throughout its history. So, the Greeks wanted to call the
Phoenicians the ‘red people’, but instead of taking the Paleo-Hebrew root for red,
they took the Egyptian root for wood. These theories require intensive exercise
for the tongue to reconstruct the phonetic evolution and for the brain to establish
incoherent semantic connections.
The hypothesis that Canaan meant
red of any kind is generally abandoned. Semiticists now believe that Canaan (Hebrew
këna’an; Northwest Semitic kn’n) is related to the Aramaic verb kn ‘,
which means to bend down and be low (compare English knee);
therefore, Canaan would mean lowlands (Lemche 1991; Drews 1998). Today, Canaan has no
established etymology, and nobody knows what it means. The association of Phoenicia
with Canaan is a typical example of circular reasoning. Canaan and Hurrian cognate
kinaḫḫu mean red because the Greeks call Canaan Phoenicia (red). Then, the
Greek term Phoenicia refers to Canaan because Canaan means red. Lemche explains
that the kinaḫḫu was simply the Hurrian rendering of Canaan. Similarly, the
Egyptians called the Canaanites knanw (Dickson 2006).
If we stay within Greek, instead,
things are crystal clear. The stem φοιν- (phoin-; phoen-) means dark
red, blood-red, crimson, and purple since all the names starting with it signify
crimson-red objects. There are more than a hundred cognates. These include φοινάς
(phoinas), glossed with ἐρυσίβη,
meaning rust; φοινήεις (phoinēeis), blood-red, deep red,
bloody; φοινιγμός (phoinigmos), irritation of the skin;
φοίνιγμα (phoinigma), that which is red; φοίνιος
(phoinios), of or like blood, blood-red, bloody, blood-stained,
murderous; φοινίσσω (phoinissō), redden, make red, empurple,
become red; φοινός
(phoinos), blood red; φοινώδης (phoinōdēs) of blood-red aspect;
φοινικόπτερος (phoinikopteros), having red feathers,
flamingo; φοινικάς (phoinikas),
radish; φοινικίς (phoinikis), red or purple cloth,
red curtain or carpet, red flag, red banner; φοινικοδάκτυλος (phoinikodaktylos),
crimson-fingered, φοινικόπεδος (phoinikopedos), with red bottom
or ground, of the Red Sea; φοινικόπεζα (phoinikopeza), ruddy-footed; and
so on.
Rust, blood, and wine are iconic objects representing various deep-red hues. It is generally accepted that the Archaic Greek word ϝοῖνος (ϝoinos), meaning wine, was pronounced as /finos/ or /vinos/. It subsequently lost its initial Digamma and became οἶνος (_oenos; /inos/; wine) in Classical Greek. But remained as vinum in Latin and wine in English. By the way, the /i/ pronunciation of the diphthong oi in vinum and wine contradicts Erasmus’ pronunciation theory and justifies the phonetic transmission of phoin- as fin-.
We can safely assume that the
stem phoin- means dark red because the terms for blood, wine, rust, and dates
share this stem, and the signified objects share the colour. It is not surprising,
therefore, that the Homeric common noun φοῖνιξ
(phoinix) primarily means purple or crimson. The Greeks may
have used their own adjective, Phoinikes (plural of Phoinix;
Phoenicians), to translate the name of the people they knew as the red people, the
Canaanites. But it is more likely that by red people, they meant people using or
producing a red substance, a professional class.
If the phoin- of phoinix
means deep red, what does the ending -ix mean? This morpheme appears at the
start of ἴξαλος
(ixalos), meaning bounding, springing, i.e., moving with leaping
strides, moving or jumping suddenly or rapidly upward or forward. These movements
are typical of writing. Incidentally, following the principle of antonymy by inversion,
the stem xal of ixalos must mean with the hand because lax
(λάξ)
means with the foot. We also find ix in ἵξις
(ixis), i.e., coming, passage through, direction, straight
line, especially vertical line, directly over, corresponding to, on the same side
as, in line with.
There are several words for viscous
or sticky and lime substances, starting with ix. For example, ἰξοειδές (ixoeides) means viscous; ἰξώδης
(ixōdēs), like birdlime, sticky, clammy; ἰξοβολέω (ixoboleō), to practice birdliming;
ἰξόομαι
(ixoomai), to be smeared with birdlime. The minimal word ἰξός
(ixos) is used for any sticky substance. The meaning of a letter
cluster may depend on its position in a word. As ix (viscous) moves from
the beginning of a word to the end, it becomes flexible, fluid, or fluent.
Words ending with -ix are enriched with sememes of small size, fragment,
thin and long, curl. This ending is probably about form. Thus, ἓλιξ
(‘elix; helix) means twisted, curved, spiral; φρίξ
(frix), ruffling; πέριξ
(perix), roundabout, all-round; θρίξ
(thrix), the hair of the head; στίξ
(stix), a row, line, rank; χάλιξ
(chalix), a small stone, pebble, rubble, gravel, grit; χόλιξ
(cholix), the guts; and ψίξ
(psix), is a crumb, morsel. At a higher level, ix at the beginning
of words reads as difficult to turn or advance, while at the end of words, as easy
to turn, turning, small, fragmented, and easy to mix up. At the start, ix
is the main sticky object; at the end, it is a smaller object stuck to a bigger
one.
English provides further insight. Words ending in -ix,
such as fix (and its derivatives affix, suffix,
prefix, transfix, crucifix, etc.), appendix,
cervix, matrix, mix, and six,
imply a primary object and a minor part attached to it or removed from it. In the case
of a mix, a secondary object is embedded in the primary one. Their interface
disappears because of an up-and-down movement (/\/\; M). The term best applies to
fluids and liquids, literal or virtual, e.g., powders, societies, genomes, etc.
Again, the word matrix meant womb, an object to which a smaller object is
attached. Because of the exclusive association of the womb with females, the term
matrix lent its ending to designate the feminine gender of some Latin terms
like actrix, female plaintiff, bellatrix, female warrior,
cantrix, female singer, etc. However, in English, a matrix
retains its sememes as structured support for attaching or embedding smaller objects.
The term is used as such in biology, electronics, geology (e.g., embedding crystals,
pebbles, or fossils), archaeology (embedding artefacts), mathematics (embedding
values), printing (a block holding the image to be printed), material sciences (an
agent that binds composite materials), and in industry and arts (a cavity or mould
that gives shape to anything). The number six denotes a sixth finger
appended to the set of five.
Let me, with this occasion, interject
a couple of suggestions that develop into full-scale principles with thousands of
examples. The first is ichnography (see
section
On the origin of words), the idea that grapheme strokes
convey pictorial notions. The stem ix consists of a straight line (I) and
a point (X). It may be graphically interpreted as –x (IX), a line that stops, a
punctuated line, a difficulty of continuation, hence, viscosity. The inverse stem
looks like x– (XI), a line starting from a stop-point, a fluent continuation. Thus,
X may be interpreted as a point of start (xi) or an ending point (ix).
The most iconic word made by inverting ix into xi is ξῖ
(xi), formally spelt ξεῖ
(xei). This is the name of the letter Ξ (Ksi; Latin X, Ex). Analogous
is the Greek and Latin prepositions ἐξ
(ex) or ex, meaning out of, forth from, outside of, beyond,
after, suggesting a departure, and the stem xe from ξένος
(xenos), guest, guest-friend, stranger, foreigner, refugee,
suggesting an arrival, or from ξέω
(xeō), to shave, plane, carve, whittle,
pare, roughen by scraping, suggesting a removal. The straight line of xi
or ix (-x; x-) is converted into an arrow in ex and xe (ßx; xß).
Among the archaic and medieval graphemes for Ξ (Ksi), as
below, we find crosses (+, X; the last Semitic letter, tāw, designating a mark, point, or stop) or the same three
horizontal lines occasionally joined with a central vertical stroke (; compare Phoenician
Sāmek and Linear A and B AB04) or with two ‘line-returns’, like double-z (; compare Linear A
sign A717). The classical and modern Ξ (Ξ) consists of three parallel punctuated
horizontal lines. In most ancient Greek inscriptions, however, Ξ is spelt out as
a digraph (Fig. 3) consisting of the typical
Greek ending Sigma and a preceding grapheme that may iconically describe the ending
as sharp, bland, pointed, smooth, gradual, etc.
Other iconic words are ξίφος (xiphos), sword, with its characteristic
rapid zigzag movement (; A717), or the power of life and death as a prototype of starting
and ending points. In Attic and Aeolic, ξῖ (xi) is used for cum, i.e., a thing with two
roles, functions, or natures, or a thing that has changed from one to another; for
example, the finish of the sexual act and the beginning of a new life. Also,
ξίμβρα (ximbra) is the Aeolic term for flow,
flux, originally of water that starts from a source and typically follows
a zigzag path. The Latin numerals IX and XI may also be considered numbering that
arrives at a stop (we only have ten, X, fingers) and makes a new start. The difference
between IX and ßX (EX) is not arbitrary or random. It depicts the difference
between a discrete, countable entity (fingers, steps of a procedure, etc.) and a
continuous, uncountable signified such as time. I call this first principle ‘ichnography’
to suggest that alphabetic letters are primarily traces that graphically describe
a concept like the pictograms did in the most remote past.
Ichnography is a kind of onomatopoeia (formation of words;
see section Poetry), but it differs
substantially from the current English connotation. Instead of the letters/phonemes
imitating a sound that the word describes, as in the phonocentric notion of echomimetic
onomatopoeia (word-making based on sound imitation), graphemes are schematic representations
of objects or concepts like those signs an engineer would draw on the sand to explain
an idea. To evoke an angle, a bend, or a bent, we may draw L, > (archaic Gamma),
or < (archaic Lambda).
I borrowed the architectural term ichnography[1] (from Greek ichnographia;
Chisholm 1911) as a nickname for the more precise but pompous ichnomimetic
onomatopoeia (word making based on form imitation). I also use the term ichnogram
for a lemma that describes its signified object graphically; until the specialists
find better terms.
The Archaic Doric alphabets from Boeotia, Thessaly, and
Peloponnese and later Italic and standard Latin alphabets used X as Ξ (/ks/). Attic and Classical X is
Chi. Therefore, the stem ἴχν from ἴχνος (ichnos; trace, footstep, track,
trail, spoor) could be interpreted interchangeably as ixn or ichn,
depending on the cultural background of the writer and the reader. Similarly, its
derivative ichnography could be transliterated as ixnography,
although the two transliterations would now be pronounced differently. Latterly,
the initial cluster ix would represent a punctuated line, a dashed, discontinued,
pointed line, like the footprints of an animal on sand or snow. In English words
ending with -ix, the main stem would specify the main object, the final X
would symbolise a small object appended to the main one, and the letter I would
iconically describe the thin bond that links the objects. This link can easily break,
be cut, or be discontinued. The Greek θρίξ (thrix; hair) is also a tiny, thin appendix
to the surface or top (R; see section R) of the
body and can be cut. Its turning, curly aspect is iconically described by the initial
Theta (Θ or ϴ, lowercase θ or ϑ; pronounced /θ/ as in English thing).
The archaic Theta, 𐊨 (Semitic Teth; Phoenician Ṭēt; 𐌈), was a wheel-like symbol. A
wheel evokes turning. The lowercase Theta, ϑ, could not be a more
iconic symbol of a curl (Fig. 6).
Figure 6. Cursive forms of lowercase Theta from the 1st century BC (Thompson 1912).
In the original matrix
as the womb, the root matr- probably passed to Latin from Doric ματρός (matros; of the mother), genitive
of μάτηρ (matēr), Attic μήτηρ (mētēr; mother). The letter I would
symbolise the umbilical cord link, and X would be the embryo attached to the mother.
So, matr-I-X would be an iconic description of the mother’s (matr-)
womb + a small attachment (-ix), the fetus. Before the stance of the letters
was standardised, the term matrix could be written as matr–X. Because
the original matrix was the environment where the tiny fetus is embedded,
the term could metaphorically be used for every environment where minor things are
embedded. Subsequently, feminine equivalents
of masculine terms ending with -ter or -tor could be phonetically
formed on the pattern matēr - matrix by illiterate populations ignoring the original iconic sense
of -ix.
The second suggestion is antonymy by inversion: inverse
sequences of letters express opposite ideas. Compare the English fix,
mix, helix, matrix, pixel,
affix, and cervix, all implying coherence, holding things
together (→x), with the terms axiom, axis, exile,
exist, exit, taxi, maxim,
taxis (the directional movement of an organism), staxis
(haemorrhage), toxin, all denoting a point of departure, separation
(x→); and with elixir, which has both (-x-), an end (-x) and a departure
(x-), an extension past the dead-point (→x→).
Suppose we combine the sememes of phoin- (crimson-red
object) and -ix (small, fragmented, thin, long, curly, and fluent). In that
case, we define phoinix (Phoenix) as a modular small, fragmented, dashed,
discontinued, jumpy, punctuated, thin, long, curly, fluent thing attached to a crimson-red
object that comes to an end. To give a name to this concept, we would take the common
stem phoin- from the names for crimson-red things (blood, wine, rust), and
attach to it the typical ending -ix from the names of small, fragmented,
long, thin, fluent, and curly things put inline (crumb, guts, hair, helix, ruffling,
row). We would get phoin-ix for drawing a raw of short, curly, thin, red
lines (letters); or drawing lines on red, sticky material (clay). In all, this would
be finishing (-x) a sticky red object (clay; phoin-) or with a sticky
red object (ink; phoin-; compare phoinik-, *finiks,
*finix > finish, phoenic-, *in-k).
Think also of the English cognate of the stem phoi-,
foist, meaning to impose, inflict, to present (a thing) falsely
as genuine or superior, introduce surreptitiously or unwarrantably, work in by a
trick. In my opinion, the sememes of imposing or inflicting are conveyed by the
digraph st, i.e., the archaic letter Stigma (stamp, wedge;
see section Cretan scripts) while, as I will demonstrate below (Table 1),
the sememes of genuine and superior are conveyed by foi-. Yet, this verb
is believed to derive from Dutch vuisten, take in hand (palm), from Middle Dutch vuist
meaning fist, akin to Old English fyst (fist), ultimately
from the hypothetical Proto-Indo-European root *penkwe-, meaning five. These
English and Dutch cognates are examples of well-documented/f|v/ and
/o|u|ou|y/ phonetic variation. Note also the correspondence or confusion between
the palm of a hand and the palm tree (Greek phoinix). Finishing
is done by hand. The purpose of finishing an object, such as a piece of clay pottery,
is not to improve the quality of the material or that of the manufacturing process
but to make the object look better, perhaps, hiding or correcting some imperfections.
The noun foible means a minor weakness or idiosyncrasy. If foi-
turns out to mean superior, genuine or perfect, matching it with fyst and
compounds of five- for the derivation of *penkwe- is anachronistic nonsense (projecting current semantics
to ancient words; see section On the origin of words).
The French foire is an exposition,
the artisan’s market, where only finished products are exposed. Other European
cognates, such as foin, foil, or French foi
(punctuated time, times), can also be traced to finishing, perfecting a final
product, or just putting an end (French fin; end). Among the sememes
of the Italian fino, we find fine, thin, minute, acute, penetrating, sharp, perspicacious,
ingenious, elegant, and refined, but also craftsman, artist, skilful, expert, noble,
sincere, trusted, faithful. The relatively small number and disparate phonetics,
spelling, and semantics of these European cognates
– compared to at least 90 Greek
lemmas from phoin- and 169 from ϝoin-
– suggest that these stems were
rather elaborated in Greek. Their phonetics, spelling, and semantics were only episodically
and casually transferred to European languages. We would expect about as many European
foi-, foin-, and fin- lemmas should these be derived from the
hypothetical *penkwe-.
Adding the sememes
of -ix that survive in English, we would make phoin-ix a crimson-reddish
appendix (app-end-ix), extension, or addition. With Greek and English semantics
combined, phoin-ix would be a sticky, viscous red add-on, a finish,
perhaps applied with a thin, long curly object (brush, bristle, lint, cotton, or
flax tow fibres, etc.). In English, a finish is a protective coating given
to wood, metal, and other surfaces or carefully elaborating made objects. The term
frequently applies to pottery and painting. Could the word finish simply
be a slightly inaccurate phonetic transcription of φοῖνιξ (phoinix; /finiks/)
or a misreading of its final Ξ (ξ) as double-Z (; A717), extended Sigma (; ; ; ; ), or Chi (X), and
pronouncing it as /sh/ instead of /ks/? Both hypotheses
are plausible.
Figure 7. Frequencies of English letters in a lexicon of 45383 words (Balota et al. 2007). Orange bars represent frequencies of lemmas presenting a letter. Blue bars show the frequency of each letter in the total letter population used in the lemmas.
In Latin, the phoneme
/ks/ was spelt X. After, X attained other pronunciations because of various phonetic
changes, handwriting adaptations, or spelling conventions. In English, X is among
the least frequently used letters, third after J and Q. It appears in only
about 2.3% of the words (Fig. 7). This low prevalence
suggests that it has been frequently replaced with other phonemes and letters in
history. Very few English words start with X (the fewest of any letter). When X does start a word, it is usually pronounced /z/, like
in xanthan, xenophobia, or xylophone. Recent loanwords or foreign
names can also be pronounced with /s/ (e.g., the Vietnamese monetary unit xu)
or /ʃ/ (the English phoneme for Sh, as in sheep, e.g., Chinese
names starting with Xi like Xiaomi or Xinjiang).
The same /z/, /s/,
and /ʃ/ pronunciations of X are observed in many other European languages, including
French, Portuguese, Maltese, and Iberian Romance languages at much higher frequencies.
Diachronic phonetic variation of X is also observed within languages. In Old Spanish,
for example, X was pronounced [ʃ]. So is in some modern Iberian languages. It then
evolved to a hard /x/. Due to spelling reform, X has been replaced with J in modern Spanish, though it remains
in some names (e.g., México). The English spelling of /ʃ/ is the digraph
Sh. There is, therefore, well-documented evidence for a phonetic evolution of the
Greek Ξ (Ξ; Ksi; /ks/), through Latin X (/ks/), to Western European /ʃ/
and Sh; hence, from Greek phoinix, /finiks/, to Latin /finix/, Western European
/finis/ or /finiʃ/ eventually giving the English finish.
Figure 8. Comparison of cursive Greek Z (Zeta) and Ξ (Ksi) from the 2nd century BC and 8th century AD (Thompson 1912).
There is also graphical
confusion among Ξ, Z, S, KS, XS, and
HS beginning around the 2nd century BC (Fig. 8). This evidence could explain how the final X of phoinix
could form the final digraph Sh of finish. By the 8th century AD,
i.e., when the first Old English literary texts were written, the Greek cursive
Z and Ξ (X) were almost indistinguishable.
It is, therefore, possible that European readers interpreted Ξ (/ks/) as Z (/z/).
Figure 9. Comparison of pre-classical graphemes for the Greek letters Sigma (Σ, σ; S; left), Ksi (Ξ, ξ; X; middle) and Chi (X, c; Ch; right). 1. Rotated Z-like graphemes were used for all three letters. 2. S-like graphemes for Sigma. 3. Extended Sigma resembling Ξ (, ξ; X). 4. A ChS version of the Ksi digraph using a rotated z-like Sigma graphene. 5. HS-like graphemes for Ksi. The arrows indicate identical graphemes for Ksi and Chi. Source LSAG.
But confusion among
Ksi (Ξ, ξ; ; X; /ks/), Chi (X, x, c; Ch; /x/, /h/), and
Sigma (𐌔, ς, ᛊ; S; /s/; /ʃ/) began in pre-classical times (Fig. 9). As mentioned
above, the archaic Ξ resembled a double
z () or an extended Sigma
(; ; ; ). It could be interpreted as zz or ss. The
scribe trying to transliterate ΦOINIΞ or φοίνιξ (/finiks/; compare ΦOINI𐌔 or φοίνις; /finis/)
could have opted for finiss. The Online Etymology Dictionary states
that finish derives from the
Old French stem finiss- attested from the 13th century and meaning
to stop, finish, come to an end, die.
I have repeatedly
argued that aspirates originate from double consonants and signify greater intensity,
size, repetition, or multiplicity (see section Aspiration). The term finish deriving from
finiss is yet another example for this argument. Some of the Sigma graphemes
(e.g., 𐌔) are rotated z’s. Ksi (Ξ; /ks/) represented a double phoneme
and was frequently spelt out as KS (/ks/), HS, or XS (/hs/, /xs/). Chi graphemes
corresponding to Greek /h/ or /x/ sounds were frequently identical to Ksi graphemes
or confounded with inverted z or z-like Sigma.
Euphronios was not a potter,
properly speaking, but a finisher, a Phoenician. A finisher is a person who finishes
or completes something or applies a finish to something, such as furniture
or the gilding and decoration in bookbinding. The Phoenicians could be the finishers
who applied finish (*phoenix) to the pots. They likely formed a
distinct profession within pottery, the primary industry of the times, because finishing
requires special artistic painting skills. It was probably not him who gave the
shape to the pots but who finished them with decorative paint. Despite the c-spelling
of Phoenician, in Modern English, the word is still pronounced with
/ʃ/, /fəˈnɪʃ(ə)n/, /fəˈniːʃ(ə)n/, or US /fəˈniːʃən/, to remind the -sh ending
of finish. Presumably, the original *Phoenishian (/finishian/)
was misspelt as Phoenician because C was chosen to represent K from
the misunderstood Greek root Phoenik- (anything related
to dark red phoinix). Nevertheless, the /k/ sound is retained, in the English
finicky or finical, meaning fastidious,
needing much attention to detail, fiddly, demanding, requiring above-normal care
or dexterity to operate, overly precise or delicate, having many small bits or embellishments.
Having phoinix for drawing red lines, or lines on
red material, we can drift its meaning to any drawing material, e.g., any ink, lampblack
soot, charcoal, tar, or other by-products of burning (ashes) and any medium. To
explain the concept of writing to kids in a pedagogical but amusing manner, we could
use the riddle of a bird called phoinix (“Phoenix” 2023), which moves its wings (quills) up and down as we move
our hands for writing. The bird (writing) lives longer than a human lifetime. It
eventually burns like papyrus, paper, and books. Still, it is reborn from the ashes
of such materials. If the kids have assimilated the interplay of linguistic morphology
and semantics, they would immediately identify writing as the underlying concept
in the riddle. Because inks can be made from the ashes of books, while books can
be copied before burning. Thus, through a concise but intriguing and memorable myth,
pupils can learn letters (reading, writing, morphology, and semiotics), physics,
chemistry, and sociology of writing materials, along with the comparative anatomy
of vertebrates (quills).
In conclusion, I agree with Roelof Van Den Broek that the
word Phoenician refers to those ‘who work with red dyes’; or with red materials
such as clay, glaze, or ink (the potters and the writers). But I would dismiss his
speculations about φοῖνιξ (phoinix or phoenix) being borrowed from
the West Semitic word pua[2] for madder, a red dye made from
Rubia tinctorum, and that it meant the ‘Phoenician bird’ or the ‘purplish-red
bird’ (Broek 1972). Even if there were any relation between pua and φοι (phoi
or phoe) from φοῖνιξ (phoinix or phoenix),
which I henceforth aim to dismantle, there would still be the ending -nix
to explain in Semitic terms.
Moreover, I would remain sceptical about the direction
of a word and stem borrowing between Semitic and Greek. The oldest surviving Hebrew
fragments of the Old Testament date to about the 2nd century BC, i.e., about 3 centuries
after Herodotus used the word Phoenicians and 4-6 centuries after Homer’s Iliad
featuring the word phoinix. The bulk of the Old Testament is only known from
the Septuagint in Ptolemaic Koine Greek (3rd-2nd centuries BC), i.e.,
the common supra-regional form of Greek spoken and written during the Hellenistic
period, the Roman Empire, and the early Byzantine Empire. In the Septuagint, the
names and terms may have already been Hellenized. The oldest surviving manuscripts
of this translation date from the 4th century AD[3]. If the Linear B term po-ni-ke
truly means phoinix, as Van Den Broek recalls, the origin of the ‘Phoenicians’
would be pushed back to the mid-Bronze Age Peloponnese before the invention of the
alphabet, but the meaning of the term would remain unclear.
I propose forward and reverse semantic scanning of terms
as a more sensitive method for understanding their original meaning. Greek linguists
are accustomed to identifying a single main stem and any well-known co-occurring
morphemes to derive a word’s etymology and semantics. Semantic scanning differs
from this classical method in various ways. Most importantly, it identifies not
a single but all possible overlapping stems within a word. Starting from the first
letter (position 1) of the studied term, I screen all the possible clusters for
words that start, contain, or end with each cluster. I then move on and do the same
for the clusters starting from positions 2, 3, etc., of the standard and the inverted letter sequence, paying particular attention to each cluster’s shortest and most frequent cognates. Ideally, I look for independent words formed by each cluster, alone
or with a common noun or verb ending (-os; -ō, etc.). Semantic scanning is agnostic to current theories of
word morphology and sub-division. Previous religious or esoteric interpretations
of terms should also be avoided because I believe Greek texts were nothing of this
sort. Diphthongs and digraphs may be inverted or kept as such in reverse reading.
Table 1. Semantic scan of Phoenix (PhOiNIX). Meanings compiled from Liddell and Scott (1940).
|
Stem |
Cognates |
Transliteration |
Meanings |
|
Forward |
|||
|
FOI |
|
phoibos phoibaō phoibēsis phoibētos phoibētēs phoitos phoitaō phoitētēs |
pure, bright, radiant cleanse, purify inspiration inspired, prophesying (*proficient) prophet (teacher) a repeated going or coming go to and fro, backwards and forwards, and generally,
with the notion of repeated motion, stalk, keep going from one part to another one who regularly goes or comes, disciple, pupil |
|
FOIN |
|
phoinix phoinas phoinizō (phoinissō) phoinos |
purple or crimson, date palm, fabulous bird phoenix,
ornament blood-red redden, make red blood-red, |
|
OIN |
oineis (oxeis, tacheis) |
sharp, quick, swift, hasty, keen, dazzling, acute |
|
|
INI |
inion (in, iēmi) |
release, let go, utter, speak, be eager, desire to do |
|
|
NI |
nizō |
wash the hands, purge, cleanse, wash off (using a sponge) |
|
|
IX |
ixos |
birdlime, sticky substance, *glue |
|
|
Reverse |
|||
|
XI *XE |
xi (xei, xeō) |
smooth or polish by scraping, planing smooth wood or
other material with a plane, filing, of a carpenter |
|
|
XIN |
xeinos |
strange, foreign, guest, guest-friend |
|
|
INI |
inion (in, iēmi) |
release, let go, utter, speak, be eager, desire to do |
|
|
INO |
inoō inos (paidas) |
make strong and nervous child |
|
|
NOI |
noidion (noēmation, noēma) |
(diminutive) that which is perceived, perception, thought,
purpose, idea, design (*detail) |
|
|
OIF |
oiphi oiphō (ocheyō) |
due measure, rule, limit cover, vulgar, common, lewd |
|
Let us scan the semantics of phoenix (PhOiNIX) and
compare the results (Table 1) with the more classical etymology
of the compound phoen-ix described above. Three possible letters follow the
cluster PhOi at the beginning of Greek words. Words starting with PhOiN pertain
to a deep red colour, as above. Those starting with PhOiB convey sememes of purification,
cleansing, polishing, shining, and inspiration, all pertinent to finishing
and decorating the surface of an artefact. Finally, words starting with PhOiT relate
to repetition, repetitive work, or to-and-fro movement, which also evoke surface
preparation and painting.
Two quasi-identical words, φοιτητής (phoitētēs;
PhOiTHTHS) and φοιβητής (phoibētēs;
PhOiBHTHS) merit semantic pairing. The first, PhOiTHTHS, is glossed as one who regularly
goes or comes, a disciple or pupil. It is still used in Modern Greek exclusively
for university students, never for elementary school pupils or intermediate-level
students. Of course, today’s elementary education (reading and writing) may have
been the highest level of training sometime in antiquity. The curious repetition
THTH exists as an independent word, τήτη (tētē) meaning want, need,
a desire to possess or do something, wish for, hope for. Therefore, a PhOi-THTHS
wants, has the desire, wish, hope, or need to possess, do, or be PhOi.
On the principle of
antonymy by inversion (see section On the origin of words), we may derive the
meaning of PhOi as an antonym of OiPh. The PhOi cluster comprising a Greek double
letter (Φ; see section The doubles; English digraph
Ph) and a diphthong (οι; oi; Oi) forms the verb οἴφω (oiphō; OiPh-Ω), which means ὀχεύω (ocheyō), to mount (apply, superpose), cover (put something on top
of or in front of something, especially to protect or conceal it), copulate (join together, mate,
couple, bind, link, unite), hence, οἰφόλης (oipholēs), or feminine οἰφόλις (oipholis), lewd, vulgar, crude,
dirty, filthy, obscene, profane, etc., typical of the lower orders. If OiPh means
vulgar or common, PhOi would mean not vulgar, not common, excellent, superior, or noble. Therefore, PhOi-THTHS would be the one who wants (THTH) to excel (PhOi) and
needs to perfect or do better than ordinary. Yes, disciples, pupils, and faculty
students regularly attend school and exercise! But these sememes are produced by
a semantic shift of the want for excellence, which the word was initially made to
describe.
The hypothesis of ichnography for a graphical
creation of words (see section On the origin of words) predicts that sub-literal elements,
i.e., the strokes that form the letters, convey sememes which cumulate to form the
final meaning of a stem. The stem PhOi, Greek ΦOI (or ΦOi), consists
of the grapheme Φ, a circle ‘broken’ by a vertical stroke like a negation of a perfect
circle, and a perfect circle with the vertical stroke removed and set aside OI
(Oi). Reading ΦOI from left to right is like moving our mind from Φ to OI, Φ >
OI, from the negation of a perfect circle to an affirmation of a perfect circle
with the break removed; that is an improvement. The circular and linear strokes
of Φ are separated as OI. The mind follows the opposite direction when reading OI
> Φ. That is degradation, imperfection, crudeness, and vulgarity. The straight
line enters the circle; copulation, uniting or fixing with a nail. We can now transpose
the perfection sememes of PhOi from PhOi-THTHS to PhOi-N-IX as a finish,
a finishing coat. By adding an N, we make PhOiN, a dark-read finishing
coat. This can be used in the lexical context of painting or lethal bleeding.
The other member of the semantic pair, φοιβητής (phoibētēs; PhOiBHTHS), is glossed as a
prophet. But neither God nor prophets in today’s religious sense existed
in the Greek world. These are later concepts projected to archaic terms by translators.
Besides, the word prophet is from Greek προφήτης (prophētēs), etymologically unrelated to phoibētēs.
If PhOiTHTHS is a higher education student seeking perfection, could PhOiBHTHS be
a professor who has already arrived at perfection? Indeed, a prophet, and
consequently a phoibētēs, was a teacher, interpreter, spokesman, or
proclaimer, not only an inspired preacher
who speaks for a god, although preachers too are
primarily teachers. I argue that, initially, the Greek word for god (theos)
was a common noun meaning a tradable good, a technological invention or a social
service (see sections
Olympian gods). Suppose the two terms were once synonymous, both meaning teacher. In that case, they might still differ regarding the subject matter taught, e.g., speech
(prophētēs) versus manufacturing (phoibētēs), theory (foretelling,
prediction, persuasion) versus practice (demonstration, explanation, proof).
Some of the cognates of PhOiB are φοίβησις (phoibēsis), inspiration – compare φοίτησις (phoitēsis), regular or repeated going,
going to school – φοιβαίνω (phoibainō), to clean, φοιβάω (phoibaō), to cleanse, purify, φοιβάζω (phoibazō) to prophesy, φοιβητός (phoibētos), inspired, prophesying,
and φοῖβος (phoibos), pure, bright, radiant,
also an epithet of Apollo (the bow or arch; the perfect, pure, radiant bow or arch;
see section Apollo and Artemis).
Note the phonetic similarities between the prophet, prophesy, proficiency,
professor, and profession(al). Using an F instead of the savant Ph
renders the words more secular. Religious translators would instead use Ph, from
double-P, to elevate the mouth sememe (see section Literal semantic constants) of speaking about God.
From the semantics of Phoenix compiled in Table 1, we may deduce that the object is relevant to professors,
students, and education. It is a sharp device for swiftly and sharply releasing
a red sticky but washable (water soluble) substance. This is a stylus
grooving clay. The reverse reading describes the other standard aspect of writing,
erasing errors. This activity is conveyed as scraping little notions that are strange
or foreign to what we want to say or desire to do and make us nervous. As some
of us remember from school, writing implements such as pencils had a sharp side
for writing and an eraser on the opposite side, like the stylus of Fig. 1. I am still unsure if Phoenix refers to a stylus with
an eraser or to a certain quality of recyclable clay (e.g., like plasticine)
used for writing in schools. The latter is because, as the myth goes,
Phoenix could be reborn from the ashes of its antecedents, although this myth could
be a later addition to the story of writing.
The potter Euphronios would be about right! The original
meaning of phoinix could be a red viscous, sticky, clammy substance (clay).
The Phoenicians were not a nation but a professional or social class. In the modern
sense of these ethnonyms, they could be Egyptian, Semites, or Greek. If we replace
the -ix ending with -ikē, we get phoenikē (Phoenicia). But ikē
(ἵκῃ) is a derivative of the verb
ἵκω (ikō), to come to, reach, attain,
become, get, be, grow. Phoenicia was not a country but an artistic or intellectual
elite. Those knowledgeable Phoenicians who used red clay to draw circles (O) and lines (I) brought the letters to Greece.
PS: According to current
etymology, the English verb to finish appears in the late 14th century
for bringing to an end. By the mid-15th century, it meant to come to an end. It is
said to derive from the Old French finiss-, present participle stem of fenir,
stop, finish, come to an end, die (13th century), from Latin finire, to
limit, set bounds, put an end to, come to an end, from finis, that which
divides, a boundary, border, figuratively a limit, an end, close, conclusion,
an extremity, highest point, greatest degree, which is of unknown origin,
perhaps related to figere, to fasten, fix. The meaning to kill, terminate
the existence of, is from 1755. The allegedly related verb to fix is from the late
14th century, and means to set (one’s eyes or mind) on something (a figurative
use), probably from the Old French verb *fixer, from fixe, fixed,
from Latin fixus, fixed, fast, immovable, established, settled,
past-participle adjective from figere, to fix, fasten, drive, thrust in,
pierce through, transfix, also figurative, from Proto-Indo-European root *dheigw-,
to pierce, stick in, hence to fix, fasten. Nobody explains why the
Proto-Indo-Europeans chose the *dheigw- phonetics to describe fixing and
finishing, how long it must have taken *dheigw- to become Greek /finiks/,
or Latin finis, and why those ancient versions remained practically
unchanged for the next 2000-3000 years.
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[1] Ichnography (from Greek ἴχνος, íchnos, track, trace, and γράφειν, graphein, to write; pronounced /ikh-nog-rəfi/), is an in architecture term defined by the Roman architect and engineer Vitruvius (1st century BC) as the ground plan of the work, i.e., the geometrical projection or horizontal section representing the plan of any building, taken at such a level as to show the outer walls, with the doorways, windows, fireplaces, etc., and the correct thickness of the walls, the position of piers, columns or pilasters, courtyards, and other features which constitute the design, as to scale.
[2] Perhaps related to the Biblical character Pua and his family, the Punites or the Puni colonists of Carthage.
[3] Dating the Bible in the English Wikipedia; accessed 5 June 2021.