IIII

IIII (pronounced fawr (U) or fohr (non-U))

A translingual form, an alternative form of IV: the Roman numeral representing four (4), the other known forms being iv, iiii & iiij

Circa 500 BC: The Roman numeral system spread as Roman conquest expanded and remained widely used in Europe until from circs 1300 it was replaced (for most purposes) with the more adaptable Hindu-Arabic system (including the revolutionary zero (0) which remains in use to this day.

IIII as a representation where the value four is involved has long been restricted to the value 4.  To avoid numbers becoming too cumbersome, the Roman system always used subtraction when a smaller numeral precedes a larger numeral so the number 14 would be represented as XIV instead of XIIII.  The convention which emerged was that a numeral can precede only another numeral which is less than or equal to ten times the value of the smaller so I can precede only (and thus be subtracted from) V (five) & X (ten).  However, these “rules” didn’t exist during Antiquity and weren’t (more or less) standardized until well into the medieval period; it’s thus not unusual to find old documents where 9 is represented as VIIII instead of IX.  The practical Romans, unlike the Greeks for whom abstraction was a calling, were little concerned with the concepts of pure mathematics, such as number theory or geometric proofs, and other abstract ideas, devoted instead to utilitarian purposes such as financial accounting, keeping military records and building things.

The numeral system had to be manageable to make simple calculations like addition and subtraction so it was attractive to make the text strings conveniently short: 44 as XLIV obvious preferable to XXXXIIII.  Although its limitations seem obvious to modern eyes, given the demands of the times, the system worked remarkably well for almost two millennia despite the largest numeral being M (1000).  It was silly to contemplate writing a string of 1000 M’s to indicate a million (presumably not a value then often used) so the Romans concocted a bar (the vinculum) which, when it appeared above a numeral, denoted a multiplier of 1000: MMMM (6000) could thus appear as V̄Ī and a million as M̄.  Compared with the Hindu-Arabic system, it was a fudged but one which for centuries proved serviceable.

Where Roman numbers are occasionally still used (book prefaces & introductions, some aeroplanes & automobiles and charmingly, some software), the number four is almost always represented by IV rather than IIII.  One exception to this however is watch & clock faces where the use of IIII outnumbers IV, regardless of the cost of the device.  Watchmakers have provided may explanations for the historical origin of this practice, the most popular of which dates from Antiquity: Because “I” stood for the “J” and “V” for the “U”, IV would be read as JU and thus Jupiter, an especially venerated Roman god, Jupiter Optimus Maximus being the king of all gods, chief of the pantheon and protector of ancient Rome.  The suggestion is that invoking the name of Jupiter for such a banal purpose would be thought offensive if not actually blasphemous.  Thus IIII it became.

Lindsay Lohan wearing 19mm (¾ inch) Cartier Tank Americaine in 18 karat white gold with a quartz movement and a silver guilloche dial with Roman numerals including the traditional IIII.  The Cartier part-number is B7018L1.

There’s the notion to that the convention arose just because of one of those haphazard moments in time by which history sometimes is made.  The appearance of IIII was said to be the personal preference of Louis XIV (1638–1715; le Roi Soleil (the Sun King), King of France 1643-1715), the Sun King apparently issuing an instruction (though there’s no evidence it was ever a formal decree) that IIII was the only appropriate way to write the number four, watchmakers ever since still tending to comply.  Whether Louis XIV wished to retain some exclusivity in the IV which was part of “his” XIV isn’t known and it may be he simply preferred the look of IIII.  Despite the belief of some, it’s anyway wrong to suggest IIII is wrong and IV right.  The design of the IIII was based upon four outstretched fingers which surely had for millennia been the manner in which the value of 4 was conveyed in conversation and V denoted 5 in tribute to the shape the hand formed when the thumb was added.  The IV notation came later and because it better conformed with the conventions used for writing bigger numbers, came in medieval times to be thought correct; it was thus adopted by the Church, becoming the “educated” form and that was that.

Not all agree with those romantic tales however, the German Watch Museum noting that in scholarly, ecclesiastical and daily use, IIII was widely used for a millennia, well into the nineteenth century, while the more efficient “IV” didn’t appear with any great frequency until circa 1500.  The museum argues that the watch and clock-makers concerns may have been readability and aesthetics rather than any devotion to historic practice, IIII having display advantages in an outward-facing arrangement relative to the centre of the dial (ie partially upside down, such as on wall, tower or cuckoo clocks), any confusion between IV (4) & VI (6) eliminated.  Also, a watch, while a functional timepiece, is also decorative and even a piece of jewellery so aesthetics matter, the use of III rendering the dial symmetrically balanced because 14 individual characters exist on each side of the dial and the IIII counterbalances the opposite VIII in the manner IX squares off against III.  So there’s no right or wrong about IIII & IV but there are reasons for the apparent anomaly of the more elegant IV appearing rarely on the dials of luxury watches.

Terpsichore

Terpsichore (pronounced turp-sik-uh-ree)

(1) In Classical Mythology, the goddess of dancing and choral song and one of the nine Muses who were daughters of Zeus (god of sky and thunder) & Mnemosyne (the goddess of memory).

(2) In choreography; the art of dancing (should always be lowercase).

(3) In astronomy (as 81 Terpsichore), a main belt asteroid.

Circa 1760: From the Classical Latin Terpsichorē from the Ancient Greek Τερψιχόρη (Terpsikhórē) (literally “enjoyment of dance”), noun use of the feminine of terpsíchoros (delighting in the dance), the construct being τέρψις (térpsis; térpein) (to delight; enjoyment) + χορός (khorós) (dance; chorus); it’s from terpsíchoros that English gained chorus.  The Greek was térpein was from the primitive Indo-European root terp- (to satisfy) source also of Sanskrit trpyati (takes one's fill) and the Lithuanian tarpstu & tarpti (to thrive, prosper).

The adjective terpsichorean (pertaining to dancing (literally “of Terpsichore”)) dates from 1869, and was from the Latinized form of the Greek noun terpsikhore (Muse of dancing and dramatic chorus).  From this came the theatrical slang terp (stage dancer, chorus girl) noted since 1937.  The adjectival form terpsichorean often appears with an initial capital letter because of its etymology from a proper noun.  Either is acceptable but the conventions of Modern English tend eventually to prevail which suggests use of the capital T will reduce with time but, given the rarity of the word except in a few technical and historical disciplines, the classic form is likely to endure among those few who enjoy its use.

In the mythology of Ancient Greece, nine goddesses ruled over art and literature.  The Greeks called them Muses and the Muse of dance and choral music was Terpsichore.  Of late she’s been of interest to astronomers who adopted her as a metaphor for the rhythm and ordered movement in the universe, such as mechanical oscillations.  In Archaic Greece, there were but three Muses, all associated with song and dance; it was only in the classical period they became nine and assigned to distinct spheres: Calliope of epic poetry, Clio of history, Euterpe of lyric poetry, Erato of love poetry, Melpomene of tragedy, Polyhymnia of hymns, Thalia of comedy, Urania of astronomy, and Terpsichore of dance and choral music.  The daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, they dwelt in the land of Pieria in the foothills of Mount Olympus.  In later mythology, writers tended to compare the Muses to the sirens but while both were young nymphs famous for their beautiful songs, the Muses sang to enrich men’s souls while the sirens were chthonic and sang to lure them to their deaths.

The Greek historian Herodotus (circa 484-425 BC) wrote his Ἱστορίαι (historíai̯; in the West styled variously as The History or The Histories of Herodotus)) as an account of the Greco-Persian Wars (499-449 BC).  Although there was once some doubt about the veracity as a historical document (reflecting more the scepticism about medieval editors and translators than the original texts), modern research has concluded the work is one of the most reliable histories from antiquity.  Herodotus was called “The Father of History” by the Roman orator Cicero (103-46 BC) because of the quality of his writing but he's also now acknowledged as the father of historiography's modern structural form.  Written histories had existed prior to Herodotus but he was the first to adopt a recognizably modern thematic form.  At some unknown time, one or more editors reorganized The History into nine chapters, each name after a Muse, one of which was Terpsichore:  Book I (Clio), Book II (Euterpe), Book III (Thalia), Book IIII (Melpomene), Book V (Terpsichore), Book VI (Erato), Book VII (Polymnia), Book VIII (Urania) & Book IX (Calliope).

The Muse Terpsichore In Ancient & Modern Greece.  Allegory of the Muse Terpsichore playing a harp, from the Florentine School of the eighteenth century, oil on canvas by an unknown artist (left) and Lindsay Lohan dancing The Lilo, Lohan Beach House, Mykonos, Greece, 2018 (right).

Despite the similarity, there’s no verified connection between khorós (dance; chorus) and χώρᾱς (khṓrās), inflection of χώρᾱ (khṓrā) (location, place, spot; the proper place; one's place in life; piece of land: tract, land, field; country (as opposed to a city or town), countryside; country, nation.  The origin of khôra is unknown and it may be from a Pre-Greek substrate or other regional language although speculative links have been suggested including χᾰ́ος (kháos) (empty space, abyss, chasm) and χατέω (khatéō) (to lack, miss, need, desire) but few etymologists have supported either and the lack of cognates beyond the Greek rendered research a dead end.  Khōra had been adopted as the ancient name for the land lying between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers north of Babylon (modern-day Iraq), from the Greek mesopotamia (khōra (literally "a country between two rivers)), from the feminine of mesopotamos, the construct being mesos (middle), from the primitive Indo-European root medhyo- (middle") + potamos (river).  That use borrowed directly from the discussions from Antiquity.

However, khôra did attract the interest of those scourges of late twentieth century linguistics: the French deconstructionists.  Their attention seems to have been excited by the concept of khôra in the sense of “the territory of the Ancient Greek polis which lay beyond the city proper”.  The philosophers of Antiquity, noting the idea of khôra simultaneously as (1) the physical space between city & the wilderness, (2) the time it takes to transverse the space and (3) one’s state of mind while in the space.  It was very much a concept of the indeterminate, a triton genos (third kind), being neither civilization nor the state of nature and city nor wilderness and few things so appealed to the deconstructionists as the indeterminate.

Of course, one attraction of deconstruction was that it was in itself a layer of indeterminacy and Jacques Derrida (1930-2004), post-modernism’s most famous explorer of khôra in the context of apophatism or negative theology, was interested not how the word had been understood in the traditions of metaphysics & metaphorics but what meaning could be constructed for something which is neither present or absent, passive or active.  The findings from khôra’s time on post-modernism’s autopsy table did illustrate why deconstruction gained a special role in language because there was surely no other way that Plato’s entirely cosmological concept could become psycho-linguistic and produce, in all seriousness, the idea of khôra as “container of the uncontainable”.  Plato (circa 425-circa 347 BC) had imagined khôra as that space through which something could pass but in which nothing could remain so thus to a French deconstructionist the very essence of tout autre (fully other) and from there it wasn’t very far to the idea of khôra also as time and space interacting.  At that point, in the tradition of post-modernism, khôra meant whatever the observer decided it meant.

The Terpsichore in Modern Greece: Lindsay Lohan dancing The Lilo, Lohan Beach House, Mykonos, Greece, 2018.