Inflammable & Flammable

Inflammable (pronounced in-flam-uh-buhl)

(1) Easily set on fire; combustible; incendiary, combustible, inflammable, burnable, ignitable (recommended only for figurative use).

(2) Easily aroused or excited, as to passion or anger; irascible; fiery; volatile, choleric.

1595–1605: From the Medieval Latin inflammābilis, the construct being the Classical Latin inflammā(re) (to set on fire) + -bilis (from the Proto-Italic -ðlis, from the primitive Indo-European i-stem form -dhli- of -dhlom (instrumental suffix).  Akin to –bulum, the suffix -bilis is added to a verb to form an adjectival noun of relationship to that verb (indicating a capacity or worth of being acted upon).  Construct of the Classical Latin inflammare (to set on fire) is -in (in, on) + flamma (flame).

Flammable (pronounced flam-uh-buhl)

Easily set on fire; combustible; incendiary, combustible, inflammable, burnable, ignitable

1805–1815: From the Classical Latin flammā(re) (to set on fire) + -ble (the Latin suffix forming adjectives and means “capable or worthy of”).

Need for standardization

Flammable and inflammable mean the same thing.  English, a mongrel vacuum-cleaner of a language, has many anomalies born of the haphazard adoption of words from other tongues but the interchangeability of flammable and inflammable is unfortunate because of the use in signs to warn people of potentially fatal danger.

In- is often used as a prefix with adjectives and nouns to indicate the opposite of the word it precedes (eg inaction, indecisive, inexpensive etc).  Given that, it’s reasonable to assume inflammable is the opposite of flammable and that objects and substances should be so-labeled.  The reason for the potentially deadly duplication is historic.  Inflammable actually pre-dates flammable, the word derived from the Latin verb inflammare (to set on fire), this verb also the origin of the modern meaning “to swell or to provoke angry feelings”, hence the link between setting something on fire and rousing strong feelings in someone.  So, at a time when Latin was more influential, inflammable made sense.  However, as the pull of Latin receded, words with in- (as a negative prefix) became a bigger part of the lexicon and the confusion was created.  By the early nineteenth century, flammable had become common usage, and by the twentieth was widespread.  The modern convention is to use flammable literally (to refer to things which catch fire) and inflammable figuratively (to describe the arousal of passions, the swelling of tissue etc.  Surprisingly, the rules applying to warning signs have yet to adopt this standardization.

Using flammable and inflammable to mean the same thing is confusing.  The preferred wording is flammable and non-flammable.  Borrowing from semiotics, danger should be indicated with red, safety with green.

Phlogiston

Phlogiston (pronounced floh-jis-ton or floh-jis-tuhn)

In chemistry, a hypothetical colorless, odorless, weightless substance once believed to be the combustible part of all flammable substances and given off as flame during burning; sometimes styled poetically as the “fiery principle”.

1610-1620: From the New Latin phlogiston, from the Ancient Greek φλογιστόν (phlogistón), neuter of φλογιστός (phlogistós), (burnt up, inflammable), from φλογίζω (phlogízō), (to set fire to), from φλόξ (phlóx) (flame).  The most familiar Greek forms were phlogizein (to set alight) and phlegein (to burn).  Root was the primitive Indo-European bhel (to shine, flash, burn (also “shining white)).  Bhel proved most productive, used especially when forming words for bright colors and was part of beluga; Beltane; black; blancmange; blanch; blank; blanket; blaze (as in "bright flame, fire)" bleach; bleak; blemish; blench; blende; blend; blind; blindfold; blitzkrieg; blond; blue; blush; conflagration; deflagration; effulgence; effulgent; flagrant; flambe; flambeau; flamboyant; flame; flamingo; flammable; Flavian; Flavius; fulgent; fulminate; inflame; inflammable; phlegm; phlegmatic; phlogiston; phlox; purblind; refulgent & riboflavin.  As well as the Ancient Greek phlegein (to burn), the word was apparently related to the Sanskrit bhrajate (shines), the Latin flamma (flame), fulmen (lightning), fulgere (to shine, flash) & flagrare (to burn, blaze, glow), the Old Church Slavonic belu (white) and the Lithuanian balnas (pale).  The related forms were phlogistic, phlogisticating, phlogistication & phlogisticated and the scientific necessity of the age also demanded the creation of the verb dephlogisticate (deprive of phlogiston), thus also dephlogisticated, dephlogisticating & dephlogistication.

Alchemy & Chemistry

As the surgeons emerged from the barber’s shop the chemists were once alchemists.  Chemistry began as alchemy, once a respectable branch of learning concerned, inter alia, with the study and purification of materials, the dubious reputation it now suffers because of the fixation in popular culture on its work in developing the chemical process chrysopoeia, the transmutation of “base metals” such as lead into "noble metals", especially gold.  That particular notion of molecular re-arrangement proved a cul-de-sac but some of the laboratory techniques and experimental models developed in medieval alchemy remain in use today.

One pioneer of modern chemistry was German chemist & physician Georg Stahl (1660–1734) who devoted much attention to the fundamental nature of combustion: What happens when stuff burns?  Developing an idea first proposed in 1667 by German physician & alchemist Joachim Becher (1635–1682), in 1702, Stahl proposed that all inflammable objects contained a material substance he called “phlogiston”, from the Greek word meaning “to set on fire”.  When something burned, it liberated its content of phlogiston into the air and Stahl believed it to be chemically inert.  Stahl’s phlogiston theory would dominate scientific thinking for a century.

Phlogiston theory for a while survived even the odd inconvenient truth.  When experiments revealed that burning (oxidizing) a piece of metal resulted in it weighing more rather than less (contrary to phlogiston theory which suggested it would be lighter by the weight of the evacuated phlogiston), the inconsistency was resolved by postulating that phlogiston was either (1) an immaterial principle rather than a material substance (2), phlogiston had a negative weight or (3), phlogiston was lighter than air.  So much did the theory become scientific orthodoxy that when chemists isolated hydrogen, it was celebrated as pure phlogiston.

The execution of Lavoisier, woodcut by unknown artist.  Antoine-Laurent de Lavoisier (1743-1794) was a nobleman and a tax collector, neither quality likely much to appeal to the mob which prevailed after the French Revolution.  In 1794 he and twenty-seven other tax-farmers were executed by guillotine in Paris at the Place de la Révolution (now the Place de la Concorde).  A fellow scientist at the time lamented: "It took them only an instant to cut off that head, and one hundred years might not be sufficient to produce another like it.”

It would be decades before those with doubts, and there were a few, systemized their objections into an alternative theory.  In 1775, French chemist Antoine-Laurent de Lavoisier delivered a paper he called Memoir on the nature of the principle which combines with metals during their calcination [oxidation] and which increases their weight to a meeting of the French Royal Academy of Sciences.  Subsequently it was published in 1778.  Lavoisier named the combustible part of air principe oxigine (acidifying principle) from the Ancient Greek, the construct being ὀξύς (oxús) (sharp) + γένος (génos) (birth), referring to his erroneous belief that oxygen was a vital component of all acids, this his choice of “acid producing”.  The French adopted the variant principe oxygène and in English it became oxygen.  The fraction of air that does not support combustion he called azote, (no life) from the Ancient Greek, the construct being ἀ- (a-) (without) + ζωή (zōḗ) (life), the idea being the substance was incapable of sustaining life.  Azote is now called “nitrogen”, from the French nitrogène, the construct being the nitro- (from the Ancient Greek νίτρον (nítron) (sodium carbonate) +‎ the French gène (producing).  From this paper, which eventually laid to rest phlogiston theory, emerged the foundations for the understanding of chemical reactions as combinations of elements which form new materials; the birth of modern chemistry.  Lavoisier’s model was convincingly elegant but there were those in the scientific establishment with reputations vested in phlogiston theory and some would prove recalcitrant.  Even when the existence of oxygen and nitrogen had become widely accepted, some remained so inculcated they felt compelled to integrate the old with the new, oxygen and nitrogen a filter with which to view phlogiston; a construction of reality which in the post-Trumpian world would be called “alternative facts”. 

Most famous was the eminent English chemist Joseph Priestley (1733-1804) who, even after personally identifying oxygen and well after Lavoisier's paper had persuaded nearly all others, insisted oxygen was but “dephlogisticated air” and in his 1796 paper Considerations on the doctrine of phlogiston and the decomposition of water, he labeled Lavoisier's devotees as “Antiphlogistians”, objecting to the idea of some “theory so new” and based on “so very narrow and precarious a foundation” suddenly overturning “the best established chemistry”.  Two centuries later, a similarly doomed rearguard action would be fought by the “steady-staters” against the big-bang theory explaining the origins of the universe.  Until his dying day, Priestley never accepted the invalidation of phlogiston theory but the increasingly complicated modifications he, and a dwindling few others, bolted-on to make it conform with the undeniable implications of Lavoisier’s model were unconvincing and by the turn of the nineteenth century, phlogiston’s days were over.

Janus

Janus (pronounced jey-nuhs)

(1) In Roman mythology, a god of doorways (and thus also of beginnings), and of the rising and setting of the sun, usually represented as having one head with two bearded faces back to back, looking in opposite directions, historically understood as the past and the future.

(2) When used attributively, to indicate things with two faces or aspects; or made of two different materials; or having a two-way action.

(3) In zoology, a diprosopus (two-headed) animal.

(4) In chemistry, used attributively to indicate an azo dye with a quaternary ammonium group, frequently with the diazo component being safranine.

(5) In astronomy, a moon of the planet Saturn, located just outside the rings.

(6) In figurative use, a “two-faced” person; a hypocrite.

(7) In numismatics, a coin minted with a head on each face.

(8) In architecture, as the jānus doorway, a style of doorway, archway or arcade, the name derived from the Roman deity Iānus being the god of doorways.

Mid-late 1500s: From the Latin Iānus (the ancient Italic deity Janus), to the Romans of Antiquity, the guardian god of portals, doors, and gates; patron of beginnings and endings.  The Latin Iānus (literally “gate, arched passageway”) may be from the primitive Indo-European root ei- (to go), the cognates including the Sanskrit yanah (path) and the Old Church Slavonic jado (to travel).  In depictions, Janus is shown as having two faces, one in front the other in back (an image thought to represent sunrise and sunset reflect his original role as a solar deity although it represents also coming and going in general, young and old or (in recent years) just about anything dichotomous).  The doors of the temple of Janus were traditionally open only during the time of war and closed to mark the end of the conflict, the origins of allusions to the “temple of Janus” being used metaphorically to mean conflict or wartime and the month of January is named after Janus, the link being to “the beginning of the year.  Janus is a noun or proper noun and Janian is an adjective.

A discarded proposal for the depiction of Lord Voldemort (left) in the Harry Potter films had him two-faced and Peter Dutton as imagined in the same vein (right).

One of the proposed models for the character of Lord Voldemort in JK Rowling's series of Harry Potter children's fantasy novels used as Janus-like two-faced head.  It's an urban myth Ms Rowling's inspiration for Lord Voldemort was Peter Dutton (b 1970; leader of His Majesty's loyal opposition in the Australian parliament since 2022) although, should his career in politics end soon (God forbid), he could find a new career in film, bringing Voldemort the evil and sense of menace the character has never quite achieved.  Mr Dutton has never denied being a Freemason.

An eighteenth century carving of Janus in the style of a herm.

A part of the etymological legacy of the Roman Empire, the name Janus appears in several European languages.  In Danish (from the Latin Iānus), it’s a Latinization of the Danish given name Jens.  In Faroese, it’s a male given name which begat (1) Janussson or Janusarson (son of Janus) and (2) Janusdóttir or Janusardóttir (daughter of Janus).  In Estonian it’s a male given name.  In Polish, it’s both a masculine & feminine surname (the feminine surname being indeclinable (a word that is not grammatically inflected).  There is no anglicized form of the Latin name Janus.  Although it was never common and is now regarded by most genealogy authorities as "rare", when used in the English-speaking world the spelling remain "Janus".  Often, when Latin names were adopted in English, even when the spelling was unaltered, there were modifications to suit local phonetics but Janus is pronounced still just as it would have been by a Roman.

Tristar pictures used the janus motif in the promotional material for I Know Who Killed Me (2007).

Dating from the 1580s, was from the Latin ianitor (doorkeeper, porter), from ianua (door, entrance, gate), the construct being ianus (arched passageway, arcade" + tor (the agent suffix).  The meaning “usher in a school” and later “doorkeeper” emerged in the 1620s white the more specific (and in Scotland and North America enduring) sense of “a caretaker of a building, man employed to attend to cleaning and tidiness” seems first to have been documented in 1708 (the now unused feminine forms were janitress (1806) & janitrix (1818).  Why janitor survived in general use in Scotland and North America and not elsewhere in the English-speaking world is a mystery although the influence of US popular culture (film and television) did see something of a late twentieth century revival and in  sub-cultures like 4chan and other places which grew out of the more anarchic bulletin boards of the 1980s & 1990s, a janitor is the (often disparaging) term for a content moderator for a discussion forum.

Augustus Orders the Closing of the Doors of the Temple of Janus (circa 1681), oil on canvas by Louis de Boullogne (1654–1733), Rhode Island School of Design Museum.

Among the more annoying things encountered by those learning English are surely Janus words, those with opposite meanings within themselves.  Examples include:

Hew can mean cutting something down or adhering closely to it.  Sanction may mean “formal approval or permission” or “an official ban, penalty, or deterrent”.  Scan can mean “to look slowly and carefully” or “quickly to glance; a cursory examination”.  Inflammable, which many take to mean “easy to burn” but the treachery of the word lies in the in- prefix which is often used as a negative, with the result that inflammable can be deconstructed as “not flammable”.  Trip can (and usually does) suggest clumsiness but can also imply some nimbleness or lightness of foot, as in the saying “trip the light fantastic”.  Oversight is a particularly egregious example.  To exercise oversight over someone or something is provide careful, watchful supervision yet an oversight is an omission or mistake.  In the ever-shifting newspeak of popular culture, the creation of the janus-word is often deliberate.  Filth can mean “of the finest quality”, wicked can mean “very good” and in the way which might have pleased George Orwell "bad" has become classic newspeak.   “Bad weed” can  mean the drug was either good or bad depending on the sentence structure: “that was bad weed” might well suggest it was of poor quality while “man, that was some bad weed” probably means it was good indeed.  Saying nice now seems rarely to mean what dictionaries say nice has come to mean but can variously describe something appalling or disgusting.