Does modern Greek still have Latin prefixes and suffixes?

Evangelos Lolos’ answer to Does modern Greek still have Latin prefixes and suffixes? gives the prominent Latin affixes of Modern Greek.

No, I’m not going to cite them here. You’re going to have to go over there and upvote him yourself.

The suffixes Evangelos quotes are vernacular; they aren’t part of the whole apparatus of scholarly Latinate terminology.

Greek has had a very, very long history of calquing Latin terms with Greek affixes and stems. In fact, Greek even translates Linnaean binomens (or it used to; I’m pretty sure they’ve given up now). Then again, a whole lot of Classical Latin terms were calqued from Greek anyway.

So there is no precedent, or appetite, for using Latin prefixes or suffixes in Greek. Hybrid terms like automobile or television end up rendered as Greek only terms: autokinēton, tēleorasis. Modern coinages get calqued: amphiphylophilos (‘both gender loving’) for bisexual, metapoikiakos for post-colonial, diapanepistēmiakos for inter-university. The international Latin scientific vocabulary was never going to be a match for Greek cultural pride.

It’s only very, very recently that Greeks have stopped calquing; hence transexoual is much more common than diemphylikos ‘across-in-gender’. (There’s a nice subtlety in em-phylos ‘in-gender’ being a gender you were born with—the analogy is with innate; so that diaphylikos ‘across-gender’ is reserved for ‘intersex’.) But, as Christina-Antoinette Neofotistou, the trans woman involved in the coinages herself conceded, the Greek coinages don’t have the positive connotations that the English loans do, and she’s ended up just saying trans or transdzender and intersex, and dismissing the Greek coinages as pedantic.

I’ll admit to wincing when I saw her write, a bit further down, transfovia. That’s the kind of hybrid word Greek was never ever ever supposed to accept. But like I said: things have changed. At least (thank God) she said ousiokratia instead of esentsialismos.

Yes, of course we calqued essentialism.

See also: A cis lament for the Greek language by Nick Nicholas on Opɯdʒɯlɯklɑr In Exile

Does the middle voice of τιμάω (τιμάομαι) in Attic Greek usually have an active (i.e. Epic: “to avenge”) or a mid/passive meaning (“to be honored”)?

Perusing the entry for τιμάω in Liddell–Scott, the negative meaning you mention is not Epic, and first turns up in Plato and Aristophanes; LSJ describes it as an “Attic law term”. The transition is:

  • to honour (since Homer)
  • to award (as an honour) (in Tragedy)
  • to award a penalty to someone, including a fine or a death sentence (in Attic legal contexts)
  • (medial) to estimate the extent of one one’s own penalty (in Attic legal contexts)

It is a specialist meaning, and I’d expect that the main meaning, ‘to be honoured’, continued to be dominant; it certainly is the meaning you would expect in a non-legal context.

How did it come to the letter Y (ypsilon) having the sound value of a consonant?

That outcome of <y> is specific to English, and as Y – Wikipedia says, it is through the influence of the obsolete English letter yogh, which was conflated with <y>:

Yogh – Wikipedia

The letter yogh (Ȝ ȝ; Middle English: yoȝ) was used in Middle English and Older Scots, representing y (/j/) and various velar phonemes. It was derived from the Old English form of the letter g. … It stood for /ɡ/ and its various allophones—including [ɡ] and the voiced velar fricative [ɣ]—as well as the phoneme /j/ (⟨y⟩ in modern English orthography).

The velar instances of yogh were replaced by <gh>; the palatal instances were replaced by the arguably similar-looking <y>.

Answered 2017-05-31 · Upvoted by

Logan R. Kearsley, MA in Linguistics from BYU, 8 years working in research for language pedagogy.

Who could show me an example of the ending -σάτω and -σάντων in Ancient Greek?

Plato Phaedo 116e

ἀλλ’ ἄγε δή, ὦ Κρίτων, πειθώμεθα αὐτῷ, καὶ ἐνεγκάτω τις τὸ φάρμακον, εἰ τέτριπται· εἰ δὲ μή, τριψάτω ὁ ἄνθρωπος.

But come, Crito, let us obey him, and let someone bring the poison, if it is ready; and if not, let the man prepare it.

Demosthenes 24.105

Ἐὰν δέ τις ἀπαχθῇ, τῶν γονέων κακώσεως ἑαλωκὼς ἢ ἀστρατείας ἢ προειρημένον αὐτῷ τῶν νόμων εἴργεσθαι, εἰσιὼν ὅποι μὴ χρή, δησάντων αὐτὸν οἱ ἕνδεκα καὶ εἰσαγόντων εἰς τὴν ἡλιαίαν, κατηγορείτω δὲ ὁ βουλόμενος οἷς ἔξεστιν.

If any man be put under arrest after being found guilty of ill-treating his parents or of shirking service, or for entering any forbidden place after notice of outlawry, the Eleven shall put him into prison and bring him before the Court of Heliaea, and any person being a lawful prosecutor may prosecute him.

Who’s your least favourite housewife of Orange County?

Is this even a competition?

The delusion. The entitlement. The drama. The self-righteousness. The infantilising of all that come athwart her. And the way she treated poor, poor Don.

Victoria Gunvalson.

Booooo…

How disappointed are you with the May 2017 Top Writer announcements?

Congratulations to Emlyn Shen, Vicky Prest, and John Gragson, the three names I recognise.

Ah, the Quill.

Yes, the Quill.

I’ve already said what I think of the Quill, and the Quill awarders, and the Quill lack of transparency, and the Quill divisiveness, and the Quill proving only that you write what Quora wants you to write and not that you are a lesser being if you don’t get the Quill, and Quora’s bizarre notion that the Quill is the sum total definition of the Quora community worth engaging with to the extent that they actually do engage with it, once too often. (I guess this makes it twice.)

I’ll limit myself this iteration to saying that my main disappointment is how small the cohort seems to be, so far. In March, I got a couple of dozen names to add to the Answer Wiki, out of the community nomination question; this time, it was two. And to add that this time, the predictions in Who should be in the final batch of Top Writers 2017? correlated with the results in a comically bad fashion.

How would you analyse your favourite Quoran’s philosophy and what would you call it?

He who asked me, Michaelis Maus, professes a contrarian and hedonistic nihilism, and a parallel call to arms against the Matrix of complacent consumerism—of cultural constructs more pressingly than of commercial goods. Cute in small doses, bracing in moderate doses. I try not to inhale.

She who asked me, Victoria Weaver, professes an optimistic view that the communist utopia can actually happen, if the robots settle in as the new proletariat, and the abundance they generate is not hoarded. I’ve alternated between calling it technocommunism and Star Trek communism, and I’ve been astounded that more people aren’t professing it.

What is rakia (the homemade alcohol)?

Rakia – Wikipedia:

Rakia or Rakija (/rɑːkiːɑː/ RA-ki-ya) is the collective term for fruit brandy popular in Southeastern Europe. The alcohol content of rakia is normally 40% ABV, but home-produced rakia can be stronger (typically 50% to 80%, even going as high as 90% at times).

Fruit brandies are commonly known as Rakia in Greece (Ρακί, Ρακή/Raki or Τσικουδιά/Tsikoudia), Bulgaria (ракия), Croatia (rakija), Bosnia and Herzegovina (ракија/rakija), Albania (rakia), Macedonia (ракија), Serbia (ракија/rakija), Montenegro (ракија/rakija). In Romania, the terms ţuică and palincă are used over rachiu, răchie. In Hungary it is known as pálinka, while in the Czech Republic, Poland, and Slovakia the concept is known as pálenka. In Slovenia, it is known as sadjevec or šnops.

Greek ouzo (from grape) and tsipouro (from pomace), Turkish rakı (from sun dried grapes) and arak at Arabic and Middle Eastern countries differ from rakia as they are redistilled with some herbs (commonly anise). Some tsipouro in Greece is made without anise in the same manner as pomace rakia (or pomace brandy). “Boğma rakı” in Turkey (common name of the domestic raki which is produced at homes and villages) is similar to rakia in the Balkans.