A Loathing for Linguistic Lawbreakers

Murray Kaufman of Santa Monica wrote to say, “I would like to see you devote a column . . . to the fairly common misuse of the words loath and loathe. When in (a recent Sunday) Opinion section of The Times, Robert Conot, an editor and author, wrote ‘ . . . but was loathe to accept responsibility when things went awry,’ I thought it was time for you to set things straight.”

I’m grateful to Mr. Kaufman for his flattering implication that I might “set things straight.” I get a sudden vision of myself as a lexicographic John Wayne or Gary Cooper strapping on the old weapons--a .38-caliber Random House on one hip and a big .45 Webster on the other, striding out into the High Noon of a town where linguistic laws are flagrantly flouted and the barbarians are in City Hall.

Before gunning down the wrong man, I must state that I doubt that Robert Conot actually wrote “was loathe to.” In the complex world of publishing--especially in the high-speed business of putting out a daily newspaper--typographical errors are inevitable, and we can never be sure that what we read is necessarily what the author wrote.

Nevertheless, as Mr. Kaufman writes, it is a fairly common misuse. Loathe and loath, or loth are closely related; both stem from Old English and Middle English expressions of hostility or hatred. The difference is that loath and loth mean “reluctant, unwilling or averse,” while loathe means “dislike intensely.”

Loath is an adjective; loathe is a verb; both have to do with not liking or wanting something. The relationship is similar to that between certain nouns and verbs, such as bath and bathe, teeth and teethe , and wreath and wreathe.

Mr. Kaufman goes on to ask, “. . . wouldn’t you please consider including . . . some advice on the proper use of ‘parameter’ and ‘perimeter.’ It seems to me that parameter has become a very favorite substitute for perimeter among many speakers and writers who are attempting to impress with their erudition.”

Hats off! It seems that way to me, too. About 20 years ago, millions of people took parameter into their arms as a really ritzy, high-class, ego-boosting piece of conversational luggage. Perimeter , that shabby old working-class word we’d learned in junior high geometry, was instantly outclassed. That parameter doesn’t mean the same thing as perimeter was beside the point. It sounded right, and it had that special ring of unfamiliarity that adds cachet, panache, je ne sais quoi , and maybe a few other chic French qualities to impress the hoi polloi.

The simplest definition I find for parameter (and even this simple one is not simple enough to rest comfortably in my simple mind) is from the American Heritage Dictionary, Second College Edition (1982): “A variable or an arbitrary constant appearing in a mathematical expression, each value of which restricts or determines the specific form of the expression.”

I wouldn’t touch a parameter with asbestos gloves.

The dictionary also notes, “This scientific term has been adapted to general usage. It is sometimes used in the sense of ‘a constant, a given, or a precondition’ and sometimes in the sense of ‘a limit or boundary’ (perhaps influenced by perimeter: We must stay within the parameters of the present budget. They want to narrow the parameters of public debate. Violence and rebellion are parameters of modern life. None of these examples is acceptable to a majority of the Usage Panel.”

That’s it, I guess. All straightened out. And it didn’t take the big .38 and .45 to do it. My little .32-cal. Am. Her. 2nd Col. Ed. cleaned up the town single-handed. Thanks, podner.