Incredible Things Happen When You Lookup a Word You Don’t Know
Why we’ve got to stop pretending that we know everything.
If you’re like me, you probably don’t know what the word “encomium” means. Because…why would you?
You don’t need to know what encomium means. Nobody needs to know what encomium means. Heck, I’m a writer, and before today I didn’t know how to use “encomium” in a sentence.
But as I was re-reading Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, (lockdown has been weird, guys) I came across a word I’d never even seen before. And something about it made me pause.
Instead of doing what I usually do in these situations—convincing myself that I kind of know what it means and plowing ahead—I hesitated. Something about this weird, confusing, old-timey word stopped me in my tracks and demanded that I learn what it actually meant.
So for the first time in years, I looked up the definition of a word.
And it felt incredible. So incredible, in fact, that I’ve decided to do something a little strange.
The rush I got from actually learning something—even the definition of an out-of-date vocabulary word—was so addicting, so overwhelming, that I’ve decided to look up the meaning, etymology, and history for all the rest of the words I don’t know.
Every single one of them.
All the Words I Don’t Know
You’re probably thinking, “What’s all the fuss about? If you don’t know what a word means, you can usually figure it out by using context clues. You don’t need to look up every new word you come across. It sounds like a waste of time to me.”
And you’re right.
A big part of our education encourages critical thinking skills. We’re supposed to piece things together from incomplete information. Inductive reasoning is an important skill. But it can only get you so far.
Our addiction to “faking it til you make it” can be useful, but always relying on your past experiences or innate problem-solving ability isn’t always the best way to understand the world. Especially when you don’t have all the information you need.
We live in the Information Age with literally billions of answers and information about just about everything at our fingertips. Yet we’ve become so afraid of looking stupid that we’ll bend over backward to avoid looking like we don’t know something instead of just asking for help.
Sometimes (heck, most of the time) I don’t know the answer to something. And that’s ok.
What Happens When You Look Things Up
Here’s the passage in question, from none other than, Frankenstein himself:
“M. Krempe was not equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of almost insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave even more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Walden.”
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein, p 52
If you try to piece together what “encomium” means from this sentence you might think it means something bad. M. Krempe and M. Walden are probably shaming our narrator (Frankenstein) for his grotesque scientific experiments.
But that’s the problem. If I only rely on context clues to understand this passage, I’ll miss out on what’s going on here. Because “encomium” doesn’t mean scolding someone for a mistake or misdeed.
It actually means the exact opposite.
So What Does Encomium Mean?
Derived from the Greek terms: en, meaning “in,” and kōmos, meaning “celebration,” enkōmion means:
- “Glowing and warmly enthusiastic praise” (Merriam Webster)
- “A formal expression of high praise; eulogy” (Dictionary.com)
Huh.
With that definition in mind “encomium” feels like a weird word to describe Frankenstein’s actions here. Why would his teachers’ glowing and enthusiastic praise “give even more pain than benevolent approbations”?
I had to dig a little deeper.
It turns out that encomiums (or “encomia” if you’re into the plural form) aren’t just accolades or congratulations. They’re a very specific kind of praise reserved for very special achievements.
In fact, the Greeks formalized the use of “encomiums” for those rare incidents of exceptional accomplishment—like welcoming a war hero home or celebrating the excellence of an Olympic champion.
Frankenstein’s professors weren’t insulting or berating him. They were praising him. And not just regular, “job well done, old chap” kind of praise. They’re saying he’s the best.
You have to really earn an encomium. Frankenstein’s professors think the scientific work he’s been doing (aka “creating a living monstrosity from cadavers”) is heroic. That’s important to understand because Frankenstein knows that he’s literally created a monster.
He doesn’t want any praise.
He’s haunted by what he’s done, so every pat on the back from his teachers and peers stings like a whip. He knows the horror he’s unleashed on the world and he knows he’s going to get the credit for it — the encomiums — when people learn what he’s really done.
Taking a few minutes to look up the definition and etymology of “encomium” completely changed how I understand Frankenstein’s titular character.
Which is kind of amazing when you think about it.
Ignorance isn’t Bliss
Maybe I’ve been in self-isolation too long (I’m writing this at the start of May 2020). Maybe I’m just a pedantic ass. I don’t know, and I don’t care.
I’m tired of piecing together BS pseudo answers that sound right. Too many people half-ass their way through life, never really learning anything or providing value to anyone else, let alone themselves.
I want to learn things. Discover things. Be better than I was yesterday.
Sure, looking up the definition of a word isn’t some earth-shattering accomplishment, but it’s a step in the right direction. I’m using that oft-ignored part of my brain—humility—and trying to shift my perspective one word at a time.
Heck, looking up the definition for “encomium” lead me to discover another obscure word I’d never seen before—panegyric—with means “an elaborate often poetic compliment.” Can’t wait to see that one out in the wild.
I’ve got my work cut out for me if I’m going to look up every word I don’t know. But there are worse things in life than the search for knowledge.
The Pleasure of Finding Things Out
I like learning—always have. But I think I’ve forgotten the simple joy that comes from learning something—actually grasping a thing that you didn’t know before.
Don’t believe me? Teach a kid how to whistle or balance a broomstick on their hand.
In a world where more and more people ignore facts and data that doesn’t fit their “narrative”, it feels almost perverse—practically pornographic—to actually *gasp* look something up.
How retro to admit that you don’t know something.
But I’m rediscovering the transformative power and simple pleasure of admitting my ignorance in the pursuit of wisdom. And I’m not alone.
The late, great Richard Feynman is one of my all-time favorite humans. He worked on the Manhattan Project and made groundbreaking discoveries in nuclear physics and how we think about energy, but I particularly love Feynman’s ability to communicate scientific information to the general public decades before it was cool.
He’s incredible, and you should read all of his books immediately.
But one of my favorite quotes comes from a collection of his lectures titled The Pleasure of Finding Things Out (great title, right?). It summarizes what I’ve been talking about perfectly:
“The prize is in the pleasure of finding the thing out, the kick in the discovery, the observation that other people use it [my work] — those are the real things, the honors are unreal to me.”― Richard Feynman
I’m not discovering new atomic phenomena like Feynman—nowhere near it. Heck, I’m just looking up old words that I don’t know. But there’s something about the act of discovery—the pleasure of finding something out—that just plain feels like a good idea.
I don’t know. Maybe if I keep at it, looking up all the words I don’t know might even be worth a few encomia someday. The only way to find out is to start.
Shawn Forno is a freelance copywriter, content manager, travel writer, and blogger. You can check out his writing portfolio or his travel articles for more helpful tips.