Those Troublesome Twins
by Robert C. Cumbow
Last time I promised to address a topic that many readers have been requesting for some time: how to know which word to use when two (or more) words sound and look a lot alike. Unfortunately, there’s no easy way of keeping these things straight except simply knowing them. But my hope is that by running a few of them past you I can give you some tools that might help straighten out some of the confusion.
When I call these “Troublesome Twins,” we’re not talking identical twins here. Fraternal at best. These words don’t look exactly alike — if they did, it wouldn’t matter which one you chose! These are words that look and sound close enough to make you think twice — and sometimes absolutely confound you just when you want your writing to be the best and the clearest it can be.
I’ve tried to include the sets of twins that readers have most expressed interest in hearing about, as well as the ones that seem to be the most commonly confused. But there are lots of these sinister siblings, and if I haven’t included the ones that trouble you the most, let me know, and I’ll put them in line for a future column.
principal/principle — “Principle” is always a noun, while “principal” may be a noun or an adjective. The noun “principle” means a belief, or a fundamental truth. It is a well-established principle that one needs to show harm in order to be entitled to a remedy. The word “principal” is harder. To begin with, it is an adjective meaning “first” or “primary.” The plaintiff’s principal argument on appeal is that the court wrongly excluded key evidence. However, the word “principal” also functions as a noun when used as a short form for “principal officer”: I am a principal in the law firm of Coates & Buttons, LLC, and my husband is the principal of a middle school. We are also familiar with the use of “principal” as a noun in finance, where it is a shortened form for “principal amount”: Mortgage payments consist mostly of interest, with only a small amount credited toward payment of the principal.
capital/capitol — This one is tricky, but by remembering that “principal,” ending in “-al,” is originally an adjective, and used as a noun only when it is a shortened form of a phrase, we can apply the same principle to “capital.” The “capital” is the place where a seat of government is located, and is a shortened form of the phrase “capital city,” in which “capital” is an adjective. The “capitol,” by contrast, is the actual building that houses it. The Capitol is in Washington, DC, which is the capital of the United States. Here again, of course, we have a special usage for the world of finance, where the noun “capital” means money, equipment or property used in a business, and is also used as an adjective in such constructions as “capital asset” and “capital gains.” Big letters are capital letters. A great guy in the UK is a capital chap. So the “capital/capitol” rule turns out to be quite simple: It’s always “capital” unless you’re talking about a building.
affect/effect — This is one of the most requested sets of troublesome twins, and rightly so, because each of the two words can be a noun or a verb, and each has multiple meanings. More commonly used as a verb, “affect” means to touch, relate to, or have an impact on. I was deeply affected by the film’s closing shot. Another meaning of the verb “affect” is to imitate, pretend, or play at: He was down and out and badly needed the role, but he affected the air of an accomplished, busy actor who was already in high demand. The word “effect” is less often used as a verb. When it is, it means to cause: The Supreme Court’s ruling in the Victoria’s Secret case effected a reexamination of the very concept of trademark dilution. More often, though, “effect” is used as a noun, meaning result, as in the phrase “cause and effect.” It’s hard to keep these straight because their meanings, though distinct, are often related. “Affect” means to have an “effect” on, while “effect” as a verb means “to cause,” and “effect” as a noun means the result of a cause. To make matters worse, “affect” is also (though seldom) used as a noun, to mean a psychological stimulus that tends to arouse emotion rather than thought or perception. Thus we may speak of the patient who laughed at images of cruelty as having an inappropriate affect, but of the psychiatrist’s treatment of the patient as having had the desired effect. One is a disposition, the other a result.
imply/infer — This distinction is simple and straightforward: The speaker implies, the listener infers. Despite that simplicity, however, judges and lawyers have gotten it exactly backward for so many years now that the battle to preserve this important distinction has been lost — at least in the language of law. When the conduct of a party suggests that the party intended to enter into a contract or to grant a license, we call that an “implied” contract or license. Sometimes a plaintiff will ask a court to find that the defendant’s conduct created such an implied contract or license. Invariably, when the court does so, we find the judge writing that the court “implies” the license. Not so. The court is inferring the license. The licensor is the one who did the implying. But I think there is little hope that judges and lawyers will ever get this one right.
reluctant/reticent — These words aren’t really close enough in sound or meaning to be twins, but many people have somehow got the wrong-headed notion that they are synonymous. “Reticent” means quiet or silent. A person who doesn’t contribute to the conversation around her is reticent. A politician who says “No comment” is reticent. A person who is not very eager to do something is not reticent; he’s reluctant. The witness wasn’t “reticent to testify”; he was “reluctant to testify”; and if he was also reticent, then he wasn’t of much use as a witness.
loath/loathe — While a person who is hesitant to do something might not be reticent, she may well be loath. “Loath” is an adjective meaning reluctant, hesitant, or unwilling. I was loath to venture out into the pouring rain without hat or umbrella. A lot of writers lately have tended to misspell this adjective “loathe,” which is incorrect. “Loathe” is a verb meaning to hate. Although I loathe his simple-minded approach, I am loath to reject his conclusions.
incredible/incredulous — “Incredible” means “unbelievable” (probably the word Vizzini was looking for when he kept saying “inconceivable!”). “Incredulous” means “unbelieving.” The thing itself is incredible; the person perceiving the thing is incredulous. What that guy does on a surfboard is incredible. I was incredulous at how easy he made it look.
compliment/complement — A “compliment” is something nice, usually a positive, encouraging comment. A “complement” is something that accompanies another thing, usually so well as to make the combination especially effective. I want to compliment you on how well that hat complements your dress. Freebies are called “complimentary,” or “comps,” because they are given without charge, “compliments of” the giver. Since no real compliments usually accompany the free ticket, the freebie itself is now assumed to be the “comp.”
flaunt/flout — To “flaunt” something is to display it ostentatiously. To “flout” is to openly disregard. A jaywalker might be said to flout the law, but to flaunt his contempt for the law. These days one frequently sees the improper construction “flaunt the law” where “flout” is meant.
enormity/enormousness — It’s also become common to hear “enormity” used to express large size. If you just want a noun for the quality of being enormous, that would be the cumbersome but correct word “enormousness.” The word “enormity” carries a negative connotation, and is used where a particular act is especially egregious and has dire consequences. It’s correct to speak of the enormity of a serial killer’s crimes, but not the enormity of a building or a traffic jam.
disburse/disperse — “Disburse” means, literally, to take out of one’s purse; so metaphorically it means to pay. “Disperse” means to spread out, or to trickle away. A funding source disburses funds; a crowd, when it thins out, disperses. Technically speaking, the only thing that can be disbursed is money; and it’s not correct to speak of dispersing funds, unless you are literally throwing dollar bills every which way. If you’re doing that, hey! I’m over here!
diffuse/defuse — The word “diffuse” means the same thing as “disperse.” It should not be confused with “defuse,” which means to remove the fuse from an explosive device, and is used metaphorically to mean easing a tense situation. Fred and Gloria were in such disagreement that the deal might have fallen through if Leroy hadn’t defused the situation through skillful mediation.
pedal/peddle — This is an easy one, but a surprising number of people confuse these terms. A pedal (from “ped” for “foot”) is where you put your foot when riding a bicycle or playing a piano. “Peddle” is a verb meaning to sell.
compose/comprise — This one’s a little esoteric, but the rule is fairly simple. Whenever you’re tempted to say or write “comprised of,” a pistol shot should go off beside your ear. The whole comprises the parts; the parts compose the whole. So it’s correct to say that the book is composed of three parts, or that it comprises three parts, but not that it “is comprised of” (bang!) three parts.
discrete/discreet — If you are exercising discretion or diplomacy, or simply keeping something on the q.t., the spelling is “discreet.” The investigator made discreet inquiries. If you are talking of something that is separate from something else, the spelling is “discrete.” My surround-sound system has five discrete audio channels.
your/you’re — “Your” is possessive. Don’t forget your book. “You’re” is the contracted form of “you are.” You’re welcome.
its/it’s — This is a golden oldie from my first column, nearly two years ago. “Its” is possessive. The dog was chasing its tail. “It’s” is the contracted form of “it is.” It’s so easy to fall in love.
gantlet/gauntlet — Another one from way back. One is punished or tested by running the gantlet (a line of brutes with paddles); but one challenges a foe to combat by throwing down the gauntlet (an armored glove). In many dictionaries, the single spelling “gauntlet” is accepted for both words, and there may be no good reason to preserve the distinction any longer, considering that writers of English have been puzzling about the spellings and meanings of these two terms for at least five centuries.
stanch/staunch — Related to “gantlet” and “gauntlet,” another exercise in what a difference a “u” makes. The word “stanch” is a verb meaning to stop the flow, usually of blood. “Staunch” is an adjective meaning strong, committed, loyal: I am a staunch supporter of preserving useful and important distinctions in English usage.
apprise/appraise — “Apprise” means to advise or report to someone. “Appraise” means to evaluate. The real estate agent apprised the buyer of her wish to have the house appraised before considering the offer.
amenable/amiable — “Amenable” means willing or welcoming. I’d be amenable to any pizza topping except pineapple. “Amiable” simply means good-natured, easy to get along with. She’s an amiable co-worker.
practical/practicable — “Practical” means making sense in the context of a variety of relevant factors. “Practicable” simply means capable of being done or put into practice. It’s certainly practicable to build a fourth runway and concourse at the airport, but in terms of our present budget it’s just not practical.
induction/deduction — “Induction” is the process of arriving at a generalized conclusion from examining specific instances. Concluding that the law of gravity is universal from observing that whenever things are held up and released they drop to the ground is an example of inductive reasoning. “Deduction,” by contrast, is the process of arriving at conclusions about particulars based on general rules or first principles. Euclidean geometry is an example of deductive reasoning: It begins with definitions, assumptions, and axioms, then reasons from those to prove specific truths about particular instances, such as the Pythagorean Theorem. You may have realized by now that the famous “science of deduction” attributed to Sherlock Holmes was, in fact, inductive, not deductive: Examination of specific particular facts led to general conclusions about whodunit.
constrain/restrain — These words have closely similar meanings, and in many cases one will do as well as the other. There is a fine distinction, however: “constrain” means to force, while “restrain” means to hold back, or pen in. So one who is kept from acting may be said to be restrained, while one who is not prevented from acting but is required to act only in a certain specific way made be said to have his behavior constrained.
further/farther — One reader wrote “if it involves distance, then farther is correct.” I think it’s a useful distinction and worth preserving: “farther” for distance, “further” for continuation or additional quantity. However, this distinction can become tricky. We might, for example, say: “After praising Dr. Heisenberg, the professor further discussed the relativity of perception. It was going a bit far when he defended the proposition that the sky is green. But with his next statement he went even [further or farther?].” In that case, I’d say “farther,” even though physical movement and distance are not involved. But there is always some flexibility in even the best rule. As Groucho Marx says in Horse Feathers: “‘Anything further, father?’ That can’t be right. Shouldn’t it be ‘Anything farther further?’”
toward/towards — There is no difference in meaning between these two words, and generally no reason to use “towards” unless you like spending extra letters unnecessarily. The word “toward” suffices perfectly well, and at one time “towards” was considered unacceptable; but now both are used interchangeably.
abstract/abstruse/obtuse — “Abstract” refers to discussion or argumentation that centers on the purely conceptual rather than on specific, material realities. His plan made sense in the abstract, but he didn’t show how it would work in terms of the concrete situation. “Abstruse” is a rarer word, but much simpler: It just means hard to understand. I found Kant challenging but just a bit abstruse. “Obtuse,” by contrast, means blunt, not sharp, and is used literally (referring to angles) and metaphorically (referring to intelligence). It wasn’t clear to me whether Kant was abstruse or I was obtuse. (Probably a little of both.)
converse/inverse/obverse — One devilish reader asked me to include these in my “troublesome twins” column. Truth is, these are terms used in logic that are not ordinarily found in day-to-day English writing or conversation. Nevertheless, since logic is important to legal argumentation, a quick once-over: Take a direct proposition, say All oranges are citrus fruits. The obverse of that proposition is another way of saying the same thing in the negative: No oranges are not citrus fruits. The obverse always has the same truth value as the original proposition. Thus, if the proposition is true, its obverse is also true. The converse is the statement formed by exchanging the premise with the conclusion. All citrus fruits are oranges. The converse of a proposition does not have the same truth value as the proposition, and in fact will often be untrue if the original proposition is true. The inverse of a proposition is formed by negating the premise without negating the conclusion. No oranges are citrus fruits. This also does not share the same truth value as the original proposition, but is, in fact, its direct contradiction. Then there’s the contrapositive, which reverses the premise and the conclusion and negates both: That which is not a citrus fruit is not an orange. If the proposition is true, the contrapositive is also true. And if you can master all of that, you are probably the sort of person who never gets “concave” and “convex” confused, either. My hat’s off to you.
Robert C. Cumbow is a shareholder with Graham & Dunn, Seattle, where he counsels clients in beverage, food, communications, entertainment, and other businesses on trademark, copyright, advertising, media, and alcoholic beverage law. He teaches at Seattle University Law School and has written extensively on law, film, food, and language.
