Prolegomena to the word hooker: the English verb filch

My initial idea was to write a blog post about the history of the word hooker, in order to celebrate the extensive research into this question by Professor J. Peter Maher, and I’ll do so next week, but it suddenly occurred to me that as regards meaning, the verb hook has some affinity with the verb filch, and I decided to write what I know about it. One can find an entry on filch in An Analytic Dictionary of English Etymology: An Introduction,published fifteen years ago (2008). There is a brief mention of my hypothesis in Etymoline, but without reference to the source or even minimal discussion. Nor did the omnivorous and omniscient Internet take cognizance of what is said in An Analytic Dictionary about filch. Below, I’ll make the idea of that entry common property, assuming that the hungry readership will pound on this post.

Problems emerge the moment we begin to explore the history of filch, because two homonymous verbs exist: filch “to attack” and filch “to steal.” They are almost certainly unrelated. The earliest attestation of filch “to steal” goes back to the second half of the sixteenth century, and, most probably, the verb entered English at around that time. Therefore, searching for its Old English ancestor looks like a sleeveless errand (see the post for 26 April 2017, on this curious phrase). The first book-length dictionary of English etymology was published in 1617, so that its author (John Minsheu) knew filch, and indeed, he offered a hypothesis on its derivation. All his followers also wrestled with filch, and now, four centuries later, responsible sources have a solid answer to the problem: “Origin unknown.”

Those interested in etymology are well aware of the fact that in dealing with slang (and filch is of course slang), historical linguists seldom succeed in finding such words’ unquestionable sources. The same holds for filch (hence the shocking verdict “origin unknown”), but tracing the pathfinders’ way to the truth, even if it is a devious way with no dazzling light at the end, cannot be called a futile endeavor. At the very least, it prevents later researchers from repeating the mistakes of their predecessors. I’ll briefly go over the attempts to discover the etymon of filch, but without giving references. Those interested in the bibliography will find all they need in my dictionary.

For quite some time, Greek fēlós “deceitful” and Latin fallax “deceitful; fallacious” looked like the desired etymon, but filch was probably coined or borrowed by those English speakers who knew more about filching than about Greek and Latin. Besides, filch is a verb, rather than an adjective! Old Portuguese filhar “to seize,” perhaps allied to Italian pigliare “to seize” or French piler “to crush,” have also been pressed into service by ingenious word hunters. Thieves’ secret lingo has always been to a certain extent international, because at all times, criminals used to cross the borders of their native regions and made attempts to communicate with one another, ideally without being understood by the uninitiated. Their cant (as this language is called) has been explored by several excellent scholars. The Old Portuguese verb does look like a fairly good fit, but the source is suspicious: why Portuguese, and why no modern synonyms elsewhere in the Romance-speaking world?

Germanic words related to filch seem to hold out better promise. Therefore, filch has been compared with Old Icelandic fela “to hide” (however, the senses do not match!) and especially with Gothic filhan “to steal.” Apart from the -h ~ -ch mismatch, the latter verb looks like a feasible cognate of filch. Gothic, it will be remembered, is an Old Germanic language, known mainly from a fourth-century translation of part of the New Testament. Filhan may have a more secure cognate in English, namely, the regional verb feal “to hide,” though it should be repeated that “steal” and “hide” are not synonyms. Curiously, Stephen Skinner, the author of a 1671 etymological dictionary of English (the second ever published), seems to have cited a reasonable cognate of filch, namely, German filzig “feltlike,” with numerous figurative senses, from “sleazy” to “corrupt; greedy,” but no one seems to have taken his suggestion seriously. Filz is related to English felt, the name of a fabric.

Many old etymologists were content with stringing together various look-alikes, without even wondering how filch could develop from or be related to them. Dutch fielt “rascal,” Swiss German flöke “to steal,” French filouter “to cheat” (French filou “crook, rogue”). Irish Gaelic fealleaidch “knavish,” Old English flōcan “to beat, strike,” and quite a few others have been compared with filch. Filching presupposes a sleight of hands, and it may not be due to chance that in so many languages, words designating all kinds of quick and unsteady movement begin with the sound–symbolic group fl. Compare fly, flow, fleet, flimsy, and the like. However, spotting a vaguely similar word, without showing how it could reach English and yield filch, is a wild goose chase.

The consonant ch did not exist in the earliest form of English. Theoretically, filch can go back to some form like filk. Norwegian and Scottish pilk(e) ~ pilk mean “to pick,” and it has been suggested that filch is a rhyming synonym of pilk. This derivation is not impossible but rather improbable. As often mentioned in this blog, the more ingenious or convoluted an etymology is, the smaller the chance of its providing a clue to the riddle. I think the same also holds for the comparison between English filch and Danish regional filke “to scrape.” And we are facing the familiar question: how did the Danish dialectal verb become known in English? In my opinion, filke as the etymon filk looks as improbable as pilk. The answer should be closer to home.

The great Scottish lexicographer John Jamieson recorded filchans “rags, patched or fastened together, hooked in a bundle,” and we can return to Skinner’s idea. German verb filzen means “to comb through,” and in Middle High German (that is, in a language spoken many centuries ago), filzen already meant “to search a person” (from Filzer “comb”?). The inspiration for all such words was the name of the fabric felt (German Felz). An Early English filcher ~ filchman was, apparently, a person who could use his hook for stealing things. Let us note that English filch was recorded late, and filk, its putative base, has never been found. Most probably, it never existed. As far as we can judge, filch has always meant only “to pilfer.” Filch “hook” seems to be the best starting point for tracing the origin of filch “steal.” Also, hook is a familiar starting point for all kinds of slangy phrases. Compare hook it! “make yourself scarce,” hook up, and of course hooker, the subject of next week’s post.

Filch, it appears, is an English adaptation of German filzen,a term of the thieves’ (international) slang. The German verb ends in z, that is, ts, which, obviously, could not survive in English and was replaced with ch. In principle, I am returning to the suggestion first made in 1671. Three and a half centuries of fruitless wanderings? No, not quite fruitless. Rejecting implausible guesses is part of all good research. Hence the inevitable sleeveless errands and wild goose chases. Scholarship exacts a high price, but all is well that ends well.

_{Featured image by Silvia via Pixabay (public domain)}