Our new government is adamant that it will change things, of course for the better. What might we intend to say by using that term?
“Adamant” is a very old word, and its history is particularly interesting, continuing to evolve in surprising ways until the present day. It began by meaning nothing – or at least, referring to something that didn’t exist: “Adamant” was a mythical stone of legendary hardness. It has come to mean at different times both “the hardest substance”, though what sort of substance was often not clearly envisaged; and its opposite, a substance that repels. Sometimes the word referred to metal, sometimes to stone, as for instance steel, crystal or diamond.
At one stage, it came to mean specifically the diamond as an impenetrably hard gemstone, indeed the hardest of all stones. The word “diamond” is etymologically related to “adamant”. But because of an early confusion “adamant” also meant “a substance that attracts iron”, such as a magnet. Shakespeare has: “As true as steel, as plantage to the moon:/ As sun to day: as turtle to her mate:/ As iron to adamant: as Earth to th’ Centre” – Troilus and Cressida III, 2.
Various adjectival forms have been derived from the word, most commonly “adamantine”. But “adamant”, the substantive itself, has also been frequently used adjectivally. And now, from relatively recent times, we have an adverbial form derived directly from this adjectival use: “Dora adamantly refusing to go outside on account of the mosquitoes” – Ruth Rendell, End in Tears, 2005. It’s a matter of some semantic curiosity that such an obscure and originally almost meaningless term can have acquired such unexpected and varied significance. The advantages of a blank canvas, perhaps: just what the new government needs.
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