In a glossary of words local to the West Country, “trumpery” is defined as “rubbish of any kind; weeds or any undesirable growth”. Lest we assume the word takes its inspiration from a certain US ex-President, who this week was found liable for sexual assault and defamation, the glossary was compiled in 1888, when “trumpery” was already well understood as a byword for something that may be extremely showy, but is also pretty worthless. It is a useful description perhaps for the state of a man who faces yet more legal troubles down the road but who continues to strut the political stage to the sound of ecstatic applause from supporters who are doubling down rather than backing away.
If the current turbulence – even in already choppy waters – teaches us anything, it’s that Donald Trump’s base is resolutely immovable. Those who love Trump, love Trump, and nothing that their figurehead says or does is going to change that. While many of us struggle to fathom such arguably blind and bottomless loyalty, a historical dictionary will tell us that it is far from new, and that there is consequently a richness of words to describe it.
Sequacity is a good place to start. In the 17th century, this described readiness to follow someone no matter what, without any independence of thought or judgement. Founded upon the Latin sequi, to follow, it is a sibling of “obsequious”, which immediately introduces the notion that many followers of a cause or individual are simply fawning flatterers, who may eventually look the other way should it suit them.
In the same mould is the 17th-century “catchfart”, a mocking nickname for a servant who hung so closely to the coat-tail of their master or mistress that they were in the firing line for a lot more than they bargained for. The list goes on: the Oxford English Dictionary gives us many other labels including “croucher”, “creeper”, “spaniel”, “poodle”, and the rather wonderful “snivelard”.
A “toadeater” was another obsessive. This epithet was given originally to a quack’s assistant in the 17th and 18th centuries, who would be made to eat a poisonous toad in front of an eager crowd and then be magically “cured” by his master’s miraculous potions. The toadeater came to be seen as one who would do anything to please their master, and so to be “toadying” up to him without a second thought.
But what about those who passionately believe in an agenda or cause, without being a fickle windsock about it? Acolytes often take the name of those they follow: Thatcherites, Blairites, Cameroons and Borisites are more recent examples, while some from the past include Hughligans (a faction of the Conservative party in Churchill’s time who followed Lord Hugh Cecil) and the J’aime Berlins, the French nickname for Neville Chamberlain and a dig towards his policy of appeasement towards Germany.
Other names wear their past more lightly. Few of us would connect “dunce” with a 13th-century Scottish theologian, but its story began with the followers of John Duns Scotus, a profoundly influential figure in his time, who were known as Dunsmen. The reputation of Duns Scotus suffered during the English Reformation, and his doctrines became seen as outmoded and pedantic. In the mouths of reformers the term “duns”, and later “dunce”, became a term of abuse for someone impervious to new ideas and therefore slow to learn.
A less familiar, but highly useful, term for a short-sighted follower is that of an “ipsedixitist”. Today, it describes someone who takes the word of a single person or authority as gospel, without requiring any evidence to back it up.
Social media is therefore full of ipsedixitists, who take their name from the Latin ipsedixit, “he said so himself”. The “he” in question was the ancient Greek philosopher Pythagoras, whose disciples believed that whatever the great man said to be true must be accepted as such without question. Today’s ipsedixitism can involve anything from the “absolute fact” you heard down the pub to the “alternative fact” espoused by Donald Trump’s press team.
To throw one more word into the mix, a “bayard” is pithily defined in the OED as “one blind to the light of knowledge, who has the self-confidence of ignorance”. Such ignorance can be seductive – “I don’t wish to be without my brains”, wrote Ada Lovelace, the 19th-century mathematician and first computer programmer, “tho’ they doubtless interfere with a blind faith which would be very comfortable”. The Republican Tommy Tuberville clearly finds it quite comfy – after this week’s guilty verdict, the GOP Senator seconded Trump’s own judgement that it was yet another consequence of “THE GREATEST WITCH HUNT OF ALL TIME”, and added “It makes me want to vote for him twice”.
Trump himself has of course enjoyed a few terms himself for the various tribes within his party. RINO, “Republican in Name Only”, is used by his team for anyone who dares to cross him. Perhaps he also had a hand in naming his Trumpkins, Trumpists, and Trumpniks. For them, there is of course no point in mentioning that “trumpery” has a second meaning in the dictionary, namely “deceit; fraud; trickery”. Perhaps they might even harness the word themselves when questioning the results of the 2020 election. That’s the thing about language – it comes and goes like a gloriously inconstant companion. In the end, most of us will always be philodoxes – lovers of our own opinions. If we look at it like that, we are our own worst catchfarts.
Susie Dent is a lexicographer and etymologist. She has appeared in Dictionary Corner on Countdown since 1992, and co-hosts with Gyles Brandreth the podcast Something Rhymes with Purple.