The noun στοιχος (stoichos) describes any row (but mostly a supporting one) in an ascending series: a step in a staircase, a course of bricks in a wall, a line of singers in a chorus, a row of columns to hold up a roof or poles to hold up a net. Most particularly, this word would describe a file or column of soldiers.

This noun στοιχος (stoichos) is thought to derive from a widely attested Proto-Indo-European root "steyg-", meaning to go or climb (hence English words like stair and stile, and the ever useful Dutch words steigeren and stichting; the term "stochastic RSI" derives from the related noun στοχος, stochos, pillar, which came to double as practicing target (see the verb αστοχεω, astocheo, to miss, below), and became synonymous for the cloud of arrow holes around an ever fading bull's eye).

In our article on the noun σειρα (seira), rope, we list a modest array of words that were formed by adding or removing a leading σ (sigma), which brings our attentions around to the common Hebrew adverb תחת (tahat), meaning beneath or under. The Greek alphabet of course derived from the Hebrew one, and although our noun στοιχος (stoichos) appears to have an impeccable Indo-European pedigree, its form and meaning may very well have been embellished by exposure to chatty Phoenicians traders (who appear to have deposited vast amounts of their chatty remnants into the Greek language basin: see our list).

But whatever our word's origin, it's not used in the New Testament. From it, however, come the following important derivations:

The verb αστοχεω (astocheo) means to miss one's target (1 Timothy 1:6, 6:21 and 2 Timothy 2:18 only). Our verb derives from the noun αστοχος (astochos), one who misses his target, which consists of the particle of negation α (a) and the word we discuss above, στοχος (stochos), pillar, but one specifically for target practice.

The noun στυλος (stulos) means pillar (or tent pole or stylus), essentially any standing thing upon which something else leans or depends. It stems from the same widely attested Proto-Indo-European root "steh-", to stand, as does the important noun σταυρος (stauros), or "stander", which describes the instrument of torture upon which Jesus died. That Hebrew equivalent of our noun στυλος (stulos) is מטה (mate), which comes from the verb נטה (nata), to spread or stretch out (of bed, a table, often of a tent, or the heavens like a tent's canvass: Isaiah 44:24). This word מטה (mate), staff, also means tribe (and is in that regard somewhat similar to the German noun Stamm, which both means tree-trunk and tribe). Our noun στυλος (stulos) occurs 4 times in the New Testament; see full concordance.

The verb στιζω (stizo), means to mark, which in turn derives from the PIE root "(s)teyg-", to be sharp or to sting (hence our English verbs to stick and to instigate). This PIE root "(s)teyg-", to stick, is formally different from the PIE root "steyg-", to climb, which we discuss above, but any PIE speaker might have been excused for confusing the two.

The verb στιζω (stizo), to mark or brand, is not used overly often in the classics (there are a mere few dozen extant occurrences) but is nevertheless of enormous importance. In her delightful book The First Signs — Unlocking the Mysteries of the World's Oldest Symbols (2016), archeologist Genevieve von Petzinger explains that modern script (and see our article on YHWH) emerged from the persistent use of about 32 symbols, by our human ancestors, for about 25,000 years. These symbols probably marked property (valuable items but also homes and tribal hunting ranges), which implies that modern humanity arose from the first claims to property rights, which in turn is the fundamental principle of complex economy (see our articles on αρπαζω, arpazo, to seize, and γαμος, gamos, marriage), which in turn is impossible without the comprehension of the concept of covenant, that is an agreement: a measurable bond between parties that is enforced not by natural forces but by the "supernatural" forces of human will and voluntary cooperation, or more poetically: neighborly love.

In the classics, our verb most primarily means to tattoo: mostly of oneself, to demonstrate one's tribal identity or allegiance, or else one's devotion to a specified deity (hence also the χαραγμα, charagma, or "mark" of the beast: Revelation 13:16). Our verb was used to describe people who, as punishment and warning, were literally marked (tattooed) as criminals. Items such as land could be marked as someone's property, or they could be marked as tainted by mortgage or the owner's debt or misdeeds (as a warning for investors and customers). Sometimes kings tattooed their troops, which was a rather handy feature before the invention of uniforms, and made it easy to distinguish friend from foe in the heat of battle. Plutarch mentions abducted Athenians who, before being offered as slaves, received a tattoo of a horse on their forehead. Some of these "horse-heads" were eventually freed (and this by merit of their enthusiastic recital of poetry by Euripides: Nic.29.1-3), but their horses could not ever be erased.

It's additionally worthy of note that our verb was used by grammarian, to mean to punctuate: to place punctuations in a text. At the risk of reading too much into this, Greek (and Hebrew) were original written without punctuation marks, so that the written word was little more than a rough indication of which spoken word it represented. That changed when punctuations began to be developed, and sound became expressed and look-alike words were distinguished and grammatical expressions were manifested. This made it much easier for grammarians to figure out which verbal tribe a word belonged to, as words are like animals and grow organically from common ancestors. That's not to say that the popular meaning of a word depends on its etymology (that would be the etymological fallacy), but a true student of language (particularly a Scottish one who eats porridge without sugar), seek the deepest nature and soul and spirit of a word, and hence to which degree it shares those faculties with sibling words, and so its origin. The markings that a word bears tells a great deal about where it came from, where it's been, and where it ultimately belongs (Philippians 3:20, see Exodus 21:6 and Isaiah 50:5).

Our verb στιζω (stizo), to mark of brand, is not used in the New Testament, but from it derive:

The verb στιλβω (stilbo) describes the flashing forth of light from bright surfaces: anything from Spartan shields to rushing water, gold, sweaty horses, pretty faces, the white of people's eyes, or the twinkling or flashing of stars and planets. It occurs in the New Testament in Mark 9:3 only, in the description of Jesus' clothing during his transfiguration on the mount.

Our verb is relatively common in the classics but it's not clear where it came from. There are no common Greek words that start with στιλ- (stil-) and have nothing to do with our verb, but there are some variations that are spelled with a "p" instead of a "b" and linguists have deemed these closer to whatever original seeded these words: adjective στιλπον (stilpon), means glittering, and verb στιλποω (stilpoo), means to make shine, to polish. There is even a "ps"-adjective: στιλψις (stilpsis), glittering. All these variations point to a foreign origin of our words.

Turning a "p" into a "b" is no big deal etymologically speaking: a dialectal variation might do the trick. The planet Mercury also went by the name στιλβων (stilbon), flasher or shiner, which brings to mind the names Phoebe and Phoebos (an epithet of Apollo) from the adjective φοιβος (shining), which may have nudged our words "b"-wards. Then, our "p"-words may have reminded of the word λαμπας (lampas), lamp, which in turn may have remined of verb λαμβανω (lambano), to take control over and make one's own (and take into one's hand), which would circle back to the idea expressed in the verb στιζω (stizo), to willfully brand or make one's own, which we discuss above.

Noun στιλβη (stilbe) is a rare word that refers to either a lamp or a mirror, depending on the dialect, and note that our English word "mirror" relates to miracle, the Latin mirus, wonderful, and ultimately the same PIE root "smey-" from which English gets "smile".

But even if the "p"-version of our words are the oldest, it's still unclear where they came from. Here at Abarim Publications we don't know either, of course, but if we had to guess, we would guess that our words may have started out without a leading sigma (and prefixing words with a sigma happens all the time in Greek: see our article on σειρα, seira, cord or rope), and that the core of our word is rather t-l-p. That obviously reminds of "tulip", whose name stems from the Persian word for turban, namely dulbend, which literally means "heart-binding" or "mind-bound" and symbolized mental discipline and hence bravery and enlightenment and such.

The Hebrews appear to have been less impressed with Persian mental discipline, and named their word for turban after (un)winding, namely בצל (basal), from which they formed their word for onion, בצל (basal), hence our English word "basil". However, also the name of the man who built the Ark of the Covenant was formed from this word: Bezalel, who was endowed with great technological wisdom, yet not a nobleman but a craftsman (like Joseph and Jesus, a τεκτων, tekton, assembler). The Greeks, meanwhile, were less impressed with practical crafts and more impressed with credibility enhancing displays, and appear to have used this verb בצל (basal) to form their words for king, βασιλευς (basileus), hence our English word "basilica".

But that would mean that our verb στιλβω (stilbo) would describe something spectacularly flashy and shiny to Greek-minded people, whereas the same verb would refer to the nuts-and-bolts production of practical utility for Hebrew-minded people.

If you want to know which way your innermost self leans, simply ask yourself: Am I more impressed with the idea of Jesus on the high top of a mountain, in radiating attire and attended to by some of the greatest minds in human history, or rather with the idea of Jesus down with the plebs, healing the sick, whilst covered in sweat and tears and every other bodily fluid imaginable? If you are rooting for the shiny Jesus, then buy a ticket and have a seat. As the man said: "Welcome to the Final Show, hope you're wearing your best clothes." If you are rooting for the sweaty Jesus, then certainly you are now as sweaty and covered in tears and snot and bile as he was, healing the sick in the world's vilest trenches. In that case, take heart. There are people who have paid fortunes to watch you, and will continue to watch you in eternal regret of their choice.