Resign, 13th century: To give up an office or to relinquish a position to another person
Resigning has become quite fashionable. It has its advantages: it can seem honourable and principled or even powerful enough to wash away perceived or actual faults and misdeeds. However, if it takes too long, the person leaving office may carry the odour of delay: “clinging on till the inevitable”, people cry.
The most notable resignation of late has been that of Boris Johnson, who, not content with one resignation, has done it twice. Some suspect that the second departure was a way of weaselling out of facing the music. Like Macavity the Mystery Cat in T. S. Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, he “wasn’t there” when the House of Commons finally voted on a report that said he had misled the House.
The word has been in use on these islands since the 13th century, a time when Norman French and Middle English were beginning to blend. The original meaning in Norman French was the idea of giving up on sin rather than chucking in your job. We can play in our minds with the idea that when people shout “Resign!” they half-mean “Stop sinning!”
Shakespeare grasped the drama of the moment in the first of his history plays, when usurper Bolingbroke says to Richard II, “Are you contented to resign the crown?” And the wavering Richard replies: “Ay no; no ay.” How many others since Shakespeare’s Richard have thought such thoughts?
There is also a parallel meaning to the word: where we are “resigned” to our fate or situation. There’s an example of this in Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones (1749): “He should insist on the most resigned Obedience from his Daughter.” If you know the story, you’ll understand why we might say, tongue in cheek, “Best of luck with that, Squire!”
At the time of writing, several Conservative MPs have resigned along with Boris Johnson, though one – Nadine Dorries – seems to have gone for the Richard II method. We are in what we might call the “Ay no; no ay” moment. It’s nice to see that Ms Dorries might have been inspired by Shakespeare. She was the culture minister, after all.
This article is from New Humanist's autumn 2023 issue. Subscribe now.
