How many off-color jokes could you tell, in Latin?
(caveatis: quod sequens laedat)
Vel virgo vestalis sacerdos iovisque eodem tempore vehiculum ingreduntur. Sacerdos eam observat, sed virgo vestalis aspectat.
“Offendone te?” dicit sacerdos.
Loquitur virgo, “Ita! Quid est ut venerari Optimo Maximo possis Deum qui nil praeterquam fornicare toto die faciat?”
Vehemens, “Te probo!” declarat.
Raedarius vehiculi strepitum multum ululatumque e tergo audit; vehiculum tremit furore. Postremo, Forum adveniunt. Exit virgo serenissima ac incomptissima, ad templum iovis ambulans grates agere. Exgreditur sacerdos vehiculo late subridens. Perplexus advocat raedarius eum, “Quid vehens, nonne?”
Se convertens sacerdos, “Idem ipsa dixit!”
(terribilis, scio; mihi veniam date)
I grew up Catholic too, and I hardly heard any Latin at all (before high school). Certainly not in church.
That’s horrible; I’m not religious and really never have gone to Church, but I think it’s truly terrible that the Church actually descended to permit completely and only the vernacular in services. It totally detracts from enrichment. Everyone should learn Latin anyway; how dreadful.
Latin is a dead language. There is no city on Earth where the mayor argues with the trash collectors in Latin. Where on Earth can you give directions to a taxi driver in Latin? There aren’t any.
In my city, Bethlehem, PA, our mayor certainly can’t argue with the trash collectors in English either; he must do so in Spanish if he’s to have any luck. And how many times can the typical New Yorker count when he felt handicapped by only being an English speaker when trying to give directions to cab drivers? Does this mean that English is a dead language? or that it may become one in favor of those less sophisticated?
Both questions are, of course, preposterous. A language is only truly dead if it isn’t used at all anymore. But it is used, even to tell jokes, as I have proved above; it is used by the ancients to communicate even now up to the present day their sententias antiquas; it is also in fact the national language of the country of the Vatican. Though oddly pronounced in comparison with its Classical counterpart, the Ecclesiastical Latin of the Vaticans is quite fluent and very conversant. Indeed, there is a journal published quarterly by the Vatican called Latinitas to which my university subscribes, containing numerous articles on modern-day events, all in narrative, fluent Latin. It’s quite beautiful, and has been very helpful in expanding my knowledge in more mundane areas of the language, such as the names of the days of the week.
If it is used to communicate, it is indeed a language. Actually, a great example of a language that you, Democritus, would consider dead, even today, is Hindi. Despite the wondrously copious number of Indians there are, very few actually speak Hindi, and almost no Indian actually learns it as a first language, or hears it regularly before two years of age. Hindi is no invented tongue, of course; it was once spoken by a group of some people very natively; however, it is just one of several hundred dialects of vulgar Sanskrit that now inhabit the Subcontinent. Hindi is taught in school along with English, but English is always regarded as more important to learn during primary classes, and thus most Indians actually speak English far better than they ever will speak Hindi. Their native hometown languages, of course, are respective to their villages of origin in the country, and vary widely in diversity even within the well-recognized dialects, such as Gujurati. This was a fascinating revelation for me, finding that none of my Indian friends actually communicated with one another in Hindi, and always in English instead, since all their first languages were totally unintelligible from one another.
Is Hindi then not dead in your defintion, Democritus? You can bet no garbage collectors in Bombay speak it, or cab drivers for that matter. The irony in Bombay is that the cab drivers will prefer to speak English.
Latin is hard for English speakers because the verbs are highly inflected and the nouns are highly inflected, which is very different from English. This is already hard just for passive reading. It’s much more difficult when you are trying to speak it properly.
It’s actually quite the opposite. For years, I could get by in my reading of Italian, even writing it, but my speaking was terribly clumsy and slow, stilted and poor in vocabulary; I knew a lot more words than I could get out in one breath, essentially. I had to think about them. And my writing suffered, if only because of the lengthy amount of time it would take to look up words. When I would read, it would take me a while to understand a passage, since the language was not internalized within me. It was also hard to learn new vocabulary, seeing as nearly all of my vocab was stored in a nonverbal center of my brain.
But then I came to speak Italian after really practicing and listening and using it as casually and frequently as possible. I began to internalize it like a child does his first tongue. Suddenly I got jokes in Italian that I never got before; now I could read Dante and truly understand the mustic of the poetry, not just the simplest meanings of the words; I could write fluent passages of journal entries, even lyrics to songs.
And none of this could have been possible unless I had begun to truly speak the language. The sole reading/writing I was doing before only limited me. Having attempted and met the challenge of speaking the very inflected lingua, the complexities of conjugation, for instance, as well as gender and number endings, and tenses withal, became second-nature instead of something I only knew at the extremities of my brain. With a greater ability in Italian speech, my reading and writing skills drastically improved; and with a more sophisticated knowledge of Italian’s finer litterary perfections, I could incorporate those into my speech, growing better and better at the language. And now I speak it fluently, and can read Petrarch and Bocaccio with ease. This never would have happened had I not attempted to utter those first incoherent sentences. The same is coming true again for me with Latin.
But mothers don’t speak Latin to their babies anymore, and the kids at the playground haven’t been speaking much Latin lately, either.
Indeed, children learn out of incessant repetition. That is in fact precisely how any language is ever really learned: repetition, and lots of it! Though post-pubescent children and adults don’t have minds quite as flexible and impressionable as those of babies, in no more double the amount of time (dependent on individual interest and ability), an adult can learn Latin, or any other language, through simple emmersion and repetion. But this definitely takes a while, and we adults don’t have too much time. So, we invented the concept of grammar, discovering common patterns which would define rules about the mechanics of language, both of this our native tongue and those foreign. Instead of internalizing every single kind of phrase that we need to use to communicate right away, we learn simple rules which govern how we utilize and manipulate the new vocabulary we learn (this goes for any language).
Essentially, we cheat. Rather than do it the long and hard way like kids, we crafty grown-ups work out systems that are easier to remember than every single phrase and sentence (to say nothing of the difficulty of becoming surrounded with such a variety and constancy of phrases). This is directly comparable to mathematics and equations; rather than have burned into our brains the dimensions of thousands of different triangles (giving us an inherent, unconcious sense of trigonometry), good ol’ Pythagoras gave us a simple equation to analyze the three-sided shapes: a^2 + b^2 = c^2. We can use this standard method to talk about pretty much every case of a triangle. The patterns of declensions and conjugations in Latin, for example, are quite the same, short-cuts for us beginners at the language.
But despite these equational cheats, they are only a means of growing accustomed to a new language, giving us practical ability before we can finally truly make our own these new words and expressions. When I talk to my German friends now, I don’t worry about what case I’m in or what crazy word order this dependent phrase or that has to go in, it’s just second nature. You know why? It’s not from reading Die Zeit. It’s not from writing als ich letzes Mal in Deutschland war, as personal and helpful as such a project might be. It’s from saying, outloud, often only to myself (or to my dogs or other pets), the selfsame phrases which regular Germans use all the time. No one to talk with? You always have yourself, and when it comes to learning another language, that can be the best converstionalist of all.
I put the point to this: Speaking is, according to some of you, not necessary in the study of Latin, since the goal is to read ancient texts, not to communicate. If that is the case, however, why is it that every single Latin textbook from Wheelock to D’Ooge not only has translation exercises from Latin to English, but from English to Latin?
Ah-hah!
The reason is because you learn so much more about Latin through being forced to compose some of it yourself. Latin would take much, much longer to comprehend through reading without the advantage of having put together some of your own sentences in a similar fashion to the works of those you wish to read.
But I think that Latin students take way too long to understand the language, and some in truth never really do. The reason for this? They don’t speak it. They don’t utter the words with their own lips and tongue and teeth; they try to push their minds through a dark, narrow funnel, almost devoid of illuminance, attempting not only to read, but to form complex syntax of the most high-born, high-blown phrases or verses without even having ever said anything so simple as “What’s the weather like today?” or “What time to you have?” or “I think it’s really nice here; I like it a lot. I can’t wait for autumn.” Think of the hundreds of thousands of times you’ve said such things in English, or whatever tongue is native to you. Surely we can many of us make viable translations of these phrases — but really, how many of us can just say them without thinking, like they can in their native language, or in a foreign language they’ve been learning for years?
By not learning how to speak Latin, most Latinists have made it much harder for themselves than they otherwise might. Indeed, they would be much better Latinists if they could actually speak the language. Without knowing Latinly in their hearts these most basic of concepts, all they really have to injest of the language are the bleeched bones of a mere skeleton of Latin, rather than the true meat which will for ever elude them. It’s such a shame so many are thusly starved, when all the tools to hunt for the fresh meat are right there before them. Vero, ad venationes!
Nam quando in Roma …