I have a sneaking suspicion that well-meaning Classicists have inadvertently conspired to bring about the decline of Latin.
I think the first huge mistake came in the Renaissance. Let's start with Erasmus, the scholar that my father once described in a paper as 'the cornerstone of the reformation', and who once lodged in a tower in my old college, ever after known as the Erasmus Tower. Now Erasmus could be described as a late example of the Wandering Scholars that Helen Waddell wrote about so entertainingly. Because he lived in so many different lands, he didn't bother learning all those European languages. He stuck to Latin as the medium of everyday conversation. We can get an idea of that conversation through his Colloquia, delightful little mini-dramas with schoolboys as protagonist, deuteragonist, tritagonist ... and occasionally a schoolmaster or other characters. They breathe the air of Plautus much more than of Cicero. And there's the point. In Erasmus' time Latin was a living language, adaptable, capable of taking in new words quite naturally.
What are the criteria to determine whether something is alive? Here's what I found on the net:
The basic characteristics of living things -- what properties do all organisms share:
Well, then. Latin has had an afterlife as -- as what? Gibbon used it to ensure that the working classes' morals were not destroyed. In the Decline and Fall " all licentious passages are left in the obscurity of a learned language." 'Is it a book you would wish your wife or servants to read?' asked the prosecutor of Lady Chatterley's Lover. The obvious answer: publish it in Latin. Except that by the 1960s even the middle class man of the house and master of servants may not have known Latin.
To be more serious, Latin became a way - the way - of training the mind of the potential rulers of Britain and the Empire. Someone, I forget who, discussed civil service exams in the 20th century and commented that things were much simpler in the previous century. Then, the sole test of a man's ability to govern India was his ability to write Latin verses. I've just looked up this quotation, and find it refers not to Latin but to Greek. 'Anglican divine Thomas Gaisford (1779-1855) confidently proclaimed in a Christmas sermon "The study of Greek literature not only elevates above the vulgar herd, but can lead to positions of considerable emolument."' I suppose Latin in his day was too common to count, but I think the sentiment could well have applied to Latin.
This is the kind of Latin teaching, and the philosophy behind it, that obtained when I began the language at the age of 7 or 8. My father had let slip the opinion that "A well educated man knows Latin." So I chose to learn it. I began in fact subliminally, because as I ate my sandwiches at lunch time a group in the year above me were chanting the names of the cases and the first declension. This experience served me well, and I have always held that a young child need not understand everything he or she learns - not at the time. So part of me is sympathetic to the following:
On 1st June the Independent reported the UK government's e-learning initiative for Latin, and added a short leading article:
LET THEM learn Latin. Nothing is better than Latin, well-taught, for inculcating the basics of learning another language. But let them learn proper Latin, with grammar and syntax and the great classical writers. Let them start with amo, amas, amat and graduate to the soaring
I think the first huge mistake came in the Renaissance. Let's start with Erasmus, the scholar that my father once described in a paper as 'the cornerstone of the reformation', and who once lodged in a tower in my old college, ever after known as the Erasmus Tower. Now Erasmus could be described as a late example of the Wandering Scholars that Helen Waddell wrote about so entertainingly. Because he lived in so many different lands, he didn't bother learning all those European languages. He stuck to Latin as the medium of everyday conversation. We can get an idea of that conversation through his Colloquia, delightful little mini-dramas with schoolboys as protagonist, deuteragonist, tritagonist ... and occasionally a schoolmaster or other characters. They breathe the air of Plautus much more than of Cicero. And there's the point. In Erasmus' time Latin was a living language, adaptable, capable of taking in new words quite naturally.
What are the criteria to determine whether something is alive? Here's what I found on the net:
The basic characteristics of living things -- what properties do all organisms share:
- organization
- metabolism - organisms process chemicals and energy to maintain their structure, create new structures
- adaptability and responsiveness - organisms can respond to changes in their environment is such a way that a balance (homeostasis) is maintained
- reproduction - usually with mistakes that can be passed on to subsequent generations.
Well, then. Latin has had an afterlife as -- as what? Gibbon used it to ensure that the working classes' morals were not destroyed. In the Decline and Fall " all licentious passages are left in the obscurity of a learned language." 'Is it a book you would wish your wife or servants to read?' asked the prosecutor of Lady Chatterley's Lover. The obvious answer: publish it in Latin. Except that by the 1960s even the middle class man of the house and master of servants may not have known Latin.
To be more serious, Latin became a way - the way - of training the mind of the potential rulers of Britain and the Empire. Someone, I forget who, discussed civil service exams in the 20th century and commented that things were much simpler in the previous century. Then, the sole test of a man's ability to govern India was his ability to write Latin verses. I've just looked up this quotation, and find it refers not to Latin but to Greek. 'Anglican divine Thomas Gaisford (1779-1855) confidently proclaimed in a Christmas sermon "The study of Greek literature not only elevates above the vulgar herd, but can lead to positions of considerable emolument."' I suppose Latin in his day was too common to count, but I think the sentiment could well have applied to Latin.
This is the kind of Latin teaching, and the philosophy behind it, that obtained when I began the language at the age of 7 or 8. My father had let slip the opinion that "A well educated man knows Latin." So I chose to learn it. I began in fact subliminally, because as I ate my sandwiches at lunch time a group in the year above me were chanting the names of the cases and the first declension. This experience served me well, and I have always held that a young child need not understand everything he or she learns - not at the time. So part of me is sympathetic to the following:
On 1st June the Independent reported the UK government's e-learning initiative for Latin, and added a short leading article:
LET THEM learn Latin. Nothing is better than Latin, well-taught, for inculcating the basics of learning another language. But let them learn proper Latin, with grammar and syntax and the great classical writers. Let them start with amo, amas, amat and graduate to the soaring
rhetoric of Cicero and the biting satire of Juvenal. It makes no sense at
all to teach Latin as though it were a living language, with meanings to be
guessed at and fluency preferred to grammatical correctness. Teach it as the
dead language and the discipline it is. With no oral tests and no conversation,
Latin is perfect for the tongue-tied linguists of these isles.
I'm not at all sure that if I had been taught from Unit 1 of the Cambridge Course the language would have got hold of me the way it did, holding me in a lifelong grip of loving fascination. Have we, by banishing the rote-learning of grammar, by dropping prose composition - and verse composition, indeed, - have we killed Latin all over again, this time as a kind of superior crossword puzzle that really did teach us to think logically and to understand the bones of language?
Perhaps Rouse got the balance right. Back to the future, then?
I'm not at all sure that if I had been taught from Unit 1 of the Cambridge Course the language would have got hold of me the way it did, holding me in a lifelong grip of loving fascination. Have we, by banishing the rote-learning of grammar, by dropping prose composition - and verse composition, indeed, - have we killed Latin all over again, this time as a kind of superior crossword puzzle that really did teach us to think logically and to understand the bones of language?
Perhaps Rouse got the balance right. Back to the future, then?
