The abolition of Latin as the universal language of learned men,
together with the rise of that provincialism which attaches to
national literatures, has been a real misfortune for the cause of
knowledge in Europe. For it was chiefly through the medium of the
Latin language that a learned public existed in Europe at all--a
public to which every book as it came out directly appealed. The
number of minds in the whole of Europe that are capable of thinking
and judging is small, as it is; but when the audience is broken up and
severed by differences of language, the good these minds can do is
very much weakened. This is a great disadvantage; but a second and
worse one will follow, namely, that the ancient languages will cease
to be taught at all. The neglect of them is rapidly gaining ground
both in France and Germany.
If it should really come to this, then farewell, humanity! farewell,
noble taste and high thinking! The age of barbarism will return, in
spite of railways, telegraphs and balloons. We shall thus in the end
lose one more advantage possessed by all our ancestors. For Latin is
not only a key to the knowledge of Roman antiquity; its also directly
opens up to us the Middle Age in every country in Europe, and modern
times as well, down to about the year 1750. Erigena, for example, in
the ninth century, John of Salisbury in the twelfth, Raimond Lully in
the thirteenth, with a hundred others, speak straight to us in the
very language that they naturally adopted in thinking of learned
matters.
They thus come quite close to us even at this distance of time: we are
in direct contact with them, and really come to know them. How would
it have been if every one of them spoke in the language that was
peculiar to his time and country? We should not understand even the
half of what they said. A real intellectual contact with them would be
impossible. We should see them like shadows on the farthest horizon,
or, may be, through the translator's telescope.
It was with an eye to the advantage of writing in Latin that Bacon, as
he himself expressly states, proceeded to translate his _Essays_ into
that language, under the title _Sermones fideles_; at which work
Hobbes assisted him.[1]
[Footnote 1: Cf. Thomae Hobbes vita: _Carolopoli apud Eleutherium
Anglicum_, 1681, p. 22.]
Here let me observe, by way of parenthesis, that when patriotism tries
to urge its claims in the domain of knowledge, it commits an offence
which should not be tolerated. For in those purely human questions
which interest all men alike, where truth, insight, beauty, should be
of sole account, what can be more impertinent than to let preference
for the nation to which a man's precious self happens to belong,
affect the balance of judgment, and thus supply a reason for doing
violence to truth and being unjust to the great minds of a foreign
country in order to make much of the smaller minds of one's own!
Still, there are writers in every nation in Europe, who afford
examples of this vulgar feeling. It is this which led Yriarte to
caricature them in the thirty-third of his charming _Literary
Fables_.[1]
[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note._--Tomas de Yriarte (1750-91), a
Spanish poet, and keeper of archives in the War Office at Madrid. His
two best known works are a didactic poem, entitled _La Musica_, and
the _Fables_ here quoted, which satirize the peculiar foibles of
literary men. They have been translated into many languages; into
English by Rockliffe (3rd edition, 1866). The fable in question
describes how, at a picnic of the animals, a discussion arose as to
which of them carried off the palm for superiority of talent. The
praises of the ant, the dog, the bee, and the parrot were sung in
turn; but at last the ostrich stood up and declared for the dromedary.
Whereupon the dromedary stood up and declared for the ostrich. No one
could discover the reason for this mutual compliment. Was it because
both were such uncouth beasts, or had such long necks, or were neither
of them particularly clever or beautiful? or was it because each had a
hump? _No_! said the fox, _you are all wrong. Don't you see they are
both foreigners_? Cannot the same be said of many men of learning?]
In learning a language, the chief difficulty consists in making
acquaintance with every idea which it expresses, even though it should
use words for which there is no exact equivalent in the mother tongue;
and this often happens. In learning a new language a man has, as it
were, to mark out in his mind the boundaries of quite new spheres of
ideas, with the result that spheres of ideas arise where none were
before. Thus he not only learns words, he gains ideas too.
This is nowhere so much the case as in learning ancient languages, for
the differences they present in their mode of expression as compared
with modern languages is greater than can be found amongst modern
languages as compared with one another. This is shown by the fact that
in translating into Latin, recourse must be had to quite other turns
of phrase than are used in the original. The thought that is to be
translated has to be melted down and recast; in other words, it must
be analyzed and then recomposed. It is just this process which makes
the study of the ancient languages contribute so much to the education
of the mind.
It follows from this that a man's thought varies according to the
language in which he speaks. His ideas undergo a fresh modification,
a different shading, as it were, in the study of every new language.
Hence an acquaintance with many languages is not only of much indirect
advantage, but it is also a direct means of mental culture, in that it
corrects and matures ideas by giving prominence to their many-sided
nature and their different varieties of meaning, as also that it
increases dexterity of thought; for in the process of learning many
languages, ideas become more and more independent of words. The
ancient languages effect this to a greater degree than the modern, in
virtue of the difference to which I have alluded.
From what I have said, it is obvious that to imitate the style of the
ancients in their own language, which is so very much superior to ours
in point of grammatical perfection, is the best way of preparing for a
skillful and finished expression of thought in the mother-tongue. Nay,
if a man wants to be a great writer, he must not omit to do this: just
as, in the case of sculpture or painting, the student must educate
himself by copying the great masterpieces of the past, before
proceeding to original work. It is only by learning to write Latin
that a man comes to treat diction as an art. The material in this art
is language, which must therefore be handled with the greatest care
and delicacy.
The result of such study is that a writer will pay keen attention to
the meaning and value of words, their order and connection, their
grammatical forms. He will learn how to weigh them with precision, and
so become an expert in the use of that precious instrument which is
meant not only to express valuable thought, but to preserve it as
well. Further, he will learn to feel respect for the language in
which he writes and thus be saved from any attempt to remodel it by
arbitrary and capricious treatment. Without this schooling, a man's
writing may easily degenerate into mere chatter.
To be entirely ignorant of the Latin language is like being in a fine
country on a misty day. The horizon is extremely limited. Nothing can
be seen clearly except that which is quite close; a few steps beyond,
everything is buried in obscurity. But the Latinist has a wide view,
embracing modern times, the Middle Age and Antiquity; and his mental
horizon is still further enlarged if he studies Greek or even
Sanscrit.
If a man knows no Latin, he belongs to the vulgar, even though he be
a great virtuoso on the electrical machine and have the base of
hydrofluoric acid in his crucible.
There is no better recreation for the mind than the study of the
ancient classics. Take any one of them into your hand, be it only
for half an hour, and you will feel yourself refreshed, relieved,
purified, ennobled, strengthened; just as though you had quenched your
thirst at some pure spring. Is this the effect of the old language
and its perfect expression, or is it the greatness of the minds whose
works remain unharmed and unweakened by the lapse of a thousand years?
Perhaps both together. But this I know. If the threatened calamity
should ever come, and the ancient languages cease to be taught, a new
literature will arise, of such barbarous, shallow and worthless stuff
as never was seen before.