Περί Πολυγλωσσίης

I was looking at The Linguist blog today, and I found this title jumped out at me: “Monolingual intellectual elites of the English speaking world.” I first reacted in disgust. As a fledgling classicist and polyglot, I had a visceral reaction upon reading it. The author goes on to give a quotation from From Dawn to Decadence, 500 Years of Western Cultural Life, by Jacques Barzun, which the blogger is currently reading:

"It is a noteworthy feature of 20C culture that for the first time in over a thousand years its educated class is not expected to be at least bilingual."

I partially agree with the author of The Linguist when he states that this seems to be true of English-speaking societies but not of other (including Western) societies. Speaking the Lingua Franca as one’s first language has its benefits to an intellectual outside of the humanities.

However, within the humanities, not possessing a working knowledge of at least ancient Greek, Latin, French, and German is a huge impediment to groundbreaking research. Contrary to popular belief within academia, even within some academicians of the humanities, not all important texts exist in translation. Even if they did, translation without an understanding of the source language will not allow the reader to fully understand nuances of meaning and punning. No translation is a perfect translation. One can set himself to preserve all meaning and reuse all poetic and grammatical devices, but he will fail.

For a fun example of the failures of translation, please note the following short poem by Catullus.

            Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?

Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

Literally:

            I hate and I love. “How do I do it,” you perhaps ask?

            I do not know, but I feel (it) happening and I am tortured.

In lieu of failing to present a translation with the devices and nuances of meaning preserved, please accept this brief analysis:

Line 1:

“Odi et amo.” Read “Od’et amo.” Odi is from odi, odisse, osus, which has a perfect form with present force. It comes out of the thought among speakers of Indo-European languages that one cannot “know” or “hate” in the present. Something must always preface it; in this case, “hate” is prefaced by “love.”

“Quare id” Again elided and read “Quar’id.” Quare is an adverb of incredible variance in meaning: “in what way, how, by which means, whereby; why; wherefore, therefore, hence.” Instead of choosing a word that differentiates between “how” and “why,” the author encourages the reader to ask both questions. “How do I do both?” and “what brought me to this oxymoron of feeling?”

“Faciam” is a subjunctive caused of indirect question started by quare.

“Faciam, fortasse” Fricative /f/ is often used in an alliterative capacity or emphasized during states of heightened emotion. This is partially due to the tightening of muscles caused by the sympathetic nervous system making it difficult to gently push out the necessary air to make the sound normally.

“Requiris” also has multiple meanings “require, seek, ask for; need; miss, pine for.” The first of which is “ask,” which best fits the context, but the reader would instantly understand the association with “longing” as belonging to the author.

Line 2:

“Nescio” literally means “I do not know,” but has the alternate connotation of “I am unwilling to know.” Does the author really not know why he still feels for his lost love or is he unwilling to learn?

“Sed fieri sentio” Note the grouping of fricatives (two labiodentals and one alveolar).

“Sentio et excrucior.” Read “senti’et excrucior” with the elision functioning as an extra link between the author feeling emotion and feeling physical torture.

“Excrucior” Lit., pain as from a cross (i.e., being crucified). Crucifixion in Rome was seen as the worst form of punishment; so much so that the Senate passed edicts prohibiting its use on Roman citizens.

On the whole:

The poem has zero nouns, eight verbs, three conjunctions (two of which elided), two adverbs, and one pronoun (in the neuter). This is not traditional composition.

Note the lack of gender in the poem. Even grammatically, the author seems to have trouble coming to terms with masculinity and femininity.

The extensive use of fricatives and plosives indicated that the author is literally spitting out the passage.

The meter is “elegiac couplet” and is often used in funerary hymns. This would be a firm reminder to the reader of the severity of the author’s sense of loss.

Now that is the analysis of two lines of poetry, and it is not an extensive analysis thereof. It frustrates me to no end to know that my colleagues will probably be even less able to understand primary sources and the foundational works on them without translation. If this movement is an unstoppable force, Western academia will be in need of many immovable objects. I, for one, plan to stand in its way.

Dictionary: William Whitaker’s Words