Nov 09, 2008 - 04:05:22 CST
Did you see that several of the regional councils in Britain have banned the use of Latin words and phrases in official documents? Such expressions as "bona fide," "ad lib," "ad hoc" and even the universally understood "et cetera" have been forbidden in Bournemouth and Salisbury.The Plain English Campaign has been waging war against jargon, bureaucratese and foreign phrases for decades. Now, at a time of unprecedented and growing diversity in European life, the drive toward basic English is gaining ground fast.
Naturally, lovers of the classics and "refined" English are discombobulated (wigged out). Their vituperations (angry denunciations) are creating a stir in Great Britain.
I don't think Latin is the problem, actually. There are only a handful of Latin phrases in standard English, from "mea culpa" (my fault) to "ex post facto" (after the fact), and they are pretty well naturalized. What would we do without "ad nauseum" (until you feel like vomiting) and "non sequitur" (something that does not follow from what was said before)? It makes perfect sense to say, "He spoke until we felt a little nauseous," but that's not really what you mean. "He spoke ad nauseum" has a wonderful sarcastic bite to it. It skewers the long-winded in a clever and unmistakable way. I'd be sorry if we banned the phrase in favor of plain English.
"Ad hominem" (attacking the person, not the argument) is one of the standard tools of American debate - just listen to Hannity and Colmes or spend a few minutes with the readers' comments at the Tribune Web site.
There are, I think, some French phrases we could do without in English, like the overused "de rigueur" (socially required, as in "the silk scarves that were de rigueur at the Academy Awards") and "fait accompli" (a done deal). I'm not fond of "hors d'oeuvre," in part because I can never remember how to spell it, but also because "appetizer" is an exact - if a little less elegant - equivalent.
And yet everyone knows what hors d'oeuvre means, so I don't see why we should try to discard it. But do we need "hors de combat" (out of the battle, out of service) and "raison d'etre" (reason for being)? How is it useful to say of Bobby Fischer, "Chess was his raison d'etre"?
As far as I'm concerned, the rule of communication is simple. You are either trying to communicate or you are trying to show off. If your word choice and style get in the way of communication, you are shooting yourself in the foot. Word choice matters far less than attitude.
English has, at least since the Norman Invasion (1066) and the Renaissance (15th through 17th centuries), done more borrowing than any other language. What would we do without "sofa" (Arabic) or "tsunami" (Japanese), without "hammock" (Caribbean Taino) or "safari" (Swahili), or without "entrepreneur" (French)? I hope, in the name of irreverence, that it is true that President Bush once said, in pity and contempt, "Too bad the French don't have a word for 'entrepreneur.'" That sentence, if accurately reported, effectively summarizes his life.
The rule in Bournemouth and Salisbury should not be to ban Latin phrases merely because they are Latin, but rather: "Be careful to communicate in a way that can be understood by a wide range of people.
We are not writing literature here, but getting information into the hands of people who turn to our council not because they want to, but because they need to have contact with their government. In other words, use good sense. This is not a time to write the "great English novel." That phrase works for "great American novel," not so well for British fiction.
I've never understood why people get so worked up over language. The great William Safire made a career out of being a language cop, as has the superb columnist George Will. The point of communication is to communicate - if it works, I am for it; if it fails to inform or please or persuade the listener or reader, I'm against it. What I object to is using language to separate yourself from your community. When my daughter says, "Dad, I'm down with that," I object, not because it is slang, but because for a fairly long time I thought she meant she didn't like the idea. Au contraire, sez she.
At a committee meeting on a college campus a few months back, we were talking about a pamphlet we intended to publish to explain a big project. A literature professor who was there, sniffily observing the conversation (what he would surely call the "discourse"), piped up to say, "Ah, I see what you have in mind, a kind of prolegomenon to our latter efforts."
Prolegomenon? Jeez!
I know what it means-introductory material that must be read and understood before we can go on to the really important (and difficult) stuff. But jeez! My colleague used the word not to move the conversation along, but to make sure that the rest of us knew that he lives in a more rarified world than other people. Believe me, we got it. The conversation ground to a halt while the rest of tried to decide if we knew what a prolegomenon was and whether we should simply chuck him out the second story window.
That should be the standard: Are you moving the conversation along? If yes, carry on. If not, you need a prolegomenon hauling bales or cleaning out the chicken coop before you should be trusted to teach our children. Twice in the last two weeks, I have heard scholars, at public humanities events, use the word "trope," which means a convenient metaphor or catch-all for a set of related examples.
Here's a trope sentence: "Sarah Palin was doing her just plain country folks trope again." But "routine" or "shtick" or "gimmick" would have served just as well. Since these were public humanities events, paid for by our tax dollars, I wanted to say, "Hey, who are you trying to communicate with here, anyway?"
I'm sure I am frequently guilty of the very sins I am describing. For which, "mea culpa." When this happens, I am setting back my goal, because what I am trying to do is communicate clearly, thoughtfully, cleverly, fairly.
If I am describing a butte or the badlands on a wind-swept autumn day, my goal is to put you in the scene so you can smell the hint of winter in the air and hear the rustle of the graying and shriveled cottonwood leaves. If I am arguing against locking up the North Dakota budget surplus or chartering a state oil refinery, it is not necessarily because I think I am right and it is not to be impressive. I'm satisfied, even thrilled, if I persuade you to step back and think about a public issue with fresh eyes.
In my universe, we'd teach Latin in all of our schools. And teach people to use it lightly in life.
(Clay Jenkinson is the director of the Dakota Institute. He is also the Theodore Roosevelt Scholar-in-residence at Dickinson State University. He lives in Bismarck. Contact Jenkinson at Jeffysage@;aol.com.)
Michael wrote on Feb 13, 2009 12:48 PM:
--Love the rub here Clay...the comments get really nasty around here. Rather unfortunate some people confuse dialogue with wrestling match. "
spearphish wrote on Nov 15, 2008 1:41 PM:
Matt wrote on Nov 13, 2008 9:47 PM:
Rasmus wrote on Nov 13, 2008 7:13 PM:
Bluets wrote on Nov 12, 2008 4:26 PM:
note wrote on Nov 10, 2008 4:37 PM:
cordatus anicula wrote on Nov 10, 2008 12:55 PM:
Ipsa qvidem pretivm virtvs sibi
Inventas vitam iuvat excoluisse per artes "
Edward wrote on Nov 10, 2008 10:55 AM:
Once a teacher wrote on Nov 9, 2008 10:57 AM:
Ad hominem wrote on Nov 9, 2008 9:18 AM:
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