How to learn Latin: “do one thing and not omit the other” Part 2 of 2

Continuation of the first part. The aim of such study is not—and I say this again so as not to be misunderstood—to go shopping in Latin or to treat Latin as a living language, as one does with English (which many people learn in order to catch a plane or book a hotel, and not to read Shakespeare), but rather to restore to Latin its nature as a language, as described above, a nature that has long been denied it in favor of a study of written language understood, ultimately, as the study of grammar at the expense of vocabulary, pronunciation, and, more generally, the organic unity of the language (we will soon discuss the limits of the so-called traditional method, as well as the dangers inherent in an imprudently active approach). Now that we have clarified that, in teaching, the use of the language being taught is neither an obstacle nor a game, but something very serious and also quite demanding—not only for students, but also for teachers who are not accustomed to it, especially at the beginning—it seems to me that the goal is to employ a rigorous and effective method that guides us where we want to go. Personally, I do not believe in shortcuts; that is, I do not believe that use alone will enable us to learn any language well—that is, at a level that allows us to understand a classic work of literature—without studying it in a focused and disciplined way; nor do I believe that an excessively analytical, almost mechanical and somewhat abstract study, however methodical, can lead us to a deep knowledge of a language without some degree of oral and written use.

Hans Ørberg’s natural method

The direct or natural method, developed by Rouse, was later refined by H. H. Ørberg, author of Lingua Latina per se Illustrata, who called his method “natura”, or inductive-contextual, precisely to distinguish it and to specify more clearly how, by following the nature of language, one can reach the reading and comprehension of the classics more quickly. The characteristics of this method are:

• the centrality of the oral aspect (and therefore of pronunciation), without denying the importance of writing;
• the association of the sounds of the language being taught with the things those sounds represent, without passing—at least at the beginning—through translation;
• the presentation of the language in context and within real situations;
• engaged learning through the use of the senses and imagination, stimulating students’ curiosity and involvement;
• the use of the inductive method: from observing repeated uses within a context to formulating a rule or learning words and expressions, etc.;
• the gradual introduction of language instruction (from the most important aspects to the less important; from the most frequent aspects to the less frequent, etc.), without sacrificing any aspect that constitutes a language (grammar, vocabulary, style, prosody).

How to structure the lesson

In practice, the teacher, especially one who is not accustomed to using the language actively, can structure the lesson as follows:

• through individual, targeted images, as well as other related images that can be connected to build a story or narrative; the introduction of new words and grammar, as far as possible, according to the students’ level of ability;
• oral questions to check comprehension of what has been said;
• guided reading by the teacher (appropriate to the meaning and situation), articulated and pronounced clearly (with words grouped according to meaning), together with guided inductive reasoning (observing the images in the text, the marginal notes, and the grammatical phenomena);
• continuous questioning while reading the chapter to confirm comprehension of the text and to employ the grammar and vocabulary;
• at the end of each chapter, systematic ordering of the grammatical points that students have learned inductively and have already practiced by answering the teacher’s questions;
• many exercises of various kinds.

This kind of proposal is in no way less serious, simplistic, or more artificial than the so-called traditional method, both because it requires intense study, in which the student is completely immersed (since he listens, speaks, reads, and writes), and because the language is approached in its entirety, leaving nothing out and introducing everything gradually; and although this approach differs from the traditional one, it is in no way less valid.

The pitfalls of the natural method

If, therefore, the natural method is, as such, closer to the ideal path of learning described above, it is not free from the pitfalls inherent in applying the method incorrectly. Note well: I am referring to a method, not to a textbook or merely to the active use of Latin, which could be questionable and certainly ineffective if it is not anchored in a method that guides the student from point A to point B by precise means and within reasonable time frames. I therefore ask the reader to exercise a certain subtlety and not confuse everyone who uses Latin with those who support the method I am describing. Indeed, some advocates of spoken Latin go so far as to theorize that Latin is, for all practical purposes, a living language.

The three types of teachers

In many continuing-education courses that I have taught in Italy and abroad, I have encountered three types of teachers: the enthusiasts, who, as such, sometimes move from the use to the abuse of Latin, employing it in ways that are not always appropriate or correct; the skeptics, who criticize the active use of Latin and, in doing so, also criticize millennia of tradition, saying that it is nonsense (but in doing so they give the impression of confusing separate issues and fail to address the substance of the matter, which cannot be reduced merely to the use of Latin); and those who are hesitant but curious, who have come up against the limits of the so-called traditional grammar-and-translation method. These teachers would like to change (even if they do not admit it), but they are afraid because they would have to change old habits, and they may feel that they do not have the time or energy to learn not only a new way of teaching, but a new way of thinking about Latin. Based on my limited but nonetheless significant experience, this last category is the largest. If things were in fact working, if the grammar-and-translation method (which is also the most widespread) were truly effective, we would not have such an exodus of students (obviously also due to other reasons), they would not be rushing to get rid of their Latin books, and we would not have to take initiatives such as organizing festivals, which have now become necessary to attract young people to the study of the classical languages. That things are not going well in schools—and not only recently!—is undeniable. It is also undeniable that many teachers are having to try to invent something new to engage students. And it is equally undeniable that a growing number of teachers are considering some active use of the language, perhaps even just for fun, to awaken students’ interest.

Ad impossibilia nemo tenetur — no one is obliged to do the impossible. — Latin maxim

What, then, should be done?

So, what should we do? Given that ad impossibilia nemo tenetur (no one is obliged to do the impossible), and considering that even the best teachers would find it difficult to do good work if they did not have enough time to prepare, we should first of all set aside any prejudices—that is, all those inadequate and inappropriate adjectives that we apply to Latin, as we said at the beginning, which do not allow us to see it for what it is: a language, historical and cultural though it may be, but above all a language. If we could convince ourselves of this, we would easily be able to see the pitfalls of the natural, or inductive-contextual, method, as well as the limits of the so-called traditional grammar-and-translation method and, consequently, improve our teaching.

Examining the pitfalls of the natural method

Let us examine the pitfalls of the natural method:

• Overconfidence in using the language and somewhat superficial learning, by ear, so to speak, at the expense of an analytical approach that is necessary in order to gain full awareness of the linguistic phenomena of the language being studied;
• Improper use of the language by teachers, who generally do not receive adequate training; after all, if they make mistakes, the students will make them too. In reality, it is not latine loqui itself that is to blame, but latine prave loqui. Is this any less true when applied to any other language?
• Incorrect application of the method: the teacher decides to use the natural method but, in practice, continues doing what he did before with the grammar-and-translation method, or uses a hybrid approach that confuses the principles mentioned above. This is a frequent error, also because, objectively speaking, it is not easy for a teacher to set aside what he has done for so long and replace it with something new.

Two common objections

And we could present two more objections that we hear from time to time. First: the texts are often invented, in the sense that they are not classical and therefore are not written in “real” Latin. Considering that they do not seem to me any more invented than many of the short sentences found in books written according to the grammar-and-translation method, and that even the concept of “real” Latin needs to be better defined (does it include only the Latin of Caesar and Cicero, or also that of Plautus and Augustine?), which of us would insist on guiding our students toward the works of Dante or Shakespeare by giving them sentences from those authors to read? And students do not read authors such as Dante and Shakespeare even after having studied Italian and English for at least ten years. Someone might say that Italian and English are living languages. But so what? One cannot understand Dante sic et simpliciter simply because he is Italian. Reading Dante and Shakespeare requires study, diligence, and time because, like Virgil, their works are classics and are the destination of the study of those languages, not the starting point. So, on closer inspection, it is perfectly possible to use invented texts to begin learning a language, but invented in no way means false. What matters is that they be grammatically correct, lexically appropriate, gradual, and functional. Second: those who use the natural method are unable to translate. Here too, it seems to me that we are confusing an incorrect use of the method with the method itself and, more generally, confusing translation with knowledge of the language, as if the goal of studying a language were to know how to translate it. In reality, translation is nothing more than a consequence of knowing a language, and this is true not only for Latin, from which one translates, but also for the mother tongue, into which one translates. In short, translation should be done not in order to understand, but after one has understood. The only reasonable advice is not to translate immediately. Let us begin by immersing students in the language; let them listen, speak, read, and write (in Latin!); and then, only after formalizing the concepts they have learned, should they translate. Perhaps at the beginning—at least for native speakers of Italian—you do not need to explain every single thing, because many of them are similar in Italian, and this also makes it possible not to hinder the flow of learning through excessive analysis; but again, one should translate, making sure to give students texts that are appropriate to their level of knowledge and not texts that are too burdensome for shoulders that are not yet strong enough to carry them. I am leaving aside other things I have heard that confirm my opinion, which is that many people confuse the natural method, which is in fact extremely rigorous, with a loose use of spoken Latin that does not include the study of grammar. Can one learn a language, especially one that is no longer living, without studying grammar? Absolutely not! Whoever says this is acting in bad faith, or at the very least is guilty of superficiality.

The limits of the traditional method

After many years, I would say that, in general, provided we admit that no prejudices are involved, the limits of the so-called traditional grammar-and-translation method are also well established:

• Lack of a close connection between words and things, which is fundamental to any linguistic learning. Students do not connect the sounds of the language with their meaning; instead, they connect the written word with its equivalent in their mother tongue: instead of connecting the word “mensa” with the mental image of a table, they connect the word “mensa” with the corresponding word in Italian (or in their own language), with the result that they often need to translate in order to understand;
• Poor vocabulary acquisition, also because it is studied without the mnemonic support of a meaningful context, but through improbable sentences that are often disconnected from one another: the famous Rosarum et violarum coronas ancillae portant; or Nimia aviarum indulgentia puellis nocet —and the list goes on;
• Mechanical and abstract study of grammar: students are often able to say things about the language and, to a large extent, describe it, but they do not know it, because after studying for many years, even the best students have difficulty understanding ten lines of Latin even with the use of a dictionary. In short, analysis alone is not enough.

Knowledge of the language vs. knowledge about the language

Based on what has been said so far, I believe we can confidently conclude that there is often confusion in the classroom between two concepts that are related but nevertheless different: knowledge of the language and knowledge about the language. The grammar-and-translation method tends to describe the language rather than to know it, whereas knowing it is the heart of the “natura,” or inductive-contextual, method; this method, in turn, if misunderstood or misapplied, risks sacrificing analytical aspects that are fundamental to knowledge about the language.

Unum facere et aliud non omittere

The ideal approach would be unum facere et aliud non omitterein order to achieve a full understanding of a classical text in its original language. The fundamental question is this: why read the classics in Latin? The few authors who are read—or, better still, interpreted—in schools have already been translated many times: why spend energy learning Latin? I gave a personal answer to this question on another occasion; what I would like to emphasize is that reading an ancient text in Latin and in translation is not, and never will be, an equivalent experience—not because of any supposed shortcomings on the translator’s part, but because a classical text, by the very fact that it is a classic, is a work of art, and every form of art has aspects that cannot be translated. Is it the same experience to see Michelangelo’s Pietà in person and in a photograph? To hear a musical performance live and a recording?

A page of Sallust

If, indeed, Michelangelo’s art is found in his unique sculptural technique, the same applies to a writer, whether in prose or verse: it is his unique writing style that distinguishes him from everyone else. Let us take, for example, Sallust, a contemporary of Cicero and Caesar, as everyone knows. Let us take the well-known incipit of the Conspiracy of Catiline (my emphasis):

[1] Omnis homines, qui sese student praestare ceteris animalibus, summa ope niti decet, ne vitam silentio transeant veluti pecora, quae natura prona atque ventri oboedientia finxit. [2] Sed nostra omnis vis in animo et corpore sita est: animi imperio, corporis servitio magis utimur; alterum nobis cum dis, alterum cum beluis commune est. [3] Quo mihi rectius videtur ingeni quam virium opibus gloriam quaerere et, quoniam vita ipsa, qua fruimur, brevis est, memoriam nostri quam maxume longam efficere. [4] Nam divitiarum et formae gloria fluxa atque fragilis est, virtus clara aeternaque habetur.

In this passage, Sallust presents a concept that is by no means unique to him, but is classical in the fullest sense of the word: the supremacy of the soul over the body. From Plato (see, for example, the Phaedo, 28) to Saint Augustine, this concept is, as we know, something that runs throughout Greco-Roman antiquity. Why should it be read and appreciated in Latin? Because it is precisely there that the art of this passage lies: in the language, in the choice and order of the words, as Malcovati demonstrates (Enrica Malcovati, De Catilinae coniuratione, Paravia, Turin, 1939) in her commentary, from which I draw much of what follows.

Sallust’s style, word by word

Let us begin with the opening omnis, which has a distinctly archaic flavor, and then observe sese, which, although understandable, becomes superfluous when examined more closely, because studere, like velle, cupere and the verba voluntatis et studii, in general, take the simple infinitive when the subject is the same in both clauses: in this case, moreover, the pronoun is doubled for emphasis—we are also dealing with an archaic and popular usage. The expression vitam transire, although immediately understandable, is in fact not at all common, since one would normally say vitam agere, or ducere, but Sallust (as we can already see in this first line) does not like common expressions. In ‘oboedientia finxit’ we then find the so-called heroic clausula (consisting of a dactyl and a spondee closing the hexameter), which Cicero deliberately avoids, remembering Aristotle’s teaching (qui iudicat heroum numerum grandiorem quam desideret soluta oratio, Orator, 192); but Sallust has different tastes from Cicero. The sed, then, does not have its usual adversative value, but serves here as a transition and corresponds to ‘autem’ (‘now then’), as Servius had already observed (ad Aen., X, 411: ‘sed’ modo inceptiva particula est, ut in Sallustio saepius). Next, we should note the placement of nostra: Sallust does not say omnis vis nostra, as might seem more natural, but places nostra at the beginning to emphasize the contrast between us, human beings, on the one hand, and animals, on the other. It is well known that Latin, especially archaic Latin, did not favor abstract words and expressions, but Sallust departs from this usage, following a tendency that would grow from the Augustan age onward: he therefore says animi imperio and corporis servitio instead of animo imperatore and corpore servo (cf. Jugurthine War, I, 3: dux atque imperator vitae mortalium animus est). At first glance, the following ipsa may seem superfluous: why not simply say vita qua fruimur brevis est? But ipsa has its usual oppositive force, as in the expression ipso die (‘on that very day, not another’), and here vita is contrasted with memoria nostri. In the word maxume we find another archaism: the superlative suffix -umus, which in Sallust is never -imus. In fluxa atque fragilis, we observe the alliteration at the beginning, an archaic feature that Sallust favored (one need only think of the ancient rhythmic formulas of the Romans: proverbs, prayers, exorcisms, and legal maxims). At the end, in the phrase virtus clara aeternaque habetur, where habetur does not mean ‘is considered,’ but ‘is possessed, is in our power,’ we can feel, through the asyndeton and the brevitas, how the stability of virtue is contrasted, by antithesis, with the transience of the glory divitiarum et formae, fluxa atque fragilis, which, in the very structure of the sentence, prolonged by the copulative conjunction, has something fluid, something transient about it.

The voice of the classics

If we wish to hear the true voice of the classical authors, and not a pale echo, we must not only read and understand them in Latin, but we must also be able, with the help of suitable guides and tools, to grasp and savor their art. In our case, it is evident how entirely Sallust’s language is his own, and how different it is from that of his contemporaries, Caesar and Cicero: it is his mark, so to speak, his art. It is the immortalis Sallusti velocitas, which Quintilian describes (X, 112), just as illa sallustiana brevitas, qua nihil apud aures vacuas atque eruditas potest esse perfectius (X, 32).

Unum facere et aliud non omittere — do one thing and not omit the other. That is the way. — Roberto Carfagni