One cannot have moved much in the world without hearing complaints,
both from parents and young persons, about the amount of time and brain
spent in the learning of languages, and the little profit derived from
this outlay. These complaints, no doubt, arise partly from the want
of judgment on the part of the parents, and the want of capacity and
inclination on the part of their young hopefuls: parents often acting
thoughtlessly on the vulgar notion that far birds have fair feathers,
and preferring what is foreign to what is native, and what lies at a
great distance in time or space to what is near; and young persons
being forced to submit themselves to a grammatical indoctrination in
which they feel no interest, and from which they derive no benefit.
But it is no less true that these complaints are due in no small
measure to false methods of linguistic training generally, or to some
cherished prejudices in favour of certain languages on the part of the
teachers; and it becomes therefore, at the present day, a matter of
great practical importance to inquire how far our traditional methods
of teaching languages are in conformity with the method of Nature in
her great art of thought-utterance, and how far they may justly be
called on to submit themselves to a revision and a reconstitution. We
say at the present day emphatically, because it is quite evident that
education, following in the train of democratic reform, is one of the
watchwords of the hour, to which every good citizen must lend an
obedient ear; and not only so, but circumstances have so changed since
our schooling received its traditional form, that the wants which were
satisfied by our school curriculum and school practice in the days
of Milton and Locke now demand an altogether different treatment. In
particular, the so-called learned languages, two hundred years ago the
only medium of culture to an accomplished English gentleman, have now
become the luxury of the leisurely, or the arsenal of the professional
few, while other languages, such as German, not named in those days,
are now sought after as the keys to the most valuable storehouses of
all sorts of knowledge. Add to this that Great Britain, which was then
a secondary naval power, and following the French and the Spaniards
slowly in the great world-transforming process of colonisation, is now
mistress of a world-wide empire from the Ganges to Vancouver Isle,
through which stretch she exercises a dominant influence, combining
the political virtue of ancient Rome with the commercial activity of
Carthage. In these circumstances it becomes the special duty of every
British man to acquire a familiar knowledge of the languages of the
various races with which he may be brought into political or commercial
relations; and, as languages after all are not valuable in themselves,
but only as tools by which effective work in certain fields falls to
be performed, we ought to see to it, both that we get the proper tools
for doing the work, and that we learn to use them in such fashion as to
work pleasantly and profitably; and in this view it may be truly said
that, while the wrong language in the wrong place is of no use at all,
even the right language in the right place, when imperfectly learned,
is a tool with which the best workman can do only bad work, and perhaps
cut his own fingers in the process.
As language is a function which belongs as much to every normal human
creature as seeing or hearing, there can be no difficulty in finding
out the method of Nature in its acquisition. We have to answer only two
questions: first, What are the factors of the process by which the
human babe, from being capable merely of inarticulate cries, like
any of the lower animals, is developed into an easy and graceful
manipulator of articulate speech? and again, How far, and in what
respects, does this model require to be modified in order to enable
the expert handlers of the mother tongue to use any second or third
language with like expertness? That this cannot be a very difficult
matter demands no far-sought induction to prove, as the fact lies
before us; for from the Greeks in the South-East to the Highlanders
in the North-West we find bilingual and trilingual peoples largely
scattered over Europe. It is in fact as easy to learn two or three
languages as to learn one, if only the learner be habitually submitted
to the natural influences, and guided by the steps of a natural process.
What then, in the first place, are the steps of the process which
analysis presents as elevating the inarticulate babe to the
significant-speaking boy or girl? There is (1) the direct connection
of certain objects with certain sounds and gestures; (2) these objects
are such as stand in the nearest relation to the learner, and are
presented to him in an atmosphere of the most natural and most pleasant
surroundings; (3) the imitative faculty, by which he appropriates the
proper sounds, is encouraged and cherished by frequent repetition, till
the original impression becomes permanently stamped into his soul,
and, so to speak, jumps up spontaneously with the object. Let us, in
the next place, ask how far this child’s linguistic ladder is affected
by the performer being an adult. Manifestly the difference lies only
in one point, and that altogether in favour of the adult, viz. the
application of a regulated system to the accidental sequences by which
the child learns its mother tongue, easily indeed and pleasantly, but
slowly; for he learns not architecturally as a mason builds a house,
but by the way, as one picks up a pebble on the shore or a daisy from
the meadow; whereas the adult, with his firm will and his reasonable
purpose, wishing to learn a language can submit himself to a reasonable
and a calculated treatment; and in so doing experience has shown that
in favourable circumstances, and under wise training, he can learn a
foreign language more perfectly in six months than a child can do in
as many years. Why then, you ask, is this not always done? Why does it
seem such a difficult business to acquire a familiar knowledge of any
foreign language, and why is so much brain and so much time spent so
frequently on their acquisition with such scanty results? The answer
can be only one: because your teacher has ignored the method of Nature,
and given you a bad substitute for it in his own devices; instead of
speaking to you and making you respond, in direct connection of the old
object with the new sound, and thus forming a living bond between the
thinking soul, the perceptive sense, and the significant utterance,
he sends you to a book, there to cram yourself with dead rules and
lifeless formulas about the language, in the middle of which he ought
to have planted you at the start. The evil results of this neglect of
the living model of Nature are only too manifest. Books are useful, but
they are only secondary; in all matters of observation and practical
exercise they may form an apt accompaniment or a supplement, but they
never can supplant the vital function of which they are only the dead
record. No one learns dancing, or fencing, or golf, or lawn-tennis
from a book. The evils caused by this unnatural delegation of the work
of a living teacher to the formulas of a dead book are three: (1) The
direct connection between the reasonable soul and the new articulate
sign of the object is lost; the learner does not shake hands, so to
speak, with the object, but he cumbers himself with the phraseology of
his mother tongue, and instead of saying at once δός μοι ἄρτον, give
me bread, he must first ask what is the Greek for bread. In
this way the new term remains a stranger to his thought, and he uses it
uncomfortably, as when a man puts on a pair of shoes which have only an
occasional acquaintance with his feet. (2) Then again, when, after
being sufficiently tortured with mere grammatical forms, he acquires a
certain vocabulary from the elementary reading books, the objects for
which this vocabulary supplies the new names are seldom the objects
with which he is familiarly surrounded and in which he has a living
interest, but they relate to something Julius Cæsar did in Gaul or
Cicero said in Rome some 2000 years ago, a region of strange sounds,
in which the linguistic neophyte of this nineteenth century has no
particular inclination to move, and to which his memory cannot ally
itself with any feeling of kinship; and he easily forgets the word,
because he does not care for the thing. But (3) even when he does care
for the thing, the mere reading of a lesson every day does not in the
least ensure that frequent repetition of a new vocable in connection
with an object, on which the familiar knowledge of a language depends;
whereas, if the teacher had commenced by making his schoolroom an
echo-chamber of daily repeated sounds in connection with interesting
and familiar objects directly in the view of the learner or near to
his daily life, familiarity with a new language, be it Greek or be
it German, would come as naturally and as pleasantly to a clever lad
of seventeen as the use of the mother tongue to a dainty girl or a
rattling boy of seven.
These things being so, and the method of Nature being so plain in the
matter, we now ask what are the causes that have led so many of our
teachers, even the most accomplished of their class, to neglect so
infallible a guide, and to follow methods of linguistic inculcation
equally unpleasant in the process and unprofitable in the result? These
causes, fortunately, are as patent as the consequences to which they
have led. The first cause is ignorance. In not a few of our educational
institutions it is to be feared there are teachers—an over-worked and
under-paid class—who are employed to teach languages of which they
have only a very superficial knowledge and no firm hold. With persons
of this class the whole process of linguistic training amounts to this,
Read your book, Get your lesson, and I will hear you. Of a
living appeal from the tongue of the teacher and a living response from
the tongue of the learner these gentlemen have no conception. They must
do the most they can, confine themselves within page and chapter of a
printed book, where they require no knowledge beyond the marked limits
of the lesson, and where the scantiness of their linguistic furniture
and the feebleness of their linguistic vitality cannot be exposed.
Let them pass. But what of the men of high accomplishment, exact
scholarship, and fine taste: why should they scorn the practice which
is the foundation of the rules, and the conversation which made great
speeches and great poems before rules or schools were heard of? Simply
because they have forgotten the lesson taught in a well-known dialogue
of Plato,[1]
that the printed papers which we call books, useful for
record, are rather prejudicial than profitable to the culture of
memory; they have become the slaves of their tools, and defrauded the
ear and the tongue of their natural rights in the field of significant
speech by a wholesale transference of their functions to the eyes. The
scholar, in their conception, is a reading animal, and without books
he is nowhere. Why then, they will argue, when our object is to read
and to understand books, should we trouble ourselves with conversation?
We do not learn Latin in order to talk with Cæsar and Cicero, but to
read their books; and in like manner we do not study German to drink
beer and smoke pipes and sing songs with rollicking students in a
kneipe, but to ponder with many-sided thought over the poems of
Goethe or the speculations of Hegel. So be it. Let books and not living
converse be the final end of the study of languages; so they certainly
are with the dead languages; but even with regard to them it is quite
certain that the familiarity and frequent repetition which are the
special virtues of the conversational method both render the mastery of
books, as in the case of the mother tongue, more complete, and the hold
of the printed signature at once more firm in the grasp and more easy
in the approach. But some one will say, Does not speaking in a language
imply thinking in it, and is not thinking in a foreign tongue one of
the most difficult and rare attainments even with the most accomplished
linguists? Not at all. The difficulty lies merely in starting from
the wrong end and following the false direction thus given till it
culminates in the persistency of a bad habit and the imagination of
an impossibility. It is as easy to look the Sun in the face and say
שׁמּשּׁ, Shemish, as to say Sun,
and there is no more difficulty in saying λαβὼν τὸ σκάλευθρον κίνει
τὸ πῦρ, than in saying, take the poker and stir the fire. In
both cases the direct connection of thought, thing, and
word is equally obvious, equally easy, and equally natural; only
at the start the habit of thinking exclusively in the mother tongue
must be broken.
There is one other objection to the conversational method in the
teaching of languages, viz. that it makes a man a parrot. Well, a
parrot is an imitative animal, and so is a man, and so far must not be
ashamed to own his kinship with the plumy prattler. But he is a parrot
and something more; and this something more every sensible teacher will
take into account. For myself, I have no preference for random talk:
my contention is for regulated talk; the talk first and the regulation
afterwards, in the order of gradation so succinctly stated by Lord
Bacon—speaking makes a ready man, reading makes a full man, writing
makes an accurate man;—all the three. But have your nails first
before you pare them; this is the common sense of the matter.
In conclusion, I have a word or two to say with regard to the occasion
and the plan of this little book. In the first place, whatever may
be said of Hebrew or Latin, Greek is a living language, and must be
treated as such even by those who persist in the notion that, while the
method of living vocal appeal applies in its full extent to modern
languages, it is certainly out of place in the treatment of the
two ancient languages which justly claim the first place in the
linguistic culture of our highest schools. The delusion that Greek
is a dead language, springing as it does mainly out of our “insular
ignorance,” as Professor Seeley calls it, and partly, I fear, our
national insolence, will be dispelled in a moment by a glance at any
current Greek newspaper; as for instance the following paragraph, the
first that met my eye, from the 2d November number of the Athenian
“Ἀκρόπολις,” giving a short notice of the application of Koch’s remedy
for consumption.
ΝΕΑ ΚΑΙ ΠΕΡΙΕΡΓΑ.
Ἡ φθίσις ἐν Ρωσσίᾳ.
Ἡ ἀνακάλυψις τοῦ μεγάλου Κὼχ
δίδει ἀφορμὴν εἰς τὰς ρωσσικὰς ἐφημερίδας νὰ ἐξετάσωσι πόσοι εἰσὶν οἱ
πάσχοντες ἐκ τῆς νόσου ταύτης. Ἐκ τῶν 120,000,000 τῶν κατοίκων τῆς
Ρωσσίας, ἂν ὑπολογίσῃ τις μόνον 5 ἐπὶ τοῖς (0)0 πάσχοντας ἐκ φθίσεως,
6,000,000 μόνον Ρῶσσοι ἔχουσι τὴν ἀνάγκην τῆς θεραπείας τοῦ περικλεοῦς
καθηγητοῦ. Ὁ ἀριθμὸς εἶνε μάλιστα ἐν τούτοις ἀκριβής. Ἐν Ρωσσίᾳ καὶ
ἰδίως εἰς τὰ βορειότερα αὐτῆς μέρη ἡ φθίσις κάμνει μεγίστην θραῦσιν.
Ἐν Πετρουπόλει ὡς ἐκ τῆς ἀθλιότητος τοῦ κλίματος καὶ τῆς κακῆς διαίτης
τάξεών τινων τῆς κοινωνίας ἡ φθίσις καταστρέφει φρικωδῶς. Ἑν ταῖς
οἰκίαις ἀπομεμακρυσμένων τινῶν συνοικιῶν, εἰς οἰκίας εἰς ἃ σπανίως
διεισδύει ἀκτὶς ἡλίου βλέπει τις νέας καὶ νέους ὠχροὺς αἱμοπτύοντας καὶ
ἐκεῖ εἰς ἀνήλια δωμάτια ἀναμένοντας τὸν θάνατον. Μειδιάσατε δυστυχεῖς·
ὁ Κῲχ ἐργάζεται ὅπως ἁρπάσῃ ἀπὸ τὰς χεῖρας τοῦ θανάτου ὅλα αὐτὰ τὰ
ἑκατομμύρια τῶν ὑπάρξεων.
Any person who can read classical Greek without a dictionary will have
no difficulty in understanding this passage; and, if he is familiar
with the New Testament in the original, he will find that some of the
principal peculiarities which distinguish the Greek used by the living
political and public men of Athens, so far from being corruptions, are
no less distinctive features of the κοινὴ διάλεκτος of the Greeks now
than they were in the days of the Apostle Paul and the Evangelist John.
But this is not all. It requires only a superficial acquaintance with
the most patent facts of Greek literature to know that some of the
most popular and the most profound teachers of Greek wisdom—Plato,
Aristophanes and Xenophon—use the conversational style. The Greeks,
in fact, were, as they are still, a lively and a talking people, and
Socrates, their greatest name, cannot be better described than as a
talking street preacher of reason and common sense. Well, then, on this
double basis that Greek is a living language, and that the colloquial
style is that in which its highest and best thoughts are expressed;
and knowing, moreover, by large experience, that the most effective
way to get a firm grasp of any language is to begin by speaking it,
some twenty years ago I published a small volume of Greek and English
dialogues,[2]
which I used in my class in as far as it was possible to do so in
such a multitudinous huddlement of untrained lads as the Scottish
Universities, contrary to the practice of all educated nations, admit
into the junior classes of the Faculty of Arts. The little book
came to a second edition; but that it was in anywise generally used
by classical teachers I have no reason to believe, partly because,
of all classes of men, teachers are the most closely wedded to old
bookish habits, and partly because Scotland is not a country to which
the world, governed as it is by authority and by names, would look
for anything worthy of imitation in the Greek line: “Can any good
thing come out of Nazareth?” This, as the world goes, was quite
legitimate, and gave me no concern. But since that time, as a natural
consequence of the great educational movement of the age, some very
distinct voices have come to my ear, to the effect that there is
something radically wrong in our way of dealing with languages, and
that the method of teaching by rules and grammar mainly can no longer
be tolerated. I therefore felt it my duty to appeal a second time to
the public and to teachers on this important matter, the more so that
my little book stood too far apart from the educational attitude of
the teachers, and, if it was to find its way into general school use,
required a more elementary book as an introduction. This elementary
book I now send forth under the title of a Greek Primer, Colloquial
and Constructive, indicating by this title that the lessons in
talking go hand in hand with the grammatical forms naturally educed
from them, each lesson being regulated talk, according to a natural
progression from the more simple to the more complex forms in ordinary
use. This progressive incorporation of the grammar is the feature which
distinguishes the lessons of this introductory book from the dialogues
in its predecessor; and the necessity of having constant reference to
grammatical forms prevented me from giving that unity of subject to the
dialogue as dialogue which belonged to the previous volume.
I have only further to state, with regard to the use of this little
primer in the hands of a teacher, that I have no desire that he should
bind himself slavishly to the text. The scraps of talk that are given
under each lesson are meant to lend him a helping hand in the use
of a new organ; and, to enable both teacher and learner to furnish
themselves with a living vocabulary of Greek words in direct connection
with their daily surroundings, I have added an alphabetical list of the
names of the most familiar objects that belong to the field of life
in town or country where the learner may happen to be. When the young
Hellenist has stamped its Greek designation directly on every object
that meets his eyes, and connected it with some single verb that
belongs to its significance in familiar life, I would then suggest that
the teacher, besides the daily repetition of certain forms of common
conversation, should give a vivâ voce description of pictures
hung on the wall two or three times a week, which the learner shall
be called on to repeat without any written notes; the principle of
the method being always to maintain the direct action of the mind on
the object, through the instrumentality of the new sound, without the
intervention of the mother tongue. As to when, and how far, and in what
kind the usual furniture of elementary books of grammar, reading, and
exercises should go parallel with colloquial practice, this I leave
altogether in the hands of the practised teacher, being well assured
that easy reading and accurate writing, so far from being inconsistent
with, are the natural blossom and the ripe fruit of the root of living
utterance from which I start.
One other matter requires special notice—a matter not necessarily
connected with the colloquial method, but which may be wisely used as
a help. To each lesson I have appended a short list of English words,
either by family affinity, or by direct borrowing, or by indirect
borrowing through the Latin, radically identical with the Greek. The
habit of identifying such words under an English disguise will perform
the double function of facilitating memory and giving a lesson on the
transmutation of sounds and meaning, the tracing of which gives so
peculiar a charm to comparative philology. In Appendix I.
I have added some of the principles on which these transmutations
depend, so far as they are suggested by the words used in the text.
But what of the pronunciation? After what has been shown of the living
continuity of the Greek tongue, from Byzantium downwards to the present
day, there cannot be the slightest doubt that Greek orthoepy should be
treated in the same fashion that the orthoepy of French, German, or any
other living tongue is treated. The pronunciation is ruled by the
practice of the present, not by philological facts or fancies as to the
pronunciation of the past. No doubt, as Heraclitus says, πάντα ῥεῖ,
all things flow, as in the universe, so in language, there is
no fixation—there is always change. But the changes which take place
in living languages, like English or Greek, are of a very different
kind from those which take place when a language like Latin becomes
dead, and rises to a new life in the form of such specific varieties
as Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese. They are of the nature of a
normal growth, and are at all events only exaggerations or expansions
of a native tendency. To such exaggerations every spoken language is
subject, and few more than our insular English, as any one may see who
will compare the accentuation of English in the time of Chaucer with
the orthoepy of the present hour. But in respect of accents at least
Greek has been far more conservative than English, so much so indeed
that the accentual marks placed on Greek words by the Alexandrian
grammarians two hundred and fifty years before Christ, in the practice
of the Greek Church and the Greek people still indicate the same
dominance of voice on the accented syllable that the Athenian ear
recognised as classic in the orations of Demosthenes and the apostolic
eloquence of St. Paul. There can therefore be no greater barbarism than
to disown this legitimate music of Greek speech, as is done both in
England and Scotland, when we pronounce ἀγαθὸς ὁ θεός, like Latin or
English, ἄγαθος ὁ θέος; not to mention the staring absurdity and loss
of brain implied in the practice of the great English schools of first
pronouncing the word with a false accentuation, and then stultifying
the daily practice of the ear by learning a rule to say where the
accent ought to have been placed! Nothing could more distinctly show
the falseness of our habit of flinging the burden of learning languages
on formulas of the understanding and leaving the living organ of
linguistic practice altogether out of account. Therefore, by all means,
either drop the accents out of the grammar, or use them whenever you
give the written word voice in the air. As to the quantity of the
vowels, which is the stumbling block with most English scholars,
we have no lack of words, even in our own unmusical English, such
as lándholder, in which, as in the Greek ἄνθρωπος, the
antepenultimate has the rising inflexion, while the penult is long;
and if the modern Greeks pronounce ἄνθρωπος as if written ἄνθροπος,
that is only a natural curtailment of the unaccented syllable which
lies in the nature of human speech, and will be found exemplified
more or less in all languages. As to the vocal value of the separate
vowels and consonants, this, no doubt, is a point in some cases of
considerable difficulty; but it is quite certain that a, both
in Latin and Greek, has the broad sound as in Italian and Scotch, not
the sound of the English in pātent, that ι is the most slender
of the vowel sounds, not the broad semi-diphthongal sound of the
English in prime or sigh, that ου has the soft sound of
oo in boom, not the bow-wow sound of ou
as in howl; also that αι in all probability was pronounced
as in the English vain, not as in the German Kaiser.
On the whole matter of pronunciation, however, the English scholar
should bear in mind that the poetry of the ancients was composed on
musical principles, with a strict regard to the quantitative value
of the vowel on which the rhythmical accent fell, a practice which
necessarily caused the spoken accent to be dropped in verse, or very
much subordinated; and again, if his ear should happen to be very much
offended by the predominance of the slender sound of ι in the familiar
πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης of Homer, there is no reason why he should not
adopt a special vocalisation for the reading of the Greek poets, just
as we in our reading of Chaucer must constantly put a final accent on
words that, if applied to the spoken tongue, would render the speaker
either ridiculous or unintelligible. But in whatever fashion the
teacher of Greek in this country may choose to settle this delicate
point, the matter of pronunciation has nothing radically to do with the
great principle of linguistic practice which this little book
inculcates. To start with the practice of speaking will facilitate
the acquisition of a new language under any system of pronunciation;
only this must distinctly be said, that the scholar who has learned to
read Greek with a vocalisation and an accentuation invented by himself
for himself has deliberately cut himself off from all intelligible
communion with the people whose literary tradition he values so highly,
and with whom to maintain a familiar intercourse, both in a political
and a literary point of view, should be no secondary consideration with
the wise.
In conclusion, I have great pleasure in returning thanks to the learned
Hellenists who kindly undertook the task of revising the proofs of
this little work as they came from the press, viz. Mr. Hardie, Balliol
College, Oxford; Principal Geddes, Aberdeen; Principal Donaldson, St.
Andrews; and Mr. Gardiner, Edinburgh Academy; and if I have not in
every instance taken advantage of their suggestions, it is because on
principle I have no sympathy with the nice sensibility which refuses
the stamp of classicality to all forms and idioms unsanctioned by the
usage of Attic writers, preferring to float my skiff freely on the
great Catholic Greek of all ages, from Plato to Polybius, from Polybius
to Chrysostom, and from Chrysostom to Thereianos and Paspati.
Edinburgh, April 1891.