THE INGENIOUS
LANGUAGEINTRODUCTION
The sea burns the masks;
the salt sets them on fire.
Men and all their masks
blaze up on the shore.
You alone will outlive
the conflagration of Carnival.
You alone, unmasked, conceal
the art by which we live.
âGIORGIO CAPRONI, from Chronicle
It is âstrangeââvery strangeâwrites Virginia Woolf, âthat we should wish to know Greek, try to know Greek, feel for ever drawn back to Greek, and be for ever making up some notion of the meaning of Greek, though from what incongruous odds and ends, with what slight resemblance to the real meaning of Greek, who shall say.â Strange because âin our ignorance we should be at the bottom of any class of schoolboys, since we do not know how the words sounded, or where precisely we ought to laugh.â
Iâm strange tooâvery strange.
And Iâm grateful for that strangeness, which has led me to write this book about ancient Greek, having had no plan toâand no plan is always the best plan. I pushed myself not only to increase my knowledge of Greek, but also to talk about it.
To you. From the bottom of the class (naturally) to this; but at least now I have an idea about where precisely we ought to laugh.
Dead language and living language.
Bane of high-school students and adventures of Ulysses.
Translation and hieroglyph.
Comedy and tragedy.
Understanding and misunderstanding.
Most of all, love and hate.
Revolt, then.
Coming to understand Greek is like learning how to live your life: not a question of talent but of determination.
I have written these pages because I fell in love with Greek when I was a young girl. That makes it the longest romance of my life, when all is said and done.
Now that I am a grown woman, I would like to try to kindle (or rekindle) the romance in those who fell out of love with it, in all those who encountered this language for adults when they were just kids in a classroom. Iâd even like to make sparks fly in those who have no previous knowledge of the language.
This book is about love: love for a language and, more importantly, for the human beings who speak it. Or, if no one speaks it anymore, for those who study it either because they are forced to or because they find themselves irresistibly drawn to it.
It does not matter if you know ancient Greek or not. There are no exams or pop quizzes attached to this book, though there are surprises. Loads of them.
Nor does it matter whether you studied the classics in school. All the better if you didnât. Should I succeed in guiding you through the labyrinth of Greek on the wings of my imagination, youâll arrive at the end of this journey with new ways of thinking about the world and your lifeâwhatever language you use to articulate them.
If you did study it, even better. Should I manage to answer the questions youâve never asked or that you never had answered, maybe when youâre done reading this youâll have recovered parts of yourself that you lost growing up and studying Greek without really understanding why, and maybe those parts will turn out to be useful to you now.
In either case, these pages are a way for you and me to take a crack at thinking in ancient Greek.
Over the course of our lives, all of us encounter Greek and the Greeks at one time or another. Some of us with our legs tucked under a school desk, others while watching a tragedy or comedy unfold at the theater, others still in the cool white corridors of the worldâs many museumsâin each case, what it actually meant to be Greek is no more vivid and alive to us than a marble statue.
Sooner or later, each one of us is told, âEverything beautiful and unparalleled that has been said or done in the world was said or done by the ancient Greeks first.â And, therefore, said or done in ancient Greek. Told may be the wrong word, since, at least if you grew up anywhere in Europe, for more than two millennia this idea has been embedded under our skin and in our minds.
Almost no one has direct knowledge of ancient Greek; the one thing we can be certain of is that there are no more ancient Greeks who speak ancient Greek. We have only heard that it was spoken and never heard the language itself. Thatâs how things have stood for centuries.
Meaning, this apparent Greek cultural inheritance has been generously handed down to us by an ancient race that we donât understand in an ancient language we donât understand.
How extraordinary.
It is terrible to be told you must love a subject that you donât understand; you immediately hate the subject.
The sight of the Parthenon marbles or the Greek Theater of Syracuse fills us with pride, as if these ancient Greek relics were the work of our ancestors, of our distant great-great-great grandparents. We like to imagine them under the sun on some island, busy inventing philosophy or history, or attending a tragedy or comedy at a theater on the side of a hill, or admiring the starry sky at night and discovering science and astronomy.
Yet deep down we always feel like weâre on shaky ground, as if we were being tested on something quite foreign to us, as if we had forgotten some important chapter on ancient Greece. And that chapter that now seems foreign to us is the Greek language.
âA Greek,â writes Nikos Dimou in all his unhappy glory, âa strange, absurd, tragic moment in the history of humanity.â
Not only do we approach our ancient Greek cultural inheritance as a dispossessed, ill-equipped people, but if we try to claim a shred of what âGreeknessâ has handed down to us, we become victims of a backwards and obtuse education system (in my âbottom of the classâ opinion, which, after this book, might earn me an F and expulsion).
The classics, at least as theyâre taught in Italy, appear to have no other goal than to keep the Greeks and their Greek as inaccessible as possible, high up on Olympus, mute, glorious, and clouded by a reverential awe that often turns into divine terror and very earthly desperation.
Current teaching methods, with the exception of those practiced by a handful of enlightened teachers, guarantee that anyone who dares to approach Greek will hate the language rather than love it. The result is total surrender before a heritage that we no longer want to know, because as soon as we bump up against it, our confusion has us running for our lives. Most of us set fire to the ships behind us as soon as weâve fulfilled our course requirements.
Many readers will shudder to recall their fear and exertion, their anger and frustration with ancient Greek, and recognize their own struggles in mine. Yet this book was written with the conviction that it makes no sense to know something that you donât remember, especially after five-plus years of sweat and tears.
This book is not, therefore, your conventional guide to ancient Greek. It is neither descriptive nor prescriptive. It makes no claims to be academic (that breed of book has been around for millennia).
Sure, it does demand passion and a willingness to be challenged. Itâs a literary (not literal) tale about a few particular aspects of the magnificent and elegant ancient Greek languageâits concise, explosive, ironic, open-ended modes of expression, whichâletâs be honestâwe unconsciously pine for.
Whatever youâve been told (and more importantly not told), ancient Greek is first and foremost a language.
Every language, and every word of that language, functions to paint a world. And that world is your own. It is thanks to language that you can formulate an idea, give voice to a feeling, communicate how youâre doing, express a desire, listen to a song, write a poem.
In an age where weâre all connected to something and almost never to someone, where words have given way to emojis and other modern-day pictograms, in this increasingly precipitous world where reality is so virtual that we now broadcast our daily lives as we live them, we no longer understand one another, not in deed and not in word.
Language, or whatâs left of it, is becoming boring. How many of you have placed a call today, I mean actually dialed a number to hear a human voice, for love? When was the last time you wrote a letter, I mean actually put pen to paper and licked a stamp?
With every hour, the gulf between the meaning of a word and how it is interpreted grows in direct proportion to our regrets and failures, as do our misunderstandings and silences. We are slowly losing the ability to speak a languageâany language. The ability to understand and make ourselves understood. To put complex things into plain, honest, simple words. Abilities ancient Greek had in spades.
It might seem strange (I said at the outset I was strange) but reading this book about Greek could come in handy for your daily lives (and not just on the occasion of some long overdue class assignment; leave it to life to take care of that). Yes, I mean that ancient Greek. Approached fearlessly (and with a healthy dose of folly), G...