Category: Languages

Yesterday there was a caller on the show who wanted to know about finding the Our Father in Aramaic. I mentioned that it’s found in the Pshitta, an Aramaic translation of Scripture, and it’s also available online. Unfortunately, the address of the site I had was too long, so I promised to put it up on the blog this morning.

Unfortunately, after the show, a closer inspection of the site showed it to be kooky to the extreme. The translation they gave of the Aramaic into English was completely wrong, so I decided just to print the text of the Lord’s Prayer in Aramaic.

First, though, here’s an audio file of it (.wav format):

LISTEN.

After doing a little digging around, I found the following nice image, which contains the prayer in English and the Aramaic alphabet, with an Aramaic pronounciation also. Bear in mind that the English and the Aramaic pronunciation runs left-to-right, while the Aramaic script itself runs right-to-left.

Also bear in mind that the pronunciation the prayer is given in Aramaic will vary from one group of speakers to another, based on accent. For example, the first word of the Lord’s prayer in Aramaic is Abun, which will be pronounced by some groups as "Ah-boon," others as "Ah-woon," and still others (as in the transliteration below) as "Ah-voon."

Click to enlarge.

One word of warning about the above: What’s on the Aramaic transliteration line doesn’t always match up to exactly what’s on the English line. Because of word division and length, the lines don’t match up exactly. For example, on the third line from the bottom in the Aramaic column, you’ll see the word Malkutha ("Mal-koo-tha"), which means "Kingdom," but Kingdom is on the fourth line from the bottom in the English column.

I can’t go through the whole prayer line by line right now, but some folks might find it interesting to understand a little of how the language works.

The prayer is often called the Abun Dbashmaya in Aramaic, which are its first two words. This is similar to the way we call it the Our Father after it’s first two words. But in Aramaic "Abun Dbashmaya" means more than just "Our Father."

The "Our Father" part of it is just the first word: Abun. As you know, one of the Aramaic words for "father" (there are actually several variants) is Abba, which is just spelled ABA in Aramaic (it being understood that the B reduplicates in pronunciation).

In Aramaic, pronouns often take the form of suffixes on the ends of words, and the suffix -un is a pronoun suffix that means "our." When you stick -un on Abba, you get "Abun," meaning "Our Father."

The Aramaic word for "heaven" is shmaya, and you can see that in the second word of the prayer. The prefix b- (sometimes followed by a vowel, sometimes not) is the Aramaic equivalent of "in" (remember the in/on discussion we had recently?), so bashmaya means "in heaven." And the prefix d- is the Aramaic equivalent of "who," "which," or "that." Dbashmaya thus means "who (is) in heaven." (Aramaic sometimes omits the verb "to be," as it does here.)

Thus you can see how "Abun dbashmaya" translates as "Our Father, who art in heaven."

Cool, huh?

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SDG here with an important public service announcement:

Please Note:

1. Prophecy is a noun — not a verb. It is pronounced "prof-e-see" — not "prof-e-sigh."

2. Prophesy is a verb — not a noun. It is pronounced "prof-e-sigh" — not "prof-e-see."

3. Prophesize, also spelled prophecize, is not a word. Do not pronounce it.

Thank you.

(P.S. Feel free to note additional public service announcement in the combox.)

I’m seeking someone who speaks Latin well to help me out on something.

As part of an effort to be of service to the broader Catholic community, I’m trying to translate a number of documents that generally aren’t available in English and that aren’t likely to receive an official translation.

What I need, though, is someone to look over my shoulder and nitpick what I’m doing, because I want the translations to be as good as possible.

This AIN’T a secret project, though, so I can tell you exactly what I’m doing:

At the moment, I’ve got a translation I did of the old Rite of Excommunication and Absolution, by which a bishop would impose and rescind the sentence of anathema on a person.

It seemed to me that translating the rite would provide a tangible demonstration that a lot of what you hear about the meaning of anathemas is simply wrong. They aren’t sentences to hell. They aren’t things that take effect automatically. They were a special kind of excommunication that had to be applied with a special ceremony by the bishop and that were meant to prompt repentence (so they were lifted when the person repented). As a result, they almost never were applied to Protestants since Protestants made no pretense of being part of the Catholic community. When Trent said things like, "If anyone says X, let him be anathema" that meant basically "If anyone claiming to be Catholic says X then let him be ceremonially excommunicated" not "We hereby damn all Protestants to hell."

So it seems to me that this document would be a useful thing to have in English but, because it’s no longer used as the penalty of anathema has been abolished in canon law (Surprise! Anathemas also no longer exist!) it’s not likely to get officially translated by anybody.

So I did it.

It’s about 1400 words long in Latin and a similar (slightly longer) number of words in English. I’ve got it in a Word-readable document with the Latin and English in facing columns, lined up so that it’s easy to read one paragraph in Latin and then the same thing in English.

If you have significant Latin skills and would be willing to nitpick the translation for me, I’d really appreciate it!

Also, this is a one-time deal without a long-term commitment. I won’t come bugging you to nitpick future documents I translate.

Thanks much, and lemme know by combox or e-mail if you’d be willing to help!

According to the Washington Times:

Senate Minority Leader Harry Reid called a proposal to make English the official language "racist" on the Senate floor [Thursday].

"This amendment is racist. I think it’s directed basically to people who speak Spanish," the Democrat said during the already tense debate over immigration reform.

Moments later, the Senate approved the measure on a 63-34 vote. Virtually all Republicans were joined by 11 Democrats to approve the largely symbolic amendment. Immediately following that vote, the Senate approved a second amendment, declaring on a 58-39 vote that English is the "common and unifying language."

It comes as little surprise that as the Senate head of a party specializing in identity politics, Senator Reid would attempt to play the race card to get his way in Congress, but isn’t this particular card getting rather worn?

There was a time–in the wake of the Civil Rights Movement and the numerous injustices that it served to correct–that the accusation of racism was a potent thing, and playing the race card could be a powerful instrument for altering the state of a discussion.

But the race card has been played so often–and so inaccurately–that it’s getting rather worn and easy to spot as part of a political bluff (to keep with the card playing metaphor for a moment).

False accusations of racism have been made so frequently (as, for example, by Congresswoman Cynthia McKinney) that the potency of the racism charge is diluting. People no longer reflexivly assume that when the charge is made that it must be based on truth because those making the allegation have so over-used it that the situation has begun to resemble "The Boy Who Cried ‘Wolf!’"

Particularly noteworthy is Sen. Reid’s accusation that a move to declare English the official language of the nation to be "racist" on the grounds that it is "directed basically to people who speak Spanish."

For a speaker of contemporary, 21st century English, this may leave one scratching one’s head: "What does race have to do with language? They’re completely separate. People of any race can speak any language that they choose to learn. This charge makes no sense."

It would have made a little more sense in the 18th century, when the term "race" still had more of its original meaning, which was to refer to a family, tribe, culture, or nation, such that one could speak of "the English race" or "the French race" or "the German race" or "the Spanish [meaning: ‘from Spain’] race," but that usage has been virtually lost from contemporary English.

As a result of the history of racism in the English-speaking world, the term "race" has changed to refer in normal speech to particular genetic backgrounds associated principally with skin color.

Given that change in meaning, language simply has nothing to do with race because people of every genetic background have the same basic language genes and can speak any language they choose to learn. Saying, "In this country the official language is English (or Spanish or Mandarin or Swahili or Arabic or Hebrew or Russian or what have you)" has nothing to do with a person’s genes and thus has nothing to do with race. 

People of every race can speak every language, as illustrated by the fact that there are already millions of Americans of every race who are native English speakers.

Now, you’ll note something interesting about the 18th century use of the word "race": in examples like "the English race," "the French race," "the German race," and so on the distinguishing terms ("English," "French," "German") are also the names of languages.

There’s a very good reason for that: Language is one of the most fundamental aspects of culture–arguably the most fundamental aspect of culture–and so people who are members of a common nation and its culture tend to share a common language.

It is not easy to maintain a nation that does not share a common language. If you don’t believe that, look at Canada.

If people don’t share a common language then from an important perspective they simply aren’t part of the same culture because they can’t talk to each other and thus can’t participate to any significant degree in common cultural life.

Nations that don’t have a common language thus fail to have a common culture. What they have instead are different, sharply-defined cultures within them which are separated by linguistic barriers. This leads to friction between the language communities and to identity politics.

Sen. Reid’s refusal to endorse the idea of English as the common language in America thus would have the tendency to foster more identity politics and more friction between groups in American society.

Whether you want to call that "racism" or not, it’s something that we don’t need.

A reader writes:

A few quick questions:

1)  Is the only difference between classical latin and ecclesiastical latin the pronunciation?

No. Ecclesiastical Latin also has vocabulary that classical Latin doesn’t (esp. biblical and theological terms). The grammar and syntax are also a little different. For example, ecclesiastical Latin has a tendency to use prepositions where classical Latin would rely on cases alone. This makes ecclesiastical Latin easier for English-speakers since we are used to using prepositions rather than cases.

2)  I know there are at least three different versions of the Vulgate floating around currently . . . is there a particular version/edition you recommend? I checked out a version of the Vatican’s edition of the ‘Nova Vulgata’ and it has absolutely no footnotes, introductions, etc., so I’m looking for something a bit different . . .

I’m afraid that I don’t have a special recommendation, here. I tend to use the Neo-Vulgate because it’s available for free, in electronic form, on the Vatican’s web site. (HERE.) I’ve seen a nice edition of the Vulgate NT with the Greek NT on the facing page, but with my preference for electronic formats (makes it easier when I’m writing), I haven’t bothered getting one. (And, unfortunately, I don’t have the name of it, though Googling should turn it up.)

3)  Similar question for the Septuagint . . . what edition should I pick up?

Same kind of answer as before. I don’t really have a recommendation. Almost any edition of the Septuagint will suffice for most purposes. Unless you’re doing someting of a scholarly nature, it really doesn’t matter which edition of the Vulgate or the Septuagint you use. Neither are original-language versions of the Bible, and if you’re just wanting them for language study or personal Bible study or for writing non-academic articles then any edition will work well.

Readers are welcome to share their favorite editions in the combox, though.

Down yonder some folks were asking about a Latin equivalent for "please" and someone wrote:

Doesn’t Latin have "amabo te"? That’s what I learned, anyhow…

Another person then wrote:

This subject was discussed before on JA.O, and I also asked about "amabo te." I think Jimmy said it wasn’t really used that much.

I don’t recall saying that "amabo te" isn’t used much, though that’s certainly true in prayers. One reason why may be that–I am given to understand–"amabo te" is considered distinctive of women’s speech, but most prayers in Church historically have been lead by and composed for men.

The fundamental thing, though, is that "amabo te" is not a particle, the way "please" is. "Amabo te" is an idiomatic phrase used to express entreaty, but not a particle of entreaty. Literally, "amabo te" means "I will love you."

Every language has ways of expressing entreaty, but in some languages (like English) we have a particle we do it with and in other languages (like Latin) they have a phrase (or other devices) they do it with.

Also, I don’t know that it’s a very Christian sentiment to use "amabo te" in prayers.

I for one would feel *even less polite* saying to God "I will love you if you do this for me" or "Do this for me and I will love you."

I want to love God whether he does it for me or not.

To a native Latin speaker "amabo te" might possibly have lost its literal resonance (the way "roll out the red carpet" has lost its literal resonance for most native English speakers), but I’m not a native Latin speaker, and putting "amabo te" in prayers I say in Latin would totally call attention to its literal meaning in my mind.

Translating it literally into English prayers would be even worse.

Actually, I’m not wild about either "truthiness" or "Cruisazy."

"Podcast," however, deserves recognition.

And "sudoku" is likely to have legs.

"Pope squatting" may also come back to haunt us some day.

WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT?

(CHT to the reader who e-mailed.)

Michelle here.

Last week my brother-in-law found some time to install the DVD player he and my sister gave me last Christmas — which goes to show you that I’m no techno-geek, since it had to sit on my couch for nearly a year. Delighted to finally have DVD capability, I went out and bought three seasons worth of I Love Lucy (Seasons One, Four, and Five), my all-time favorite TV show.

When I put in Season One for my own personal I Love Lucy marathon, I was frustrated to find that most of the episodes were subtitled in Spanish. I was even more frustrated that Ricky Ricardo’s famous Spanish rages were not translated into English, but that’s another story. Since I couldn’t figure out how to turn off the subtitles, I assumed that they were standard to the set and decided to tolerate them.

Once I did, I started to notice something interesting.

I am not especially well-versed in Spanish, having only taken three years in high school and nothing since, but I can read a bit of it unassisted and recognize some more if put side-by-side with English. What I found fascinating during my viewing of I Love Lucy was seeing how English was translated into Spanish. Being fluent in English (I hope) and knowing enough Spanish to recognize translations, I found that a lot was lost in translation.

Some examples:

• English colloquialisms apparently did not have exact translations. When the English-speaker would say "Easy!" while moving something, the translation into Spanish would be "Careful!" or "With caution." The meaning of the colloquialism was captured, but not a translation.
• A whole range of English versions of "okay" would have one Spanish translation: "Bien."
• The subtleties of language, which were sometimes used to humorous effect, were lost. Comical alliterations like "tubby trio" and "flabby foursome" could not be recaptured once they were translated.

All of this made up for the annoyance of subtitles that were not needed. Eventually, after fiddling around with the DVD remote, I finally figured out how to turn off the subtitles. But the translational game was so much fun I may turn them on again in the future to see if I can catch more translational glitches.