PASSING NOTES

Otago Daily Times, Issue 22628, 20 July 1935, Page 6

PASSING NOTES

Said Samuel Lover’s Hand/ Andy, “ When the itch of litherature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen.” True as this is of writers hero, there and everywhere, the scratching of an itch to speak is an even more imperative necessity. For what other earthly reason did Mr Lanshury, British Labour leader, addressing last week an audience of Essex Social-, ists, advocate the “ calling of a new World Economic Conference to consider the Italian and Gorman claims to a place in the sun”? And, since all kinds of charity should begin at home, Mr Lansbury went on to say:

Britain as a controller of large unoccupied territories must announce her willingness to share territories and markets with the rest of the

world. Vicarious charity being a Socialist doctrine, popular at all times, the Essex Socialists no doubt applauded. For “ Socialism in our time,” with a forcible, equal distribution of other people’s property, is as applicable to nations as to men—that is, just as applicable. Thus is the Little Englander of last century, whom we had thought dead and buried, redivivus in Mr George Lansbury. Sublime is Mr Lansbury’s faith in the efficacy of world conferences, where nations would meet and voluntarily strip themselves of coat and collar, shirt and trousers, out of brotherly love to a needy or greedy neighbour. As Tom Paine said over a century ago, the sublime and the ridiculous are So closely related that it is difficult to class them separately. No “ scrambling at the shearers’ feast,” with Britain as a shorn and naked sheep, would equal the rush of nations to their share of Australia and Canada, New Zealand and Rhodesia, Fiji and Stewart Island. To describe the final fate of Britain herself, what better can we do than quote Samuel Pepys? I went out to Charing Cross to see Major-general Harrison hanged, drawn, and quartered, which was done there, he looking as cheerful as any man could do in that condition.

Of all the traps of reasoning laid for the feet of the unwary speaker or listener, argument by analogy is surely the most insidious. The speaker who uses it is either naively ingenuous, or is gaily and cynically laying a trap for the many wood-cocks among his listeners. For it is a recognised logical fallacy to deduce from one set of circumstances or from one sphere of Nature a sequence of facts relating exclusively to another. Election speeches are therefore full of it, mid naturally the Lyttelton by-elec-tion cannot do without it. What, for example, has a dose of strychnine to do with our New Zealand high exchange? The Nationalist candidate, twitted with having'condemned inflation while at the same time he had justified the increase In the exchange to its present level, said at Redcliffs:

Well, let me compare this form of mild inflation to the action of strychnine. You all know that a mild dose of strychnine is sometimes given to stimulate a patient's heart, and you all know what effect a large dose of strychnine would have on that patient’s heart. The exchange in He effect is much the same. The raising of the exchange, a mild form of infla-' tion, was necessary to stimulate this country’s economic system. I scarcely need to tell you the effect of Labour’s guaranteed price plan, which would raise, the exchange by 250 per cent. It would be fatal to our economic system. Ingenious, and true in parts. But as an argument it is merely a rhetorical inexactitude founded on metaphor.

Examples of analogies presented as argument vary from the jesting of the wit to the sober earnestness of the election speaker. Someone has said, “ Money is like muck, not good unless it is spread.” But most examples have not the saving grace of humour. One writer, in full sobriety of argument, says: “ The metropolis is like the heart of the country, and therefore must not Increase while the country does not increase; and when the heart of the country ceases to beat, the country must cease to exist.” Still worse is the example often quoted: The Government is playing the part of a man entrusted with the work of guarding a door beset by enemies. He refuses to let them in at once, but provides them with a large bag of gold, and at the same time hands them out a crowbar amply strong enough to break down the door. That is the Government’s idea of preserving the Union and safeguarding the integrity of the United Kingdom. This, of course, is the usual method of argument of the political or social cartoonist. A useful exercise would it be to a student, and an excellent intellectual training, to reduce a political cartoon to a logical syllogism. The unhappy student would often find himself staggered by the major premise, bewildered by tho minor, and flabbergasted by the conclusion. Yet tho cartoonist goes on his way rejoicing, having made his point notwithstanding, throwing his triumph in your very face, and dragging even from the fallacy-hunter a reluctant agreement. Such is the power of the pictorial that a cartoon may leave cold print or speech laps behind in the race. It casts an image on the mental retina which Ungers long after print or speech have passed into the limbo of forgotten things. Tims fallacy may go- on triumphant.

“ The nations of Europe are drifting towards English as the international language of the world, for it is so easy to learn.” So said Mr Paul Thorwall, of Finland, at the recent annual conference of Rotary Clubs of Great Britain and Ireland:

We want a living common language, one with a literature, one in which we can make love and one in which we can swear, a language full of emotion. . . . The best language in the world that does not speak is the friendly wag of a dog’s tail. . . . On the Continent we have come to the conclusion that it is no use learning an auxiliary or scientific language unless the great nations of the world teach it in their schools.

So imperious has become the need for a universal language that the world can no longer do without it. Herein are we far behind the much maligned Middle Ages. In those days the ideal was realised in Latin. Mediaeval scholars were international, and there was Freetrade in learning. Erasmus, the Dutchman, was as much at home as secretary to a French bishop as tutor to the son of the King of Scotland, as professor of Greek and Divinity at Cambridge, and as a D.D. of Bologna, as he was in his native Dutch-speaking city of Rotterdam. His theological controversies with the German Luther were in Latin. But in modern times Latin has fallen from its high estate to be an examination grind. For present-day conversational ’purposes it is not adaptable. How express in Latin an “ eightcylinder Rolls-Royce,” a “ stream-lined Chevrolet,” a “ Labour caucus,” or a “ totalisator dividend ” ?

Recent attempts to replace Latin by an artificial auxiliary language have had little or no success. In 1880 appeared Volapuk; in 1887, Esperanto; next, an improved Volapuk; next Ido, an improved Esperanto. In 1003 we had a llcxionless Latin —a windfall both for Dominec Jones and young Smith minor. Then came Novial, a scholarly invention by (he Danish Professor Jespcrsen, who specialises in English grammar. Novial is the easiest tiling imaginable. My chief objection to it is contained in the following extract in Novial, which I quota as a test ®f

the reader’s ability, education, alert ness, astuteness, literary taste, common sense and gumption. I read it myself quite easily. Un objectione kel on audi tre ofte fro linguistes e altres es disi; even si omni teranes vud lerna un sami lingue, !i uneso vud bald desapan e diversi lingues vud existeska, saminam kam li romanali lingues blid producte per li disfalo di latinum.

Latest and best of all is “ Basic English ’’—English reduced to an irreducible minimum, and simplified to suit any intelligence. But let no one think that even a universal language will be an end to all our difficulties. Language will always have its pitfalls. A famous German statesman at a League of Nations assembly, feeling unwell one day, was offered a glass of wine by an English colleague: “This will soon set you up.” A few hours later the German said to the Englishman, “ Yes, sir, as you promised, the wine has quite upset me.” A polite Frenchman, impressed one day by the weighty arguments of an Englishman, congratulated him on his “ heavy ” utterance.

The use of the word “protagonist” in the sense of “champion,” “defender,” “ advocate ” is growing in frequency and heinousnese. The Pacific Relations speaker on Saturday evening used it wrongly when he spoke of “ the protagonists of Japan ” and " the protagonists of China.” Unfortunate is it that in “ protagonist ” and “ antagonist ” we have a pair of words so naturally associated in meaning, presenting the common but mistaken contrast of “pro” (for) and “anti” (against). In “ protagonist ” the’ Greek prefix is not “pro” (for) but “protos” ; first). The Greek “ protagonistes ” was the actor who took the chief part i.i the play. And figuratively it may be applied to the most conspicuous personage in any enterprise, movement, cause, or struggle. The second and third parts were taken by the “ deuteragonist ’’ and the “ tritagonist.” “ Protagonist ” therefore cannot be used as a mere synonym for “ advocate.” nor can it be used in the plural. Examples of these erroneous uses quoted by authorities are: Unlike a number of the leading protagonists in the Home Rule fight, Sir Edward Carson was not in Parliament when ... It presents a spiritual conflict, centred about its two chief protagonists, but shared in by all its charThe protagonists in the drama, which has the motion and structure

( of a Greek tragedy, are . . . The last quoted example, proudly displaying its Greek erudition is—web, uie less said about it the better.

A correspondent, presumably hailing from that excellent part of the world’s metropolis lying east of Bow Bells, forwards the following cutting here abridged: An Englishman who knew 64 languages, but who had been ouif of his country only once in the 77 years of his lifetime, has died in London. He was Father William Kent, a Roman Catholic priest, who for nearly 54 years had been attached to the Church of St. Mary of the Angels, Westmoreland road, Bayswater. . , . He was not unduly proud of his knbwledge. “ There are thousands of languages, and I know only 54 of them,” he modestly remarked when he was 73. . , Father Kent was fond of maintaining that Cockney English was often better than the more educated type, “In every language in the world except English," he said, ‘ the vowel sound ‘ai ’ is pronounced i, So it should be; and when the Cockney talks about the mile trine ho ie perfectly right.”

“Mile trine’’ for “mail train” Is an example astutely chosen. But quite another pair of shoes is the Cockney “he mide a spide ” for “he made a spade,” or “ tike some cike ” for “ take some cake.” The vowel “ai ” was pronounced in English by Chaucer, Shakespeare, ' Milton and Dryden as the modern Cockney pronounces it. But the same Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, and Dryden pronounced the vowel “a” of “spade,” “made,” “take,” “cake” as "a” in “father,” changing to “a” in “mad.” And “every language in the world,” despite Father Kent, does not pronounce' “ai ” ah “ i.” French does it never, except before an “ 1.” .If then, from the standpoint of Father Kent, a pronunciation is more “ correct ” the closer it is to the speech of Chaucer. Shakespeare, Dryden, or King Alfred, Cockney English may be right here and there, but in most cases it is as wrong as wrong can be, and the “ worst ” dialect in English. < Cxvis.