Is Latin a Dead Language?

As someone who has studied Latin for eight years (and Ancient Greek for four years), I have often heard people ask about Latin, “Isn’t that a dead language?”

My favorite response is to say, “Ego autem Latine dicere possum.”

All joking aside, I wish to provide a serious and thorough answer to this question.

In total, I see that there are three ways to respond:

  1. No, Latin isn’t really dead.
  2. Latin is dead in some sense, but that’s beside the point.
  3. I agree that Latin is dead, but that’s actually the point.


Latin is typically treated as simply the language of the ancient Romans; but that’s only about a tenth (1/10) of the whole story.

Latin was a literary and scholarly language in Western Europe for many centuries, through till the 20th century. Learning Classical Latin gives you the ability to read, in the original language, the stories, poems and speeches of the ancient Romans; the writings of medieval authors from Abelard to Einhard to Aquinas; and after medieval times, the scientific inquiries of the likes of Sir Isaac Newton. The more recent abandonment of Latin as the language of literature and scholarship in the West is hardly more than a tiny glitch in an otherwise perennial tradition. It may even be possible that Latin will make its return to Western culture in a few centuries.

Latin was also the language of unity in Western Europe, from the days of the Roman Empire through till the beginning of the so-called ‘Enlightenment’ in the 18th and 19th centuries. Much official political business was conducted in Latin. Any document whose author had an international audience was often written in Latin. I could go on…

Lastly, Latin is the language of the Roman Catholic Church. Mass celebrated in the Roman Rite was always celebrated mostly if not entirely in Latin until the early 1970’s. Latin is still used in many official documents and proceedings by the Catholic Church, and is the official language of Vatican City. Although it is not commonly spoken in day-to-day conversation, the Latin tongue still gets used today; and so, Latin is alive in some sense.


Latin is, indeed, no longer a living, spoken language; it does not have a coherent community of living native speakers with an unbroken common lineage (genetic, cultural, or otherwise) traceable to the beginning of the language itself. (In other words: if I get married, have a baby girl, and raise her bilingual in Latin and English, then that one native speaker would not be enough to make Latin a living language; and if a dozen other families scattered throughout North America do the same thing, it still would not make Latin a living language.)

But, as stated above, studying Latin connects you to a set of cultural and literary traditions whose history spans well over two millennia. Latin is one of the few languages in the entire world wherein studying the grammar of one dialect (Classical Latin) for about two or three years can enable you to read all the literature ever written in that language over the course of a rich 2,300-year history.

Studying Latin gives many of the same benefits as studying a ‘living’ language, but amplified ten-fold. For instance, a living language may give you knowledge and appreciation of one foreign culture (like Welsh) or a handful of cultures (like Spanish); but studying the Latin language does not only inform you about the culture of the ancient Romans; it enables you to see with your mind’s eye some of the roots of Western culture and civilization.

The student of the Classics, by studying a supposedly dead language (or two), becomes more cultured, more literary, and more sophisticated. This transformation and growth happens almost unconsciously. In the course of my Latin studies, I have learned more than words can express about Western culture in general through our poetry, prose, literary traditions, grammar, metaphors, vocabulary, idioms, history, politics, sculpture, geometry, agriculture, philosophy, religion, and theology.

Examples from just one of these fields should do the trick. I pick literature.

To put it frankly, there are many things in literature and the arts which a non-classicist is too uneducated to understand. Only someone with a classical education can fully appreciate the references to classical mythology made in Shakespeare’s plays; the semi-classical background of Dante; the countless English verse translations of Classical Latin poetry (done by almost every famous English-born lyric-poet on the planet prior to the late 1800’s); several of the songs by the band Mumford & Sons; subtle classical allusions found in contemporary teen novels like the Hunger Games series; the realism of various linguistic and cultural details in J. R. R. Tolkien’s Middle-Earth literature; the etymology of countless everyday words, such as “music” and “nice;” the ability to dissect complicated literary vocabulary based on its Latin root-words; and ten thousand other things that I do not have time to articulate.

It is hard to express how drastically my study of Latin has improved my ability to write and speak in English, my native tongue. In times past, English grammar textbooks were always called “Latin Grammar,” and for good reason: proper English grammar is a highly watered-down variation of Latin grammar.


In addition to Latin being linguistically dead, it is also dead in terms of scholarship and literature. People are not writing in Latin like they used to, and they sure as heck aren’t speaking in Latin like they used to. Our Holy Mother the Church barely uses her own language anymore, outside of exorcisms and the occasional Schubert’s “Ave Maria” at a choir concert.

So yes, Latin is dead, and we have killed it. We have killed it with our obsessive laziness, our insistence that the liturgy be done in our vernacular tongue, so we can ‘follow along’ without really appreciating what’s happening on that altar, the breath-taking mystery and miracle that is the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

We have killed Latin with our stupid fixation with watering down all public and private education to the dumbest common denominator. It used to be that you had to pass a Latin Prose Composition test to even be considered for an Ivy League school; these days, you barely need to be able to compose a few paragraphs in English. Trade schools are demonized these days, but I think they’re handy: not everyone is called to be a scholar, so not everyone should go to college. I hate that I feel like I’m being controversial just for saying that the American ‘one-size-fits-all’ model of schooling is childish and naive.

Where Latin has vanished, so too has any real culture, any real civilization. Truly meaningful literature and art are practically things of the past. The study of Classical Latin always has been and always will be a lesson in discipline and humility: it certainly was for me when I first started studying it in high school. But contemporary man does not have a need for Latin, nor for anything other than bestial utility. When self-restraint gets tossed out the window like that, so does any sense of virtue, of culture, of civilization. Western culture is dead because we killed Latin.

So those of us who are able to study Latin need to study Latin; our culture needs it. If you have never studied Latin before, I strongly recommend giving it a try; but I must warn you that, if you are taking it in high school or college, it is very difficult for the first three or four semesters. But remember, in the words of a friend of mine: “a gentlemen need not remember his Latin; he need only forget it.” Unless you plan on studying medieval texts or classical texts for a living, you will not need to remember for the rest of your life every vocab word and verb form taught in school; lifelong proficiency is only needed by scholars and Canon Lawyers.

If studying the Latin language proves too overwhelming or too time-consuming, try reading Latin literature in translation. I recommend starting with Vergil’s Aeneid. If you want something shorter, then I would recommend Cicero’s political speeches–as long as you promise to invest some extra time learning about the history and politics of the Late Republic (viz., 1st century BC).

On a different note, those of us who are devout Roman Catholics must wake up to how strange it is to believe the One True Faith while rejecting the traditional practices that go hand-in-hand with it. Many of us, myself included, were raised to love Christ and His Church but were also taught to have a strange and secular-minded contempt for traditional expressions of the Faith. Orthodoxy, personal holiness, and adherence to traditions; these are the three things that Holy Mother Church desperately needs from us right now.

What I advocate is not a shallow and vague aesthetic admiration for the more traditional-looking options in the New Rite, but a return to the Old Rite (1962 Missal or older), the Mass of countless Saints, the Mass which defines the Church. Tradition is being ‘optionalized’ out of existence in the liturgy and in the Church, and even in society at large. If we treat tradition as an option, then we are compliant in the abandonment of tradition. Tradition is not one of many options; it is the ONLY option. ‘Radical’ and ‘rigid’ adherence to all of the traditions handed down to us by our forebears–especially those traditions which the past few generations have abandoned–is the only way to reclaim our sanity in these strange and turbulent times in the Church.


Why I Love G. K. Chesterton

What I find most useful about Chesterton’s writings is that they teach me how to think with a sound and Catholic mind.

Gilbert Keith Chesterton, known as G. K. Chesterton, was an English writer who lived from 1874 to 1936. His primary occupation was journalism, but he also wrote poetry; novels; biographies; and essays. Chesterton is perhaps best known today for writing the Father Brown series of detective novels, since this series has been adapted for television by PBS.

(FYI the book linked above is not a truly “complete” collection, but you still get your money’s worth.)

Chesterton also wrote a poem, entitled “Lepanto,” which celebrated the victory of the Holy League against the invading Turks in a large maritime clash known as the Battle of Lepanto. The battle took place on October 7th, 1571. The admiral of the Holy League’s forces was Don John of Austria, the illegitimate half-brother of King Phillip II of Spain. Chesterton’s poem praises Don John as a liberator of the oppressed Christians–and a fearless and frightening adversary to their Muslim oppressors. (And no, his poem is not politically correct; but it is still better than any poem written since the invention of political correctness by the narrow-minded leftist elite at the universities.)

I am almost finished having “Lepanto” committed perfectly to memory; and it is a fairly lengthy poem, enough so that I will venture to call it an epyllion (that is, ἐπύλλιον or “mini-epic”). I am eager to have it memorized well enough that I can recite it from memory without any blunders and with due emotional weight.

Chesterton had a personality which in many ways is quite similar to my own. And I am not just saying that because we’re both fat, or because we both smoke cigars.

G. K. Chesterton was a rather forgetful person, having that distinct quality that is often called “absent-minded.” I am very similar to him in that regard. If I remember correctly, some speculate that Chesterton in his childhood had Attention Deficit Disorder and/or Developmental Coordination Disorder–both conditions with which I myself have been diagnosed. I still have prescription medications for ADD, which I’ve been taking ever since I was diagnosed in high school; but various forms of physical therapy throughout my early childhood removed most of the effects of the DCD. (I had a very mild case of DCD, to be honest.)

Well, they removed them for the most part at least. I am, to this day, left-footed but right-handed, and tend to be a tad clumsy. But at least now I can actually pronounce ‘r’ and ‘ch’ and ‘j’ properly; and at least now I am actually physically capable of coloring inside the lines.

But all of that is beside the point. What I find most useful about Chesterton’s writings–especially his works of nonfiction prose like Orthodoxy and Everlasting Man–is that they teach me how to think with a sound and Catholic mind. In an age when the secular world is so morally repugnant, and so many in the Church have made it their goal to lead the little ones astray by the millions, it is of the utmost importance to unlearn all the nonsensical and heretical rubbish that has come into our minds through bad catechesis; exposure to secular filth; frequent scandal and confusion in the Church; the caving-in of Church leaders to heresy and sin; and–most importantly–the self-infliction of intellectual blindness through one’s own iniquities.

G. K. Chesterton responded calmly and wittily to many of the ideas and catch-phrases hurled against the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church by the secular society of his own day and age. To put it bluntly: since much of the bull-crap in the world today is descended from the bull-crap of Chesterton’s day, Chesterton’s responses to the bull-crap of his own day age are equally useful in combatting much of today’s bull-crap.

Books Review #3: The Classics and Penguin Classics

  1. Lucretius. Stallings, A. E., trans. 2015 (hardcover reprint). The Nature of Things. New York: Penguin Classics.
  2. Sayers, Dorothy L. 1957 (paperback). The Song of Roland. New York: Penguin Books.
  3. Dorsch, T. S., trans. 1969 (reprint). Aristotle, Horace, Longinus: Classical Literary Criticism. Baltimore: Penguin Classics.
  4. Wender, Dorothea, trans. 1989 (reprint). Hesiod and Theognis. New York: Penguin Books.

Penguin Classics is a series of books that features some of the most famous and influential literature from around the world, stretching back to the earliest days of written language. Foreign-language texts are, of course, translated into English. The books in this series are commonly found in the form of small and affordable paperbacks.

As a Classicist, I wish to share my thoughts on a few Penguin Classics translations of Classical texts that I have read. They are definitely not the only books from the series that I have read. Furthermore, I have many more Penguin Classics sitting on my nightstand, waiting for me to find the time to read them.

My least favorite Penguin Classic that I have read so far is Stallings’ verse translation of Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura (#1 above). I own the hardcover version that has a colorful geometric pattern on the surface. The translation is extremely loose in many places, and Stallings’ own ‘original’ wording tends to be long and drawn-out–and as I point own below, lengthiness is already a major obstacle to readers of Lucretius’ work.

The formatting of this edition also made my reading experience slow and frustrating. Many of Stallings’ verses cannot fit on one line in the text, requiring the last few words to be tagged-on in a second line with a hanging indent. If it happened occasionally, that would be no big deal. But this type of ‘textual anomaly,’ if you will, shows up far too often in this book, and just makes for an even slower read. As mentioned above, reading Lucretius is a lengthy, mundane chore to begin with. The De Rerum Natura is formatted into six books, each consisting of somewhere between 1,000 and 1,600 lines of hexameter. (Vergil’s Aeneid, by comparison, has 12 books that are 700-950 lines each.)

Stallings’ translation made reading Lucretius sluggish and frustrating for me. But one of the book’s redeeming qualities is the introduction, which does a very good job of readying the reader for Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura. Plus, on the bright side, the translator’s willingness to deviate so far from the grammar of the original Latin is useful if you have are looking to reread Lucretius’s work in English, but feel that you are too familiar with more traditional translations to benefit from them. but as someone new to Lucretius, I found that this English version of his work presented too many hindrances to me as a reader. Overall, I’m giving this book a score of 4/10.

In my experience, Stallings’ translation of Lucretius differs from most Penguin Classics books in two ways.

  1. First of all, no other Penguin book has tested my patience anywhere near as much as this one. Most of them are well-written and very accessible! While I must admit that the rhyming in Dorothy L. Sayers’ translation of The Song of Roland (#2 above) was a little irritating at times for the reader, the rhyming was also sometimes subtle and varied–the former is called ‘forced rhyme,’ but I forget the technical term for the other–which certainly made up for the less pleasant passages. (I feel that I am not qualified enough to offer any further comments on Sayers’ The Song of Roland.)
  2. Secondly, most Penguin translations favor readability without deviating so dramatically from the original text.

Now that I have gotten the one bad thing out of the way, I can get back to positive remarks.

Next on my list is a Penguin Classics book called Aristotle, Horace, Longinus: Classical Literary Criticism (#3 above), translated by T. S. Dorsch. It is a compilation of writings by three ancient authors, all answering the question of what makes for good literature. The concept behind it initially struck me as rather odd; but this book proved itself very useful when I needed primary sources for an essay on classical criticism of poetry. The translation of Aristotle’s Poetics is on-par with the standard English translations of Aristotle’s works. Dorsch’s translation of Horace’s Ars Poetica is in prose, which I found a little disappointing, and deviates too far from the literal in certain places. Nonetheless, it was very accessible and readable, which was probably the translator’s point. I fear that I cannot comment much on Dorsch’s translation of Longinus’ On the Sublime, since–unlike the other two texts and authors included in this book–I had no previous knowledge of or experience with the text of any sort.

Generally speaking, this book is an enjoyable read and a good introduction to Greek and Roman mentalities about literature. I’d give it an 8.5/10.

The last Penguin Classics book that I wish to discuss here is Hesiod and Theognis, translated by Dorothea Wender. The decision to pair Hesiod with Theognis-while certainly understandable from a literary and historical perspective–can be kind of confusing since one of Hesiod’s works is the Theogony–which looks a lot like the name Theognis. I am a Classicist, and I was pretty confused.

However, Wender’s translation is very good. It conveys the message clearly without sacrificing tone. I think a more detailed introduction to Hesiod Theogony,, one that outlines the poem’s structure and/or explains the details of Greco-Roman mythology, would have been a very wise addition–since the odd structure and the rich mythology are the two main stumbling-blocks to most readers of the Theogony.

Wender’s rendering of Theognis’ verses, meanwhile, is extremely easy to read. Wender makes the message very clear. Reading this translation inspired me to add “reading Theognis in the original Greek” to my bucket list. (Most of the things on my bucket list can be boiled down to reading, writing, and translating.) Anyways…

I give this book a rating of 7.5/10.

Overall, I really like the Penguin Classics series. These books give readers an easy way to become acquainted with some of the most influential authors and texts in history. I will continue reading books from this collection for years to come.

If you want to expose yourself to the texts that have shaped human culture all throughout history and all throughout the world, then look for Penguin Classics’ signature black-cover paperbacks at a nearby bookstore, thrift-shop, or book-sale. They are useful for professional scholars and leisurely readers alike.

Book Review #2: Saint Thomas Aquinas

  1. McInerny, Ralph, ed. 1998. Thomas Aquinas: Selected Writings. New York: Penguin Classics.
  2. Pegis, Anton C., ed. 1948. Introduction to St. Thomas Aquinas. New York: Random House.

This is my second book review, and both of my book reviews so far have been about more than one book. If this trend continues, perhaps I should start calling each one a “Books Review,” hahahahae.

No, that last thing was not a typo; it was how the ancient Romans indicated laughter; seriously! Anyways…

These two books are both collections of writings by Saint Thomas Aquinas.

McInerny 1998 is one of my favorite books that I own. It has so much content in it, covering so many topics. The texts and excerpts featured in this book span much of the life of the Angelic Doctor (as Aquinas is often called), from his early days as a university student to the final years of his life.

The prefatory remarks included by the editor before each excerpt are very much needed, and at times very informative. However, there are many places where more should have been said. Furthermore, at times I wish the editor would have introduced some explanatory footnotes.

I don’t know. I guess the danger of reading St. Thomas for leisurely reading is that you sometimes find yourself spending up to five hours during your little brother’s back-to-back baseball games trying to figure out St. Thomas’ (Aristotelian) metaphysics. I have since then taken a course on Aristotle’s Metaphysics, and I remember that about once a week during that class something would click inside my head and I would suddenly understand some phrase or comment or idea of Saint Thomas.

Altogether, it has been a very enjoyable read so far, and I plan to continue reading it piecemeal for years to come.

The same is true for the other book listed above: Pegis’ Introduction to St. Thomas Aquinas. It was required last year for a course in Medieval Christian Philosophy. This book only features content from the Summa Theologiae and the Summa Contra Gentiles, and seems to focus on Saint Thomas’ contributions to philosophy, while only touching upon the most basic elements of his theology.

The translation at times uses unnecessarily bizarre phrases, such as saying ‘this must needs be said’ rather than a more sensible choice like ‘this needs to be said’ or ‘this by necessity must be said.’ The first time, I though it was a typo. But then I kept noticing this peculiar phrasing like once every couple of pages. Maybe these were day-to-day English expressions that have since fallen into disuse??? I have no idea, but the point is that it can be a little confusing at times for the reader.

However, this book is still very useful if you want to study Saint Thomas Aquinas’ contributions to Medieval Christian Philosophy. Since taking the course, I have used it for a couple of research-papers in other classes.And like I alluded to earlier, this book is also one that I can see myself reading in little bits and pieces over the course of several years.

I would give McInerny 1998 a score of 8.5/10; and Pegis 1948, a score of 6.5/10.