[The Guiding Light of Latin Grammar] ---- is there something subtle or hidden in this title?

What is Lighthouse (French Phare) in Latin?
what is [Guiding Light] in Latin ?

Listen (3 min)

Beautiful WSJ OpED (6/22/23) by Gerard Gayou, a seminarian of the archdiocese of Washington, who is studying theology at the Pontifical North American College in Rome:

________________________________

The Guiding Light of Latin Grammar

The language reminds us of what our words mean and of whom we’re called to be.

—–

Nothing bored me more during the summer of 2008 than the prospect of studying Latin grammar. I needed a foreign language as part of my high-school curriculum, and I was loath to choose a dead one. I opted instead for Mandarin Chinese, an adolescent whim that shaped my young adult life. I continued to learn Mandarin in college before working in mainland China after graduation.

---------- so he graduated from High-School around 1998 ?

God, however, often works in mysterious ways. I was shocked when, a decade after escaping high-school Latin, I was memorizing verb paradigms in a Latin course at the Catholic University of America. I had just entered seminary to become a Catholic priest, for which Latin study is mandatory. I sympathized with the prophet Jonah, swallowed by a fish after fleeing God’s will for a faraway land. “Man proposes but God disposes,” as Thomas à Kempis writes in “The Imitation of Christ.” But four years later, my reluctant foray into ancient languages has been formative and even exhilarating.

I thought Latin would be easy after Mandarin, which is tonal and doesn’t have an alphabet. But Latin speakers, like those of modern Romance languages, conjugate their verbs, which is a stark change for students of Mandarin. Chinese verbs have no tenses. Whether I eat, you ate, or we will eat pork dumplings, the verb chi—to eat—remains the same. Only context and particles clarify the tense. A Latin verb’s concise expression of time and subject contributes to tight, crisp phrases.

From the start, the precision of Latin impressed me. The language has no articles, which makes for concise sentences, and its nouns decline. Different endings imply different syntactical function. Deus, for example, becomes Deum when it serves as a direct object. If you don’t know the difference, you may read St. John’s “No one has ever seen God” as “God has never seen anyone.” There is no good theology without good grammar.

Before studying Latin, I considered myself a diligent student. But Latin taught me what being diligent means. The English adjective derives from the Latin verb diligo, meaning “to love” or “to hold dear.” The diligent student, then, is the loving student, motivated by regard for the truth, for learning, or perhaps for the professor who instructs him. Latin reminds us not only of what our words mean but also of whom we are called to be. Diligence is a far higher—and happier—standard than good test scores or job prospects.

Last year I began studying Koine Greek, the language of the New Testament. I am edified—or “built up,” from the Latin verb aedificare—by the Greek word aletheia, which means truth. Etymologically, the noun means “that which is not hidden.” A state of concealment is inimical to truth. Many people today worry that our society no longer accepts an objective truth about anything, but this Greek wisdom offers hope: If truth exists, it will be revealed in one way or another.

Greek’s sophisticated verb system is well-suited for revealed religion. There are several tenses that describe a past action in Greek, but only the perfect tense specifies a completed action that has effects up to the present moment. In his first letter to the Corinthians, for example, St. Paul uses the perfect tense to write that Jesus was “raised” from the dead. This grammar implies that Christ’s resurrection isn’t merely a completed past action but one whose effects are still relevant to modern readers.

I couldn’t understand why my high-school classmates fled the modern world to lose themselves in Latin, let alone Koine Greek. But in our day questions still burn about who we are and where we are called. These languages offer us fresh yet ancient answers. As the declensions of a crisp Latin sentence guide a reader to its end, the wisdom of the ancients orients us to ours.

[The Guiding Light of Latin Grammar] ---- is there something subtle or hidden in this title?

i suppose it's linked to [ If truth exists, it will be revealed in one way or another.]
------------ and Latin and Greek is the [Guiding Light]

henh...@gmail.com wrote:
>
> [The Guiding Light of Latin Grammar] ---- is there something subtle or hidden in this title?
>
> What is Lighthouse (French Phare) in Latin?
> what is [Guiding Light] in Latin ?
>
>
>
> Listen (3 min)
>
>
> Beautiful WSJ OpED (6/22/23) by Gerard Gayou, a seminarian of the archdiocese of Washington, who is studying theology at the Pontifical North American College in Rome:
>
>
> ________________________________
>
> The Guiding Light of Latin Grammar
>
> The language reminds us of what our words mean and of whom we’re called to be.
>
> —–
>
> Nothing bored me more during the summer of 2008 than the prospect of studying Latin grammar. I needed a foreign language as part of my high-school curriculum, and I was loath to choose a dead one. I opted instead for Mandarin Chinese, an adolescent whim that shaped my young adult life. I continued to learn Mandarin in college before working in mainland China after graduation.
>
>
> ---------- so he graduated from High-School around 1998 ?
>
>
> God, however, often works in mysterious ways. I was shocked when, a decade after escaping high-school Latin, I was memorizing verb paradigms in a Latin course at the Catholic University of America. I had just entered seminary to become a Catholic priest, for which Latin study is mandatory. I sympathized with the prophet Jonah, swallowed by a fish after fleeing God’s will for a faraway land. “Man proposes but God disposes,” as Thomas à Kempis writes in “The Imitation of Christ.” But four years later, my reluctant foray into ancient languages has been formative and even exhilarating.
>
> I thought Latin would be easy after Mandarin, which is tonal and doesn’t have an alphabet. But Latin speakers, like those of modern Romance languages, conjugate their verbs, which is a stark change for students of Mandarin. Chinese verbs have no tenses. Whether I eat, you ate, or we will eat pork dumplings, the verb chi—to eat—remains the same. Only context and particles clarify the tense. A Latin verb’s concise expression of time and subject contributes to tight, crisp phrases.
>
> From the start, the precision of Latin impressed me. The language has no articles, which makes for concise sentences, and its nouns decline. Different endings imply different syntactical function. Deus, for example, becomes Deum when it serves as a direct object. If you don’t know the difference, you may read St. John’s “No one has ever seen God” as “God has never seen anyone.” There is no good theology without good grammar.
>
> Before studying Latin, I considered myself a diligent student. But Latin taught me what being diligent means. The English adjective derives from the Latin verb diligo, meaning “to love” or “to hold dear.” The diligent student, then, is the loving student, motivated by regard for the truth, for learning, or perhaps for the professor who instructs him. Latin reminds us not only of what our words mean but also of whom we are called to be. Diligence is a far higher—and happier—standard than good test scores or job prospects.
>
>
>
> Last year I began studying Koine Greek, the language of the New Testament. I am edified—or “built up,” from the Latin verb aedificare—by the Greek word aletheia, which means truth. Etymologically, the noun means “that which is not hidden.” A state of concealment is inimical to truth. Many people today worry that our society no longer accepts an objective truth about anything, but this Greek wisdom offers hope: If truth exists, it will be revealed in one way or another.
>
>
> Greek’s sophisticated verb system is well-suited for revealed religion. There are several tenses that describe a past action in Greek, but only the perfect tense specifies a completed action that has effects up to the present moment. In his first letter to the Corinthians, for example, St. Paul uses the perfect tense to write that Jesus was “raised” from the dead. This grammar implies that Christ’s resurrection isn’t merely a completed past action but one whose effects are still relevant to modern readers.
>
> I couldn’t understand why my high-school classmates fled the modern world to lose themselves in Latin, let alone Koine Greek. But in our day questions still burn about who we are and where we are called. These languages offer us fresh yet ancient answers. As the declensions of a crisp Latin sentence guide a reader to its end, the wisdom of the ancients orients us to ours.
>
>
>
>
> [The Guiding Light of Latin Grammar] ---- is there something subtle or hidden in this title?
>
> i suppose it's linked to [ If truth exists, it will be revealed in one way or another.]
> ------------ and Latin and Greek is the [Guiding Light]
The lighthouse on the island of Pharos was one of the old Seven Wonders.
Another was the tomb of Mausolus at Halicarnassus.
Mausoleum has extended in meaning.
There's a technical term for this usage. I can't recall it offhand.
Ed

On Wednesday, July 5, 2023 at 4:46:21 AM UTC-7, Ed Cryer wrote:
> henh...@gmail.com wrote:
> >
> > [The Guiding Light of Latin Grammar] ---- is there something subtle or hidden in this title?
> >
> > What is Lighthouse (French Phare) in Latin?
> > what is [Guiding Light] in Latin ?
> >
> >
> >
> > Listen (3 min)
> >
> >
> > Beautiful WSJ OpED (6/22/23) by Gerard Gayou, a seminarian of the archdiocese of Washington, who is studying theology at the Pontifical North American College in Rome:
> >
> >
> > ________________________________
> >
> > The Guiding Light of Latin Grammar
> >
> > The language reminds us of what our words mean and of whom we’re called to be.
> >
> > —–
> >
> > Nothing bored me more during the summer of 2008 than the prospect of studying Latin grammar. I needed a foreign language as part of my high-school curriculum, and I was loath to choose a dead one. I opted instead for Mandarin Chinese, an adolescent whim that shaped my young adult life. I continued to learn Mandarin in college before working in mainland China after graduation.
> >
> >
> > ---------- so he graduated from High-School around 1998 ?
> >
> >
> > God, however, often works in mysterious ways. I was shocked when, a decade after escaping high-school Latin, I was memorizing verb paradigms in a Latin course at the Catholic University of America. I had just entered seminary to become a Catholic priest, for which Latin study is mandatory. I sympathized with the prophet Jonah, swallowed by a fish after fleeing God’s will for a faraway land. “Man proposes but God disposes,” as Thomas à Kempis writes in “The Imitation of Christ.” But four years later, my reluctant foray into ancient languages has been formative and even exhilarating.
> >
> > I thought Latin would be easy after Mandarin, which is tonal and doesn’t have an alphabet. But Latin speakers, like those of modern Romance languages, conjugate their verbs, which is a stark change for students of Mandarin. Chinese verbs have no tenses. Whether I eat, you ate, or we will eat pork dumplings, the verb chi—to eat—remains the same. Only context and particles clarify the tense. A Latin verb’s concise expression of time and subject contributes to tight, crisp phrases.
> >
> > From the start, the precision of Latin impressed me. The language has no articles, which makes for concise sentences, and its nouns decline. Different endings imply different syntactical function. Deus, for example, becomes Deum when it serves as a direct object. If you don’t know the difference, you may read St. John’s “No one has ever seen God” as “God has never seen anyone.” There is no good theology without good grammar.
> >
> > Before studying Latin, I considered myself a diligent student. But Latin taught me what being diligent means. The English adjective derives from the Latin verb diligo, meaning “to love” or “to hold dear.” The diligent student, then, is the loving student, motivated by regard for the truth, for learning, or perhaps for the professor who instructs him. Latin reminds us not only of what our words mean but also of whom we are called to be. Diligence is a far higher—and happier—standard than good test scores or job prospects.
> >
> >
> >
> > Last year I began studying Koine Greek, the language of the New Testament. I am edified—or “built up,” from the Latin verb aedificare—by the Greek word aletheia, which means truth. Etymologically, the noun means “that which is not hidden.” A state of concealment is inimical to truth. Many people today worry that our society no longer accepts an objective truth about anything, but this Greek wisdom offers hope: If truth exists, it will be revealed in one way or another.
> >
> >
> > Greek’s sophisticated verb system is well-suited for revealed religion. There are several tenses that describe a past action in Greek, but only the perfect tense specifies a completed action that has effects up to the present moment. In his first letter to the Corinthians, for example, St. Paul uses the perfect tense to write that Jesus was “raised” from the dead. This grammar implies that Christ’s resurrection isn’t merely a completed past action but one whose effects are still relevant to modern readers.
> >
> > I couldn’t understand why my high-school classmates fled the modern world to lose themselves in Latin, let alone Koine Greek. But in our day questions still burn about who we are and where we are called. These languages offer us fresh yet ancient answers. As the declensions of a crisp Latin sentence guide a reader to its end, the wisdom of the ancients orients us to ours.
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > [The Guiding Light of Latin Grammar] ---- is there something subtle or hidden in this title?
> >
> > i suppose it's linked to [ If truth exists, it will be revealed in one way or another.]
> > ------------ and Latin and Greek is the [Guiding Light]

> The lighthouse on the island of Pharos was one of the old Seven Wonders.
> Another was the tomb of Mausolus at Halicarnassus.
> Mausoleum has extended in meaning.
>
> There's a technical term for this usage. I can't recall it offhand.
>
> Ed

thank you!... i see... both [Phare] and [Mausoleum] come from proper names

it's fun to learn about the Lighthouse of Alexandria

https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/mausoleum#Etymology

From Middle English mausoleum, from Latin mausōlēum, from Ancient Greek Μαυσωλεῖον (Mausōleîon), from Μαύσωλος (Maúsōlos); named after Mausolus (?–395 BCE), satrap of the Persian empire and ruler of Caria, whose tomb was considered one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

______________________

[phare] in French today also means the headlight of a car

my interest in the word [phare] comes from this line in FW

“Lead, kindly fowl!” (FW 112.09),
which is a parody of the hymn “Lead, Kindly Light” based on the 1833 poem by John Henry Newman.

------------------ FW often conflates the L and R sounds

as well as P and K -- as in

>>> Reference to the *P/K Split, for instance, permits the restoration of
"roman pathonicks" (FW 027.02) to "roman cathonicks";

but only further invocation of the L/R Interchange permits us the full reconstruction "roman catholicks."

Ed Cryer wrote:
>
> The lighthouse on the island of Pharos was one of the old Seven Wonders.
> Another was the tomb of Mausolus at Halicarnassus.
> Mausoleum has extended in meaning.
>
> There's a technical term for this usage. I can't recall it offhand.
>
> Ed
>

A trip into figurative language and the technical terms, derived mostly
from ancient Greek language and Greek philosophical works.

I started with "hendiadys" which I know well, since it's pure Greek;
"one through two". Two words are used to represent one idea; "nice and
warm", "vi et armis".
I then searched for "dysdiahen"; no hits.
Then I came upon metonomy and synecdoche; both seem to mean the same
although some grammarians try to split hairs with them. Using a part of
a thing to represent the whole; "nice wheels", "lend me a hand", "two
suits entered the room".

None of the above appears to cover the "mausoleum"; that's where a
single whole item comes to represent all similar items. A cenotaph is a
mausoleum with no body in it; a mausoleum is a cenothaph without the
"ceno" (empty), just a "taph" (tomb) of imposing appearance.
And as to the modern French usage where "phare" = lighthouse, and
"phares" (plural ) = headlights, well, Aristotle himself might well have
come to grief over this.

Ed

On Friday, July 7, 2023 at 7:23:36 AM UTC-7, Ed Cryer wrote:
> Ed Cryer wrote:
> >
> > The lighthouse on the island of Pharos was one of the old Seven Wonders..
> > Another was the tomb of Mausolus at Halicarnassus.
> > Mausoleum has extended in meaning.
> >
> > There's a technical term for this usage. I can't recall it offhand.
> >
> > Ed
> >
> A trip into figurative language and the technical terms, derived mostly
> from ancient Greek language and Greek philosophical works.
>
> I started with "hendiadys" which I know well, since it's pure Greek;
> "one through two". Two words are used to represent one idea; "nice and
> warm", "vi et armis".
> I then searched for "dysdiahen"; no hits.
> Then I came upon metonomy and synecdoche; both seem to mean the same

iirc... Lacan talks about Metonymy but not Synecdoche.

Metonymy is a figure of speech in which one word is substituted for another that is closely associated with it. For example, we might say "the pen is mightier than the sword" to mean that writing is more powerful than violence. In this example, the word "pen" is metonymically related to the concept of writing, because it is a tool that is used for writing.

-- crown
-- The White House or The Oval Office
-- suits (in place of businesspeople)
-- heart

Synecdoche is a figure of speech in which a part is used to represent the whole. For example, we might say "all hands on deck"

-- “I need a headcount by morning,” — uses “head” to represent a whole person.

-- “Nice wheels!” — uses “wheels” to designate a whole car.

https://bard.google.com/

_____________ is Mausoleum an Eponym ?

Yes, the word "mausoleum" is an eponym. An eponym is a word that is derived from the name of a person, place, or thing. In the case of "mausoleum," the word is derived from the name of Mausolus, the Persian ruler who was buried in the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus.

The word "mausoleum" is now used to refer to any large and impressive tomb, but it originally referred specifically to the tomb of Mausolus. This is why the word is considered to be an eponym.

Here are some other examples of eponyms:

-- Achilles tendon: The Achilles tendon is named after Achilles, a Greek hero who was said to be invulnerable except for his heel.

-- Victorian: The Victorian era is named after Queen Victoria, who reigned over the United Kingdom from 1837 to 1901.

-- America: The name "America" is thought to be derived from the name of Amerigo Vespucci, an Italian explorer who explored the Americas in the 15th century.

henh...@gmail.com wrote:
> On Friday, July 7, 2023 at 7:23:36 AM UTC-7, Ed Cryer wrote:
>> Ed Cryer wrote:
>>>
>>> The lighthouse on the island of Pharos was one of the old Seven Wonders.
>>> Another was the tomb of Mausolus at Halicarnassus.
>>> Mausoleum has extended in meaning.
>>>
>>> There's a technical term for this usage. I can't recall it offhand.
>>>
>>> Ed
>>>
>> A trip into figurative language and the technical terms, derived mostly
>> from ancient Greek language and Greek philosophical works.
>>
>> I started with "hendiadys" which I know well, since it's pure Greek;
>> "one through two". Two words are used to represent one idea; "nice and
>> warm", "vi et armis".
>> I then searched for "dysdiahen"; no hits.
>> Then I came upon metonomy and synecdoche; both seem to mean the same
>
>
> iirc... Lacan talks about Metonymy but not Synecdoche.
>
>
> Metonymy is a figure of speech in which one word is substituted for another that is closely associated with it. For example, we might say "the pen is mightier than the sword" to mean that writing is more powerful than violence. In this example, the word "pen" is metonymically related to the concept of writing, because it is a tool that is used for writing.
>
> -- crown
> -- The White House or The Oval Office
> -- suits (in place of businesspeople)
> -- heart
>
> Synecdoche is a figure of speech in which a part is used to represent the whole. For example, we might say "all hands on deck"
>
> -- “I need a headcount by morning,” — uses “head” to represent a whole person.
>
> -- “Nice wheels!” — uses “wheels” to designate a whole car.
>
>
> https://bard.google.com/
>
> _____________ is Mausoleum an Eponym ?
>
> Yes, the word "mausoleum" is an eponym. An eponym is a word that is derived from the name of a person, place, or thing. In the case of "mausoleum," the word is derived from the name of Mausolus, the Persian ruler who was buried in the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus.
>
> The word "mausoleum" is now used to refer to any large and impressive tomb, but it originally referred specifically to the tomb of Mausolus. This is why the word is considered to be an eponym.
>
> Here are some other examples of eponyms:
>
> -- Achilles tendon: The Achilles tendon is named after Achilles, a Greek hero who was said to be invulnerable except for his heel.
>
> -- Victorian: The Victorian era is named after Queen Victoria, who reigned over the United Kingdom from 1837 to 1901.
>
> -- America: The name "America" is thought to be derived from the name of Amerigo Vespucci, an Italian explorer who explored the Americas in the 15th century.
>
I can't detect any difference in your examples of metonymy and synecdoche.
Your two definitions appear to offer some hope.
You need to give examples where they don't overlap.
This could best be done with "one word is substituted for another that
is closely associated with it" without that just being a part of the
thing in question.
Ed