Echoes of the Past

1904--1994

Ninety years ago, on May 7, 1904, after forty years of persecution of Lithuanian writing using a non-Russian alphabet, the tsarist regime signed its act of defeat—it issued a decree abolishing the ban on the Lithuanian press. In independent Lithuania, this day is commemorated as the Day of the Restoration of the Press, Language, and Books. At the end of that same year, 1904, the first Lithuanian daily newspaper, “Vilniaus žinios” (publisher P. Vileišis), began publication in Vilnius. Among other things, that newspaper greatly helped the Lithuanian standard language to grow stronger and become established. At first, questions concerning the language of the Church were discussed there quite actively. At that time they were particularly pressing, since matters of faith were proclaimed, spoken about, and written about in an exceedingly corrupted language.

Commemorating the ninetieth anniversary of the restoration of the press and of “Vilniaus žinios,” we reprint from that newspaper J. Gerutis’s article “Errors in Ecclesiastical Terminology.” To show readers how people wrote at the time, nothing in the article has been corrected. The author of the article, who signed himself J. Gerutis, was Canon Jonas Balvočius (1842.III.2 – 1915.XI.12), an educated Samogitian from Vieksniai, a well-known man of letters, author of a handwritten Polish–Lithuanian dictionary, and a priest who worked for nearly his entire life in the Aukštaitija part of the Diocese of Samogitia.

St. K.

Errors in Ecclesiastical Terminology

Followers of the old ways cling strongly to erroneous terminology. They justify themselves by saying that this is how things were in the past and that people are supposedly used to calling things that way. Not everything that was so then can be so now. The world progresses in every sphere—and therefore in language too—and everyone wants things to be closer, better, and more correct. Everyone thinks for themselves and no longer tolerates being led around blindly. Everything is moving for the better. Just because my father wore bast shoes, must I take off my shoes too? Just because my mother ate only barley loaves, does that mean I am not allowed to bake myself a wheat cake? Well, of course not!

4—880

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They did so because they could not, or did not wish to, do otherwise, whereas I both want to and can.

We must not forget that errors in ecclesiastical terminology arose unintentionally and unwillingly. Yet we preserve them both deliberately and willingly. The Polish priests (there were no native ones at the time) who baptized us did not know Lithuanian well and could not learn it so quickly. After learning a little, they began proclaiming matters of faith to the newly baptized and hastily writing at least prayer books. How did they do it? They proclaimed and wrote as each one knew how. And the result was a mishmash. Sermons and books became half Lithuanian, half Polish, or Polish words with Lithuanian endings. Church prayers and the catechism turned into some sort of jargon. And since Lithuanians are exceedingly patient, submissive, and long accustomed to servitude, they did not resist the corruption of their language either. It was painful for them to hear the preacher mangling Lithuanian words by inserting Polish ones among them; reading a prayer book filled them with revulsion. But what could they, captives, do? They were patient. To tell the truth, if anyone wrote a Polish, German, or French prayer book in such jargon, all three—the Pole, the German, and the Frenchman—would spit it out. The unfortunate Lithuanian has to accept it because that is how it was in the past, and because he is used to calling it that.

Habit is not a particularly strong argument (proof). If a person can get used to errors, then it is much easier to get used to what is correct. Everyone is born with a desire to seek the truth and, upon finding it, to cherish it. Lithuanians are no exception. We saw this when the new hymnbook and the Mogilev supplication appeared; people seized upon both with both hands and cannot get enough of their purity and beauty. What happened here? Did those two hymns announce anything new? Not at all! The content remained the same; only the stray words (barbarisms) were gone, and that is the whole secret. From this example we see that the Lithuanian is no hardhead, incapable of understanding what is pure and what is mixed with foreign dross.

The name for errors in ecclesiastical terminology is a hodgepodge. Here I will recall only a few.

Beer, honey, inside, and sky have no plural. How, then, did “in the heavens” come to appear in the Lord’s Prayer? Saying “in the heavens” suggests that there is more than one heaven.

In Latin there is quotidianum—daily. Why of all days? One speaks of a year’s wages, a month’s profit; but that means just that month, those years. People say: misery and tears are my daily bread (not the bread of all days).

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The word pagirta corresponds to the Vulgate’s benedicta. A hostess is praised for tasty pastries, for fine cloth, while the Most Holy Mary is blessed. After all, we do not say “Eight praises,” but “Eight blessings.”

Žyvatas is a persistent stomach ailment, unpleasant to everyone. People say: “Žyvatas is tormenting me,” “the child has žyvatas.” Thus, “the fruit of žyvatas” is a very ugly expression.

The preposition po does not agree with Pilate. It seems that Pilate suffered first, and afterward Jesus Christ suffered on his behalf. Or that Pilate was above, while the Savior suffered below.

Almost all prayers end with: unto ages of ages. How the translator came to render it this way is unknown. Translated back into Latin, it would be: In saecula saecularium. To intensify a phrase, we place two nouns side by side, as in: troubles—troubles. We cannot say: troubles—troublesome ones, troubles—of the troubled. That would be absurd. The only correct form would be: through ages—ages, age after age.

There is no need even to speak of the syntax. It is all either Latin or Polish, and in some places Russian as well. Hymns likewise take care only that the final syllables rhyme, without regard for the spirit of the language. Mr. Naujalis had intended to give Lithuania fine hymns with musical notation, but he died unexpectedly. This year’s newly published prayer book in Vilnius, “The Voice of the Dove,” has made considerable progress, but stopped short of completing its task.

As for the feast days, they are sheer Poland. Just consider what gram, grom, gramnyčios mean to a Lithuanian. They mean nothing.

The pravadai drove out Atvelykis; the pravadiai—Atvedybas. Traicė, though it has driven nothing out, is nevertheless a foreign word to us Lithuanians. In the entire Lithuanian language there is no noun ending in aicė.

If you asked a Keistutian Lithuanian what the word Traicė means, they would have no idea. Asked what Treybė is, they would answer that it is a kind of number made up of three. Our kinsmen the Latvians say triadiba; Sanskrit has trimutra. The Germans say Dreifaltigkeit, Dreieinigkeit. Everyone manages without the Polish Traicė; only we Lithuanians seem unable to do so. That Tre ybė is thoroughly Lithuanian and contains no error of faith is demonstrated by “Pavasario Balsai,” where a Doctor of Theology and academy inspector uses it admirably. Who could know better than a European scholar?

Let us have pity on our wronged language and correct it without delay. Now is a convenient time; we must make use of it.

J. Gerutis

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