To whom does a language belong? One might think it the possession of all who speak it. But as anyone who has learned a foreign language can attest, one receives such a language as an ill-fitting garment, awkward until broken in through sustained and strenuous effort. Or perhaps a language is the possession of those to whom it is native. Yet it often happens that the original character and meaning of ordinary speech is long forgotten, even by the language’s native speakers. In such transformations as “God be with ye” to “goodbye,” and in such unaccountable inventions as “shoddy” and its migration from noun to adjective, the dead assert their claim upon the languages of the living. Languages belong as much to those who made them as to those who use them, as much to the past as to the present, as much to the dead as to the living.
Consider a language spoken by Christians for more than fifteen hundred years. Its early masters composed exquisite poetry, pioneering a tradition that still flourishes today. Many of the great works of Christian thought were composed in this language; many of the most significant texts of philosophy, medicine, and astronomy were preserved in it. The Bible could be read in it for centuries before it could be read in English, French, German, or Spanish. Today it is spoken and written across Europe and North America, as well as Asia and Africa; it features prominently in modern political thought and advocacy. I am speaking, of course, of Arabic.
