Attack of the Living Dead Languages

My eleven-year-old was orating, giving a theatrically high-toned review to some vacuous video that, among its other faults, was meant to "coronate" its subject. I suggested that the verb he wanted was crown. (Coronate is a real word, an adjective meaning "having a crown," but you've never heard of it because it's pretty much useless and looks like a mistake: "I knew she was the queen because she was coronate.") He looked at me as if I were clueless (a look perfected with practice), struck a pompous attitude, and said, "But I'm using an extravagant vocabulary regardless of whether the words make sense." He has an overdeveloped sense of whimsy. I have no idea where he gets it. But he's ready to be a second-year associate at a law firm.

Indeed, my son seems to instinctively share the legal profession's preference for languages spoken by people long dead. (Coronate is a Latin import to the English language. Crown came from medieval French, though like most French words it has its own Latin roots.) We lawyers aren't just the guys who write Latin stuff like inter alia and res ipsa loquitur. We're the guys who call an example a "hypothetical" (which is Greek). And we prefer dead languages even when we aren't aware of it.

This is because Latin once was the language of educated people in Europe, signaling not only education but also the social status that education betokened. After the Battle of Hastings in 1066 the Normans, a bunch of French Vikings (or Viking Frenchmen, I forget which) who invaded England, displaced the local Saxons as the ruling class. For centuries, power and wealth spoke French, as did judges and lawyers. Law French survives in words like estoppel, mortgage, plaintiff, bailiff, voir dire, parol, tort, and, yes, attorney. French as definer of social class left an indelible mark on our speech. To this day we use English names for domestic livestock, but French for their meat - mutton instead of the English sheep; pork instead of the English pig or swine; and veal or beef instead of the English moo-cow - a reminder that English-speaking Saxon serfs raised the animals that their French-speaking Norman lords ate.

History has left English with lots of synonyms from many languages, often with a highbrow Latin word, a middlebrow French word, and a lowbrow English (by which I mean Anglo-Saxon) word: Consider, for example, the Latin initiate, French commence, and English begin or start.

The preference of lawyers - sorry, attorneys - for Latin- and French-derived words stems from their historical desire not to be mistaken for Saxons or middle-class folk. This is why many American lawyers identify themselves by using the European affectation "esquire" (from a medieval French word meaning "shield-bearer"), which traditionally meant "gentleman" in the sense of a man who did not have to work for a living - or wouldn't have to if his older brother had been considerate enough to die in infancy. The legal profession was a step down the social ladder for lots of younger sons of nobility and a step up the social ladder for sons of merchants, but both types needed to put on airs.

So we initiate legal actions and commence contract terms instead of starting them. We use preceding or prior or antecedent (all Latin) instead of the very serviceable English before, and the Latin succeeding or subsequent to instead of the English after. We write cease and desist (both Latin verbs) instead of stop.

So why is this a problem? Mostly because the words obstruct the reader. Latin words tend to be longer than their Anglo-Saxon counterparts, and they have a way of stopping sentences by their sheer official-looking self-importance. In other words, they're a problem for the very reasons lawyers like them.

Although sentences in the Latin language tend to be concise because those big nouns and verbs do enough conjugating and declining to make ancillary words unnecessary, they have the opposite effect in English, where they're like aircraft carriers that need a flotilla of smaller escort ships. Recently, while typing out the beginning of a trial court something-or-other, I caught myself asking for one kind of relief, "or, in the alternative," another kind. The inflated and Latinate in the alternative accomplishes nothing that or, a sturdy Anglo-Saxon yeoperson of a word, can't do by itself. And yet my hand hesitated over the Delete key, because tradition has made that wording seem normal instead of dysfunctional. Try to get through this example of Latinate clutter without yawning. I've italicized the problem aircraft carriers and escorts:

In the contract, Biber undertook to furnish an adequate number of samples to allow Muffat Inc. to effectuate coverage of Muffat's marketing territory. However, from the inception of the contract term, Biber failed to deliver a sufficient number of samples. The parties had ascertained that Muffat's marketing activities would require approximately 200 samples of each product enumerated in the contract, and these quantities were indicated in Exhibit A of the contract. But Biber sent only approximately 50 samples of each enumerated product. The consequence of this inadequate number of samples created a fundamental difficulty: In numerous instances Muffat lacked the ability to exhibit a product to a potential purchaser except at its own facility.

I know, I know: Purchaser is French. So sue me. Here's one way to rewrite the paragraph:

Biber promised to give Muffat Inc. enough samples to cover Muffat's territory, but from the start of the contract term failed to send enough samples. The parties had agreed Muffat would need about 200 samples of each product listed in the contract, as set out in Exhibit A. But Biber sent only about 50 samples of each, and the shortage created a serious problem: In many cases Muffat could not show a product unless the potential buyer came to Muffat's office.

Even my firstborn would admit it's an improvement, though it isn't as much fun as oratorically befuddling the clueless.

Howard Posner practices appellate law in Los Angeles, consults with other lawyers about writing, and writes about nonlegal matters.

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