Anyone know the answer ?  This has happened before with another  article.
I tried to print this out "as is," standard format with 12 point type,  
exactly
as it appears in the e-mail. Instead, the whole thing printed out in
8 point type  --except, for the title. Tried to re-reformat with  a
fresh e-mail but same results. Why can't I get this to print
in 12 point typeface ? Thanks
 
Billy
 
-------------------------------------
 
 
 
 
 
( Mysteries of English Language  Explained )

    
 
The American
Journal of AEI
 
American Enterprise Institute
 
 
 
English: The Inescapable Language
_By John Steele Gordon_ (http://www.american.com/author_search?Creator=John 
Steele Gordon)  Thursday, August 18,  2011  
 
 
 


 
 
 
Native speakers of English have a  great advantage. Learning English at our 
mothers’ knee is 
almost like being born able to do  algebra.






 
One night years ago when I was visiting Buenos Aires, I had dinner with an  
acquaintance. We were speaking in English because he spoke my language far  
better than I did his. I apologized for my inadequacy in Spanish and  
complimented him on his bilingualism. 
He replied, “That’s understandable. After all, English is so easy to learn 
 and Spanish is very difficult.” 
I was stunned. In school, Spanish had been regarded as the gut course among 
 foreign languages, far easier than French, German, or Latin. And English, 
at  least among English-speakers, was thought very difficult, with its 
irregular  spelling and pronunciation given as the usual reason. I have never 
tested this  hypothesis, but I bet every culture regards its native tongue as 
difficult to  learn. After all, foreigners always struggle with it, so it 
must be difficult,  right? 
Not necessarily. Most people are oblivious to the oddities and weirdnesses  
of their native tongue—as well as its simplicities—for precisely the same  
reason that fish are oblivious to water. My Argentinian friend, for 
instance,  had no idea that Spanish spelling and pronunciation are absolutely 
regular. To  hear a Spanish word is to know how to spell it and to see one is 
to 
know how  to pronounce it. There are no spelling bees in Spanish-speaking 
schools  because there are no bad spellers among native speakers of the 
language. 
So, is English actually hard to learn? Well, yes and no. 
Historically, English is one of the Germanic languages but because of its  
insular evolution it now bears little resemblance to the other Germanic  
languages, such as German, Dutch, Norwegian, Swedish, and Danish. And while  
there is some overlap in vocabulary with French, the two grammars are very  
different. Indeed, English grammar is quite unlike any other language in the  
world. 
That’s the bad news for foreigners. The good news is that basic English  
grammar is ridiculously easy to master. In French there are three conjugations 
 of verbs (the so-called -er, -ir, and -re verbs, after their infinitive  
endings). Each conjugation has its own set of endings for each tense and each 
 mood (such as the indicative and subjunctive). A typical French verb has 
more  than 50 endings that must be learned. Spanish also has three 
conjugations.  Portuguese has four, Latin five, German two. 
English has only one conjugation. And most of the endings (“inflections” 
is  the linguistic term) disappeared with the transition from Old English to  
Middle English 800 years ago. So a regular English verb has a grand total 
of  only four forms: walk, walks, walked, and walking. The most irregular 
verb in  the language, to be, has only eight  forms: be, am, is, are, was, 
were, being, and been. 
And while many other languages, such as French and Spanish, make frequent  
use of the subjunctive mood, it has nearly disappeared in English. (The  
Rodgers and Hart song “I Wish I Were in Love Again” is the only instance in  
popular culture I can think of that uses the subjunctive.) Also vanished is  
the second person singular (thee and thou), which in many other languages is 
 booby-trapped with social nuance. 
Even English irregular verbs are simple. They all come from Old English  
and, except for to be and to have, are all irregular in the same way:  they 
change the radical to express the past and perfect tenses. Thus swim, swam, 
swum. (There’s one verb in English that is  either regular or irregular 
depending on the subject of the sentence. People  are hanged, but other things 
are 
hung.) All the irregular forms of all the  irregular verbs in English can 
be listed on less than a page of a paperback  dictionary. It takes 16 pages 
to do that with Spanish irregular verbs. 
English nouns are equally easy to deal with. They have no gender, for  
instance. French nouns, however, are all either masculine or feminine. And  
while there are a few helpful rules (French nouns ending in -tion are almost 
always feminine, those that  end in -eau are almost always  masculine) most of 
the time the student of French simply has to memorize which  gender a French 
noun belongs to, and it is maddeningly arbitrary. You might  think that the 
French words for army and navy would be masculine, but you’d be  wrong. A 
few French nouns, amour, for  instance, are masculine in the singular and 
feminine in the plural. 
German and Latin divide nouns into masculine, feminine, and neuter with an  
equal arbitrariness. The German words for knife, fork, and spoon are,  
respectively, neuter, feminine, and masculine. In these languages adjectives  
must agree with the noun they modify in both gender and number. English  
adjectives are invariable. 
And let’s not even get into Latin nouns, which have endings to mark what  
part of speech they are being used as (and are divided into no fewer than 
five  different groups, called “declensions,” each with its own set of 
endings.) 
Some languages, but not English, have very different written and spoken  
forms. French has a past tense that is only written, not spoken, while casual  
spoken German and Greek are practically different languages from the formal 
 written versions of those tongues. 
.
But English, of course, while known to linguists as the “grammarless  
language,” is hardly without its difficulties for foreigners. English spelling  
and pronunciation are, unlike Spanish, not well coordinated. 
There are three reasons for this. One is that English has a lot of phonemes 
 (the individual sounds that make up a language), and especially a lot of  
different vowel sounds. Spanish has only five vowel sounds, one for each 
vowel  letter. English, depending on the dialect, has at least twelve, plus  
diphthongs and even triphthongs. Another reason is that English just doesn’t  
like diacriticals (accent marks and such) that many languages use to 
indicate  differences in the pronunciation of a letter. 
Finally, English is orthographically conservative. When a word is borrowed  
into English, we tend to maintain the spelling of the foreign word even as 
we  adapt the pronunciation to the English sound structure. We borrowed two 
Greek  words to coin photography and we still  spell it in the Greek 
fashion. In Spanish, they quite sensibly spell it fotografia. 
But the lack of coordination between sound and spelling is no worse than,  
say, French, with its myriad silent consonants and functionless accent 
marks.  For example, the circumflex accent in French, such as in hôtel, doesn’t 
affect the word’s  pronunciation. Indeed, all it tells the reader is that the 
vowel used to be  followed by an unpronounced S, an S that was dropped—
because it was silent—300  years ago, when French spelling was reformed. The 
circumflex was then added to  the preceding vowel to let the reader know the S 
used to be there, as if the  reader cared. This is known as French logic. 
An even bigger problem with English for foreigners is the fact that its  
everyday vocabulary is so immense, thanks to the many languages that  
contributed to it over the 1,500 years of its existence. The average speaker  
of 
English has a vocabulary with about half again as many words as the average  
speaker of, say, French or German. English abounds in synonyms, each with its  
own slightly different nuance or meaning. That’s why the thesaurus and the  
dictionary of synonyms are standard reference works in English but seldom  
found in other languages. Learning the subtle differences in meaning and 
tone  between, say, “penniless,” “broke,” and “impecunious,” is, to put it 
mildly, a  chore for foreigners. 
One of the quirks of the English language is that nouns originating from  
Anglo-Saxon often have associated adjectives that come from Latin or Greek.  
This is especially true of body parts, such as ear-aural, heart-cardiac,  
liver-hepatic, etc. While the names of farm animals are usually Old English in 
 origin, the words for their meat are usually from French. (Possibly, this 
is  because after the Conquest the English-speaking peasants cared for the  
animals, but it was the French-speaking Norman aristocracy who ate them.) 
This multiplicity of words even extends to prefixes. To negate an  
adjective, for instance, one uses un-  (as in uninterested), dis- (dishonest), 
in- 
(inattentive), or a- (amoral). Which one to use often depends on  the 
particular word’s etymology, but some words take more than one, producing  
thereby 
a slight change in meaning (uninterested is not quite the same as 
disinterested). Equally often, however, it  is arbitrary, just as French gender 
is. It 
can even vary over time. Jefferson  used unalienable in the Declaration of  
Independence. Today we say inalienable. 
The advantage of the huge vocabulary of English, of course, is that it  
makes English a superb literary and scientific language, able to express fine  
and precise shades of meaning far more easily than other tongues. This is no 
 small part of the reason English has become the near universal language of 
 science. It also makes English more efficient. The English version of a  
lengthy text is always substantially shorter than versions in other  
languages. 
But while English has a very large everyday vocabulary, it also has the  
maddening habit of using the same word to mean many different things. Fly, for 
instance, means an annoying insect,  a part of a pair of trousers, a part 
of a theater, a means of locomotion, the  outer edge of a flag, a type of hit 
in baseball, and a type of hook for  catching fish. A flyer can be either  
one who flies or a printed advertisement that is handed out. A bill is 
everything from the jaws of a bird  to an invoice to a piece of legislation 
under 
consideration to an  advertisement that is posted on a wall, not handed 
out. 
So English has its full share of oddities and complications for the  
foreigner, and is as difficult to fully master as any foreign language. But,  
thanks to its very simple grammar, it is probably easier to grasp its  
rudiments, regardless of the student’s native tongue, than any other language  
not 
closely related to that native tongue. That’s fortunate, for English is  now 
inescapable. 
In the Western world, Latin was the common language of the educated classes 
 for centuries, the last, linguistic, remnant of the Roman Empire. Newton 
wrote  his Principia Mathematica, published  in 1687, in Latin, not English. 
In the seventeenth century, French took over  as the language of diplomacy, 
a position it kept until the twentieth. 
By the twentieth century, however, English had become the second-most  
common native tongue (after only Mandarin Chinese). And it is by far the most  
common second language, thanks, initially, to the British Empire and then to  
America’s economic and cultural dominance in the post-war world. Thus 
English  became the world’s new lingua franca (to use an Italian term that 
literally  means “Frankish language”). 
English dominates the Internet. It is the only language used in air traffic 
 control. It is the overwhelmingly dominant language of science. (Even the  
premier French scientific organization, the Institut Pasteur, publishes its 
 papers in English first and only later in French). Sixty percent of all  
students studying a foreign language today are studying English. It’s a  
required course in school, starting early on, in an increasing number of  
countries. 
So we native speakers of English have a great advantage. Learning English  
at our mothers’ knee is almost like being born able to do algebra. Those not 
 so fortunate can still get a handle on it fairly easily, however. That’s 
lucky  for them because, like it or not, acquiring a competence in English is 
now a  necessary part of every serious education around the  world.



 

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