On Nov. 3, The Day published an article entitled “The language of science,” in which the author, Prof. V. Stavniuk, refuted an unidentified parliamentarian’s claim that the Ukrainian language has no technical terminology and that because of this he has to give his speeches in Russian. Such topics are not worthy of discussion simply because they are absurd. For many decades Ukrainian has been used in various branches of science and technology as the language of instruction in universities, at conferences, in scientific literature, and in periodicals, such as Ukrainskyi Biokhimichnyi Zhurnal (Ukrainian Biochemical Journal) — ever since it was founded by my father in 1926. However, in connection with the above-mentioned article, I would like to point out the fact that in addition to our scientists not using Ukrainian enough, they are not using English, and without this language their achievements remain unknown to the rest of the world.
The author of the article reminds us of how Latin replaced Greek in antiquity, taking over as the language of culture and science. Widespread in the realms of culture and science, Latin spread to Europe thanks to the Catholic Church, which used this language not only in divine services but also as the language of instruction in schools and universities. Latin was finally replaced by national languages only after the Reformation. Ukraine, however, proved to be a boundary line because the Orthodox Church — apart from the fact that we accepted Christianity from the Greeks — began using not the Greek language but Church Slavonic, a language that was artificially created for the Czechs, who ended up rejecting it. The hostile attitude to Catholicism extended to Latin: Catholics were even referred to as latynnyky, and this rang down an “iron curtain” that impeded cultural exchanges between the Eastern Slavs and Europe.
The noted Polish polemicist Piotr Skarga (there is a monument to him in Cracow) wrote: “Saints Cyril and Methodius greatly empoverished you people of Rus’ by giving you a written language based on the Greek alphabet, because without Latin there is no scholarship.” However, far-seeing Ukrainian noblemen sent their children to Catholic collegiums where they received instruction in Latin. In time Orthodox schools and academies were opened in Ukraine, where Latin was taught in addition to Church Slavonic and Greek. Their graduates were invited to become tutors of royal and boyar children in Muscovy, which was hermetically sealed against all influences from the West. In fact, teachers from Ukraine were so popular that their pupils even tried to copy their accent, believing it was a hallmark of a distinguished scholar. Ukraine’s cultural dominance lasted until Peter I severed the traditional contacts with Europe via Ukraine by “carving a window into Europe” on the Baltic Sea, when professors started being brought from Germany. He and subsequent Russian emperors did their best to uproot the Ukrainian language, retaining it as a language of communication among peasants, who had become illiterate.
After the decline of the role of Latin in Europe, for a long period of time there was no single language of communication, since French was the language of culture and German was mostly used in science and technology. Both languages were mandatory subjects in Russia’s gymnasiums (high schools). In the mid-20th century English finally became the language of international communication, yet the Soviet leadership, in its struggle for world influence, did nothing to facilitate its proliferation among citizens, protecting them from contacts with foreigners and from receiving “hostile” information. This approach also extended to the “world’s most advanced” Soviet science, where several generations of researchers grew up without knowing English. Because of this, most middle-aged Ukrainian scientists or older, including our top science heads, cannot communicate with their foreign colleagues without interpreters, so they seek out cooperation mostly with Russia, where the level of science is not very high these days.
However, young Ukrainian scientists are working hard to learn English because without this language — like without Latin in the past — one cannot adequately work in any scientific sphere. Knowledge of this language allows one to read special literature on the Internet (since the Ukrainian state has stopped subscribing to foreign journals for the sake of some illusory cost-cutting measures), take part in international conferences free of charge, and receive on-the-job training in various countries. Today, a researcher’s scholarly merits in Ukraine are also assessed by the number of publications in international journals — even though such an assessment is not always objective, since works with multiple authors done abroad formally predominate over excellent publications that are printed in Ukrainian journals. In order to make their achievements known throughout the world, scientists in many countries have started publishing their works in English. In Russia and Ukraine, certain journals have started publishing parallel English versions, but they are not very popular because of local reviewers’ overindulgent approach to the quality of materials, among other things.
To extricate Ukrainian science from this informational limbo, it is necessary to convey its achievements to the international scientific community. Therefore, an article should first be carried by domestic journals, so that our scientists will know who is working on what in Ukraine. After that, the most interesting studies should be translated into excellent English and sent to prestigious journals abroad, without losing optimism. The past glory of Ukrainian science can be revived only by cooperating internationally.
Tetiana Palladina is a biologist who works at the M. Kholodny Institute of Botany, National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine.
