DESERT HARVEST—Fall 2003
Vol. 11, No. 2

The view through the round window
by Professor Susan C. Karant-Nunn, Heidelberg, 6 October 2003

   Rudolf Agricola, Johannes Reuchlin, Georg Friedrich Hegel, Hermann Helmholtz, Robert Bunsen, Ernst Troeltsch, Max Weber, Karl Jaspers . . . Have I left out your favorite Heidelberg professor? Since its founding in 1386, this university has been the academic home of a succession of Europe's greatest minds, not to mention students who after finishing their studies made their indelible marks elsewhere. The first woman professor would appear to have been Gerta von Ubisch, a botanist, whom the Nazis banned in 1936 for having Jewish grandparents. The scent of history, whether sweet or sour, is always in evidence here.
   It is my special privilege this year to be in Germany as a Guggenheim Fellow. I recall my good fortune each day as I pore over sources, either in the reading room of the main library or that of the Theological seminary. I cannot help but observe the vast differences between American and German higher education. In this country, the federal government picks up nearly the entire tab for educating its youth, who pay virtually no tuition and often receive a stipend for attending. Today's International Herald Tribune carries a front-page article about American universities building resort spas and five-story climbing walls to attract students. Such actions would be incomprehensible here, where I have yet to see a PowerPoint presentation or teaching-evaluation form and where professors seldom hold office hours.
   By contrast, I have been conditioned, and am personally inclined, to watch over my students. Every day my thoughts waft toward them in Tucson, to whom the most expert Professor Helen Nader is skillfully ministering. I also think of the progress of our common enterprise—yours and mine—to perpetuate the accomplishments of the Division through the acquisition of the Oberman research collection and the endowment of the Heiko A. Oberman Chair. It gives me great pleasure to report that as of July 1 we have advanced the fund to an impressive total of over $600,000 in cash, pledges, and testamentary provisions. I know that you too are pleased. However, this is not yet enough. Our goal remains, and must be, $2 million, the minimum amount required to sustain a named chair. Here in Germany, when my eyes tire after a full day's reading, I turn my attention to drafting grant applications. The Fundraising Committee continues on, hard at work. Do lend us your gracious hand as we labor toward the goal that we share, many of you and I.

Putting the 'fun' in fundraising

Fulbright won—Destination: Switzerland
by James Blakeley, doctoral student

   After months of peering into a disappointing mailbox, I finally learned last spring that I had been awarded the Fulbright scholarship for dissertation research in Switzerland. The award letter explained that I had also won a grant from the Swiss Confederation to participate in an intensive language program conducted by the University of Fribourg. From July until October, I endured the rigors of the German language and the record-setting heat wave that scorched Europe this summer. As an Arizonan used to temperatures about 100 degrees, I naively believed that I would fare much better than the Europeans until I realized that only the dairy cases of the grocery stores were air-conditioned. Thus I too sweated through six hours a day of language instruction in a stuffy classroom better suited to Swiss winters.
   The population of Switzerland is multilingual. German is the mother tongue of approximately 65 percent of the population, while native French and Italian speakers comprise 35 percent. Therefore most Swiss are fluent in at least two, often three, languages. To facilitate intra-national communication and to promote Switzerland's peaceful and smooth governance, foreign language instruction is an important and serious aspect of the academic curriculum. Indeed my award letter noted that I was to appear promptly at 8:15 a.m. in Auditorium B for the entrance examination or forfeit my scholarship! Standing before a large group of foreigners at exactly a quarter past eight, the program's director explained to us alternately in Spanish, French, German, and English that his was not a two-week language course for tourists and the that the instruction we were about to receive would not be like American fast food "that contains only empty calories and makes one fat." I correctly assumed from this comparison that contrary to the popular American pedagogical models, Swiss teachers place rigorous training ahead of promoting the student's self-image!
   Although I enjoyed perfecting my German, it was also rewarding to meet the other international students with whom I lived and studied. In my German class were three students from Iran, one student from Ghana, a medical student from Macedonia, one Slovenian, a woman from Croatia, an Albanian, and a Kurdish political refugee. Studying together for at least six hours a day and living in the same housing complex provided the right environment to foster a close-knit group. German was our common language.
   Aside from sharing our latest frustrations with the Swiss immigration authorities, we also exchanged political ideas and discussed our academic interests. Given the current involvement of the United States in Iraq, I was often involved in discussions about U.S. foreign policy. Often it appeared that most were hoping to explain their views to an American rather than hear my personal political leanings, and I too desired to learn how others perceived the United States. Interestingly the opinions of my colleagues were as mixed as those of the American populace: some adamantly support the Bush administration's actions, while others consider the United States to be an arrogant, oil-hungry superpower. I sought to navigate the questioning like a Swiss diplomat. My neutrality paid dividends; I was invited to several Iranian parties where my friends tried to teach me Persian pop songs and I also learned to eat Ethiopian food with my hands as an honorary member of the African group whose members derived from Nigeria, Ghana, South Africa, and Kenya.
   By the end of September, as is the practice in Europe, the course culminated with a daylong final examination conducted under the scrutiny of roving instructors. Most of the students I met during the summer will travel to other Swiss universities. Beginning in October I, too, will start my dissertation research as a student at the University of Bern. Although French is the dominant language in the regions where I will conduct my dissertation research, a solid knowledge of Latin, French, and German is required to read historical documents from the sixteenth century. Thanks to the training provided by the Fulbright commission and the Swiss government, the hurdles of the German language will not be insurmountable. Now if I could just master the Swiss German dialect, Schwyzertütsch . . . . 

Aestiva Romae Latinitatis
by Kathryn Jasper, doctoral student, History Department

   "You can come without shoes, clothes, hair, but one stupid mistake and you go to the airport!" This declaration in a letter, from the instructor of the Latin course that I was planning to take in Rome, was very unsettling. How can one avoid a mistake in the Latin language, I asked myself, my trepidation growing.
   Father Reginald Foster's bark turned out to be worse than his bite. He threatended students with expulsion but never actually banned them. I found that I could make the occassional  mistake, but my skin had to thicken under the outspoken, unrelenting, but still constructive criticism of this outstanding teacher. This Carmelite monk is one of the world's most famous Latin scholars, an official Latinist to Pope John Paul II. With six or seven other colleagues, they make up the "Latin Letters" department of the Vatican Secretariat of State, whose offices are in the Apostolic Palace. He was able to keep precise track of the ability of each of the 45 members of the class and directed questions to them that he thought they were capable of answering.
   In late June, I found my way to a neighborhood near the Gianicolo Park (the Roman equivalent of New York's Central Park), where I was to stay in a convent. Right about the Trestevere area of the city, a 20-minute walk from the Vatican, tourists rarely frequent this part of the Eternal City. I seldom heard a word of English. I was completely immersed in Italian culture for the entire five weeks, and in the classroom I was immersed in Latin as well.
   People say that Latin is a "dead language." Father Foster speaks it fluently, along with Italian, German, and English, to mention only those used most often. Father Foster's fluency allowed the course to become a veritable immersion program. We students not only read and translated Latin but also strove to meet our instructor's conversational challenge to us. I am learning to speak Latin! Father Foster provided incentive by regaling us with secret inner-Vatican anecdotes, and initially we strained to understand. Our voyeuristic desire to partake of his insider knowledge quickly produced in us the ability to understand what he said.
   Classes began in the early afternoon and ended in the evening. Following class, Father Foster would invite us into the grounds of his monastery. He indulged us with white wine, and we sat sub arboribus (under the trees) speaking to each other in Latin or reading some of his favorite passages from the vulgate Bible, St. Augustine's Confessions , or perhaps some of Horace's poetry, until the sun set. Then, almost reluctantly, we would all make our way home. I had many hours in the morning to explore the city, or to sit in a quiet piazza reading Latin literature. I would also walk the streets of Rome in search of Latin inscriptions.
   Every Sunday, Father Foster took us on an excursion to a significant site. One morning, he took us south to the birthplace of St. Thomas Aquinas, and in the afternoon to the Cistercian monastery where Aquinas died. Another time, he took us to the ancient port city of Ostia, where we read about the death of St. Augustine's mother, Monica. We visited the scene of Julius Caeser's assassination where our teacher provided the wine for a toast to this historic figure.
   Father Foster has given me a new passion for Latin. The term "translate" has become obsolete. I am now simply reading and enjoying the beauty of the language. I am extremely grateful for this experience. I acknowledge that it was only possible through the support of Professors Alan Bernstein, Susan Karant-Nunn, and Cynthia White; the Division for Late Medieval and Reformation Studies, the Department of History, the Association for Women Faculty; and Renee Griggs, Senior Program Coordinator at the Office of Study Abroad and Student Exchange at the UA. If I am able, I would like to return. Father Foster has said that I may. 

☼  back to top