_Klein_ : _Clean_ :: _Petit_ : _Petitus_.
It shows the extent to which certain ideas are associated. It shows,
too, something more; it shows that such an association is capable of
being demonstrated from the phenomena of language instead of being a
mere _à priori_ speculation on the part of the mental philosopher.
_Klein_ is the German for _little_; _clean_ is our own English
adjective, the English of the Latin word _mundus_. In German the word
is _rein_.
Now, notwithstanding the difference of meaning in the two tongues,
_clean_ and _klein_ are one and the same word. Yet, how are the ideas
of _cleanliness_ and _littleness_ connected? The Greek language has
the word _hypocorisma_, meaning a _term of endearment_, and the
adjective _hypocoristic_. Now, _clean-ness_, or _neat-ness_, is one of
the elements that make _hypocoristic_ terms (or terms of endearment)
applicable. And so is _smallness_. We talk of _pretty little dears_,
a thousand times, where we talk of _pretty big dears_ once. This,
then, explains the connexion; this tells us that _clean_ in English is
_klein_ in German, word for word.
You doubt it, perhaps. You shake your head, and say, that the connexion
seems somewhat indefinite; that it is just one of those points which
can neither be proved nor disproved. Be it so. The evidence can be
amended. Observe the words _petit_ and _petitus_. _Petit_ (in French)
is exactly what _klein_ is in German, _i. e._, _little_. _Petitus_ (in
Latin) is very nearly what _clean_ is in English, _i. e._, _desired_,
or _desirable_. That _petit_ comes from _petitus_ is undeniable.
Hence, where the German mode of thought connects the ideas of
_smallness_ and _cleanness_, the Latin connects those of _smallness_
and _desirability_; so that as _petit_ is to _petitus_, so is _klein_
to _clean_. In the diagram this is given in the formula of a sum in the
Rule of Three.
The words just noticed explain the connexion of ideas in the case
of separate words. The forthcoming help us in a much more difficult
investigation. What is the import of such sounds as that of the letter
_s_ in the word father-_s_? It is the sign of the plural number.
Such is the question--such the answer; question and answer connected in
the word _fathers_ solely for the sake of illustration. Any other word,
and any other sign of case, number, person, or tense, would have done
as well.
But _is_ the answer a real one? Is it an answer at all? How come such
things as plural numbers, and signs of plural numbers, into language?
How the particular plural before us came into being, I cannot say; but
I can show how some plurals have. Let us explain the following--
_Ngi_ = _I_. _Ngi-n-de_ = _we_.
_Ngo_ = _thou_. _Ngo-n-da_ = _ye_.
_Ngu_ = _he_. _Nge-n-da_ = _they_.
_Da_ = _with_.
_Me-cum_ = _me_.
The _da_ (or _de_) in the second column, is the sign of the plural
number in a language which shall at present be nameless. It is also
the preposition _with_. Now _with_ denotes _association_, association
_plurality_. Hence
_Ngi-n-de_ = _I_ + = _we_.
_Ngo-n-da_ = _thou_ + = _ye_.
_Nge-n-da_ = _he_ + = _they_.
This is just as if the Latins, instead of _nos_ and _vos_, said
_me-cum_ and _te-cum_.
Such is the history of one mode of expressing the idea of plurality;
we can scarcely say of a _plural number_. The words _plural
number_ suggest the idea of a single word, like _fathers_, where
the _s_ is inseparably connected with the root; at least so far
inseparably connected as to have no independent existence of its own.
_Ngi-n-de_, however, is no single word at all, but a pair of words in
juxta-position, each with a separate existence of its own. But what
if this juxta-position grow into _amalgamation_; What if the form in
_da_ change? What if it become _t_ or _z_, or _th_, or _s_? What if,
meanwhile, the separate preposition _da_ change in form also; in form
or meaning, or, perhaps, in both? In such a case a true plural form is
evolved, the history of its evolution being a mystery.
So much for one of the inflections of a _noun_. The remaining words
illustrate one of a _verb_.
Hundreds of grammarians have suggested that the signs of the _persons_
in the verb might be neither more nor less than the personal pronouns
_appended_; in the first instance, to the verb, but, afterwards
amalgamated or incorporated with it. If so, the _-m_ in _inqua-m_, is
the _m_ in _me_, &c. The late Mr. Garnett, a comparative philologist
whose reputation is far below his merits, saw that this was not exactly
the case. He observed that the appended pronoun was not so much the
_Personal_ as the _Possessive_ one: that the analysis of a word like
_inqua-m_ was not so much, _say_+_I_, as _saying_+_my_; in short, that
the verb was a noun, and the pronoun either an adjective (like _meus_)
or an oblique case (like _mei_), agreeing with, or governed by, it.
It is _certainly_ so in the words before you. In a language, which,
at present, shall be nameless, instead of saying _my apple_, _thy
apple_, they say what is equivalent to _apple-m_, _apple-th_, &c.; _i.
e._, they append the possessive pronoun to the substantive, and by
modifying its form, partially incorporate or amalgamate it. They do
more than this. They do (as the diagram shows us) precisely the same
with the verbs in their _personal_, as they do with the nouns in their
_possessive_, relations. Hence, _olvas-om_, &c., is less _I read_ than
_my-reading_; less _read_+_I_, than _reading_+_my_.
1.
_Olvas_--_om_ = _I read_. = _reading-my_.
---- _od_ = _thou readest_. = _reading-thy_.
---- _uk_ = _we read_. = _reading-our_.
---- _atok_ = _ye read_. = _reading-your_.
2.
_Almá_--_m_ = _my apple_. = _apple-my_.
---- _d_ = _thy apple_. = _apple-thy_.
---- _nk_ = _our apple_. = _apple-our_.
---- _tok_ = _your apple_. = _apple-your_.
I submit, that facts of this kind are of some value, great or small.
But the facts themselves are not all. How were they got at? They were
got at by dealing with the phenomena of language as we found them, by
an induction of no ordinary width and compass; for many forms of speech
had to be investigated before the facts came out in their best and most
satisfactory form.
The illustration of the verb (_olvasom_, and _almám_, &c.) is from
the Hungarian; that of the plural number (_nginde_, &c.), from the
Tumali--the Tumali being a language no nearer than the negro districts
to the south of Kordovan, between Sennaar and Darfur, and (as such) not
exactly in the highway of literature and philology.
Now I ask whether there be, or whether there be not, certain branches
of inquiry which are, at one and the same time, recognised to be of the
highest importance, and yet not very remarkable for either unanimity of
opinion, precision of language, or distinctness of idea on the part of
their professors. I ask whether what is called, with average clearness,
Mental Philosophy, and, with somewhat less clearness, Metaphysics,
be not in this predicament? I ask whether, in this branch of
investigation, the subject-matter do not eminently desiderate something
definite, palpable, and objective, and whether these same desiderated
tangibilities be not found in the wide field of Language to an extent
which no other field supplies? Let this field be a training-ground. The
facts it gives are of value. The method it requires is of value.
As the languages of the world, as the forms of speech mutually
unintelligible, are counted by the hundred, and the dialects by the
thousand, the field is a large one--one supplying much exercise, work,
and labour. But the applications of the results obtained are wide also;
for, as long as any form of mental philosophy remains susceptible of
improvement, as long as its improved form remains undiffused, so long
will a knowledge of the structure of language in general, a knowledge
of comparative philology, a knowledge of general grammar (for we may
choose our term), have its use and application. And, assuredly, this
will be for some time.
As to its special value in the particular department of the
ethnologist, high as it is, I say nothing, or next to nothing, about
it; concerning myself only with its more general applications.
Let it be said, then, that the study of language is eminently
disciplinal to those faculties that are tasked in the investigation
of the phenomena of the human mind; the value of a knowledge of these
being a matter foreign to the present dissertation, but being by no
means low. High or low, however, it measures that of the studies under
notice.
But how is this general philology to be taught? Are youths to seek
for roots and processes in such languages as the Hungarian and the
Tumali? No. The teaching must be by means of well-selected suggestive
examples, whereby the student may rise from particulars to generals,
and be taught to infer the uncertain from the certain. I do not say
that the _s_ in _fathers_ arose exactly after the fashion of the Tumali
plural; but, assuredly, its development was the same in kind, if not
in detail. At all events, language must be dealt with as a _growth_.
In the first stage of speech, there are no inflections at all,
separate words serving instead of them:--just as if, instead of saying
_fathers_, we said _father many_, or _father father_; reduplication
being one of the make-shifts (so to say) of this period. The languages
allied to the Chinese belong to this class.
In the second stage, the separate words coalesce, but not so perfectly
as to disfigure their originally separate character. The Hungarian
persons have illustrated this. Language now becomes what is called
_agglutinate_. The parts cohere, but the cohesion is imperfect. The
majority of languages are agglutinate.
The Latin and Greek tongues illustrate the third stage. The parts
originally separate, then agglutinate, now become so modified by
contact as to look like secondary parts of a single word; these
original separate substantive characters being a matter of inference
rather than a patent and transparent fact. The _s_ in _fathers_
(which is also the _s_ in _patre-s_ and πάτερε-ς) is in this
predicament.
Lastly, inflections are replaced by prepositions and auxiliary verbs,
as is the case in the Italian and French when compared with the Latin.
Truly, then, may we say that the phenomena of speech are the phenomena
of growth, evolution, or development; and as such must they be taught.
A cell that grows,--not a crystal that is built up,--such is language.
But these well-devised selections of suggestive examples, whereby the
student may rise from particulars to generals, &c., are not to be found
in the ordinary grammars. Indeed, it is the very reverse of the present
system; where there are twenty appeals to the memory in the shape of
what is called a _rule_, for one appeal to the understanding in the
shape of an illustrated process. So much the worse for the existing
methods.
Moulds applied to growing trees--cookery-book receipts for making
a natural juice--these are the parallels to the artificial systems
of grammar _in their worst forms_. The _better_ can be excused,
sometimes recommended; even as the Linnæan system of botanical teaching
can, in certain cases, be used with safety, _provided always that
its artificial character be explained beforehand, and insisted on
throughout_.
To stand on the level of the Linnæan system, an artificial grammar must
come under the following condition:--_It must leave the student nothing
to unlearn when he comes to a natural one_.
How can this be done? It can be done, if the grammarian will be content
to teach _forms_ only, leaving processes alone. Let him say (for
instance) that the Latin for--
_I call_ is _voc_-o.
_Thou callest_, _voc_-as.
_Calling_, _voc_-ans.
_I called_, _voc_-avi &c.
But do not let him say that active aorists are formed from futures, and
passive ones from the third person singular of the perfect. His forms,
his paradigms, will be right; his rules, in nine cases out of ten,
wrong. I am satisfied that languages can be taught without rules and by
paradigms only.
This recognition of what has been called _artificial_ grammar for the
teaching of special languages, as opposed to the general grammar of
the comparative philologist, should serve to anticipate an objection.
'Would you,' it may be asked, 'leave the details of languages like
the Latin, Greek, French, German, &c.--languages of eminent practical
utility--untaught until such time as the student shall have dipped into
Chinese, touched upon Hungarian, and taken a general idea of the third
stage of development from the Latin, and of the fourth from the French?
If so, the period of life when the memory for words is strongest will
have passed away before any language but his own mother-tongue has been
acquired.'
The recognition of such a thing as artificial grammar answers this
in the negative. If a special language be wanted, let it be taught
by-times: only, if it cannot be taught in the most scientific manner,
let it be taught in a manner as little unscientific as possible.
In this lies an argument against the ordinary teaching (I speak as an
Englishman) of English. What do we learn by it?
In the ordinary teaching of what is called the grammar of the English
language there are two elements. There is something professed to be
taught which is not taught, but which, if taught, would be worth
learning; and there is something which, from being already learned
better than any man can teach it, requires no lessons. The one (the
latter) is the use and practice of the English tongue. This the
Englishman has already. The other is the principles of grammar.
With existing text-books this is an impossibility. What then _is_
taught? Something (I am quoting from what I have written elsewhere)
undoubtedly. The facts, that language is more or less regular; that
there _is_ such a thing as grammar; that certain expressions should
be avoided, are all matters worth knowing. And they are all taught
even by the worst method of teaching. But are these the proper objects
of _systematic_ teaching? Is the importance of their acquisition
equivalent to the time, the trouble, and the displacement of more
valuable subjects, which are involved in their explanation? I think
not. Gross vulgarity of language is a fault to be prevented; but the
proper prevention is to be got from habit--not rules. The proprieties
of the English language are to be learned, like the proprieties of
English manners, by conversation and intercourse; and a proper school
for both, is the best society in which the learner is placed. If this
be good, systematic teaching is superfluous; if bad, insufficient.
There _are_ undoubted points where a young person may doubt as to
the grammatical propriety of a certain expression. In this case let
him ask some one older and more instructed. Grammar, as a _art_, is,
undoubtedly, _the art of speaking and writing correctly_--but then, as
an _art_, it is only required for _foreign_ languages. For our _own_ we
have the necessary practice and familiarity.
The true claim of English grammar to form part and parcel of an English
education stands or falls with the value of the philological knowledge
to which grammatical studies may serve as an introduction, and with the
value of scientific grammar as a _disciplinal_ study. I have no fear of
being supposed to undervalue its importance in this respect. Indeed, in
assuming that it is very great, I also assume that wherever grammar is
studied as grammar, the language which the grammar so studied should
represent, must be the mother-tongue of the student; _whatever that
mother-tongue may be_--English for Englishmen, Welsh for Welshmen,
French for Frenchmen, German for Germans, &c. The study is the study
of a theory; and for this reason it should be complicated as little as
possible by points of practice. For this reason a man's mother-tongue
is the best medium for the elements of scientific philology, simply
because it is the one which he knows best in practice.
Limit, then, the teaching of English, except so far as it is
preparatory to the study of language in general; with which view, teach
as scientifically as possible.
Go further. Except in special cases, limit the teaching of the
classical tongues to one out of the two. _One_, for all _disciplinal_
purposes, is enough. In this, go far. Dead though the tongue be, and
object of ridicule as the occupation is becoming, go to the length of
writing verses, though only in a few of the commoner metres. Go far,
and go in one direction only. There are reasons for this singleness
of path. I fear that there is almost a necessity. As long as men
believed that the ordinary Latin and Greek grammars were good things
of themselves, and that, even if they did not carry the student far
into the classics, they told him something of value respecting language
in general, a _little learning_ in the dead languages was a good
thing. But what if the grammars are _not_ good things? What if they
are absolutely bad? In such a case, the classical tongues cease to be
learnt except for themselves. Now, one of the few things that is more
useless than a little Latin is a little Greek.
Am I wrong in saying that, with nine out of ten who learn _both_ Latin
and Greek, the knowledge of the two tongues conjointly is not greater
than the knowledge of one of them singly ought to be?
Am I wrong in believing that the tendencies of the age are in favour
of decreasing rather than increasing the amount of time bestowed upon
classical scholarship?
Unless I be so, the necessity for a limitation is apparent.
To curtail English--to eliminate one of the classical tongues--possibly
that of Pericles, at any rate, either that of Pericles or of Cicero--to
substitute for the ordinary elements of a so-called classical education
illustrations from the Chinese, the Hungarian, or the Tumali--this is
what I have recommended.
I cannot but feel that in so doing I may seem to some to have been
false to my text, which was to eulogize things philological. They
may say, _Call you this backing your friends?_ I do. It is not by
glorifying one's own more peculiar studies that such studies gain
credit. To show the permanent, rather than the accidental, elements of
their value, is the best service that can be done for them. It is also
good service to show that they can be taught with a less expenditure of
time and labour than is usually bestowed on them. But the best service
of all is to indicate their disciplinal value; and to show that,
instead of displacing other branches of knowledge, they so exercise
certain faculties of the mind as to prepare the way to them.