LANGUAGE.
Sign-making, 114—Gesture-language, 114—Sound-gestures,
120—Natural Language, 122—Utterances of Animals, 122—Emotional
and Imitative Sounds in Language, 124—Change of Sound and
Sense, 127—Other expression of Sense by Sound, 128—Children’s
Words, 128—Articulate Language, its relation to Natural
Language, 129—Origin of Language, 130.
There are various ways in which men can communicate with one another.
They can make _gestures_, utter _cries_, speak _words_, draw _pictures_,
write _characters_ or _letters_. These are signs of various sorts, and to
understand how they do their work, let us begin by looking at such signs
as are most simple and natural.
When for any reason people cannot talk together by word of mouth,
they take to conversing by gestures, in what is called dumb show or
pantomime. Every reader of this has been able from childhood to carry on
conversation in this way, more or less cleverly. Imagine a simple case.
A boy opens the parlour door, his brother sitting there beckons to him
to be quiet for his father is asleep; the boy now intimates by signs
that he has come for the key of the box, to which his brother answers
by other signs that it is in the pocket of his coat hanging in the
hall, concluding with a significant gesture to be off and shut the door
quietly after him. This is the _gesture-language_ as we all know how to
use it. But to see what a full and exact means of communication it may
be worked up to, it should be watched in use among the deaf-and-dumb,
who have to depend so much upon it. To give an idea how far gestures can
be made to do the work of spoken words, the signs may be described in
which a deaf-and-dumb man once told a child’s story in presence of the
writer of this account. He began by moving his hand, palm down, about a
yard from the ground, as we do to show the height of a child—this meant
that it was a child he was thinking of. Then he tied an imaginary pair
of bonnet-strings under his chin (his usual sign for female), to make it
understood that the child was a little girl. The child’s mother was then
brought on the scene in a similar way. She beckons to the child and gives
her twopence, these being indicated by pretending to drop two coins from
one hand into the other; if there had been any doubt as to whether they
were copper or silver coins, this would have been settled by pointing to
something brown, or even by one’s contemptuous way of handling coppers
which at once distinguishes them from silver. The mother also gives the
child a jar, shown by sketching its shape with the forefingers in the
air, and going through the act of handing it over. Then by imitating the
unmistakeable kind of twist with which one turns a treacle-spoon, it is
made known that it is treacle the child has to buy. Next, a wave of the
hand shows the child being sent off on her errand, the usual sign of
walking being added, which is made by two fingers walking on the table.
The turning of an imaginary door-handle now takes us into the shop, where
the counter is shown by passing the flat hands as it were over it.
Behind this counter a figure is pointed out; he is shown to be a man by
the usual sign of putting one’s hand to one’s chin and drawing it down
where the beard is or would be; then the sign of tying an apron round
one’s waist adds the information that the man is the shopman. To him the
child gives her jar, dropping the money into his hand, and moving her
forefinger as if taking up treacle, to show what she wants. Then we see
the jar put into an imaginary pair of scales which go up and down; the
great treacle-jar is brought from the shelf and the little one filled,
with the proper twist to take up the last trickling thread; the grocer
puts the two coins in the till, and the little girl sets off with the
jar. The deaf-and-dumb story-teller went on to show in pantomime how the
child, looking down at the jar, saw a drop of treacle on the rim, wiped
it off with her finger and put the finger in her mouth, how she was
tempted to take more, how her mother found her out by the spot of treacle
on her pinafore, and so forth.
The student anxious to master the principles of language will find this
gesture-talk so instructive, that it will be well to explain its working
more closely. The signs used are of two kinds. In the first kind things
actually present are shown. Thus if the deaf-mute wants to mention
“hand” or “shoe,” he touches his own hand or shoe. Where a speaking man
would say “I,” “thou,” “he,” the deaf-mute simply points to himself and
the other persons. To express “red” or “blue” he touches the inside of
his own lip or points to the sky. In the second kind of signs ideas
are conveyed by imitation. Thus pretending to drink may mean “water,”
or “to drink,” or “thirsty.” Laying the cheek on the hand expresses
“sleep” or “bedtime.” A significant jerk of the whip-hand suggests either
“whip” or “coachman,” or “to drive,” as the case may be. A “lucifer”
is indicated by pretending to strike a match, and “candle” by the act
of holding up the forefinger like a candle and pretending to blow it
out. Also in the gesture-language the symptoms of the temper one is in
may be imitated, and so become signs of the same temper in others. Thus
the act of shivering becomes an expressive sign for “cold”; smiles show
“joy,” “approval,” “goodness,” while frowns show “anger,” “disapproval,”
“badness.” It might seem that such various meanings to one sign would be
confusing, but there is a way of correcting this, for when a single sign
does not make the meaning clear, others are brought in to supplement it.
Thus if one wants to express “a pen,” it may not be sufficient to pretend
to write with one, as that might be intended for “writing” or “letter,”
but if one then pretends to wipe and hold up a pen, this will make it
plain that the pen itself is meant.
The signs hitherto described are self-expressive, that is, their meaning
is evident on the face of them, or at any rate may be made out by a
stranger who watches their use. Of such self-expressive or natural
signs, the gesture-language mostly consists. But where deaf-mutes live
together, there come into use among them signs which a stranger can
hardly make out until it is explained to him how they arose. They will,
for instance, mention one another by nickname-signs, as when a boy may
be referred to by the sign of sewing, which on inquiry proves to have
been given him because his father was a tailor. Such signs may be very
far-fetched; for instance, at the Berlin Deaf-and-dumb Institution, the
sign of chopping off a head means a Frenchman, and on inquiry it appears
that the children, struck by reading of the death of Louis XVI. in the
history-book, had fixed on this as a sign-name for the whole nation. But
to any new child who learnt these signs without knowing why they were
chosen, they would seem artificial.
Next to studying the gesture-language among the deaf-and-dumb, the most
perfect way of making out its principles is in its use by people who can
talk but do not understand one another’s language. Thus the celebrated
sign-languages of the American prairies, in which conversation is carried
on between hunting-parties of whites and natives, and even between
Indians of different tribes, are only dialects (so to speak) of the
gesture-language. Thus “water” is expressed by pretending to scoop up
water in one’s hand and drink it, “stag” by putting one’s thumbs to one’s
temples and spreading out the fingers. There is a great deal of variety
in the signs among particular tribes, but such a way of communication
is so natural all the world over, that when outlandish people, such as
Laplanders, have been brought to be exhibited in our great cities, they
have been comforted in their loneliness by meeting with deaf-and-dumb
children, with whom they at once fell to conversing with delight in the
universal language of signs. Signs to be understood in this way must be
of the natural self-expressive sort. Yet here also there are some which
a stranger might suppose to be artificial, till he learnt that they
are old signs which have lost their once plain intention. Thus a North
American sign for “dog” is to draw one’s two first fingers along like
poles being trailed on the ground. This seemingly senseless sign really
belongs to the days when the Indians had few horses, and used to fasten
the tent-poles on the dogs to be dragged from place to place; though the
dogs no longer have to do this, custom keeps up the sign.
It has to be noticed that the gesture-language by no means matches, sign
for word, with our spoken language. One reason is that it has so little
power of expressing abstract ideas. The deaf-mute can show particular
ways of making things, such as building a wall or cutting out a coat, but
it is quite beyond him to make one sign include what is common to all
these, as we use the abstract term to “make.” Even “in” and “out” must
be expressed in some such clumsy way as by pretending to put the thing
talked of in, and take it out. Next let us compare an English sentence
with the signs by which the same meaning would be expressed among the
deaf-and-dumb. It will at once be seen that many words we use have no
signs at all corresponding to them. Thus when we should say in words,
“_The_ hat _which_ I left on _the_ table _is_ black,” this statement can
be practically conveyed in gestures, and there will be signs for what
we may call the “real” words, such as _hat_, _leave_, _black_. But for
what may be called the “grammatical” words, _the_, _which_, _is_, there
will be no signs, for the gesture-language has none. Again, grammars lay
down distinctions between substantives, adjectives, and verbs. But these
distinctions are not to be found in the gesture-language, where pointing
to a grass-plot may mean “grass” or “green,” and pretending to warm one’s
hands may suggest “warm” or “to warm oneself,” or even “fireplace.” Nor
(unless where artificial signs have been brought in by teachers) is there
anything in the gesture-language to correspond with the inflexions of
words, such as distinguish _goest_ from _go_, _him_ from _he_, _domum_
from _domus_. What is done is to call up a picture in the minds of the
spectators by first setting up something to be thought about, and then
adding to or acting on it till the whole story is told. If the signs do
not follow in such order as to carry meaning as they go, the looker-on
will be perplexed. Thus in conveying to a deaf-and-dumb child the thought
of a green box, one must make a sign for “box” first, and then show, as
by pointing to the grass outside, that its colour is “green.” The proper
gesture-syntax is “box green,” and if this order were reversed as it is
in the English language, the child might fail to see what grass had to do
with a box. Such a sentence as English “cats kill mice” does not agree
with the order of the deaf-mute’s signs, which would begin by showing the
tiny mouse running, then the cat with her smooth fur and whiskers, and
lastly the cat’s pouncing on the mouse—as it were “mouse cat kill.”
This account of the gesture-language will have made it clear to the
reader by what easy and reasonable means man can express his thoughts
in visible signs. The next step will be to show the working of another
sort of signs, namely, the sounds of the human voice in language. Sounds
of voice may be spoken as signs to express our feelings and thoughts on
much the same principles as gestures are made, except that they are heard
instead of being seen.
One kind of sounds used by men as signs, consists of emotional cries
or tones. Men show pain by uttering groans as well as by distortion of
face; joy is expressed by shouts as well as by jumping; when we laugh
aloud, the voice and the features go perfectly together. Such sounds are
gestures made with the voice, sound-gestures, and the greater number
of what are called interjections are of this class. By means of such
cries and tones, even the complicated tempers of sympathy, or pity, or
vexation, can be shown with wonderful exactness. Let any one put on a
laughing, sneering, or cross face, and then talk, he may notice how
his tone of voice follows; the attitude of features belonging to each
particular temper acts directly on the voice, especially in affecting the
musical quality of the vowels. Thus the speaker’s tones become signs of
the emotion he feels, or pretends to feel. That this mode of expression
is in fact musical, is shown by its being imitated on the violin, which
by altering its quality of tone can change from pain to joy. The human
voice uses other means of expression belonging to music, such as the
contrast of low and loud, slow and quick, gentle and violent, and the
changes of pitch, now rising in the scale and now falling. A speaker,
by skilfully managing these various means, can carry his hearer’s mind
through moods of mild languor and sudden surprise, the lively movement of
cheerfulness rising to eager joy, the burst of impetuous fury gradually
subsiding to calm. We can all do this, and what is more, we do it without
reference to the meaning of the words used, for emotion can be expressed
and even delicately shaded off in pronouncing mere nonsense-syllables.
For instance, the words of an Italian opera in England are to a great
part of the audience mere nonsense-syllables serving as a means of
musical and emotional expression. Clearly this kind of utterance ought to
be understood by all mankind, whatever be the language they may happen
to speak. It is so, for the most savage and outlandish tribes know how
to make such interjections as _ah!_ _oh!_ express by their tone such
feelings as surprise, pain, entreaty, threatening, disdain, and they
understand as well as we do the growling _ur-r-r!_ of anger, or the
_puh!_ of contempt.
The next class of sounds used as expressive signs are imitative. As
a deaf-and-dumb child expresses the idea of a cat by imitating the
creature’s act of washing its face, so a speaking child will indicate it
by imitating its _miaou_. If the two children wish to show that they are
thinking of a clock, the dumb one will show with his hand the swinging
of the pendulum, while the speaking one will say “_tick-tack_.” Here
again the sounds are gestures made with the voice, or sound-gestures.
In this way an endless variety of objects and actions can be brought to
mind by imitating their proper sounds. Not only do children delight in
such vocal imitations, but they have come into ordinary language, as when
people speak of the _coo_ of the pigeon, the _hee-haw_ of the donkey, the
_ding-dong_ of the bell, and the _rat-tat_ of the knocker. It need hardly
be said that these ways of expression are understood by mankind all the
world over.
Now joining gesture-actions and gesture-sounds, they will form together
what may be called a Natural Language. This natural language really
exists, and in wild regions even has some practical value, as when
a European traveller makes shift to converse in it with a party of
Australians round their camp-fire, or with a Mongol family in their felt
tent. What he has to do is to act his most expressive mimic gestures,
with a running accompaniment of exclamations and imitative noises. Here
then is found a natural means of intercourse, much fuller than mere
pantomime of gestures only. It is a common language of all mankind,
springing so directly from the human mind that it must have belonged to
our race from the most remote ages and most primitive conditions in which
man existed.
Here a very interesting question arises, on which every student has the
means of experimenting for himself. How far are the communications of the
lower animals, by their actions and sounds, like this natural language of
mankind? Every one who attends to the ways of beasts and birds is sure
that many of their movements and cries are not made as messages to one
another, but are merely symptoms of the creature’s own state of mind;
for instance, when lambs frisk in the meadow, or eager horses paw in
the stable, or beasts moan when suffering severe pain. Animals do thus
when not aware that any other creature is present, just as when a man
in a room by himself will clench his fist in anger, or groan in pain, or
laugh aloud. When gestures and cries serve as signals to other creatures,
they come nearer to real signs. The lower animals as well as man do
make gestures and cries which act as communications, being perceived by
others, as when horses will gently bite one another to invite rubbing,
or rabbits stamp on the ground and other rabbits answer, and birds
and beasts plainly call one another, especially males and females at
pairing-time. So distinct are the gestures and cries of animals under
different circumstances, that by experience we know their meaning almost
certainly. Human language does not answer its purpose more perfectly than
the hen’s cluck to call her chickens, or the bellow of rage with which
the bull, tossing his head, warns off a dog near his paddock. As yet,
however, no observer has been able to follow the workings of mind even
in the dog that jumps up for food and barks for the door to be opened.
It is hard to say how far the dog’s mind merely associates jumping up
with being fed, and barking with being let in, or how far it forms a
conception like ours of what it is doing and why it does it. Anyhow, it
is clear that the beasts and birds go so far in the natural language as
to make and perceive gestures and cries as signals. But a dog’s mind
seems not to go beyond this point, that a good imitation of a mew leads
it to look for a cat in the room; whereas a child can soon make out from
the nurse saying _miaou_ that she means something about some cat, which
need not even be near by. That is, a young child can understand what is
not proved to have entered into the mind of the cleverest dog, elephant,
or ape, that a sound may be used as the sign of a thought or idea. Thus,
while the lower animals share with man the beginnings of the natural
language, they hardly get beyond its rudiments, while the human mind
easily goes on to higher stages.
In describing the natural language of gestures and exclamations, we have
as yet only looked at it as used alone where more perfect language is not
to be had. It has now to be noticed that fragments of it are found in the
midst of ordinary language. A people may speak English, or Chinese, or
Choctaw, as their mother-tongue, but nevertheless they will keep up the
use of the expressive gestures and interjections and imitations which
belong to natural language. Mothers and nurses use these in teaching
little children to think and speak. It is needless to print examples
of this nursery talk, for unless our readers’ minds have already been
struck by it, they are not likely to study philology to much purpose. In
the conversation of grown people, the self-expressive or natural sounds
become more scanty, yet they are real and unmistakable, as the following
examples will serve to show.
As for gestures, many in constant use among our own and other nations
must have come down from generation to generation since primitive ages
of mankind, as when the orator bows his head, or holds up a threatening
hand, or thrusts from him an imaginary intruder, or points to the sky,
or counts his friends or enemies on his fingers. Next, as to emotional
sounds, a variety of these is actually used in every language. For
instances, a few may be cited from among the interjections set down in
grammars:
English—_ah!_ _oh!_ _ugh!_ _foh!_ _ha! ha!_ _tut!_ (t-t) _sh!_
Sanskrit—_aho!_ (surprise), _aha!_ (reproach), _um!_ (vexation).
Malay—_eh!_ (triumph), _weh!_ (compassion), _chih!_ (dislike).
Galla—_o!_ _woyo!_ (sorrow), _mê!_ (entreaty).
Australian—_năh!_ (surprise), _pooh!_ (contempt).
As for imitative words, all languages of mankind, ancient and modern,
savage and civilized, contain more or less of them, and any English child
can see how the following set of animals and instruments were named by
appropriate sound:—
ASS = _eō_ (Egyptian).
CROW = _kâka_ (Sanskrit).
CAT = _mau_ (Chinese).
NIGHTINGALE = _bulbul_ (Persian).
HOOPOE = _upupa_ (Latin).
RATTLESNAKE = _shi-shi-gwa_ (Algonquin).
FLY = _bumberoo_ (Australian).
DRUM = _dundu_ (Sanskrit).
FLUTE = _ulule_ (Galla).
WHISTLE = _pipit_ (Malay).
BELL = _kwa-lal-kwa-lal_ (Yakama).
BLOW-TUBE = _pub_ (Quiché).
GUN = _pung_ (Botokudo).
Such words are always springing up afresh in dialect or slang; for
instance English _pop_, meaning ginger-beer; German _gaggele_, an egg,
from the cackle of the hen as she laid it; French “maître _fifi_,” a
scavenger (as it were “master _fie-fie_”). In the same way many actions
are expressed by appropriate sounds. Thus in the Tecuna language of
Brazil the verb to sneeze is _haitschu_, while the Welsh for a sneeze
is _tis_. In the Chinuk jargon, the expressive sound _humm_ means to
stink, and the drover’s _kish-kish_ becomes a verb meaning to drive
horses or cattle. It is even possible to find a whole sentence made
with imitative words, for the Galla of Abyssinia, to express “the smith
blows the bellows,” says, _tumtun bufa bufti_, much as an English child
might say “the _tumtum puffs_ the _puffer_.” Such words being taken
direct from nature, it is to be expected that people of quite different
language should sometimes hit on nearly the same imitations. Thus the
Ibo language of West Africa has the word _okoko_ for the bird we call
a _cock_. The English verbs to _pat_ and to _bang_ seem to come from
imitations of sound, much the same being found elsewhere; as when the
Japanese say _pata-pata_ to express the sound of flapping or clapping,
and the Yoruba negros have the verb _gbang_, to beat.
Students whose attention is once directed to this class of
self-expressive words, will notice them at a glance in each fresh
language they master. It takes more careful observation to trace them
when the sound has been transferred by the process of metaphor (_i.e._
carrying over) to some new meaning not close to the original sense,
but there are plenty of clear cases to choose illustrations from. In
the Chinuk jargon of the West Coast of America, a tavern is called a
“_heehee_-house,” a term which puzzles a foreigner till he understands
that among the people who speak this curious dialect the imitative word
_heehee_ signifies not only laughter but the amusement which causes
it, so that the term in fact means “amusement-house.” It might seem
difficult to hit upon an imitative word to denote a courtier, but the
Basuto of South Africa do this perfectly; they have a word _ntsi-ntsi_,
which means a fly, being, indeed, an imitation of its buzz, and they
simply transfer this word to mean also the flattering parasite who buzzes
round the chief like a fly round meat. These instances from uncivilized
languages are like those which appear among the most polished nations,
as when we English take the imitative verb to _puff_ from its proper
sense of blowing, to express the idea of inflated, hollow praise. Now
if the pronunciation of such words becomes changed, their origin may be
only recognised by old records happening to preserve their first sound.
Thus when English _woe_ is traced back to Anglo-Saxon _wá_, it is found
to be an actual groan turned (like German _weh_) into a substantive
expressing sorrow or distress. So an Englishman would hardly guess from
the present pronunciation and meaning of the word _pipe_, what its
origin was; yet when he compares it with the Low Latin _pipa_, French
_pipe_, pronounced more like our word _peep_, to chirp, and meaning such
a reed-pipe as shepherds played on, he then sees how cleverly the very
sound of the musical pipe has been made into a word for all kinds of
tubes, such as tobacco-pipes and water-pipes. Words like this travel like
Indians on the war-path, wiping out their footmarks as they go. For all
we know, multitudes of our ordinary words may have thus been made from
real sounds, but have now lost beyond recovery the traces of their first
expressiveness.
We have not yet come to the end of the intelligible ways in which sound
can be made to express sense. When people want to show alteration in the
meaning of a word, it is enough to make some change in its pronunciation.
It is not difficult to see how, in the Wolof language of West Africa,
where _dagou_ means to walk, _dâgou_ signifies to walk proudly; _dagana_
means to ask humbly, but _dagâna_ to demand. In the Mpongwe language the
meaning can be actually reversed by changing the pronunciation: as “mi
_tonda_,” I love, but “mi _t_o_nda_,” I love not. The English reader
can manage to do much the same tricks by varying the tones of his own
verbs _walk_, _ask_, _love_. This process of expressing difference of
sense by difference of sound may be carried much farther. An instructive
instance of clear symbolism by sound is to be found in a word coined by
the chemist Guyton de Morveau. In his names for chemical compounds he had
already the term _sulfate_ (made on a Latin pattern like _sulphuratus_),
but afterwards he wanted a word to denote a sulphur-salt of different
proportions, and thereupon, to express the fact that there was an
alteration, he changed a vowel and made the term _sulfite_. He perhaps
did not know that he was here resorting to a device found in many
rude languages. Thus in Manchu, contrast of sound serves to indicate
difference of sex, _chacha_ meaning “male” and _cheche_ “female,” _ama_
“father” and _eme_ “mother.” So distances are often expressed by altering
the vowel, as in Malagasy _ao_ means a little way off, _eo_ still nearer,
_io_ close at hand. In this way it is easy to make sets of expressive
personal pronouns; as in the Tumal language _ngi_ “I,” _ngo_ “thou,”
_ngu_ “he.” Another well-known process is reduplication or doubling,
which serves a number of different purposes. It shows repetition or
strengthening of meaning, as where the Polynesian _aka_ “to laugh,”
becomes _akaaka_ “to laugh much,” while _loa_ “long,” becomes _lololoa_
“very long.” Our words _haw-haw_ and _bonbon_ are like these. It is
also easy to form plurals by reduplication, as Malay _orang_ “man,”
_orang-orang_ “men;” Japanese _fito_ “man,” _fito-bito_ “men.” Among the
kinds of reduplication best known to us is that which marks tenses in
verbs, like _didōmi_ and _tetupha_ in Greek, _momordi_ in Latin.
These clever but intelligible devices for making the sound follow the
sense, show how easily man gets beyond mere imitation. Language is one
branch of the great art of sign-making or sign-choosing, and its business
is to hit upon some sound as a suitable sign or symbol for each thought.
Whenever a sound has been thus chosen there was no doubt a reason for
the choice. But it did not follow that each language should choose the
same sound. This is well shown by the peculiar class of words belonging
to children’s language or baby-language, of which the word _baby_ itself
is one. These words are made up all over the world from the few simple
syllables which children first utter, chosen almost anyhow to express
the nursery ideas of mother, father, nurse, toy, sleep, &c. Thus while
we have our way of using _papa_ and _mama_, the Chilians say _papa_
for “mother,” and the Georgians _mama_ for “father,” while in various
languages _dada_ may mean “father,” “cousin,” “nurse;” _tata_ “father,”
“son,” “good-bye”! Such children’s words often find their way into the
language of grown people, and any slight change makes them look like
ordinary words. Thus in English one might hardly suspect _pope_ and
_abbot_ of having their origin in baby-words, yet this is evident when
they are traced back to Latin _papa_ and Syriac _abba_, both meaning
“father.”
These nursery words have already come beyond the “natural language” of
self-expressive gestures and sounds. From its simple and clear facts we
thus pass to the more difficult and obscure principles of “articulate
language.” On examining English, or any other of the thousand tongues
spoken in the world, it is found that most of the words used show no
such connection between sound and sense as is so plain in the natural
or self-expressive words. To illustrate the difference, when a child
calls a pocket timepiece a _tick-tick_, this is plainly self-expressive.
But when we call it a _watch_, this word does not show why it is used.
It is known that the instrument had its name from telling the hours
like a _watch_-man, whose name denotes his duty to _watch_, Anglo-Saxon
_wœccan_, from _wacan_, to move, _wake_; but here explanation comes to
a stop, for no philologist has succeeded in showing why the syllable
_wac_ came to denote this particular idea. Or if the same child call
a locomotive engine a _puff-puff_, this is self-expressive. Grown
people call it an _engine_, a term which came through French from Latin
_ingenium_, which meant that which is “in-born,” thence natural ability
or genius, thence an effort of genius, invention or contrivance, and
thence a machine. By going farther back and taking the Latin word to
pieces, it is seen that the syllables _in_ and _gen_ convey the ideas
of “in” and “birth”; but here again etymology breaks down, for why
these sounds were chosen for these meanings no one knows. Thus it is
with at least nine-tenths of the words in dictionaries; there is no
apparent reason why the word _go_ should not have signified the idea
of coming, and the word _come_ the idea of going; nor can the closest
examination show cause why in Hebrew _chay_ means live, and _mêth_ dead,
or why in Maori _pai_ means good and _kino_ bad. It is maintained by
some philologists that emotional and imitative sounds such as have been
described in this chapter are the very source of all language, and that
although most words now show no trace of such origin, this is because
they have quite lost it in the long change of pronunciation and meaning
they have gone through, so that they are now become mere symbols, which
children have to learn the meaning of from their teachers. Now all this
certainly has taken place, but it would be unscientific to accept it as
a complete explanation of the origin of language. Besides the emotional
and imitative ways, several other devices have here been shown in which
man chooses sounds to express thoughts, and who knows what other causes
may have helped? All we have a right to say is, that from what is known
of man’s ways of choosing signs, it is likely that there was always
some kind of fitness or connection which led to each particular sound
being taken to express a particular thought. This seems to be the most
reasonable opinion to be held as to the famous problem of the Origin of
Language.
At the same time, what little is known of man’s ways of making new words
out of suitable sounds, is of great importance in the study of human
nature. It proves that so far as language can be traced to its actual
source, that source does not lie in some lost gifts or powers of man, but
in a state of mind still acting, and not above the level of children and
savages. The origin of language was not an event which took place long
ago once for all, and then ceased entirely. On the contrary, man still
possesses, and uses when he wants it, the faculty of making new original
words by choosing fit and proper sounds. But he now seldom puts this
faculty to serious use, for this good reason, that whatever language he
speaks has its stock of words ready to furnish an expression for almost
every fresh thought that crosses his mind.