SPECIMENS OF ESPERANTO, WITH GRAMMAR AND
VOCABULARY
CHAP. PAGE
Note . . . . . . . . . . . 165
I. Pronunciation . . . . . . . . . 166
II. Specimens of Esperanto:
1. Parolado . . . . . . . . . 167
2. La Marbordistoj . . . . . . . . 168
3. Nesaĝa Gento: Alegorio . . . . . . 168
III. Grammar . . . . . . . . . . 189
IV. List of Affixes . . . . . . . . . 191
V. Table of Correlative Words . . . . . . . 193
VI. Vocabulary . . . . . . . . . . 194
APPENDIX A
Sample Problems (see Part III., chap, ii.) in Regular Language . 200
APPENDIX B
Esperanto Hymn by Dr. Zamenhof . . . . . . . 202
APPENDIX C
The Letter _c_ in Esperanto . . . . . . . . 204
* * * * *
PART I
GENERAL
I
INTRODUCTORY
In dealing with the problem of the introduction of an international
language, we are met on the threshold by two main questions:
1. The question of principle.
2. The question of practice.
By the question of principle is meant, Is it desirable to have a
universal language? do we wish for one? in short, is there a demand?
The question of practice includes the inquiries, Is such a language
possible? is it easy? would its introduction be fraught with prohibitive
difficulties? and the like.
It is clear that, however possible or easy it may be to do a thing,
there is no case for doing it unless it is wanted; therefore the
question of principle must be taken first. In the case before us
the question of principle involves many considerations—aesthetic,
political, social, even religious. These will be glanced at in their
proper place; but for our present purpose they are all subordinate
to the one great paramount consideration—the economic one. In the
world of affairs experience shows that, given a demand of any kind
whatever, as between an economical method of supplying that demand and a
non-economical method, in the long run the economical method will surely
prevail.
If, then, it can be shown that there is a growing need for means of
international communication, and that a unilingual solution is more
economical than a multilingual one, there is good ground for thinking
that the unilingual method of transacting international affairs will
surely prevail. It then becomes a question of time and method: When will
men feel the pressure of the demand sufficiently strongly to set about
supplying it? and what means will they adopt?
The time and the method are by no means indifferent. Though a demand
(for what is possible) is sure, in the long run, to get itself supplied,
a long period of wasteful and needless groping may be avoided by a
clear-sighted and timely realization of the demand, and by consequent
organized co-operation in supplying it. Intelligent anticipation
sometimes helps events to occur. It is the object of this book to
call attention to the present state of affairs, and to emphasize the
fact that the time is now ripe for dealing with the question, and the
present moment propitious for solving the problem once for all in an
orderly way. The merest glance at the list of projects for a universal
language[1] and their dates will strengthen the conviction from an
historical point of view that the fulness of time is accomplished, while
the history of the rise and fall of _Volapük_ and of the extraordinary
rise of _Esperanto_, in spite of its precursor's failure, are exceedingly
significant.
[1]See pp. 78-87. [Part II, Chapter II]
One language has been born, come to maturity, and died of dissension,
and the world stood by indifferent. Another is now in the first full
flush of youth and strength. After twenty-nine years of daily developing
cosmopolitanism—years that have witnessed the rising of a new star in
the East and an uninterrupted growth of interchange of ideas between
the nations of the earth, whether in politics, literature, or science,
without a single check to the ever-rising tide of internationalism—are
we again to let the favourable moment pass unused, just for want of
making up our minds? At present one language holds the field. It is
well organized; it has abundant enthusiastic partisans accustomed to
communicate and transact their common business in it, and only too
anxious to show the way to others. If it be not officially adopted and
put under the regulation of a duly constituted international authority,
it may wither away or split into factions as Volapük did.[1] Or it may
continue to grow and flourish, but others of its numerous rivals may
secure adherents and dispute its claim. This would be even worse. It is
far harder to rally a multitude of conflicting rivals in the same camp,
than it is to take over a well-organized, homogeneous, and efficient
volunteer force, legalize its position, and raise it to the status of a
regular army. In any case, if no concerted action be taken, the question
will remain in a state of chaos, and the lack of official organization
brings a great risk of overlapping, dissension, and creation of rival
interests, and generally produces a state of affairs calculated to
postpone indefinitely the supply of the demand. Competition that neither
tends to keep down the price nor to improve the quality of the thing
produced is mere dissipation of energy.
[1]Esperanto itself is admirably organized (see p. 119) [Part II,
Chapter VII], and there are no factions or symptoms of dissension.
But Esperantists need official support and recognition.
In a word, the one thing needful at present is not a more highly
perfected language to adopt, but the adoption of the highly perfected
one we possess. By the admission of experts, no less than by the
practical experience of great numbers of persons in using it over a
number of years, it has been found adequate. Once found adequate, its
absolute utility merely depends upon universal adoption.
With utility in direct proportion to numbers of adherents, every recruit
augments its value—a thought which may well encourage waverers to make
the slight effort necessary to at any rate learn to read it.
II
THE QUESTION OF PRINCIPLE—ECONOMIC
ADVANTAGE OF AN INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE
As stated above, the question of principle will be treated here from
a purely economical point of view, since practical value, measured
by saving of time, money, and effort, must be the ultimate criterion
by which the success or failure of so far-reaching a reform as the
introduction of an international, auxiliary language will be decided.
The bearing of such a reform upon education, culture, race supremacy,
etc., is not without importance; but the discussion of these points must
be postponed as subsidiary.
Reduced to its simplest form, the economical argument is this:
(1) The volume of international intercourse is great and increasing.
(2) This intercourse is at present carried on in many different
languages of varying degrees of difficulty, but all relatively hard of
acquisition for those who do not know them as a mother-tongue. This is
uneconomical.
(3) It is economically sounder to carry on international intercourse in
one easy language than in a large number of hard ones.
(4) Therefore in principle an easy international language is desirable.
Let us glance at these four points a little more in detail.
No. 1 surely needs no demonstration. Every year there is more
communication between men of different race and language. And it is not
business, in the narrow sense of the term, that is exclusively or even
chiefly affected by diversity of language. Besides the enormous bulk
of pleasure travel, international congresses are growing in number and
importance; municipal fraternization is the latest fashion, and many
a worthy alderman, touring at the ratepayers' expense, must wish that
he had some German in Berlin, or a little Italian in Milan. Indeed, it
is at these points of international contact that language is a real
bar, actually preventing much intercourse that would otherwise have
taken place, rather than in business, which is organized in view of the
difficulty. Then there is the whole realm of scientific and learned
literature—work of which the accessibility to all concerned is of the
first importance, but is often hindered because a translation into one
language does not pay, or, if made, only reaches a limited public. Such
bars to freedom of interchange cannot be reckoned in money; but modern
economics recognizes the personal and social factor, and any obstacle to
research is certainly a public loss.
But important as are these various spheres of action, an even wider
international contact of thought and feeling is springing up in our
days. Democracy, science, and universal education are producing
everywhere similarity of institutions, of industry, of the whole
organization of life. Similarity of life will breed community of
interests, and from this arises real converse—more give and take in the
things that matter, less purely superficial dealings of the guide-book
or conversation-manual type.
(2) "Business," meaning commerce, in so far as it is international,
may at present be carried on mainly in half a dozen of the principal
languages of Western Europe. Even so, their multiplicity is vexatious.
But outside the world of business other languages are entering the
field, and striving for equal rights. The tendency is all towards
self-assertion on the part of the nationalities that are beginning a
new era of national life and importance. The language difficulty in the
Austrian Empire reflects the growing self-consciousness of the Magyars.
Everywhere where young peoples are pushing their rights to take equal
rank among the nations of the world, the language question is put in
the forefront. The politicians of Ireland and Wales have realized the
importance of language in asserting nationality, but such engineered
language-agitation offers but a feeble reflex of the vitality of the
question in lands where the native language is as much in use for
all purposes as is English in England. These lands will fight harder
and harder against the claims to supremacy of a handful of Western
intruders. A famous foreign philologist,[1] in a report on the subject
presented to the Academy of Vienna, notes the increasing tendency of
Russian to take rank among the recognized languages for purposes of
polite learning. He is well placed to observe. With Russia knocking at
the door and Hungary waiting to storm the breach, what tongue may not
our descendants of the next century have to learn, under pain of losing
touch with important currents of thought? It is high time something
were done to standardize means of transmission. Owing to political
conditions, there are linguistically disintegrating forces at work,
which are at variance with the integrating forces of natural tendency.
[1]Prof. Shuchardt
From an economical point of view, a considerable amount of time, effort,
and money must be unreproductively invested in overcoming the "language
difficulty." In money alone the amount must run into thousands of
pounds yearly. Among the unreproductive investments are—the employment
of foreign correspondence clerks, the time and money spent upon the
installation of educational plant for their production, the time and
money spent upon translations and interpreters for the proceedings
of international conferences and negotiations, the time devoted by
professors and other researchers (often nonlinguists in virtue of their
calling) to deciphering special treatises and learned periodicals in
languages not their own.[1]
[1]These are some of the actual visible losses owing to the
_presence_ of the language difficulty. No one can estimate the
value of the losses entailed by the _absence_ of free intercourse
due to removable linguistic barriers. Potential (but at present
non-realized) extension of goodwill, swifter progress, and wider
knowledge represent one side of their value; while consequent
non-realized increase in volume of actual business represents their
value in money. The negative statement of absence of results from
intercourse that never took place affords no measure of positive
results obtainable under a better system.
The tendency of those engaged in advancing material progress, which
consists in the subjection of nature to man's ends, is to adapt more and
more quickly their methods to changing conditions. Has the world yet
faced in a business-like spirit the problem of wiping out wastage on
words?
Big industrial concerns scrap machinery while it is yet perfectly
capable of running and turning out good work, in order to replace it by
newer machinery, capable of turning out more work in the same time. Time
is money. Can the busy world afford a language difficulty?
(3) The proposition that it is economically sounder to carry on
international intercourse in one easy language than in a large number of
hard ones rests upon the principle that it does not pay to do a thing a
hard way, if the same results can be produced by an easy way.
The whole industrial revolution brought about by the invention of
machinery depended upon this principle. Since an artificial language,
like machinery, is a means invented by man of furthering his ends, there
seems to be no abuse of analogy in comparing them.
When it was found that machinery would turn out a hundred pieces of
cloth while the hand-loom turned out one, the hand-loom was doomed,
except in so far as it may serve other ends, antiquarian, aesthetic, or
artistic, which are not equally well served by machinery. Similarly,
to take another revolution which is going on in our own day through
a further application of machinery, when it is found that corn can
be reaped and threshed by machinery, that hay can be cut, made,
carried, and stacked by machinery, that man can travel the high road
by machinery, sooner or later machinery is bound to get the bulk of
the job, because it produces the same results at greater speed and
less cost. So, in the field of international intercourse, if an easy
artificial language can with equal efficiency and at less cost produce
the same results as a multiplicity of natural ones, in many lines
of human activity, and making all reserves in matters antiquarian,
aesthetic, and artistic, sooner or later the multiplicity will have to
go to the scrap-heap[1] as cumbrous and out of date. It may be a hundred
years; it may be fifty; it may be even twenty. Almost certainly the
irresistible trend of economic pressure will work its will and insist
that what has to be done shall be done in the most economical way.
[1]But only, of course, in those lines in which an international
auxiliary language can produce equally good results. This excludes
home use, national literature, philology, scholarly study of national
languages, etc.
So much, then, for the question of principle. In treating it, certain
large assumptions have been made; e.g. it is said above, "if an easy
artificial language can with equal efficiency... produce the same
results," etc. Here it is assumed that the artificial language is (1)
easy, and (2) that it is possible for it to produce the same results.
Again, however easy and possible, its introduction might cost more than
it saved. These are questions of fact, and are treated in the three
following chapters under the heading of "The Question of Practice."
III
THE QUESTION OF PRACTICE—AN INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE IS POSSIBLE
The man who says a thing is impossible without troubling to find out
whether it has been done is merely "talking through his hat," to use
an Americanism, and we need not waste much time on him. Any one, who
maintains that it is impossible to transact the ordinary business of
life and write lucid treatises on scientific and other subjects in an
artificial language, is simply in the position of the French engineer,
who gave a full scientific demonstration of the fact that an engine
could not possibly travel by steam.
The plain fact is that not only one artificial language, but several,
already exist, which not only can express, but already have expressed
all the ideas current in social intercourse, business, and serious
exposition. It is only necessary to state the facts briefly.
First—_Volapük_.
Three congresses were held in all for the promotion of this language.
The third (Paris, 1889) was the most important. It was attended by
Volapükists from many different nations, who carried on all their
business in Volapük, and found no difficulty in understanding one
another. Besides this, there were a great many newspapers published in
Volapük, which treated of all kinds of subjects.
Secondly—_Idiom Neutral_, the lineal descendant of Volapük.
It is regulated by an international academy, which sends round circulars
and does all its business in Idiom Neutral.
Thirdly—_Esperanto_.
Since the publication of the language in 1887 it has had a gradually
increasing number of adherents, who have used it for all ordinary
purposes of communication. A great number of newspapers and reviews of
all kinds are now published regularly in Esperanto in a great variety
of countries. I take up a chance number of the _Internacia Scienca
Revuo_, which happens to be on my table, and find the following subjects
among the contents of the month: "_Rôle_ of living beings in the general
physiology of the earth," "The carnivorous animals of Sweden," "The part
played by heredity in the etiology of chronic nephritis," "The migration
of the lemings," "Notices of books," "Notes and correspondence," etc.
In fact, the Review has all the appearance of an ordinary scientific
periodical, and the articles are as clearly expressed and as easy to
read as those in any similar review in a national language.
Even more convincing perhaps, for the uninitiated, is the evidence
afforded by the International Congresses of Esperantists. The first was
held at Boulogne in August 1905. It marked an epoch in the lives of
many of the participants, whose doubts as to the practical nature of an
artificial language there, for good and all, yielded to the logic of
facts; and it may well be that it will some day be rather an outstanding
landmark in the history of civilization. A brief description will,
therefore, not be out of place.
In the little seaport town on the north coast of France had come
together men and women of more than twenty different races. Some were
experts, some were beginners; but all save a very few must have been
alike in this, that they had learnt their Esperanto at home, and, as
far as oral use went, had only been able to speak it (if at all) with
members of their own national groups—that is, with compatriots who had
acquired the language under the same conditions as to pronunciation,
etc., as themselves. Experts and beginners, those who from practical
experience knew the great possibilities of the new tongue as a written
medium, no less than the neophytes and tentative experimenters who had
come to see whether the thing was worth taking seriously, they were now
to make the decisive trial—in the one case to test the faith that was
in them, in the other to set all doubt at rest in one sense or the other
for good and all.
The town theatre had been generously placed at the disposal of the
Congress, and the author of the language, Dr. Zamenhof, had left his
eye-patients at Warsaw and come to preside at the coming out of his
_kara lingvo_, now well on in her 'teens, and about to leave the
academic seclusion of scholastic use and emerge into the larger sphere
of social and practical activity.
On Saturday evening, August 5, at eight o'clock, the Boulogne Theatre
was packed with a cosmopolitan audience. The unique assembly was
pervaded by an indefinable feeling of expectancy; as in the lull before
the thunderstorm, there was the hush of excitement, the tense silence
charged with the premonition of some vast force about to be let loose
on the world. After a few preliminaries, there was a really dramatic
moment when Dr. Zamenhof stood up for the first time to address his
world-audience in the world-tongue. Would they understand him? Was their
hope about to be justified? or was it all a chimera, "such stuff as
dreams are made on"?
_Gesinjoroj_ (= Ladies and gentlemen)—the great audience
craned forward like one man, straining eyes and ears towards the
speaker,—_Kun granda plezuro mi akceptis la proponon..._ The
crowd drank in the words with an almost pathetic agony of anxiety.
Gradually, as the clear-cut sentences poured forth in a continuous
stream of perfect lucidity, and the audience realized that they were
all listening to and all understanding a really international speech
in a really international tongue—a tongue which secured to them, as
here in Boulogne so throughout the world, full comprehension and a
sense of comradeship and fellow-citizenship on equal terms with all
users of it—the anxiety gave way to a scene of wild enthusiasm. Men
shook hands with perfect strangers, and all cheered and cheered again.
Zamenhof finished with a solemn declamation of one of his hymns (given
as an appendix to this volume, with translation), embodying the lofty
ideal which has inspired him all through and sustained him through the
many difficulties he has had to face. When he came to the end, the fine
passage beginning with the words, _Ni inter popoloj la murojn detruos_
("we shall throw down the walls between the peoples"), and ending _amo
kaj vero ekregos sur tero_ ("love and truth shall begin their reign on
earth"), the whole concourse rose to their feet with prolonged cries of
"Vivu Zamenhof!"
No doubt this enthusiasm may sound rather forced and unreal to those
who have not attended a congress, and the cheers may ring hollow across
intervening time and space. Neither would it be good for this or any
movement to rely upon facile enthusiasm, as easily damped as aroused.
There is something far more than this in the international language
movement.
At the same time, it is impossible for any one who has not tried it to
realize the thrill—not a weak, sentimental thrill, but a reasonable
thrill, starting from objective fact and running down the marrow of
things—given by the first real contact with an international language
in an international setting. There really is a feeling as of a new power
born into the world.
Those who were present at the Geneva Congress, 1906, will not soon
forget the singing of the song "La Espero" at the solemn closing of
the week's proceedings. The organ rolled out the melody, and when the
gathered thousands that thronged the floor of the hall and packed the
galleries tier on tier to the ceiling took up the opening phrase—
En la mondon venis nova sento,
Tra la mondo iras forta voko,[1]
they meant every word of it. It was a fitting summary of the impressions
left by the events of the week, and what the lips uttered must have been
in the hearts and minds of all.
[1]Into the world has come a new feeling,
Through the world goes a mighty call.
As an ounce of personal experience is worth a pound of second-hand
recital, a brief statement may here be given of the way in which the
present writer came to take up Esperanto, and of the experiences which
soon led him to the conviction of its absolute practicability and
utility.
In October, 1905, having just returned from an absence of some years in
Canada and the Far East, he had his attention turned to Esperanto for
the first time by reading an account of the Congress of Boulogne. He had
no previous knowledge of, or leanings towards, a universal language; and
if he had thought about it at all, it was only to laugh at the idea as a
wild and visionary scheme. In short, his attitude was quite normal.
But here was a definite statement, professing to be one of positive
accomplished fact. One of two things: either the newspaper account
was not true; or else, the facts being as represented, here was a
new possibility to be reckoned with. The only course was to send for
the books and test the thing on its merits. Being somewhat used to
languages, he did not take long to see that this one was good enough in
itself. A letter, written in Esperanto, after a few days' study of the
grammar at odd times, with a halfpenny Esperanto-English key enclosed,
was fully understood by the addressee, though he was ignorant up till
then of the very existence of Esperanto. This experience has often been
since repeated; indeed, the correspondent will often write back after a
few days in Esperanto. Such letters have always been found intelligible,
though in no case did the correspondent know Esperanto previously. The
experiment is instructive and amusing, and can be tried by any one for
an expenditure of twopence for keys and a few hours for studying the
sixteen rules and their application. To many minds these are far simpler
and more easy to grasp for practical use than the rules for scoring at
bridge.
After a month or two's playing with the language in spare time,
the writer further tested it, by sending out a flight of postcards
to various selected Esperantists' addresses in different parts of
the Russian Empire. The addressees ranged from St. Petersburg and
Helsingfors through Poland to the Caucasus and to far Siberia. In nearly
every case answers were received, and in some instances the initial
interchange of postcards led to an extremely interesting correspondence,
throwing much light on the disturbed state of things in the native
town or province of the correspondent. From a Tiflis doctor came a
graphic account of the state of affairs in the Caucasus; while a school
inspector from the depths of Eastern Siberia painted a vivid picture of
the effect of political unrest on the schools—lockouts and "malodorous
chemical obstructions" (_Anglice_—the schools were stunk out). Many
writers expressed themselves with great freedom, but feared their
letters would not pass the censor. Judging by the proportion of answers
received, the censorship was not at that time efficient. In no case was
there any difficulty in grasping the writer's meaning. All the answers
were in Esperanto.
This was fairly convincing, but still having doubts on the question of
pronunciation, the writer resolved to attend the Esperanto Congress
to be held at Geneva in August 1906. To this end he continued to read
Esperanto at odd minutes and took in an Esperanto gazette. About three
weeks before the congress he got a member of his family to read aloud to
him every day as far as possible a page or two of Esperanto, in order
to attune his ear. He never had an opportunity of speaking the language
before the congress, except once for a few minutes, when he travelled
some distance to attend a meeting of the nearest English group.
Thus equipped, he went through the Congress of Geneva, and found himself
able to follow most of the proceedings, and to converse freely, though
slowly, with people of the most diverse nationality. At an early sitting
of the congress he found himself next to a Russian from Kischineff,
who had been through the first great _pogrom_, and a most interesting
conversation ensued. Another day the neighbours were an Indian nawab
and an abbé from Madrid. Another time it was a Bulgarian. At the first
official banquet he sat next to a Finn, who rejoiced in the name of
Attila, and, but for the civilizing influence of a universal language,
might have been in the sunny south, like his namesake of the ancient
world, on a very different errand from his present peaceful one. Yet
here he was, rubbing elbows with Italians, as if there had never been
such things as Huns or a sack of Rome by northern barbarians.
During the meal a Frenchman, finding himself near us English and some
Germans, proposed a toast to the "entente cordiale taking in Germany,"
which was honoured with great enthusiasm. This is merely an instance of
the small ways in which such gatherings make for peace and good will.
With all these people it was perfectly easy to converse in the common
tongue, pronunciation and national idiom being no bar in practice.
And this experience was general throughout the duration of the congress.
Day by day sittings were held for the transaction of all kinds of
business and the discussion of the most varied subjects. It was
impressive to see people from half the countries of the world rise
from different corners of the hall and contribute their share to the
discussion in the most matter-of-fact way. Day by day the congressists
met in social functions, debates, lectures, and sectional groups
(chemical, medical, legal, etc.) for the regulation of matters touching
their special interests. Everything was done in Esperanto, and never
was there the slightest hitch or misunderstanding, or failure to give
adequate expression to opinions owing to defects of language. The
language difficulty was annihilated.
Perhaps one of the most striking demonstrations of this return to
pre-Babel conditions was the performance of a three-part comedy by a
Frenchman, a Russian, and a Spaniard. Such a thing would inevitably
have been grotesque in any national language; but here they met on
common neutral ground. No one's accent was "foreign," and none of the
spectators possessed that mother-tongue acquaintance with Esperanto that
would lead them to feel slight divergences shocking, or even noticeable
without extreme attention to the point. Other theatrical performances
were given at Geneva, as also at Boulogne, where a play of Molière
was performed in Esperanto by actors of eight nationalities with one
rehearsal, and with full success.
In the face of these facts it is idle to oppose a universal artificial
language on the score of impossibility or inadequacy. The theoretical
pronunciation difficulty completely crumbled away before the test of
practice.
The "war-at-any-price party," the whole-hoggers _à tous crins_ (the
juxtaposition of the two national idioms lends a certain realism, and
heightens the effect of each), are therefore driven back on their
second line of attack, if the Hibernianism may be excused. "Yes," they
say, "your language may be possible, but, after all, why not learn an
existing language, if you've got to learn one anyway?"
Now, quite apart from the obvious fact that the nations will never agree
to give the preference to the language of one of them to the prejudice
of the others, this argument involves the suggestion that an artificial
language is no easier to learn than a natural one. We thus come to the
question of ease as a qualification.
IV
THE QUESTION OF PRACTICE (_continued_)—AN
INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE IS EASY[1]
[1]Readers who do not care about the reasons for this, but desire
concrete proofs, may skip the next few pages and turn in to p. 20,
par. 6.
People smile incredulously at the mention of an artificial language,
implying that no easy royal road can be found to language-learning of
any kind. But the odds are all the other way, and they are heavy odds.
The reason for this is quite simple, and may be briefly put as follows:
The object of language is to express thought and feeling. Every natural
language contains all kinds of complications and irregularities,
which are of no use whatever in attaining this object, but merely
exist because they happen to have grown. Their sole _raison d'être_
is historical. In fact, for a language without a history they are
_unnecessary_[1]. Therefore a universal language, whose only object is
to supply to every one the simplest possible means of expressing his
thoughts and feelings in a medium intelligible to every one else,
simply leaves them out. Now, it is precisely in these "unnecessary"
complications that a large proportion—certainly more than half—of
the difficulty of learning a foreign language consists. Therefore an
artificial language, by merely leaving them out, becomes certainly more
than twice as easy to learn as any natural language.
[1]i.e. they do not assist in attaining its object as a language. One
universal way of forming the plural, past tense, or comparative
expresses plurality, past time, or comparison just as well as fifteen
ways, and with a deal less trouble.
A little reflection will make this truth so absurdly obvious, that the
only wonder is, not that it is now beginning to be recognized, but that
any one could have ever derided it.
That the "unnecessary" difficulties of a natural language are more than
one-half of the whole is certainly an under-estimate; for some languages
the proportion would be more like 3:4 or 5:6. Compared with these, the
artificial language would be three times to five times as easy.
Take an illustration. Compare the work to be done by the learner of
(_a_) Latin, (_b_) Esperanto, in expressing past, present, and future
action.
(_a_) Latin:
Present tense active is expressed by—
6 endings in the 1st regular conjugation.
6 " 2nd "
6 " 3rd "
6 " 4th "
Total regular endings: 24.
To these must be added a vast number of quite different and varying
forms for irregular verbs.
(_b_) Esperanto:
Present tense active is expressed by—
1 ending for every verb in the language.
Total regular and irregular endings: 1.
It is exactly the same for the past and future.
Total endings for the 3 tenses active:
(_a_) Latin: 72 regular forms, plus a very large number of irregular and
defective verbs.
(_b_) Esperanto: 3 forms.
Turning to the passive voice, we get—
(_a_) Latin: A complete set of different endings, some of them puzzling
in form and liable to confusion with other parts of the verb.
(_b_) Esperanto: No new endings at all. Merely the three-form regular
active conjugation of the verb _esti_ = to be, with a passive participle.
No confusion possible.
It is just the same with compound tenses, subjunctives, participles,
etc. Making all due allowances, it is quite safe to say that the Latin
verb is fifty times as hard as the Esperanto verb.
The proportion would be about the same in the case of substantives,
Latin having innumerable types.
Comparing modern languages with Esperanto, the proportion in favour of
the latter would not be so high as fifty to one in the inflection of
verbs and nouns, though even here it would be very great, allowing for
subjunctives, auxiliaries, irregularities, etc. But taking the whole
languages, it might well rise to ten to one.
For what are the chief difficulties in language-learning?
They are mainly either difficulties of phonetics, or of structure and
vocabulary.
Difficulties of phonetics are:
(1) Multiplicity of sounds to be produced, including many sounds and
combinations that do not occur in the language of the learner.
(2) Variation of accent, and of sounds expressed by the same letter.
These difficulties are both eliminated in Esperanto.
(1) Relatively few sounds are adopted into the language, and only such
as are common to nearly all languages. For instance, there are only five
full vowels and three[1] diphthongs, which can be explained to every
speaker in terms of his own language. All the modified vowels, closed
"u's" and "e's," half tones, longs and shorts, open and closed vowels,
etc., which form the chief bugbear in correct pronunciation, and often
render the foreigner unintelligible—all these disappear.
[1]Omitting the rare _eŭ_. _ej_ and _uj_ are merely simple vowels
plus consonantal _j_ (= English _y_).
(2) There is no variation of accent or of sound expressed by the
same letter. The principle "one letter, one sound"[1] is adhered to
absolutely. Thus, having learned one simple rule for accent (always on
the last syllable but one), and the uniform sound corresponding to each
letter, no mistake is possible.
[1]The converse—"one sound, one letter"—is also true, except that
the same sound is expressed by _c_ and _ts_. (See Appendix C.)
Contrast this with English. Miss Soames gives twenty-one ways of writing
the same sound. Here they are:
[Transcriber's Note:
Letters originally printed in _italics_ are here CAPITALIZED for
clarity.]
AtE grEAt fEIGn
bAss EH! wEIGH
pAIn gAOl AYE
pAY gAUgE obEYEd
dAHlia champAGnE wEIGHEd
vEIn campAIGn trAIT
thEY strAIGHt hALFpenny[1]
[1]Prof. Skeat adds a twenty-second: Lord Reay!
(Compare eye, lie, high, etc.)
In Esperanto this sound is expressed only and always by "e." In fact,
the language is absolutely and entirely phonetic, as all real language
was once.
As regards difficulties of vocabulary, the same may be said as in
the case of the sounds. Esperanto only adopts the minimum of roots
essential, and these are simple, non-ambiguous, and as international
as possible. Owing to the device of word-building by means of a few
suffixes and prefixes with fixed meaning, the number of roots necessary
is very greatly less than in any natural language.[1]
[1]Most of these roots are already known to educated people. For the
young the learning of a certain number of words presents practically
no difficulty; it is in the practical application of words learnt
that they break down, and this failure is almost entirely due to
"unnecessary" difficulties.
As for difficulties of structure, some of the chief ones are as follows:
_Multiplicity and complexity of inflections._ This does not exist in
Esperanto.
_Irregularities and exceptions of all kinds._ None in Esperanto.
_Complications of orthography._ None in Esperanto.
_Different senses of same word, and different words used in same sense._
Esperanto—"one word, one meaning."
_Arbitrary and fluctuating idioms._ Esperanto—none. Common sense and
common grammar the only limitation to combination of words.
_Complexities of syntax._ (Think of the use of the subjunctive and
infinitive in all languages: _ού_ and _μή_ in Greek; indirect speech
in Latin; negatives, comparisons, etc., etc., in all languages.)
Esperanto—none. Common sense the only guide, and no ambiguity in
practice. The perfect limpidity of Esperanto, with no syntactical rules,
is a most instructive proof of the conventionality and arbitrariness of
the niceties of syntax in national languages. After all, the subjunctive
was made for man and not man for the subjunctive.
But readers will say: "It is all very well to show by a comparison of
forms that Esperanto _ought_ to be much easier than a natural language.
But we want facts."
Here are some.
In the last chapter it was mentioned that the present writer first took
up Esperanto in October 1905, worked at it at odd times, never spoke it
or heard it spoken save once, and was able to follow the proceedings
of the Congress of Geneva in August 1906, and talk to all foreigners.
From a long experience of smattering in many languages and learning a
few thoroughly, he is absolutely convinced that this would have been
impossible to him in any national language.
A lady who began Esperanto three weeks before the congress, and studied
it in a grammar by herself one hour each day, was able to talk in it
with all peoples on very simple subjects, and to follow a considerable
amount of the lectures, etc.
Amongst the British folk who attended the congress were many clerks
and commercial people, who had merely learnt Esperanto by attending a
class or a local group meeting once a week, often for not many months.
They had never been out of England before, nor learnt any other foreign
language. They would have been utterly at sea if they had attempted to
do what they did on a similar acquaintance with any foreign tongue.
But during the two days spent _en route_ in Paris, where the British
party was fêted and shown round by the French Esperantists, on the
journey to Geneva, which English and French made together, on lake
steamboats, at picnics and dinners, etc., etc., here they were, rattling
away with great ease and mutual entertainment. Many of these came
from the North of England, and it was a real eye-opener, over which
easy-going South-Englanders would do well to ponder, to see what results
could be produced by a little energy and application, building on no
previous linguistic training. The Northern accent was evidently a help
in pronouncing the full-sounding vowels of Esperanto.
One Englishman, who was talking away gaily with the French
_samideanoj_,[1] was an Esperantist of one year's standing. He had
happened to be at Boulogne in pursuit of a little combined French and
seasiding at the time of the first congress held there, 1905. One day
he got his tongue badly tied up in a cafe, and was helped out of his
linguistic difficulties with the waiter by certain compatriots, who wore
green stars in their buttonholes,[2] and sat at another table conversing
in an unknown lingo with a crowd of foreigners. He made inquiries, and
found it was Esperanto they were talking. He was so much struck by their
facility, and the practical way in which they had set his business to
rights in a minute (the waiter was an Esperantist trained _ad hoc_!),
that he decided to give up French and go in for Esperanto. This man
was a real learner of French, who had spent a long time on it, and
realized with disgust his impotence to wield it practically. To judge
by his conversation next year at Geneva, he had no such difficulty with
Esperanto. He was quite jubilant over the change.
[1]Terse Esperanto word. = partisans of the same idea (i.e.
Esperanto).
[2]The Esperanto badge.
Such examples could be multiplied _ad infinitum_. No one who attended a
congress could fail to be convinced.
Scientific comparison of the respective difficulty of Esperanto and
other languages, based on properly collected and tabulated results,
does not seem to be yet obtainable. It is difficult to get high-class
schools, where language-teaching is a regular and important part of
the curriculum, to give an artificial language a fair trial. Properly
organized and carried-out tests are greatly to be desired. If and when
they are made, it will probably be found that Esperanto is not only very
easy of acquisition itself, but that it has a beneficial effect upon
other language-learning.[1]
[1]See pp. 145-55 [Part III, Chapter I].
Meantime, the present writer has carried out one small experiment in a
good secondary school for girls, where French and German are regularly
spoken and taught for many hours in the week. The head-mistress
introduced Esperanto as a regular school subject at the beginning of
the Easter term, January 1907. At the end of term a test paper was
set, consisting of English sentences to be rendered into French and
Esperanto without any dictionary or other aid, and one short passage
of English prose to be rendered into both languages with any aid from
books that the pupils wished. The object was to determine how far a few
hours' teaching of Esperanto would produce results comparable with those
obtained in a language learnt for years.
The examinees ranged from fourteen to sixteen years. They had been
learning French from two to seven years, and had a daily French lesson,
besides speaking French on alternate days in the school. They had learnt
Esperanto for ten weeks, from one to one and a half hours per week.
_Taking the papers all through, the Esperanto results were nearly as
good as the French._
One last experiment may be mentioned. It was made under scientific
conditions on September 23, 1905. The subject was an adult, who had
learnt French and German for years at school, and had since taught
French to young boys, but was not a linguist by training or education,
having read mathematics at the university.
He had had no lessons in Esperanto, and had never studied the language,
his sole knowledge of it being derived from general conversation with
an enthusiast, who had just returned from the Geneva Congress. He
was disposed to laugh at Esperanto, but was persuaded to test its
possibilities as a language that can be written intelligibly by an
educated person merely from dictionary by a few rules.
He was given a page of carefully prepared English to translate into
Esperanto. The following written aids were given:
1. Twenty-five crude roots (e.g. _lern-_ = to learn.)
2. One suffix, with explanation of its use.
3. A one-page complete grammar of the Esperanto language.
4. An Esperanto-English and an English-Esperanto dictionary.
He produced a good page of perfectly intelligible Esperanto, quite
free from serious grammatical mistake. He admitted that he could not
translate the passage so well into French or German.
Such experiments go a good way towards proving the case for an
artificial language. More are urgently needed, especially of the last
two types. They serve to convince all those who come within range of the
experiment that an artificial language is a serious project, and may
confer great benefits at small cost. Any one can make them with a little
trouble, if he can secure a victim. A particularly interesting one is
to send a letter in Esperanto to some English or foreign correspondent,
enclosing a penny key. The letter will certainly be understood, and very
likely the answer will be in Esperanto.
Doubters as to the ease and efficacy of a universal language are not
asked to believe without trial. They are merely asked not to condemn or
be unfavourable until they have a right to an opinion on the subject.
And they are asked to _form_ an opinion by personally testing, or at any
rate by weighing actual facts. "A fair field and no favour."
The very best way of testing the thing is to study the language for a
few hours and attend a congress. The next congress is to be held in
Cambridge, England, in August 1907.
Nothing is more unscientific or unintelligent than to scoff at a thing,
while refusing to examine whether there is anything in it.
V
THE QUESTION OF PRACTICE (_continued_)—THE INTRODUCTION OF
AN INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE WOULD NOT CAUSE DISLOCATION
In Chapters II., III., and IV. it was sought to prove that a universal
language is desirable in principle, that it already exists and is
efficient, and that it is very easy. If these propositions are true,
the only valid argument against introducing it at once would be a
demonstration that its introduction is either impracticable or else
attended with such disadvantages as to outweigh the beneficial results.
Now, it is quite true that certain schemes tending towards international
uniformity of practice and, therefore, ultimately productive of saving
of labour are nevertheless such that their realization would cause an
almost prohibitive dislocation of present organization. A conspicuous
example is the proposed adoption of the decimal system in coinage and
weights and measures. So great is the loss of time and trouble (and
therefore of money) entailed by using an antiquated and cumbrous-system
instead of a simple and modern one that does the work as well, that the
big firm Kynochs some months ago introduced the decimal system, in spite
of the enormous difficulty of having to keep a double method going.
But hitherto, at any rate, the great disturbance to business that the
change would cause has prevented it from being generally made. Both
this matter and the curiously out-of-date[1] system of spelling modern
English present a fairly close analogy to the multilingual system of
international intercourse, as regards unprofitable expenditure of time
and trouble.
[1]Out of date, because it has failed to keep pace with the change of
pronunciation. Spelling, i.e. use of writing, was merely a device for
representing to the eye the spoken sounds, so that failure to do this
means getting out of date.
But where the analogy breaks down altogether is in the matter of
obstacles to reform.
Supposing that all the ministries of education in the world issued
orders, that as from January 1, 1909, an auxiliary language should be
taught in every government school; supposing that merchants took to
doing foreign business wholesale in an auxiliary language, or that men
of science took to issuing all their books and treatises in it; whose
business would be dislocated? What literature or books would become
obsolete? Who, except foreign correspondence clerks and interpreters,
would be a penny the worse? Surely a useful reform need not be delayed
or refused in the interests of interpreters and correspondence clerks.
Even these would only be eliminated gradually as the reform spread.
There would be absolutely no general confusion analogous to that
following on a sudden change to phonetic spelling or the metric system,
because nothing would be displaced.
Look at the precedents—the adoption of an international maritime code,
and of an international system of cataloguing which puts bibliography
on an equal footing all over the world by means of a common system
of classification. Did any confusion or dislocation follow on these
reforms? Quite the contrary. It was enough for England and France to
agree on the use of the maritime code, and the rest of the nations had
to come into line. It would be the same with the official recognition
by a group of powerful nations of an auxiliary language. As soon as the
world recognizes that it is a labour-saving device on a large scale, and
a matter of public convenience on the same plane as codes, telegraphy,
or shorthand, it will no doubt be introduced. But why wait until there
are rival schemes with large followings and vested interests—in short,
until the same obstacles arise to the choice of an international,
artificial, and neutral language, as now prevent the elevation of any
national language into a universal medium? The plea of impracticability
on the score of dislocation might then be valid. At present it is not.
To have an easy language that will carry you anywhere and enable you to
read anything, it is sufficient to wish for it. Only, as we Britons are
being taught to "think imperially," so must the nations learn in this
matter to _wish internationally_.
VI
INTERNATIONAL ACTION ALREADY TAKEN
FOR THE INTRODUCTION OF AN AUXILIARY LANGUAGE
The main work of educating the public to "wish internationally," the
necessary precedent to official action, has naturally in the past been
done by the adherents of the various language-schemes themselves. An
outline of the most important of these movements is given in the second
part of this book.
But apart from these there is now an international organization that is
working for the adoption of an international auxiliary language, and a
brief account of it may be given here.
During the Paris Exhibition of 1900 a number of international congresses
and learned societies, which were holding meetings there, appointed
delegates for the consideration of the international language question.
These delegates met on January 17, 1901, and founded a "Delegation for
the Adoption of an International Auxiliary Language." They drew up the
following declaration, which has been approved by all subsequently
elected delegates:
* * * * *
DELEGATION FOR THE ADOPTION OF AN INTERNATIONAL AUXILIARY LANGUAGE
Declaration
The undersigned, deputed by various Congresses and Societies to study
the question of an international auxiliary language, have agreed on the
following points:
(1) There is a necessity to choose and to spread the use of an
international language, designed not to replace national idioms in the
individual life of each people, but to serve in the written and oral
relations between persons whose mother-tongues are different.
(2) In order to fulfil its purpose usefully, an international language
must satisfy the following conditions:
1st Condition: It must fulfil the needs of the ordinary intercourse
of social life, of commercial communications, and of scientific and
philosophic relations;
2nd Condition: It must be easily acquired by every person of
average elementary education, and especially by persons of European
civilization;
3rd Condition: It must not be one of the national languages.
(3) It is desirable to organize a general DELEGATION representing
all who realize the necessity, as well as the possibility, of an
international auxiliary language, and who are interested in its
employment. This Delegation will appoint a Committee of members who can
meet during a certain period of time. The purpose of this Committee is
defined in the following articles.
(4) The choice of the auxiliary language belongs in the first instance
to the _International Association of Academies_, or, in case of failure,
to the Committee mentioned in Art. 3.
(5) Consequently the first duty of the Committee will be to present to
the _International Association of Academies_, in the required forms, the
desires expressed by the constituent Societies and Congresses, and to
invite it respectfully to realize the project of an auxiliary language.
(6) It will be the duty of the Committee to create a Society for
propaganda, to spread the use of the auxiliary language which is chosen.
(7) The undersigned, being delegated by various Congresses and
Societies, decide to approach all learned bodies, and all societies of
business men and tourists, in order to obtain their adhesion to the
present project.
(8) Representatives of regularly constituted Societies which have
agreed to the present _Declaration_ will be admitted as members of the
DELEGATION.
* * * * *
This declaration is the official programme of the Delegation. The most
important point of principle to note is Art. 2, 3rd Con.: "It must not
be one of the national languages."
As regards the methods of action prescribed, no attempt is to be made
to bring direct pressure to bear upon any government. It was rightly
felt that the adoption of a universal language is a matter for private
initiative. No government can properly take up the question, no Ministry
of Education can officially introduce an auxiliary language into the
schools under its control, until the principle has met with a certain
amount of general recognition. The result of a direct appeal to any
government or governments could only have been, in the most favourable
case, the appointment by the government appealed to of a commission to
investigate and report on the question. Such a commission would examine
experts and witnesses from representative bodies, such as academies,
institutes, philological and other learned societies. The best course of
action, therefore, for the promoters of an international language is to
apply direct to such bodies, to bring the question before them and try
to gain their support. This is what the Delegation has done.
Now, there already exists an international organization whose object
is to represent and focus the opinion of learned societies in all
countries. This is the International Association of Academies, formed in
1900 for the express purpose, according to its statutes, of promoting
"scientific enterprises of international interest." The delegates feel
that the adoption of an international language comes in the fullest
sense within the letter and spirit of this statute. It is, therefore,
to this Association that the choice of language is, in the first place,
left. (Art. 4.)
The Association meets triennially. At its first meeting (Paris 1901)
the question of international language was brought before it by General
Sébert, of the French Institute, but too late to be included among the
agenda of that meeting. The occasion was important as eliciting an
expression of opinion on the part of the signatories to General Sébert's
address. These included twenty-five members of the French Institute, one
of the most distinguished scientific bodies in the world.
At the second meeting of the Association (London 1904) the Delegation
did not officially present the question for discussion, but the
following paragraph appears in the report of the proceedings of the
Royal Society, which was the host (_London Royal Society_, 1904, C.
Section of Letters, Thursday, May 26, 1904, p. 33):
"In the course of the sitting, the chairman (Lord Reay, President of
the British Academy) submitted to the meeting whether the question of
the 'International Auxiliary Language' should be considered, though
not included in the agenda. From many quarters applications had been
made that the subject might be discussed in some form or other. Prof.
Goldziher and M. Perrot spoke against the suggested discussion,
the former maintaining that the matter was a general question of
international communication, and did not specifically affect scientific
interests; the latter announced that he had been commissioned by the
_Académie des Inscriptions_ to oppose the consideration of this subject.
The matter then dropped."
The third meeting of the Association of Academies was held at Vienna
at the end of May 1907, under the auspices of the Vienna Academy of
Science. The question was officially laid before it by the Delegation.
The Association declared, for formal reasons, that the question did not
fall within its competence.[1]
[1]In the voting as to the inclusion of the question in the agenda,
eight votes were cast in favour of international language, and twelve
against. This considerable minority shows very encouraging progress
in such a body, considering the newness of the scheme.
Up till now only two national academies have shown themselves favourable
to the scheme, those of Vienna and Copenhagen.
The Vienna Academy commissioned one of its most eminent members,
Prof. Schuchardt, to watch the movement on its behalf, and to keep it
informed on the subject. In 1904 he presented a report favourable to
an international language. He and Prof. Jespersen are amongst the most
famous philologists who support the movement.
It is not therefore anticipated that the Association of Academies will
take up the question; and the Delegation, thinking it desirable not to
wait indefinitely till it is converted, has proceeded to the election
of a committee, as provided in Art. 4 of the Declaration. It consists
of twelve members, with powers to add to their number. It will meet in
Paris, October 5, 1907. It is anticipated that the language chosen will
be Esperanto. None of the members of this international committee are
English, all the English savants invited having declined.
What may be the practical effect of the choice made by this Committee
remains to be seen. In France there is a permanent Parliamentary
Commission for the consideration of questions affecting public
education. This Commission has for some time had before it a proposal
for the introduction of Esperanto into the State schools of France,
signed by twelve members of Parliament and referred by the House to
the Commission. This year the proposal has been presented again in a
different form. The text of the scheme, which is much more practical
than the former one, is as follows:
"The study of the international language Esperanto will be included in
the curricula of those government schools in which modern languages are
already taught.
"This study will be optional, and candidates who offer for the various
examinations English, German, Italian, Spanish, or Arabic, will be
allowed to offer Esperanto as an additional subject.
"They will be entitled to the advantages enjoyed by candidates who offer
an additional language."
At present it is a very usual thing to offer an additional language, and
if this project passes, Esperanto will be on exactly the same footing as
other languages for this purpose. The project of recognizing Esperanto
as a principal language for examination was entirely impracticable. It
is far too easy, and would merely have become a "soft option" and a
refuge for the destitute.
It is said that a majority of the Commission are in favour of
introducing an auxiliary language into the schools, when one has been
chosen by the Delegation or by the Association of Academies. It is
therefore possible that in a year or two Esperanto may be officially
recognized in France; and if this is so, other nations will have to
examine the matter seriously.
Considering that the French are notoriously bad linguists and, above all
other peoples, devoted to the cult of their own language and literature,
it is somewhat remarkable that the cause of an artificial language
should have made more progress among them than elsewhere. It might have
been anticipated that the obstructionist outcry, raised so freely in all
countries by those who imagine that an insidious attack is being made on
taste, culture, and national language and literature, would have been
particularly loud in France. On the contrary, it is precisely in that
country that the movement has made most popular progress, and that it
numbers the most scientists, scholars, and distinguished men among its
adherents. Is it that history will one day have to record another case
of France leading Europe in the van of progress?
Encouraged by the number of distinguished signatures obtained in France
to their petition in 1901, the Delegation drew up a formula of assent
to their Declaration, which they circulate amongst (1) members of
academies, (2) members of universities, in all countries. They also
keep a list of societies of all kinds who have declared their adherence
to the scheme. The latest lists (February and March 1907) show 1,060
signatures of academicians and university members, and 273 societies.
In both cases the most influential backing is in France. Thus among the
signatures figure in Paris alone:
10 professors of the College de France;
8 " " " Faculty of Medicine;
13 " " " Faculty of Science;
11 " " " Faculty of Letters;
12 " " " École Normale;
37 members of the Academy of Science;
besides a host of other members of various learned bodies. Many of these
are members of that august body the Institut de France, and one is a
member of the Académie française—M. Lavisse.
It is the same in the other French Universities: Lyons University, 53
professors; Dijon, 34; Caen, 18; Besançon, 15; Grenoble, 26; Marseilles,
56, and so on.
Universities in other lands make a fair showing. America contributes
supporters from John Hopkins University, 20 professors; Boston Academy
of Arts and Sciences, 13 members; Harvard, 7 professors; Columbia
University, 23 professors; Washington Academy of Science, 19 members;
Columbus University, Ohio, 21 professors, etc. Dublin and Edinburgh both
contribute a few. England is represented by one entry: "Cambridge, 2
professors." Perhaps the Cambridge Congress will change this somewhat.
It will be strange if any one can actually witness a congress without
having his imagination to some extent stirred by the possibilities.
A noticeable feature of the action of the Delegation throughout has been
the scientific spirit in which it has gone to work, and its absolute
impartiality as to the language to be adopted. It has everywhere, in
its propaganda and circulars, spoken of "an international auxiliary
language," and has been careful not to prejudge in any way the question
as to which shall be adopted.
It may be news to many that there are several rival languages in the
field. Even the enthusiastic partisans of Esperanto are often completely
ignorant of the existence of competitors. It was partly with the object
of furnishing full information to the Delegates who are to make the
choice, that MM. Couturat and Leau composed their admirable _Histoire
de la langue universelle_. It contains a brief but scientific account
of each language mentioned, the leading principles of its construction,
and an excellent critique. The main principles are disengaged by the
authors with a masterly clearness and precision of analysis from the
mass of material before them. Though they are careful to express no
personal preference, and let fall nothing which might unfairly prejudice
the delegates in favour of any scheme, it is not difficult to judge, by
a comparison of the scientific critiques, which of the competing schemes
analysed most fully carries out the principles which experience now
shows to be essential to success for any artificial language.
The impression left is, that whether judged by the test of conformity to
necessary principles, or by the old maxim "possession is nine points of
the law," Esperanto has no serious rival.
VII
CAN THE INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE BE LATIN?
There are some who fully admit the desirability of an international
language, but say that we have no need to invent one, as we have Latin.
This tends to be the argument of literary persons.[1] They back it up by
pointing out that Latin has already done duty in the Middle Ages as
a common medium, and therefore, they say, what it has once done with
success it can do again.
[1]It has even cropped up again in the able articles in _The
Times_ on the reformed pronunciation of Latin (April 1907).
It is hard to argue with such persons, because they have not grasped
the fact that the nature of international communication has undergone
a complete change, and that therefore there is no presumption that
the same medium will suffice for carrying it on. In the Middle Ages
the cosmopolitan public was almost entirely a learned one. The only
people who wanted to communicate with foreigners (except for a certain
amount of commerce) were scholars, and the only things they wanted to
communicate about were learned subjects, mostly of a philosophical
or literary nature, which Latin was adapted to express. The educated
public was extremely small, and foreign travel altogether beyond the
reach of all but the very few. The overwhelming mass of the people were
illiterate, and fast tied to their native spot by lack of pence, lack of
communications, and the general conditions of life.
Now that everybody can read and write and get about, and all the
conditions of life have changed, the cosmopolitan public, so far from
being confined to a handful of scholars and merchants, extends down
to and is largely made up of that terrible modern production, "the
man in the street." It is quite ridiculous to pretend that because
an Erasmus or a Casaubon could carry on literary controversies, with
amazing fluency and hard-hitting, in Ciceronian Latin, therefore "the
bald-headed man at the back of the omnibus" can give up the time
necessary to obtaining a control of Latin sufficient for the conduct of
his affairs, or for hobnobbing with his kind abroad.
It is waste of time to argue with those who do not realize that the
absolute essentials of any auxiliary language in these days are ease
of acquirement and accessibility to all. There are actually some
newspapers published in Latin and dealing with modern topics. As an
amusement for the learned they are all very well; but the portentous
periphrases to which they are reduced in describing tramway accidents
or motor-cars, the rank obscurity of the terms in which advertisements
of the most ordinary goods are veiled, ought to be enough to drive
their illusions out of the heads of the modern champions of Latin for
practical purposes. Let these persons take in the Roman _Vox Urbis_ for
a month or two, or get hold of a copy of the London _Alaudae_, and see
how they feel then.
A dim perception of the requirements of the modern world has inspired
the various schemes for a barbarized and simplified Latin. It is almost
incredible that the authors of such schemes cannot see that debased
Latin suffers from all the defects alleged against an artificial
language, plus quite prohibitory ones of its own, without attaining
the corresponding advantages. It is just as artificial as an entirely
new language, without being nearly so easy (especially to speak) or
adaptable to modern life. It sins against the cardinal principle that
an auxiliary language shall inflict no damage upon any natural one. In
short, it disgusts both parties (scholars and tradesmen), and satisfies
the requirements of neither. Those who want an easy language, within
the reach of the intelligent person with only an elementary school
groundwork of education, don't get it; and the scholarly party, who
treat any artificial language as a cheap commercial scheme, have their
teeth set on edge by unparalleled barbarisms, which must militate most
seriously against the correct use of classical Latin.
Such schemes are dead of their own dogginess.
Latin, pure or mongrel, won't do.
VIII
CAN THE INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE BE GREEK?
This chapter might be as short and dogmatic as Mark Twain's celebrated
chapter upon snakes in Ireland. It would be enough to merely answer
"No," but that the indefatigable Mr. Henderson, after running through
three artificial languages of his own, has come to the conclusion that
Greek is the thing. Certainly, as regards flexibility and power of
word-formation, Greek would be better than Latin on its own merits. But
it is too hard, and the scheme has nothing practical about it.
IX
CAN THE INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE BE A MODERN LANGUAGE?
Jingoes are not wanting who say that it is unpatriotic of any Englishman
to be a party to the introduction of a neutral language, because English
is manifestly destined to be the language of the world.
Reader, did you ever indulge in the mild witticism of asking a foreigner
where the English are mentioned in the Bible? The answer, of course, is,
_The meek shall inherit the earth_. But if the foreigner is bigger than
you, don't tell him until you have got to a safe distance.
It is this attitude of self-assertion, coupled with the tacit assumption
that the others don't count much, that makes the English so detested
on the Continent. It is well reflected in the claim to have their own
language adopted as a common means of communication between all other
peoples.
This claim is not put forward in any spirit of deliberate insolence,
or with the intention of ignoring other people's feelings; though the
very unconsciousness of any arrogance in such an attitude really renders
it more galling, on account of the tacit conclusion involved therein.
It is merely the outcome of ignorance and of that want of tact which
consists of inability to put oneself at the point of view of others.
The interests of English-speaking peoples are enormous, far greater
than those of any other group of nations united by a common bond of
speech. But it is a form of narrow provincial ignorance to refuse on
that account to recognize that, compared to the whole bulk of civilized
people, the English speakers are in a small minority, and that the
majority includes many high-spirited peoples with a strongly developed
sense of nationality, and destined to play a very important part in the
history of the world. Any sort of movement to have English or any other
national language adopted officially as a universal auxiliary language
would at once entail a boycott of the favoured language on the part
of a ring of other powerful nations, who could not afford to give a
rival the benefit of this augmented prestige. And it is precisely upon
universality of adoption that the great use of an international language
will depend.
To sum up: the ignorance of contemporary history and fact displayed in
the suggestion of giving the preference to any national language is only
equalled by its futility, for it _is_ futile, to put forward a scheme that
has no chance of even being discussed internationally as a matter of
practical politics.
A proof is that precisely the same objection to an auxiliary language
is raised in France—namely, that it is unpatriotic, because it would
displace French from that proud position.
The above remarks will be wholly misunderstood if they are taken to
imply any spirit of Little Englandism on the part of the writer.
On the contrary, he is ardently convinced of the mighty _rôle_ that
will be played among the nations by the British Empire, and has had
much good reason in going to and fro in the world to ponder on its
unique achievement in the past. When fully organized on some terms
of partnership as demanded by the growth of the Colonies, it will go
even farther in the future. But all this has nothing to do with an
international language. Howsoever mighty, the British Empire will not
swallow up the earth—at any rate, not in our time. And till it does, it
is not practical politics to expect other peoples to recognize English
as the international language as between themselves.
There are, in fact, two quite separate questions:
(1) Supposing it is possible for any national language to become the
international one, which has the best claims?
(2) Is it possible for any national language to be adopted as the
international one?
To question (1) the answer undoubtedly is "English." It is already the
language of the sea, and to a large extent the medium for transacting
business between Europeans and Asiatic races, or between the Asiatic
races themselves.[1] Moreover, except for its pronunciation and
spelling, it has intrinsically the best claim, as being the furthest
advanced along the common line of development of Aryan language.[2] But
the discussion of this question has no more than an academic interest,
because the answer to question (2) is, for political reasons, in the
negative.
[1]Another argument is that based on the comparative numbers
of people who speak the principal European languages as their
mother-tongue. No accurate statistics exist, but an interesting
estimate is quoted by Couturat and Leau (_Hist. de la langue
universelle_), which puts English first with about 120,000,000,
followed at a distance of 30,000,000 or 40,000,000 by Russian.
[2]This is explained in Part III., chap. i., _q.v._
X
CAN THE EVOLUTION OF AN INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE BE LEFT
TO THE PROCESS OF NATURAL SELECTION BY FREE COMPETITION?
"You base your argument for an international language mainly on the
operation of economical laws. Be consistent, then; leave the matter
to Nature. By unlimited competition the best language is bound to be
evolved and come to the top in the struggle for life. Let the fittest
survive, and don't bother about Esperanto."
On a first hearing this sounds fairly plausible, yet it is honeycombed
with error.
In the first place, it proves too much. The same argument could be
adduced for the abandonment of effort of all kind whatever to improve
upon Nature and her processes. "You can walk and run and swim. Don't
bother to invent boats and bicycles, trains and aeroplanes, that will
bring you more into touch with other peoples. Let Nature evolve the best
form of international locomotion."
Again, Nature does not tend towards uniformity. She produces an infinity
of variety in the individual, and out of this variety she selects and
evolves certain prevailing types. But these types differ widely within
the limits of the world under varying conditions of environment. What
we are seeking to establish is world-wide uniformity, in spite of
difference of environment.
Again, the argument confuses a sub-characteristic with an organism. A
language is not an organism, but one of the characteristics of man.
After the lapse of countless ages there are grey horses and black, bay
and chestnut, presumably because greyness and blackness and the rest
are incidental characteristics of a horse. No one of them gives him a
greater advantage than the others in his struggle for life, or helps him
particularly to perform the functions of horsiness.
Just in the same way a man may be equally well equipped with all the
qualities that make for success, whether he speaks English or French,
Russian or Japanese. It cannot be shown that language materially helps
one people as against another, or even that the best race evolves the
best language.[1] Take the last mentioned. If there is one people on the
face of the globe who rejoice in an impossible language, it is the
Japanese. In the early days of foreign intercourse a good Jesuit father
reported that the Japanese were courteous and polite to strangers, but
their language was plainly the invention of the devil. To a modern mind
the language may have outlived its putative father, but its reputation
has not improved, so far as ease is concerned. Yet who will say that it
has impaired national efficiency?
[1]Greece went down before Rome. Which was the better race, meaning
by "better" the more capable of imposing its language and manners on
the world? Yet who doubts that Greek was the better language?
The fact is, that for purposes of transaction of ordinary affairs by
those who speak it as a mother tongue, one language is about as good as
another. Whether it survives or spreads depends, not upon its intrinsic
qualities as a language, but upon the success of the race that speaks
it.[1] There is, therefore, no presumption that the best or the most
suitable or the easiest language will spread over the world by its own
merits, or even that any easy or regular language will be evolved.
Printing and education have altogether arrested the natural process of
evolution of language on the lips of men. This is one justification for
the application of new artificial reforms to language and spelling,
which tend no longer to move naturally with the times as heretofore.
[1]A curious phenomenon of our day suggests a possible partial
exception. In Switzerland French is steadily encroaching and bearing
back German. Is this owing to the intrinsic qualities of French
language and civilization? Materially, the Germans have the greater
expansive power.
As regards free competition between rival artificial languages, the
same considerations hold good. The worse might prevail just as easily
as the better, because the determining factor is not the nature of the
language, but the influence and general capacity of the rival backers.
Of course a very bad or hard artificial language would not prevail
against an easy one. But beyond a certain point of ease a universal
language cannot go (ease meaning the ease of all), and that limit has
probably been about reached now. Between future schemes there will be
such a mere fractional difference in respect of ease, that competition
becomes altogether beside the point. The thing is to take an easy one
and stick to it.
XI
OBJECTIONS TO AN INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE ON AESTHETIC GROUNDS
One of the commonest arguments that advocates of a universal language
have to face runs something like this:
"Yes, there really does seem to be something in what you say—your
language may save time and money and grease the wheels of business;
but, after all, we are not all business men, nor are we all out after
dollars. Just think what a dull, drab uniformity your scheme would
lay over the lands like a pall. By the artificial removal of natural
barriers you are aiding and abetting the vulgarization of the world.
You are doing what in you lies to eliminate the racy, the local, the
picturesque. The tongues of men are as stately trees, set deep in the
black, mouldering soil of the past, and rich with its secular decay. The
leaves are the words of the people, old yet ever new, and the flowers
are the nation's poems, drawing their life from the thousand tiny roots
that twist and twine unseen about the lives and struggles of bygone
men. You are calling to us to come forth from the cool seclusion of
these trees' shade, to leave their delights and toil in the glare of the
world at raising a mushroom growth on a dull, featureless plain that
reaches everywhither. Modern Macbeths, sophisticated by your modernity
and adding perverted instinct to crime, you are murdering not sleep,
but dreams—dreams that haunt about the mouldering lodges of the past,
and soften the contact with reality by lending their own colouring
atmosphere. You are hammering the last nail into the coffin of the old
leisurely past, the past that raised the cathedrals, to which taste and
feeling were of supreme moment, and when man put something of himself
into his every work."
The man must be indeed dull of soul who cannot join in a dirge for the
beauty of the vanishing past. Turn where we may now, we find the same
railways, the same trams, music-halls, coats and trousers. The mad rush
of modernity with its levelling tendency really is killing off what is
quaint, out of the way, and racy of the soil. But why visit the sins
of modernity upon an international language? The last sentence of the
indictment itself suggests the line of defence. "You are hammering the
last nail into the coffin of the old, leisurely past...."
Quite so, you _are_.
The universal ability to use an auxiliary language on occasion rounds
off and completes the levelling process. But the old leisurely past
will not be any the less dead, or any the less effectually buried, if
one nail is not driven home in the coffin. The slayer is modernity at
large, made up of science, steam, democracy, universal education, and
many other things—but especially universal education. And the verdict
can be, at the most, justifiable, or at any rate inevitable, pasticide.
You cannot eat your cake and have it; you cannot kill off all the bad
things and keep all the good ones. With sterilization goes purification,
pasticide may be accompanied by pasteurization. At any rate, "the old
order changeth," and you've got to let it change.
The whole history of the "progress" of the world, meaning often material
progress, is eloquent of the lesson that it is vain to set artificial
limits to advancing invention. The substitution of cheap mechanical
processes of manufacture for hand-work involved untold misery to many,
and incidentally led to the partial disappearance of a type of character
which the world could ill afford to lose, and which we would give much
to be able to bring back. The old semi-artist-craftsman, with hand and
eye really trained up to something like their highest level of capacity,
with knowledge not wide, but deep, and all gained from experience, and
not from books or technical education—this type of character is a loss.
Many, with the gravest reason, are dissatisfied with the type which has
already largely replaced it, and which will replace it for good or evil,
but ever more swiftly and surely. But no well-judging person proposes
on that account to forgo the material advantages conferred upon mankind
by the invention of machinery. If the world rejects, on sentimental
grounds, the labour-saving invention of international language, it will
be flying in the face of economic history, and it will not appreciably
retard the disappearance of the picturesque.
There is another type of argument which may also be classed as
aesthetic, but which differs somewhat from the one just discussed. It
emanates chiefly from literary men and scholars, and may be presented as
follows:
"Language is precious, and worthy of study, inasmuch as it enshrines
the imperishable monuments of the thought and genius of the race on
whose lips it was born. The study of the words and forms in which a
nation clothed its thoughts throws many a ray of light on phases of the
evolution of the race itself, which would otherwise have remained dark.
The history of a language and literature is in some measure an epitome
of the history of a people. We miss all these points of interest in your
artificial language, and we shall, therefore, refuse to study it, and
hereby commit it to the devil."
This is a particularly humiliating type of answer to receive, because
it implies that one is an ass. In truth the man who should invent an
artificial language and invite the world to study it for itself would
be a fool, and a very swell-headed fool at that. It seems in vain to
point this out to persons who use the above argument; or to explain to
them that they would be aided in their study of languages that do repay
study by the introduction of an easy international language, because
many commentaries, etc., would become accessible to them, which are not
so now, or only at the expense of deciphering some difficult language in
which the commentary is written, the commentary itself being in no sense
literature, and its form a matter of complete indifference.
Back comes the old answer in one form or another, every variation
tainted with the heresy that the language is to be studied as a language
for itself.
Perhaps the least tedious way of giving an idea of this kind of
opposition, and the way in which it may be met, is to give some extracts
from a scholar's letter, and the writer's answer. The letter is fairly
typical.
"MY DEAR ——,
"Many thanks for your long letter on Esperanto....
According to the books, Esperanto can be learnt quickly by any
one. This means that they will forget it quite as rapidly; for
what is easily acquired is soon forgotten.... In my humble
opinion, an Englishman who knows French and German would do
much better to devote any extra time at his disposal to the
study of his own language, which, I repeat, is one of the most
delicate mediums of communication now in existence. It has
taken centuries to construct, while Esperanto was apparently
created in a few hours. One is God's handiwork, and the other
a man's toy. Personally, any living language interests me more
than Esperanto. I am sorry I am such a heretic, but I fear my
love for the English language carries me away....
"Yours ever,
"——."
The points that rankle are artificiality and lack of a history.
_Reply_
"MY DEAR ——,
"I really can't put it any more plainly, so I must just repeat
it: we are not trying to introduce a language that has any interest
for anybody in itself. An international language is a labour-saving
device. The question is, Is it an efficient one? If so, it must
surely be adopted. The world wants to be saved labour. It never pays
permanently to do things a longer way, if the shorter one produces
equally good results. No one has yet proved, or, in my opinion,
advanced any decent argument tending to show, that the results
produced by a universal language will not be just as good _for many
purposes_[1] as those produced by national languages. That the results
are more economically produced surely does not admit of doubt.
[1]And those very important ones, relatively to man's whole field
of activity.
'Personally, any living language interests me more than
Esperanto.' Of course it does. So it does me, and most sensible
people. But what the digamma does it matter to Esperanto whether we
are interested in it or not? It is not there to interest us. The
question is, Does it, or not, save us or others unprofitable labour
on a large scale? Neither you nor most sane persons are probably
particularly interested in shorthand or Morse codes or any signalling
systems. Yet they bear up.
"Do try to see that we think there is a certain felt want, amongst
countless numbers of persons, which is much more efficiently and
economically met by a neutral, easy, international language,
than by any national one. That is the position you have got to
controvert, if you are seriously to weaken the argument in favour of
an international language. If you say that it is not a want felt by
many people, I can only say, at the risk of being dogmatic, that you
are wrong. I happen to know that it is.[1] The question then is, Is
there an easy way of meeting that want? And the equally certain and
well-grounded answer is, There is....
[1]I have before me a list of 119 societies, representing many
different lines of work and play and many nations, who had already
in 1903 given in their adhesion to a scheme for an international
language. Technical terms alone (in all departments of study) want
standardizing, and an international language affords the best
means. The number of societies is now (1907) over 270.
"As to your argument that what is easy is more easily
forgotten—it is true. But I think you must see that, neither in
practice nor in principle, does it or should it make for choosing the
harder way of arriving at a given result. Chance the forgetting, if
necessary re-learning as required, and use the time and effort saved
for some more remunerative purpose.
"'One is God's handiwork, the other a man's toy.' I should have
said the first was man's lip-work, but I see what you mean. It is
God working through his creature's natural development. The same
is equally true of all man's 'toys.' Man moulded his language in
pursuance of his ends under God. Under the same guidance he moulded
the steam engine, the typewriter, shorthand, the semaphore, and all
kinds of signals. What are the philosophical _differentia_ that make
Esperanto a toy, and natural language God's handiwork? Apparently
the fact that Esperanto is 'artificial,' i.e. consciously produced
by art. If this is the criterion, beware lest you damn man's works
wholesale. If this is not the criterion, what is?
"'An Englishman who knows French and German would do much better
to devote any extra time at his disposal to the study of his own
language.' Yes—if his object is to qualify as an artist in language.
No—if his object is to save time and trouble in communicating with
foreigners. You must compare like with like. It is unscientific
and a confusion of thought to change the subject-matter of a
man's employment of his time on grounds other than those fairly
intercomparable. You have dictated as to how a man should employ
his time by changing his object in employing his time. This makes
the whole discussion irrelevant, in so far as it deals with the
comparative advantage of studying one language or the other.
"Time's up! I have missed my after-lunch walk, and I expect only
hardened your heart.
"Yours,
"——."
And I had!
XII
WILL AN INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE DISCOURAGE THE STUDY OF MODERN
LANGUAGES, AND THUS BE DETRIMENTAL TO CULTURE?—PARALLEL
WITH THE QUESTION OF COMPULSORY GREEK
There is a broad, twofold distinction in the aims with which the study
of foreign languages is organized and undertaken.
It serves: first, purely utilitarian ends, and is a means; secondly, the
purposes of culture, and is an end in itself.
An international auxiliary language aims at supplanting the first type
of study completely, and, as it claims, with profit to the students. The
second type it hopes to leave wholly intact, and disclaims any attempt
to interfere with it in any way. How far is this possible?
The answer depends mainly upon the efficiency of the alternative offered
by the new-comer in each case as a possible substitute.
Firstly, if it is true that a great portion of the human race,
especially in the big polyglot empires and the smaller states of Europe,
are groaning under the incubus of the language difficulty, and have to
spend years on the study of mere words before they can fit themselves
for an active career, then the abolition of this heavy handicap on
due preparation for each man's proper business in life will liberate
much time for more profitable studies. It is certain that the majority
of mankind are non-linguistic by nature and inclination rather than
linguistic—i.e. that the best chance of developing their natural
capacities to the utmost and making them useful and agreeable members of
society does not lie in making all alike swallow an overdose of foreign
languages during the acquisitive years of youth. By doing so, vast waste
is caused, taking the world round. As to the attainment of the object
of this first type of language study, not only is it as efficiently
secured by a single universal language, but far more so. _Ex hypothesi_
the object is utilitarian; the language is a means. Well, a universal
language is a better means than a national one—first, because, being
universal, it is a means to more; secondly, because, being easy and
one, it is a means that more people can grasp and employ. In fact, it
is in this field an efficient substitute; it saves much, without losing
anything.
For the second type of language-study, on the other hand, where the
end is culture and the language is studied for itself and in no wise
as an indifferent means, a universal artificial language offers no
substitute at all. This end is not on its programme. Why, then, should
any language-study that is organized in view of culture be given up on
its account?
It may, of course, be said that the time given to it by those who pursue
culture in language will be taken from the time devoted to more worthy
linguistic study, and will therefore prejudice the learning of other
languages. This is a point of technical pedagogics or psychology. There
is very good reason, from the standpoint of these sciences, to believe
that a study of a simple _type-tongue_ would, on the contrary, pay for
itself in increased facility in learning other languages. But this is
more fully discussed in the chapter for teachers (see pp. 145-55) [Part
III, Chapter I].
The question, however, is not in reality quite so simple as this.
There is no water-tight partition between utilitarian and cultural
language-study. They act and react upon each other. There really is some
ground for anxiety, lest the provision of facilities for learning an
easy artificial language at your door may prevent people from going out
of their way to learn national ones, which would have awakened scholarly
instincts in them. The cause of culture would thus sustain some real
hurt.
The question is another phase—a wider and lower-grade phase—of the
great compulsory Greek question at Oxford and Cambridge. It affects the
masses, whereas the Greek controversy affects the few at the top; but
otherwise the issue at stake is essentially the same.
In both cases the bedrock of the problem is this, Can we afford to put
the many through a grind, which is on the whole unprofitable to them and
does not attain its object of conferring culture, in order to uphold
the traditional system in the interests of the few? In neither case do
the reformers desire to suppress the study of the old culture-giving
language; rather it is hoped that the interests of scholarly and liberal
learning will benefit by being freed from the dead weight of grammar
grinders, whose mechanical performance and monkey antics are merely a
dodge to catch a copper from the examiners.
When Greek is no longer bolstered up by the protection of compulsion,
some of the present bounty-fed (i.e. compulsion-fed) facilities for its
study will no doubt disappear from the schools which are at present
forced to provide them. With them will be lost some recruits who would
have been led by the facilities to study Greek, and would have studied
it to their profit. On the other hand, the university will be open to
numbers of students who are at present shut out by the Greek tariff.
Another barrier against modernity will go down, and democracy make
another step out of the proverbial gutter towards the university.
Similarly, the possession of a universally understood medium of
communication will in some cases deter people from making the effort to
study real language, with all the treasures of original literature to
which it is the key.
"Tis true, 'tis pity; and pity 'tis, 'tis true.
But—and this is the great point—it will open the cosmopolitan outlook
to countless thousands who could never hope to grapple successfully with
even one national language. This cannot be a small gain.
It all comes back to this—you cannot eat your cake and have it too.
_Il faut souffrir pour être belle._ The international language has the
defects of its qualities. But then its qualities are great, and the
world is their sphere of utility.
XIII
OBJECTION TO AN INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE ON THE
GROUND THAT IT WILL SOON SPLIT UP INTO DIALECTS
This is a particularly unfortunate objection, because it displays a
radical ignorance of the history of language, and of the conditions
under which it develops.
In the first place, the whole tendency of language in the modern world
is towards disappearance of local dialects, and their absorption into
a uniform literary language. The dialects of England are almost dead
before the onset of universal education, and the great work of Dr.
Wright was only just in time to rescue them from oblivion. Even one
generation hence it will be impossible to collect much of the local
speech recorded in his dictionary. It is the same in Germany and
everywhere, though, of course, all countries are not equally advanced
in this respect. A standard form of words and grammar is fixed by print
for the literary language, and when every one can read and write, it is
all up with national evolution of language, such as has produced all
national languages. A gradual change of the phonetic value given to the
written symbols there may be. This has been pre-eminently the case in
England, though even this will now be arrested by universal education.
But a change of forms or of grammar can only be indefinitely slight
and gradual. When it takes place, it reflects a common advance of the
literary language, and not local or dialectical variation (though the
common advance may have originally spread from one locality).
In the second place, dialects are variations that spring up under the
stress of local circumstance in the familiar every-day unconscious use
of a common mother tongue among people of the same race and inhabiting
the same district. Now, these are the very circumstances in which an
auxiliary international language never can, and never will, be used. The
only exception is the case of people meeting together for the conscious
practice of the language or using it in jest.
There are no occasions when an international language would be naturally
used when any variation from standard usage would not be a distinct
disadvantage as tending to unintelligibility. In short, a neutral
language consciously learned as a means of communication with strangers
is not on an equal footing with, or exposed to the same influences as, a
mother tongue used by people every day under like conditions.
A cardinal point of difference is well illustrated by Esperanto. The
whole foundation of the language, vocabulary, grammar, and everything
else, is contained in one small book of a few pages, called _Fundamento
de Esperanto_. No change can be made in this except by a competent
elected international authority. Of course, no text-books or grammars
will be authorized for the use of any nation that are not in accordance
with the _Fundamento_. People will make mistakes, of course, just as
they make mistakes in any foreign language, and they can help themselves
out with any words from other languages, just as they do now when their
French or German fails them. But the standard is always there, simple
and short, to correct any aberration, and there is no room for any
alterations in form or structure to creep in.
XIV
OBJECTION THAT THE PRESENT INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE (ESPERANTO)
IS TOO DOGMATIC, AND REFUSES TO PROFIT BY CRITICISM
It is true that Esperantists refuse to make any change in their language
at present, and this is found irritating by some able critics, who
wrongly imagine that this attitude amounts to a claim of perfection for
Esperanto. The matter may be easily put right.
The inadmissibility of change (even for the better) is purely a matter
of policy and dictated by practical considerations. Esperantists
make no claim to infallibility; they want to see their language
universally adopted, and they want to see it as perfect as possible.
Actual and bitter experience shows that the international language
which admits change is lost. Universal acceptance and present change
are incompatible. Esperantists, therefore, bow to the inevitable and
deliberately choose to concentrate for the present on acceptance.
General acceptance, indeed, while it imposes upon the present body of
Esperantists self-restraint in abstaining from change, is in reality
the essential condition of profitable future amendment. When an
international language has attained the degree of dissemination already
enjoyed by Esperanto, the only safe kind of change that can be made
is _a posteriori_, not _a priori_. When Esperanto has been officially
adopted and comes into wide use, actual experience and consensus of
usage amongst its leading writers will indicate the modifications that
are ripe for official adoption. The competent international official
authority will then from time to time duly register such changes, and
they will become officially part of the language.
Till then, any change can only cause confusion and alienate support.
No one is going to spend time learning a language which is one thing
to-day and another thing to-morrow. When the time comes for change,
the authority will only proceed cautiously one step at a time, and its
decrees will only set the seal upon that which actual use has hit off.
This, then, is the explanation of the famous adjective "netuŝebla,"
applied by Dr. Zamenhof to his language, and so much resented in certain
quarters. Surely not only is this degree of dogmatism amply justified
by practical considerations, but it would amount to positive imprudence
on the part of Esperantists to act otherwise. If the inventor of the
language can show sufficient self-restraint, after long years spent in
touching and retouching his language, to hold his hand at a given point
(and he has declared that self-restraint is necessary), surely others
need not be hurt at their suggestions not being adopted, even though
they may in some cases be real improvements.
The following extracts, translated from the Preface to _Fundamento
de Esperanto_ (the written basic law of Esperanto), should set the
question in the right light. It will be seen that Dr. Zamenhof expressly
contemplates the "gradual perfection" (_perfektigado_) of his language,
and by no means lays claim to finality or infallibility.
"Having the character of _fundament_, the three works reprinted in this
volume must be above all inviolable (_netuŝeblaj_).... The fundament
must remain inviolable _even with its errors...._ Having once lost
its strict inviolability, the work would lose its exceptional and
necessary character of dogmatic fundamentality; and the user, finding
one translation in one edition, and another in another, would have
no security that I should not make another change to-morrow, and his
confidence and support would be lost.