THE DEVELOPMENT OF ROOTS.
Language is like the minim immortal among the infusoria, which
keeps splitting itself into halves.--COLERIDGE.
The most brilliant of modern philosophers, M. Victor Cousin, in
endeavouring to refute the conclusion of Locke that all words draw
their first origin from sensible ideas, adduces the pronoun “I” and
the verb “to be” as words which are primitive, indecomposible, and
irreducible in every language with which he is acquainted--as words
which are pure signs, representing nothing whatever except the
meaning conventionally attached to them, and having no connection
with sensible ideas.
Whatever may become of M. Cousin’s general proposition, the
instances which he has chosen to support it are very unfortunate,
for it may be clearly proved that these words, abstract as they
may appear, are yet derived from sensible images. An examination
of them will therefore help us to gain a little insight into the
origin of language, and perhaps strengthen our suspicion that
even the most subjective words, which merely intimate intellectual
relations, even the words which express the essential categories,
may be ultimately proved to have a metaphorical and not a
psychological origin. Such a conviction will by no means impair
the dignity of language, or cast a slur on the majesty of thought;
for if the entire lexicon of every language be capable of being
reduced to a number of sensational roots, the no less important
element of Grammar always remains as the indisputable result of the
pure reason. And not only so, but even the possibility of accepting
imitative roots as _signs_ of the thing imitated, supposes (as
M. Maine[128] de Biran acutely observes) the pre-existence of an
activity superior to sensation, whereby the thinking being places
himself outside the circle of impressions and images in order to
signify and note them.
It might be supposed that the word by which a man characterises
himself in relation to his own consciousness would be of a very
mysterious and abstract character, because it must express the
notion of individuality, which might be regarded as a very primary
intuition. This, however, is far from being the case. Man regarded
himself as an object before he learnt to regard himself as a
subject, and hence “the objective cases of the personal as well as
of the other pronouns are always older than the subjective,” and
the Sanskrit _mâm_, _ma_ (Greek με, Latin _me_) is earlier than
_aham_ (ἐγών, and _ego_). We might have conjectured this from the
fact already noticed, that children learn to speak of themselves in
the third person, _i.e._ regard themselves as objects long before
they acquire the power of representing their material selves as
the instrument of an abstract entity. A child[129] does not attain
to the free use of the pronoun “I” until the acquisition of formal
grammar outstrips the psychological growth. And the same takes
place with other personal pronouns. Man’s primary consciousness
of his own existence is nearly simultaneous with the belief that
he is something separate from the not-me, the external world. But
at first he would only regard this external world as an immense
inseparable phenomenon, and it would be some time before he could
“invest the[130] not-me with the powers of agency and will which we
experience in ourselves.”
But whether the conception of individuality be regarded as coming
early or late, so far is the pronoun “I” from involving any
sublime intrinsic meaning, that it was originally a demonstrative
monosyllable, indicative of a particular position. “In fact,” says
Dr. Donaldson, “the primitive pronouns must have been very simple
words, for the first and easiest articulations would naturally be
adopted to express the primary intuition of space. These little
vocables denote only the immediate relations of locality. It
is reasonable to suppose that the primitive pronouns would be
designations of _here_ and _there_, of the subject and object as
contrasted and opposed to one another. As soon as language becomes
a medium of communication between two speaking persons, a threefold
distinction at once arises between the _here_ or subject, the
_there_ or object, and the person spoken to or considered as a
subject in himself, though an object in regard to the speaker.”
In other words, there are “three[131] primitive relations of
position: here, near to here, and there, or juxtaposition,
proximity, and distance. The three primitive articulations which
are used (in Greek) to express these three relations of position,
are the three primitive _tenues_, Π, Ϙ, Τ, pronounced pa, qua,
ta, which we shall call the first, second, and third pronominal
elements. The first pronominal element denoting juxtaposition, or
_here_, is used to express (a) the first personal pronoun; (b) the
first numeral; (c) the point of departure in motion. The second
pronominal element denoting proximity, or _near to the here_, is
used to express (a) the second personal pronoun; (b) the relative
pronoun; (c) the reflexive pronoun. The third pronominal element,
denoting distance, is used to express (a) the third personal
pronoun; (b) negation; (c) separation.”[132] Thus, then, we find
that even so metaphysical a conception as that of individuality is
only expressed by an elementary word implying locality.
We see, therefore, that M. Cousin is mistaken in supposing that
the pronouns at any rate were non-sensational in their origin,
arising as they do from the very earliest and simplest of all
sensations. And it is, perhaps, still more surprising to find that
a similar origin can be traced even in the numerals, which involved
the very triumph of abstraction; for, in using a numeral, “we
strip things of all their sensible properties,[133] and consider
them as merely relations of number, as members of a series, as
perfectly general relations of place.” And yet abstract as they
are, and, absolutely as we might suppose them to be removed from
concrete objects of sense, it is a matter of certainty that their
genesis can be traced. About the general result few philologists
have any doubt, however much they may differ in their details. “I
do[134] not think,” says M. Bopp, “_that any language whatever has
produced special original words for the particular designation
of such compacted and peculiar ideas as three, four, five_, &c.”
Accordingly it has been proved that the three first numerals in
Sanskrit and Greek are connected with the three personal pronouns,
and originally implied _here_,[135] _near to the here_, and
_there_; that the _fourth_[136] implies 1 + 3; that the fifth, as
might have been expected, is connected with the same root as the
word “hand;” that the tenth numeral means two hands, and so forth.
Still it might be supposed that the verb “to be,” predicating as
it does the quality of existence, a conception so abstract that
the profoundest metaphysicians and physiologists have been as yet
wholly unable to find for it any tolerable definition, would resist
all attempts at a reduction to any sensational root. If we are to
look to a definition of “life” as being either undiscoverable,
or else a discovery which can only be expected from the ultimate
triumphs of science, surely we might suppose that here at least it
is impossible to find a sensible idea as the root of the sublime
verbs which are the means of representing life as an attribute.
But we are all liable to the error of forming far too[137] high an
estimate of the intrinsic vitality (the supposed _occulta vis_) of
verbs in general. They contain no inherent powers which separate
them from nouns, and their supposed distinctive character arises
entirely out of their combination with a subject. The fancy (for
instance) that “the root _can_ ‘sing’ differs from _can_ ‘song’
in the same degree that a magnetised steel bar differs from an
ordinary one, or a charged Leyden jar from a discharged one,”
is proved by minute analysis to be totally groundless. And the
importance of the verb “to be” in particular has been greatly
exaggerated, as though it were a necessary ingredient of every
logical proposition. For in many languages the verb is wanting
altogether, and its mere _implication_ is quite sufficient for all
logical purposes. “The verb-substantive,” observes Mr. Garnett
(from whose most valuable Essay on the nature and analysis of
the verb we have borrowed these suggestions), “if considered as
necessary to vivify all connected speech and bind together the
terms of every logical proposition, is much upon a footing with the
phlogiston of the chemists of the last generation, regarded as a
necessary pabulum of combustion--that is to say, _Vox et præterea
nihil_.”
Whatever our _à priori_ estimate of the power of the
verb-substantive may be, its origin is traced by philology to
very humble and material sources. The Hebrew verbs הָוָה (houa),
or הָיָה (haia), may very probably be derived from an onomatopœia
of respiration. The verb _kama_, which has the same sense, means
primitively “to stand out,” and the verb _koum_,[138] to stand,
passes into the sense of “being.” In Sanskrit, _as-mi_ (from
which all the verbs-substantive in the Indo-European languages
are derived, as εἰμὶ, _sum_, am; Zend, _ahmi_; Lithuanic, _esmi_;
Icelandic, _em_, &c.), is, properly speaking, no verbal root, but
“a formation on the demonstrative pronoun _sa_, the idea meant to
be conveyed being simply that of local presence.” And of the two
other roots used for the same purpose, viz. _bhu_ (φύω, _fui_,
&c.), and _sthâ_ (_stare_, &c.),[139] the first is probably an
imitation of breathing, and the second notoriously a physical verb,
meaning “to stand up.” May we not, then, ask with Bunsen, “What is
‘_to be_’ in all languages but the spiritualisation of _walking_ or
_standing_ or _eating_?”
Perhaps if we were to try to think of any _positive_ word which it
would be _impossible_ to derive from a root imitative of sound, it
would be the word _silence_. And yet we believe that the root of
even this word is a simple onomatopœia, and that it is connected
with the sibilants (hush! whish! &c.), by which we endeavour to
call attention to the fact that we desire to listen intently.
It may help us to accept this etymology if we observe that the
colloquialism “to be _mum_” undoubtedly arises[140] from an
imitation of the sound by which we express the closing of the lips.
If we fully allow that a considerable number of roots _have_ (and
_must_ have) sprung from the instinctive principle which we have
been endeavouring to illustrate, we have gone very far to show what
was the origin of language. For the permutations and combinations
of which a very few roots[141] are capable, and the rich variety
of applications of which each separate root admits, are almost
inconceivable to any who have not, by a study of the subject,
rendered themselves familiar with the processes of the human mind.
Indeed, a superfluity of roots argues a feebleness of conception,
and a superabundant vocabulary is an impediment to thought. In the
Society Isles they have one word for the tail of a dog, another for
the tail of a bird, and a third for the tail of a sheep, and yet
for “tail” itself,[142]--“tail” in the abstract, they have no word
whatever. Again, the Mohicans have words for wood-cutting, cutting
the head, the arm, &c., and yet no verb meaning simply to cut. But
all the specific words are comparatively of very little use; in
point of fact they are encumbrances, rather than treasures. It is
the sign of an advancing language to modify or throw away these
superfluities of special terms. Thus the number of roots decreases
continually; in Sanskrit, there are[143] 2,000; in Gothic, not more
than 600; while 250 are said to be sufficient to supply the modern
German with its 80,000 words.
The processes by which this retrenchment is carried on are the
derivation, and composition of necessary and existing uses to
supersede the continual invention of new ones. The laws by which
these processes are effected are for the most part regular and
universal, and the discovery of them constitutes the great reward
of modern philology. But as our present inquiries are only of the
most general and preliminary nature, we must confine ourselves here
to giving one or two short and comparatively easy specimens of what
we may term the elasticity or diffusiveness of roots.
We have already alluded to the root “ach,” as having been in all
probability an onomatopœian which gives rise to a large number
of cognate words in the Indo-European languages. It is at any
rate interesting to observe how this root, however originated,
suffices to express alike material sharpness, bodily sensations,
and mental emotions. M. Garnett[144] gives the following brief list
of examples:--“Ἄκω, ἄκανθα, ἀχὶς, αἰχμὴ, _acuo_, _acus_, _acies_;
Teutonic, _ekke_ (edge), _ackes_ (axe); Icelandic, _eggia_,
to sharpen, to exhort, to _egg_ on; German, _ecke_, a corner;
Bavarian, _igeln_, _prurire_ (German, _jucken_; Scotch, _yeuk_;
English, _itch_)--_acken_ (to ache), ἄχος (grief); Anglo-Saxon,
_ege_, fear--_egeslich_, horrible; Icelandic, _ecki_, sorrow;
German, _ekel_, disgust; with very many more. It is possible that
Anglo-Saxon _ege_, an eye, may be of the same family. Compare the
Latin phrase, _acies oculorum_.”
Or, again, let us take the Sanskrit root _dhu_, to move about,
to agitate. A list of the derivatives from this root in various
Indo-European languages would fill several pages, but we will only
supply one or two. First, then, we get the verbs θύω and θύνω,
to rush, or move violently, with their derivatives, as θύελλα, a
storm; θύννος, a thunny-fish (from its rapid, darting motion);
θύσανος, a waving, fluttering tassel; θυιὰς, a bacchanal; θύρσος,
the shaken thyrsus, or ivy-wreathed wand, the symbol of Bacchic
frenzy; θορεῖν, to leap; θοῦρος, impetuous; ἀθύρω, to play; and
among many others, θυμὸς, the mind, from the same property which
struck the poet, in saying--
How swift is the glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight
E’en the tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-speeding arrows of light!
From the same root we get θύω, to sacrifice, from the striking
aspect of the rising and curling fumes, when the victim lay burning
on the altar; θύμος, thyme, from the use made of that herb in
fumigations; _fumus_, smoke; θυμέλη, the altar in the centre of the
orchestra; and many more. Lastly, we may mention the curious word
θοάζειν, which is used in the apparently contradictory senses of
“to move hastily,” and “to sit.”[145]
The curious phenomenon presented by the latter word, of the same
root serving for two directly opposite meanings, is one worthy
of the greatest attention; and we believe that it has first
been definitely noticed by modern philologists. “Contrast,” says
Archdeacon Hare, “is a kind of relation;” and the suggestion
of contrarieties may even be regarded as a primary law of the
association of ideas. It is this principle which accounts for the
apparently strange fact that opposite conditions are expressed
by the same root slightly modified. Thus, to select some of the
instances collected by Dr. Donaldson,[146] our own word “dear” has
the two meanings of “prized,” because you have it, and “expensive,”
because you want it; and “fast” has the opposite senses of “fixed”
and “rapid.” Similarly, χρεία in Greek means both “use” and “need”;
and λάω means both “to wish” and “to take;” while _aio_, αὐδάω, and
καλέω, “I speak,” or “call,” are singularly like ἀΐω, _audio_, and
κλύω, “I hear.”[147]
Another instance of the same peculiarity arises from the different
objective or subjective relations which any phenomenon may present,
some of which relations may be strongly contrasted; _e.g._, a “key”
might derive its name either from opening or shutting. Thus, to
adopt some of the cases mentioned by Mr. Garnett,[148] the numeral
_one_ gives rise to compounds of apparently opposite signification.
From the Irish _aon_, “one,” we have _aonach_, “a waste,” and also
“an assembly;” _aontugadh_, celibacy, and _aontumadh_, marriage.
The Latin _unicus_ implies singularity, but _unitas_ implies
association. “The concord of this discord is easily found, if
we consider that the term _one_ may either refer to _one_ as an
_individual_, or in the sense of an _aggregate_.” Similarly, it
is not difficult to explain the apparent anomaly that σχόλη means
both “school” and “leisure,” and that “lee” has very different
acceptations in lee-_side_ and lee-_shore_. Other examples might
easily be found, all tending to prove that “as rays of light may
be reflected and refracted in all possible ways from their primary
direction, so the meaning of a word may be deflected from its
original bearing in a variety of manners; and consequently we
cannot well reach the primitive force of the term unless we know
the precise gradations through which it has gone.”
It has been proved, then, in this chapter, that a few onomatopœic
roots would give a sufficient basis on which to rear the largest
superstructure of language, and we have shown how in some cases an
imitative origin may be discovered even in words which might have
been expected to defy analysis. Into the methods adopted in this
rich variety of applications we must inquire more closely in the
following chapter, but we must here remark that, as it was by the
association of ideas that even the most heterogeneous and contrary
relations were expressed by the same root, so the words themselves
tend powerfully to establish new points of association, and to
facilitate the astonishing rapidity of thought. By the aid of
verbal signs we exercise an enormous power over all our faculties,
for in repeating the sign we are enabled by the personal activity
of our will to recall the image which it represents, and submit
that image to our control.[149] Our sensations, transformed into
thought, come and go at our bidding, and we extend and multiply
them without limit.
Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise!
By virtue of an active imagination the fathers of the human
race produced the mighty heritage of speech, and made the
utterance of their lips a means of recalling their sensations and
expressing their thoughts; in _consequence_ of the activity of
the imagination, our words become the tyrants of our convictions,
and our phrases “often repeated, ossify the very organs of
intelligence.”
Hence the blood of nations has often ere now been shed from an
inability to see the synthesis of various truths in some single
threadbare shibboleth of party; and a mistaken theory embalmed
in a[150] widely-received word has retarded for centuries the
progress of knowledge. For, as Bacon wisely says, “Men believe
that their reason is lord over their words, but it happens, too,
that words exercise a reciprocal and reactionary power over the
intellect,” and that “words, as a Tartar’s bow, do shoot back upon
the understanding of the wisest, and mightily entangle and pervert
the judgment.”
There is one moral application of the truths we have been
considering, which we should do well not to omit; it is the
far-reaching danger of idle[151] or careless words; it is the
solemn admonition--
_Guard well thy thoughts, for thoughts are heard in Heaven!_