COMPARATIVE PHILOLOGY.
We have now repeatedly seen that there is only one argument in favour
of the view that the elsewhere continuous and universal process of
evolution—mental as well as organic—was interrupted at its terminal
phase, and that this argument stands on the ground of psychology. But
we have also seen that even upon this its own ground the argument
admits of abundant refutation. In order the more clearly to show that
such is the case, I have hitherto designedly kept my discussion within
the limits of psychological science. The time, however, has now come
when I can afford to take a new point of departure. It is to Language
that my opponents appeal: to Language they shall go.
In previous chapters I have more than once remarked that the science
of historical psychology is destitute of fossils: unlike pre-historic
structures, pre-historic ideas leave behind them no record of their
existence. But now a partial exception must be taken to this general
statement. For the new science of Comparative Philology has revealed
the important fact that, if on the one hand speech gives _ex_pression
_to_ ideas, on the other hand it receives _im_pression _from_ them,
and that the impressions thus stamped are surprisingly persistent.
The consequence is that in philology we possess the same kind of
unconscious record of the growth and decay of ideas, as is furnished by
palæontology of the growth and decay of species. Thus viewed, language
may be regarded as the stratified deposit of thoughts, wherein they lie
embedded ready to be unearthed by the labours of the man of science.
In now turning to this important branch of my subject, I may remark
_in limine_ that, like all the sciences, philology can be cultivated
only by those who devote themselves specially to the purpose. My
function, therefore, will here be that of merely putting together the
main results of philological research, so far as this has hitherto
proceeded, and so far as these results appear to me to have any bearing
upon the “origin of human faculty.” Being thus myself obliged to rely
upon authority, where I find that authorities are in conflict—which,
I need hardly say, is often the case—I will either avoid the points
of disagreement, or else state what has to be said on both sides of
the question. But where I find that all competent authorities are in
substantial agreement, I will not burden my exposition by tautological
quotations.
Among the earlier students of language it was a moot question whether
the faculty had its origin in Divine inspiration or in human invention.
So long as the question touching the origin of language was supposed
to be restricted to one or other of these alternatives, the special
creationists in this department of thought may be regarded as having
had the best of the argument. And this for the following reasons. Their
opponents, for the most part, were unfairly handicapped by a general
assumption of special creation as regards the origin of man, and also
by a general belief in the confusion of tongues at the Tower of Babel.
The theory of evolution having been as yet unformulated, there was an
antecedent presumption in favour of the Divine origin of speech, since
it appeared in the last degree improbable that Adam and Eve should
have been created “with full-summed powers” of intellect, without the
means of communicating their ideas to one another. And even where
scientific investigators were not expressly dominated by acceptance
of the biblical cosmology, many of them were nevertheless implicitly
influenced by it, to the extent of supposing that if language were not
the result of direct inspiration, it can only have been the result of
deliberate invention. But against this supposition of language having
been deliberately invented, it was easy for orthodox opponents to
answer—“Daily experience informs us, that men who have not learned to
articulate in their childhood, never afterwards acquire the faculty of
speech but by such helps as savages cannot obtain; and therefore, if
speech were invented at all, it must have been either by children who
were incapable of invention, or by men who were incapable of speech.
A thousand, nay, a million, of children could not think of inventing
a language. While the organs are pliable, there is not understanding
enough to frame the conception of a language; and by the time that
there is understanding, the organs are become too stiff for the task,
and therefore, say the advocates for the Divine origin of language,
reason as well as history intimates that mankind in all ages must have
been speaking animals—the young having constantly acquired this art by
imitating those who are older; and we may warrantably conclude that our
first parents received it by immediate inspiration.”[142]
There remained, however, the alternative that language might have been
the result neither of Divine inspiration nor of human invention; but of
natural growth. And although this alternative was clearly perceived by
some of the earlier philologists, its full significance could not be
appreciated before the advent of the general theory of evolution.[143]
Nevertheless, it is here of interest to observe that the theory of
evolution was clearly educed from, and applied to, the study of
languages by some of the more scientific philologists, before it had
been clearly enunciated by naturalists. Thus, for instance, Dr. Latham,
while criticizing the passage above quoted, wrote in 1857:—“In the
actual field of language, the lines of demarcation are less definitely
marked than in the preceding sketch. The phenomena of growth, however,
are, upon the whole, what it suggests.... In order to account for the
existing lines of demarcation, which are broad and definite, we must
bear in mind a fresh phenomenon, viz. the spread of one dialect at the
expense of others, a fact which obliterates intermediate forms, and
brings extreme ones into geographical juxtaposition.”[144]
Now, at the present day—owing partly to the establishment of the
doctrine of evolution in the science of biology, but much more to
direct evidence furnished by the science of philology itself—students
of language are unanimous in their adoption of the developmental
theory. Even Professor Max Müller insists that “no student of the
science of language can be anything but an evolutionist, for, wherever
he looks, he sees nothing but evolution going on all around him;”[145]
while Schleicher goes so far as to say that “the development of new
forms from preceding forms can be much more easily traced, and this on
even a larger scale, in the province of words, than in that of plants
and animals.”[146]
Here, however, it is needful to distinguish between language and
languages. A philologist may be firmly convinced that all languages
have developed by way of natural growth from those simplest elements,
or “roots,” which we shall presently have to consider. But he may
nevertheless hesitate to conclude, with anything like equal certainty,
that these simplest elements were themselves developed from still
lower ingredients of the sign-making faculty; and hence that not only
all languages in particular, but the faculty of language in general,
has been the result of a natural evolution.
Here then, let it be noted, we are in the presence of exactly the
same distinction with regard to the origin of language, as we were at
the beginning of this treatise with regard to the origin of man. For
we there saw that while we have the most cogent historical evidence
in proof of the principles of evolution having governed the progress
of civilization, we have no such direct evidence of the descent of
man from a brutal ancestry. And here also we find that, so long as
the light of history is able to guide us, there can be no doubt that
the principles of evolution have determined the gradual development
of languages, in a manner strictly analogous to that in which they
have determined the ever-increasing refinement and complexity of
social organization. Now, in the latter case we saw that such direct
evidence of evolution from lower to higher levels of culture renders
it well-nigh certain that the method must have extended backwards
beyond the historical period; and hence, that such direct evidence
of evolution uniformly pervading the historical period, in itself
furnishes a strong _primâ facie_ presumption that this period was
itself reached by means of a similarly gradual development of human
faculty. And thus, also, it is in the case of language. If philology
is able to prove the fact of evolution in all known languages as far
back as the primitive roots out of which they have severally grown, the
presumption becomes exceedingly strong that these earliest and simplest
elements, like their later and more complex products, were the result
of a natural growth.
Nevertheless, as I have said, it is important to distinguish between
demonstrated fact and speculative inference, however strong; and,
therefore, I will begin by briefly stating the stages of evolution
through which languages are now generally recognized by philologists to
have passed, without at present considering the more difficult question
as to the origin of roots.
Supposing we take such a word as “uncostliness.” Obviously here the
“un” the “li” and the “ness” are derivative appendages, demonstrative
elements, suffixes and affixes, or whatever else we care to call
_modifying constants_ which the speakers of a language are in the
habit of adding to their root-words, for the sake of ringing upon
those words whatever changes of meaning occasion may require. These
modifying constants, of course, have all had a history, which often
admits of being traced. Thus, for instance, in the above illustration,
we know that the “li” is an abbreviation of what used to be pronounced
as “like;” the “ness,” however, being older than the English language;
while the “un” dates back still further. The word “cost,” then, is here
the root, as far as English is concerned—though it can be followed
(through the Latin _con-sta_) to an Aryan root, signifying “stand.”
These modifying constants, moreover, are not restricted to suffixes,
infixes, and affixes attached to roots, so as to constitute single (or
compound) words: they also occur as themselves separate words, which
admit of being built into the structure of sentences as pronouns,
adverbs, prepositions, &c. And they may occur likewise as so-called
“auxiliary verbs,” in the case of some languages, while in the case of
others their functions are served by grammatical “inflection” of the
words themselves. Thus, according to the “genius” of a language, its
roots are made to lend themselves to significant treatment in different
ways, or according to different methods. But in all cases the roots are
present, and serve as what may be termed the back-bone of a language:
the demonstrative elements, in whatever form they appear, are merely
what I have termed modifying constants.
From this general fact we may be prepared to expect, on the theory
of evolution, that in all languages the roots should be the
oldest elements; those elements which serve only the function of
“demonstrating” the particular meaning which is to be assigned to the
roots on particular occasions, we should expect to have been of later
growth. For they serve only the function of giving specific meanings
to the general meanings already present in the roots; and, therefore,
in the absence of the roots would themselves present no meaning at
all. Consequently, as I have said, we should antecedently expect to
find that the roots are the earliest discoverable (though not on this
account necessarily the most primitive) elements of all languages. And
this, as a general rule, is what we do find. In tracing back the family
tree of any group of languages, different demonstrative elements are
found on different branches, though all these branches proceed from
(_i.e._ are found to contain) the same roots. Of course these roots
may be variously modified, both as to sound and the groups of words
to which in the different branches they have given origin; but such
divergent evolution merely tends to corroborate the proof of a common
descent among all the branches concerned.[147]
I have said that all philologists now agree in accepting the doctrine
of evolution as applied to languages in general; while there is no such
universal agreement touching the precise method or history of evolution
in the case of particular languages. I will, therefore, first give a
brief statement of the main facts of language-structure, and afterwards
render an equally short account of the different views which are
entertained upon the question of language-development. Or, to borrow
terms from another science, I will first deal with the morphology
of the main divisions of the language-kingdom, and then proceed to
consider the question of their phylogeny.
* * * * *
More than a thousand languages exist as “living” languages, no one
of which is intelligible to the speakers of another. These separate
languages, however, are obviously divisible into families—all the
members of each family being more or less closely allied, while members
of different families do not present any such evidence of genetic
affinity. The test of genetic affinity is resemblance in structure,
grammar, and roots. Judged by this test, the thousand or more living
languages are classified by Professor Friedrich Müller under “about one
hundred families.”[148] Therefore, again to borrow biological terms,
we may say that there are about one thousand existing “species” of
language, which fall into about one hundred “genera”—all the species
in each genus being undoubtedly connected by the ties of genetic
affinity.
But besides these species and genera of language, there are what may
be termed “orders”—or much larger divisions, each comprising many of
the genera. By philologists these orders are usually called “groups,”
and whether or not there is any genetic relation among them is still
an unsettled question. From the very earliest days of true linguistic
research, three of these groups have been recognized, and called
respectively, (1) the Isolating, (2) the Agglutinative, and (3) the
Inflectional. I will first explain the meaning which these names are
intended to bear, and then proceed to consider the results of more
recent research upon the question of their phylogeny.
In the _Isolating_ forms of language every word stands by itself,
without being capable of inflectional change for purposes of
grammatical construction, and without admitting of much assistance
for such purposes from demonstrative elements, or modifying constants.
Languages of this kind are often called _Monosyllabic_, from the fact
that the isolated words usually occur in the form of single syllables.
They have also been called _Radical_, from the resemblance which
their monosyllabic and isolated words present to the primitive roots
of languages of other types—roots which, as already indicated, have
been unearthed by the labours of the comparative philologist. Thus,
upon the whole, the best idea of an isolating language may be gained
by comparing it with the “nursery-language” of our own children, who
naturally express themselves, when first beginning to speak, by using
monosyllabic and isolated words, which further resemble the languages
in question by not clearly distinguishing between what we understand
as “parts of speech.” For in isolating tongues such variations of
grammatical meaning as the words are capable of conveying are mainly
produced, either by differences of intonation, or by changing the
positions which words occupy in a sentence. Of course these expedients
obtain more or less in languages of both the other types; but in the
isolating group they have been wrought up into a much greater variety
and nicety of usage, so as to become fairly good substitutes for
modifying constants on the one hand, and inflectional change on the
other. Nevertheless, although inflectional change is wholly absent,
modifying constants in the form of auxiliary words are not so. In
Chinese, for example, there are what the native grammarians call
“full words,” and “empty words.” The full words are the monosyllabic
terms, which, when standing by themselves, present meanings of such
vague generality as to include, for instance, _a ball_, _round_,
_to make round_, _in a circle_: that is to say, the full words when
standing alone do not belong to any one part of speech more than to
another. Moreover, one such word may present many totally different
meanings, such as _to be_, _truly_, _he_, _the letter_, _thus_. In
order, therefore, to notify the particular meaning which a full word is
intended to convey, the empty words are used as aids supplementary to
the devices of intonation and syntax. It is probable that all these
empty words were once themselves full words, the meanings of which
gradually became obscured, until they acquired a purely arbitrary use
for the purpose of defining the sense in which other words were to be
understood—just as our word “like,” in its degenerated form of “ly,”
is now employed to give adjectives the force of adverbs; although, of
course, there is the difference that in isolating tongues the empty
or defining words are not fused into the full ones, but themselves
remain isolated. In the opinion of many philologists, however, “the
use of accessory words, in order to impart the required precision to
the principal terms, is the path that leads from monosyllabic to the
agglutinative state.”[149]
This _Agglutinative_, or, as it is sometimes called, _Agglomerative_
state belongs to languages of the second order. Here the words which
serve the purpose of modifying constants, or marks of relationship,
become fusible with the words which they serve to modify or define, so
as to constitute single though polysyllabic compounds, as in the above
example, “_un-cost-li-ness_.” I have already remarked that by long
usage many of these modifying constants have had their own original
meanings as independent words so completely obscured as to baffle the
researches of philologists.
If all our words had been formed on the type of this example
_un-cost-li-ness_, English would have been an agglutinative language.
But, as a matter of fact, English, like the rest of the group to
which it mainly belongs, has adopted the device of inflecting many
of its words (or, rather, has inherited this device from some of its
progenitors), and thus belongs to the third order of languages which
I have mentioned, namely, the _Inflective_. Languages of this type
are also often termed _Transpositive_, because the words now admit
of being shifted about as to their relative positions in a sentence,
without the meaning being thereby affected. That is to say, relations
between words are now marked much less by syntax, and much more
by individual change. In languages of this kind the principle of
agglutination has been so perfected that the original composition
is more or less obscured, and the resulting words therefore admit
of being themselves twisted into a variety of shapes significant of
finer grades of meaning, in the way of declension, conjugation, &c.
Or, to state the case as it has been stated by some philologists,
in agglutinative tongues the welded elements are not sufficiently
welded to admit of flexion: they are too loosely joined together, or
still too independent one of another. But when the union has grown
more intimate, the structure allows of more artistic treatment at the
hands of language-makers: the “amalgamation” of elements having become
complete, the resulting alloy can be manipulated in a variety of ways
without involving its disintegration. Moreover, this principle of
inflection may extend from the component parts to the root itself; not
only suffixes and prefixes, but even the word which these modify, may
undergo inflectional change. So that, upon the whole, the best general
idea of these various types of language-structure may perhaps be given
by the following formulæ, which I take from Hovelacque.[150]
In the isolating type the formula of a word is simply R, and that of
a sentence R+R+R, &c., where R stands for “root.” If we represent by
r those roots whose sense has become obscured so as to pass into the
state of prefixes and suffixes significant only of relationship between
other words, we shall have a formula of agglutination, Rr, Rrr, rR,
rRr, &c. Lastly, the essence of an inflecting language consists in
the power of a root to express, by modification of its own form, its
various relations to other roots. Not that the roots of all words are
necessarily modified; for they often remain as they do in agglutinating
tongues. But they _may_ be modified, and “languages in which relations
may be thus expressed, not only by suffixes and prefixes, but also by
a modification of the form of the roots, are inflectional languages.”
Therefore, if we represent this power of inflectional change on the
part of the root itself by the symbol ^x, the agglutinating formula
Rr may become R^{xr}. Moreover, the modifying elements may also be
inflected, words thus yielding such formulæ as Rr^x, Rrr^x, &c.
Such, then, are the three main groups or orders of language. But
in addition to them we must notice three others, which have been
shown to be clearly separable. These three additional groups are the
Polysynthetic, the Incorporating, and the Analytic.
The _Polysynthetic_ (= _Incapsulating_) order is found among certain
savages, especially on the continent of America, where, according
to Duponceau, more or less distinctive adherence to this type is
to be met with from Greenland to Chili. The peculiarity of such
languages consists in the indefinite composition of words by syncope
and ellipsis. That is to say, sentences are formed by the running
together of compound words of inordinate length, and in the process of
fusion the constituent words are so much abbreviated as often to be
represented by no more than a single intercalated letter. For example,
the Greenland _aulisariartorasuarpok_, “he-hastened-to-go-afishing,”
is made up of _aulisar_, “to fish,” _peartor_, “to be engaged in
anything,” _pinnesuarpok_, “he hastens:” and the Chippeway _totoccabo_,
“wine,” is formed of _toto_, “milk,” with _chominabo_, “a bunch of
grapes.” Thus, polysynthesis consists of fusion with contraction,
some of the component words losing their first, and others their last
syllables. Moreover, composition of this kind further differs from that
which occurs in many other types of language (_e.g._ our adjectival
_never-to-be-forgotten_), in that the constituent parts may never have
attained the rank of independent words, which can be set apart and
employed by themselves.
The _Incorporating_ order is merely a subdivision of the agglutinative,
and represents an earlier stage of it, wherein the speakers had not
yet begun to analyze their sentences, and so still retain in their
sentences subordinate words in cumbersome variety, as, for example,
“House-I-it-built;” “They-have-them-their-books.”
Again, the _Analytic_ order is merely a subdivision of the
inflectional, and represents a later stage of it. “One by one the
grammatical relations implied in an inflectional compound are brought
out into full relief, and provided with special forms in which to be
expressed.” Thus, in English, for example, inflections have largely
given place to the use of “auxiliary” words, whereby most of the
advantages of refined distinction are retained, while the machinery of
expression is considerably simplified.
So that, on the whole, we may classify the Language-kingdom thus:—
Order I. Isolating.
Order II. Agglutinative: (Sub-orders, Polysynthetic and Incorporating).
Order III. Inflectional: (Sub-order, Analytic).
In the opinion of some philologists, however, the Polysynthetic type
deserves to be regarded, not as a sub-order of the Agglutinative,
but as itself independent of all the other three, and therefore
constituting a fourth order. Thus, on the one hand, we have it said
that polysynthetic languages must “simply be placed last in the
ascending order of the agglutinating series;”[151] while, on the other
hand, it is said, “the conception of the sentence that underlies
the polysynthetic dialects is the precise converse of that which
underlies the isolating or the agglutinative types; the several ideas
into which the sentence may be analyzed, instead of being made equal
or independent, are combined, like a piece of mosaic, into a single
whole.”[152]
These two representative quotations may serve to show how accentuated
is the difference of teaching with regard to this particular group
of languages. As a mere matter of classification, of course, the
question would not be of any importance for us; but as the question
of classification involves one of phylogeny, the matter does acquire
considerable interest in relation to our subject.
* * * * *
Turning, then, from the classification of language-types to their
phylogeny, no one disputes that what I have called the sub-order
Incorporating is genetically connected with the order Agglutinative;
or that the sub-order Analytic is similarly connected with the order
Inflectional. Indeed, these sub-orders are merely branches of these two
respective trunks. The question before us, therefore, reduces itself
to the relations between the three orders _inter se_, and also between
the polysynthetic type and Order II. I will deal with these two cases
separately.
On the one hand it is argued that the isolating, monosyllabic, or
“nursery” type of speech must be regarded as the most primitive—in
fact, that it presents to actual observation the continued “survival”
of that embryonic or “radical” stage of development out of which all
the subsequent growths of language have arisen. Again, the proved fact
of agglutination is seen to represent a long course of development,
wherein words previously isolated were run together into compounds for
the purpose of securing that higher differentiation of language-growth
which we know as parts of speech. Similarly, the inflectional stage
is taken to have been a further elaboration of the agglutinative, in
the manner already explained; while, lastly, the use of auxiliary
words in analytic tongues is regarded as the final consummation of
language-growth.
The theory thus briefly sketched is still maintained by many
philologists; and, indeed, in some of its parts is not a theory at all,
but a matter of demonstrable fact. Thus, it is manifestly impossible
that the phenomena of agglutination can be presented before there are
elements to agglutinate: these elements, therefore, must have preceded
that process of fusion wherein the “genius” of agglutinated speech
consists. Similarly, of course, agglutination must have preceded the
inflection of already agglutinated words; while the use of auxiliaries
can be proved to have been historically subsequent to inflection.
Nevertheless, other philologists have shown good ground for questioning
our right to regard these facts as justifying so universal a theory
as that the law of language-growth is always to be found in these
particular lines, or that all languages of one type must have passed
through the lower phase, or phases, before reaching that in which they
now appear. The most recent argument on this side of the question is by
Professor Sayce, whom, therefore, I will quote.
“We are apt to assume that inflectional languages are more highly
advanced than agglutinative ones, and agglutinative languages than
isolating ones, and hence that isolation is the lowest stage of the
three, at the top of which stands flection. But what we really mean
when we say that one language is more advanced than another, is that
it is better adapted to express thought, and that the thought to be
expressed is itself better. Now, it is a grave question whether from
this point of view the three classes of language can really be set the
one against the other.”[153]
He then proceeds to argue that isolating languages have an advantage
over all other forms in “the attainment of terseness and vividness;”
that “the agglutinative languages are in advance of the inflectional
in one important point, that, namely, of analyzing the sentence into
its component parts, and distinguishing the relations of grammar one
from another.... In fact, when we examine closely the principle upon
which flection rests, we shall find that it implies an inferior logical
faculty to that implied by agglutination.”[154]
Elsewhere he says, “As for the primeval root-language, we have no
proof that it ever existed, and to confound it with a modern isolating
language is simply erroneous. Equally unproved is the belief that
isolating languages develop into agglutinative, and agglutinative into
inflectional. At all events, the continued existence of isolating
tongues like the Chinese, or of agglutinative like the Magyar and
Turkish, shows that the development is not a necessary one.”[155]
I could quote other passages to the same effect; but the above are
sufficient to show that we must not unreservedly accept the earlier
doctrines previously sketched. There is, indeed, no question about the
fact of language-growth as regards particular languages; the question
here is as to the evolution of language-types one from another. And I
have given prominence to this question in order to make the following
remarks upon it.
When we are told that “the continued existence of isolating tongues
like the Chinese, or of agglutinative tongues like the Magyar and
Turkish, shows that the development is not a necessary one,” we of
course at once perceive the unquestionable truth of the statement.
But the fact is without relevance to the only question in debate. The
continued existence of the Protozoa unquestionably proves that their
development into the Metazoa is not necessary; but this fact raises no
presumption at all against the doctrine that all the Metazoa have been
evolved from the Protozoa.
Similarly, when we are told that “what we really mean when we say
that one language is more advanced than another, is that it is better
adapted to express thought,” we are again being shunted from the
question. The question is whether one type of language-structure
_develops_ into another: not whether, when developed, it is “_more
advanced_” than another in the sense of being “better adapted to
express thought.” This it may or may not be; but in either case the
question of its efficiency as a language has no necessary connection
with the question of its development as a language. For it may very
well be that from the same origin two or more lines of development
may occur in different directions. It is doubtless perfectly true,
as Professor Sayce says, that modern Chinese is a higher product
of evolution than ancient Chinese along the line of isolating
condensation; but this is no proof that the agglutinative languages
did not start from an isolating type, and thereafter proceed on a
different line of development in accordance with their different
“genius,” or method of growth. Naturalists entertain no doubt that
two different types of morphological structure, _b_ and [Greek: b],
are both descended from a common parent form B, even though _b_ has
“advanced” in one line of change and [Greek: b] in another, so that
both are now equally efficient from a morphological point of view. Why,
then, should a philologist dispute genetic relationship in what appears
to be a precisely analogous case, on the sole ground that _b_ is, to
his thinking, no less psychologically efficient a language than [Greek:
b]?
Lastly, as I have before indicated, it appears to me impossible to
dispute that every agglutinative language, in whatever measure it can
be proved to be agglutinative, in that measure is thereby proved to
have been derived from a language less agglutinative, and therefore
more isolating. And, similarly, in whatever measure an inflective
language can be proved to inflect its agglutinated words, in that
measure is it thereby proved to have been derived from a language less
inflective, or a language whose agglutinations had not yet undergone so
much of the inflective modification.
On the other hand, as there is no necessary reason why an isolating
language should develop into an agglutinative, or an agglutinative
into an inflectional, it may very well be that the higher evolution
of isolating tongues has proceeded collaterally with that of
agglutinative, while the higher evolution of agglutinative has
proceeded collaterally with that of inflectional. If this were so, both
the schools of philology which we are considering would be equally
right, and equally wrong: each would represent a different side of the
same truth.
Thus it appears to me that, so far as the purposes of the present
treatise are concerned, we may neglect the question of phylogenesis
as between these three orders of languages. For, so long as it is on
all hands agreed that the principles of evolution are universally
concerned in the genesis of every language, it will make no difference
to my future argument whether these principles have obtained in one
or in more lines of development. There can be no reasonable doubt that
in some greater or less degree the three orders are connected: in
what precise degree this connection obtains is doubtless a question
of high importance to the science of philology: it is of scarcely any
importance to the problems which we shall presently have to consider.
But the issue touching the relation between the polysynthetic and
other types of language is of more importance for us, inasmuch as
it involves the question whether or not we have here to do with the
most primitive type of language. In the opinion of some philologists,
“these polysynthetic languages are an interesting survival of the
early condition of language everywhere, and are but a fresh proof
that America is in truth ‘the new world:’ primitive forms of speech
that have elsewhere perished long ago still survive there, like the
armadillo, to bear record of a bygone past.”[156] On the other hand,
it is with equal certainty affirmed that “polysynthesis is not a
primitive feature, but an expansion, or, if you will, a second phase of
agglutination.”[157]
Of course in dealing with this issue I can only do so as an amateur,
quite destitute of authority in matters pertaining to philology; but
the points on which I am about to speak have reference to principles so
general, that in trying them the lay mind may not be without its uses
in the jury-box. Moreover, philologists themselves are at present so
ill-informed touching the facts of polysynthetic language, that there
is less presumption here than elsewhere in any outsider offering his
opinion upon the matters in dispute.[158] It is however, undesirable
to occupy space with any tedious rehearsal of the facts on which, after
reading the more important literature of the subject, my judgment is
based. For what it is worth, this judgment is as follows.
In the first place, it appears to me that those experts have an
overwhelmingly strong case who argue in favour of the polysynthetic
languages as presenting a highly primitive form of speech. Indeed, so
undifferentiated do I think they prove this type of language-structure
to be, that I agree with them in concluding that it probably brings
us nearer “the origin of speech” than any other type now extant.
Furthermore, looking to the wide contrast between this type and
that which is presented by the isolating tongues, it appears to me
impossible that the one can be genetically connected with the other.
For it appears to me that the experts on the opposite side have no
less completely proved, that the isolating tongues also present
evidence of a highly primitive origin; and, therefore, that whatever
amount of evolution and subsequent degeneration (“phonetic decay”)
the Chinese language, for instance, may be proved to have undergone,
this only goes to show that it has throughout remained true to the
isolating principle—just as the Protozoa, through all their long
history of evolution, have remained true to _their_ “isolating” type,
notwithstanding that some of their branches must long ago have given
origin to the “agglutinated” Metazoa. In other words, it appears to me
that the experts on this side of the question have been able to place
the isolating type of speech on as low a level of development—and,
therefore, presumably on as high a level of antiquity—as experts on
the other side have been able to claim for the polysynthetic.
If I am right in this opinion, it follows that there must have been at
least two points of origin from which all existing languages arose—or
rather, let me say, at least two types of language-formation upon
which the earliest materials of speech were moulded. For even the
strongest advocates of the polysynthetic origin of speech do not
venture to question the highly primitive nature of the monosyllabic
type. Thus, for instance, Professor Sayce is the principal upholder
of the polysynthetic view, and yet he quotes the isolating forms
of Chinese and Taic as furnishing “excellent illustrations of the
early days of speech;”[159] and he adduces them as “examples from
the far East to show us the way in which our words first came into
existence.”[160] But if this is allowed to be so even by the leading
advocate of the polysynthetic view, I cannot conceive the possibility
of the one type having become so completely transformed into the other
as to have left no trace in the isolating type of its polysynthetic
origin. For, in view of the above admissions, we are left to conclude
that the transformation must have taken place soon after the birth
of language in any form—notwithstanding that, as Professor Sayce
elsewhere insists (in the passage already quoted), “the conception of
the sentence which underlies the polysynthetic dialects is the precise
converse of that which underlies the isolating or the agglutinative
type.”
In view of these statements, therefore, by Professor Sayce himself, I
do not think it is necessary for me to go further in justification of
the opinion already expressed—namely, that we must recognize at least
two types of language-formation upon which the earliest materials of
speech were moulded. It is probable enough that both these types of
language-formation were independently originated in many parts of the
earth’s surface at different times; and it is possible that yet other
types may have arisen, which are now either extinct, or fused with
some of the later developments of the two which have survived. But, be
these things as they may, I believe that both the schools of philology
which we are considering have made out their respective cases; and,
therefore, that they both err in so often assuming that these cases
are mutually exclusive.
It will thus be apparent that I am altogether in favour of the
polyphylectic theory of language-development. Even if it were not for
the specially philological considerations just adduced, on grounds of
merely general reasoning it would appear to me much more probable that
so useful a sociological instrument as that of articulate sign-making
should have been evolved from the sign-making of tone and gesture,
wherever the psychological powers of mankind were far enough advanced
to admit of the evolution. And, if this is so, it clearly becomes
probable that any aboriginal races which were geographically separated
would have slowly and independently elaborated their primitive forms
of utterance—supposing, of course, that mankind had become segregated
while still in the speechless state, which, as I will subsequently
explain, seems to me the most probable supposition. And, if this were
the case, it appears to me highly improbable that languages which
originated and developed independently of one another should all have
been under the necessity of starting either on the monosyllabic,
the polysynthetic, or any other type exclusively. That the existing
languages of the earth did originate in more than one centre is now the
almost universal belief of competent authorities.[161] But too many
of these authorities are still bound by what appears to me the wholly
gratuitous and highly improbable assumption, that although various
languages thus originated in different centres, they must all have been
born with an exact family resemblance to one another, so far as type or
“genius” is concerned. But there is no basis for such an assumption,
either in the physiology or the psychology of mankind. On the contrary,
if we look to the nearest analogue of the case, namely, the growing
child, we may find abundant evidence of the fact that the earliest
attempts at articulate utterance may occur on different types, as we
saw so strikingly proved by quotations from Dr. Hale in a previous
chapter.
* * * * *
In this connection I would like to conclude the present chapter by
giving prominence to an interesting and ingenious hypothesis, which has
been suggested by Dr. Hale on the basis of the facts just alluded to.
In order that the merits of this suggestion may be appreciated, it
is desirable to remind the reader that the languages now spoken by
the native tribes of the American continent present so many and such
radical differences among themselves, that, with regard to a large
proportion of them, philologists are unable so much as to suggest any
philological classification. Thus, to quote Professor Whitney, “as
regards the material of expression, it is fully confessed that there
is irreconcilable diversity among them. There are a very considerable
number of groups, between whose significant signs exist no more
apparent correspondencies than between those of English, Hungarian,
and Malay; none, namely, which may not be merely fortuitous.”[162]
And, what is most curious, these immense differences may obtain
between neighbouring tribes who are to all appearance ethnologically
identical—as, for instance, the Algonkin, Iroquois, and Dakota groups.
Moreover, this diversity of language-structure in some cases goes so
far as to reach the very roots of language-growth; “the polysynthetic
structure does not belong in the same degree to all American languages:
on the contrary, it seems to be altogether effaced, or originally
wanting, in some.”[163] Nay, even the isolating type of language
has gained a footing, and this in its properly monosyllabic and
uninflective form.
Such being the state of matters on the American continent (and also,
though to a lesser extent, in the Southern parts of the African), Dr.
Hale suggests the following hypothesis by way of explanation. To me
it certainly appears a plausible one, and if it should eventually be
found to furnish a key for unlocking the mysteries of language-growth
in the New World, it would obviously become available as a sufficient
explanation of radical diversities of language elsewhere.
Starting from the facts which I have already quoted from his paper at
the close of my chapter on Articulation, he argues that if children
will thus spontaneously devise a language of their own in a wholly
arbitrary manner, even when surrounded by the spoken language of a
civilized community, much more would children be likely to do this if
they should be accidentally separated from human society, and thus
thrown upon their own resources in an isolated condition. Now, “if,
under such circumstances, disease or the casualties of a hunter’s life
should carry off the parents, the survival of the children would, it is
evident, depend mainly upon the nature of the climate and the ease with
which food could be procured at all seasons of the year. In ancient
Europe, after the present climatical conditions were established, it
is doubtful if a family of children under ten years of age could have
lived through a single winter. We are not, therefore, surprised to find
that no more than four or five linguistic stocks are represented in
Europe, and that all of them, except the Basque, are believed, on good
evidence, to have been of comparatively late introduction. Even the
Basque is traced by some, with much probability, to a source in North
Africa. Of Northern America, east of the Rocky Mountains and north of
the tropics, the same may be said. The climate and the scarcity of food
in winter forbid us to suppose that a brood of orphan children could
have survived, except possibly, by a fortunate chance, in some favoured
spot on the shore of the Mexican Gulf, where shell-fish, berries, and
edible roots are abundant and easy of access.
“But there is one region where Nature seems to offer herself as the
willing nurse and bountiful step-mother of the feeble and unprotected.
Of all countries on the globe, there is probably not one in which a
little flock of very young children would find the means of sustaining
existence more readily than in California. Its wonderful climate, mild
and equable beyond example, is well known. Mr. Cronise, in his volume
on the ‘Natural Wealth of California,’ tells us, that ‘the monthly mean
of the thermometer at San Francisco in December, the coldest month, is
50°; in September, the warmest month, 61°.’ And he adds:—‘Although
the State reaches to the latitude of Plymouth Bay on the north, the
climate, for its whole length, is as mild as that of the regions near
the topics. Half the months are rainless. Snow and ice are almost
strangers, except in the high altitudes. There are fully two hundred
cloudless days in every year. Roses bloom in the open air through
all seasons.’ Not less remarkable than this exquisite climate is the
astonishing variety of food, of kinds which seem to offer themselves
to the tender hands of children. Berries of many sorts—strawberries,
blackberries, currants, raspberries, and salmon-berries—are indigenous
and abundant. Large fruits and edible nuts on low and pendent boughs
may be said, in Milton’s phrase, to ‘hang amiable.’ Mr. Cronise
enumerates, among others, the wild cherry and plum, which ‘grow on
bushes;’ the barberry, or false grape (_Berberis herbosa_), a ‘low
shrub,’ which bears edible fruit; and the Californian horse-chestnut
(_Æsculus Californica_), ‘a low, spreading tree or shrub, seldom
exceeding fifteen feet high,’ which ‘bears abundant fruit much used
by the Indians.’ Then there are nutritious roots of various kinds,
maturing at different seasons. Fish swarm in the rivers, and are taken
by the simplest means. In the spring, Mr. Powers informs us, the
whitefish ‘crowd the creeks in such vast numbers that the Indians,
by simply throwing in a little brushwood to impede their motion,
can literally scoop them out.’ Shell-fish and grubs abound, and are
greedily eaten by the natives. Earthworms, which are found everywhere
and at all seasons, are a favourite article of diet. As to clothing,
we are told by the authority just cited that ‘on the plains all adult
males and all children up to ten or twelve went perfectly naked, while
the women wore only a narrow strip of deer-skin around the waist.’ Need
we wonder that, in such a mild and fruitful region, a great number
of separate tribes were found, speaking languages which a careful
investigation has classed in nineteen distinct linguistic stocks?
“The climate of the Oregon coast region, though colder than that of
California, is still far milder and more equable than that of the
same latitude in the east; and the abundance of edible fruits, roots,
river-fish, and other food of easy attainment, is very great. A family
of young children, if one of them were old enough to take care of the
rest, could easily be reared to maturity in a sheltered nook of this
genial and fruitful land. We are not, therefore, surprised to find that
the number of linguistic stocks in this narrow district, though less
than in California, is more than twice as large as in the whole of
Europe, and that the greater portion of these stocks are clustered near
the Californian boundary....
“Some reminiscences of the parental speech would probably remain with
the older children, and be revived and strengthened as their faculties
gained force. Thus we may account for the fact, which has perplexed
all inquirers, that certain unexpected and sporadic resemblances,
both in grammar and in vocabulary, which can hardly be deemed purely
accidental, sometimes crop up between the most dissimilar languages....
“A glance at other linguistic provinces will show how aptly this
explanation of the origin of language-stocks everywhere applies.
Tropical Brazil is a region which combines perpetual summer with a
profusion of edible fruits and other varieties of food, not less
abundant than in California. Here, if anywhere, there should be a great
number of totally distinct languages. We learn on the best authority,
that of Baron J. J. von Tschudi, in the Introduction to his recent
work on the Khetshua Language, that this is the fact. He says:—‘I
possess a collection made by the well-known naturalist, J. Natterer,
during his residence of many years in Brazil, of more than a hundred
languages, lexically completely distinct, from the interior of Brazil.’
And he adds:—‘The number of so-called isolated languages—that is, of
such as, according to our present information, show no relationship
to any other, and which therefore form distinct stocks of greater
or less extent—is in South America very large, and must, on an
approximate estimate, amount to many hundreds. It will perhaps be
possible hereafter to include many of them in larger families, but
there must still remain a considerable number for which this will not
be possible.’”
I have quoted this hypothesis, as previously remarked, because it
appears to me philologically interesting; but whatever may be thought
of it by professional authorities, the evidence which the American
continent furnishes of a polygenetic and polytypic origin of the native
languages remains the same. And if there is good reason for concluding
in favour of polygenetic origins of different types as regards the
languages on that continent, of course the probability arises that
radical differences of structure among languages of the Old World
admit of being explained by their having been derived from similarly
independent sources.[164]