ROOTS OF LANGUAGE.
In the last chapter my treatment of the classification and phylogeny
of languages may have led the general reader to feel that philologists
display extraordinary differences of opinion with regard to certain
first principles of their science. I may, therefore, begin the present
chapter by reminding such a reader that I have hitherto been concerned
more with the differences of opinion than with the agreements. If one
takes a general view of the progress of philological science since
philology—almost in our own generation—first became a science, I
think he must feel much more impressed by the amount of certainty
which has been attained than by the amount of uncertainty which still
remains. And the uncertainty which does remain is due rather to a
backwardness of study than to differences of interpretation. When more
is known about the structure and mutual relations of the polysynthetic
tongues, it is probable that a better agreement will be arrived at
touching the relation of their common type to that of isolating
tongues on the one hand, and agglutinating on the other. But, be this
as it may, even as matters stand at present, I think we have more
reason to be surprised at the certainty which already attaches to the
principles of philology, than at the uncertainty which occasionally
arises in their applications to the comparatively unstudied branches of
linguistic growth.
Furthermore, important as these still unsettled questions are from a
purely philological point of view, they are not of any great moment
from that of the evolutionist, as I have already observed. For, so
long as it is universally agreed that all the language-groups have
been products of a gradual development, it is, comparatively speaking,
immaterial whether the groups all stand to one another in a relation of
serial descent, or whether some of them stand to others in a relation
of collateral descent. That is to say, the evolutionist is under no
obligation to espouse either the monotypic or the polytypic theory of
the origin of language. Therefore, it will make no material difference
to the following discussion whether the reader feels disposed to
follow the doctrine, that all languages must have originated in such
monosyllabic isolations as we now meet with in a radical form of speech
like the Chinese; that they all originated in such polysynthetic
incapsulations as we now find in the numberless dialects of the
American Indians; or, lastly, and as I myself think much more probably,
that both these, and possibly other types of language-structure, are
all equally primitive. Be these things as they may, my discussion
will not be overshadowed by their uncertainty. For this uncertainty
has reference only to the _origin_ of the existing language-types as
independent or genetically allied: it in no way affects the certainty
of their subsequent _evolution_. Much as philologists may still
differ upon the mutual relations of these several language-types,
they all agree that “von der ersten Entstehung der Sprachwurzeln an
bis zur Bildung der volkommenen Flexionssprachen, wie des Sanskrit,
Griechischen, oder Deutschen, ist Alles in der Entwicklung der Sprache
verständlich.... Sobald nur die Wurzeln als die fertigen Bausteine der
Sprache einmal da sind, lässt sich Schritt für Schritt das Wachsthum
des Sprachgebäudes verfolgen.”[165]
Therefore, having now said all that seems necessary to say on the
question of language-types, I will pass on to consider the information
that we possess on the subject of language-roots.
First, let us consider the number of roots out of which languages
are developed—or, rather, let me say, the number of elementary
constituents into which the researches of philologists have been able
to reduce those languages which have been most closely studied. Of
course the probability—nay, the certainty—is that the actual number
of roots must in all cases be considerably less than philologists are
now able to prove.
Chinese is composed of about five hundred separate words, each
being a monosyllable. In actual use, these five hundred root-words
are multiplied to over fifteen hundred by significant variety of
intonation; but the entire structure of this still living language is
made up of five hundred monosyllabic words. In the opinion of most
philologists we have here a survival of the root stage of language; but
in the opinion of some we have the remnants of erosion, or “phonetic
decay.”[166] This difference of opinion, however, is not a matter of
importance to us; and therefore I will not discuss it, further than to
say that on account of it I will not hereafter draw upon the Chinese
language for illustrations of “radical” utterance, except in so far as
philologists of all schools would allow as legitimate.[167]
Hebrew has been reduced to about the same number of roots as
Chinese—Renan stating it in round numbers at five hundred.[168] But
without doubt this number would admit of being considerably reduced, if
inquiries were sufficiently extended to the whole Semitic family.
According to Professor Skeat, English is entirely made up of 461 Aryan
roots, in combination with about twenty modifying constants.[169] The
remote progenitor, Sanskrit, has been estimated to present as many as
850 roots, or, according to Benfey, just about twice that number.[170]
On the other hand, Max Müller, as a result of more recent researches,
professes to have reduced the total number of Sanskrit roots to
121.[171]
It is needless to give further instances. For these are enough to show
that, even if we were to regard the analytic powers of comparative
philology as adequate to resolve all the compounds of a language
into its primitive elements the estimate of Pott would probably be
high above the mark, when he states that on an average the roots of
a language may be taken at a thousand.[172] Seeing that Chinese only
contains in its whole vocabulary half that number of words, and that
both Hebrew and English have similarly yielded each about five hundred
radicals in the crucible of more modern research, I think we may safely
reduce the general estimate of Pott by one-half, and probably would
be nearer the truth if we were to do so by three-quarters, or more.
At all events, we may be satisfied that the total number of radicals
sufficient to feed the most luxuriant of languages is expressible in
three figures; and this, as we shall presently see, is enough for all
the purposes of my subsequent discussion.
Passing on now from the question of number to that of character, we
have first to meet the question—What _are_ these roots? Are they the
actually primitive words of pre-historic languages, or are they what
Max Müller has aptly termed “phonetic types”? Here again we encounter
a difference of opinion among philologists. Thus, for instance,
Professor Whitney tells us that the Indo-European languages are all
descended from an original monosyllabic tongue, and, therefore, that
“our ancestors talked with one another in simple syllables, indicative
of ideas of prime importance, but wanting all designation of their
relations.”[173] On the other hand, it is objected to this view that
“such a language is a sheer impossibility;”[174] that “there could be
no hope of any mutual understanding” with a language restricted to
such isolated and general terms, &c.[175] On this side of the question
it is represented that “roots are the phonetic and significant types
discovered by the analysis of the comparative philologist as common to
a group of allied words;”[176] that “a root is the _core_ of a group
of allied words,”[177] “the naked kernel of a family of words.”[178]
Or, to adopt a simile previously used in another connection, we may
say that a root as now presented by the philologist is a composite
photograph (or _phonogram_) of a number of words, all belonging to the
same pre-historic language, and all closely allied in meaning.
The difference of authoritative teaching thus exhibited is not a matter
of much importance for us. Nor, indeed, as we shall subsequently see,
is it a difference so great as may at first sight appear. For even
the phonetic-type theory does not doubt that all the aboriginal and
unknown words, out of the composition of which a root is now extracted,
must have been genetically allied with one another, and exhibited the
closeness of their kinship by a close similarity of sound. Therefore,
it does not make any practical difference whether we regard a root
as itself a primitive word, which was used in some such way as the
Chinese now use their monosyllabic terms; or whether we regard it as a
generalized expression of a group of cognate words, all closely allied
as to meaning. In fact, even so strong an adherent of the phonetic-type
theory as Professor Max Müller very clearly states this, where he says
that, although “the mere root, _quâ_ root, may be denied the dignity of
a word, as soon as a root is used for predication it becomes a word,
whether outwardly it is changed or not.”[179]
Seeing, then, that this difference of opinion among philologists is
not one of great importance for us, I will henceforth disregard it.
And, as it will be conducive to brevity, if not also to clearness, I
will speak of roots as archaic words, although by so doing I shall not
intend to assume that they are more than phonetic types, or the nearest
approach we can make to the words out of which they were generated.
We may next consider the kind of meanings which roots convey.
Antecedently we might form various anticipations on this head, such as
that they should be imitative of natural sounds, expressive of concrete
ideas, and so forth. As a matter of fact, we find that they are not
expressive of natural sounds; but, as far as we have now any means of
judging, quite arbitrary. Moreover, they are not expressive of concrete
or particular ideas; but always of abstract or general. Here, then,
to begin with, we have two facts of apparently great importance. And
they are both facts which, at first sight, seem to countenance the
view that, in its last resort, comparative philology fails to testify
to the natural origin of speech. But we must look into the matter
more closely, and, in order to do this most fairly, I will quote from
Professor Max Müller the 121 roots into which he analyzes the Sanskrit
language. This is the language which has been most carefully studied in
the present connection, and of all its students Professor Max Müller is
least open to any suspicion of inclining to the side of “Darwinism.”
The following is a list of what he calls “the 121 original concepts.”
1. Dig.
2. Plat, weave, sew, bind.
3. Crush, pound, destroy, waste, rub, smooth.
4. Sharpen.
5. Smear, colour, knead, harden.
6. Scratch.
7. Bite, eat.
8. Divide, share, eat.
9. Cut.
10. Gather, observe.
11. Stretch, spread.
12. Mix.
13. Scatter, strew.
14. Sprinkle, drip, wet.
15a. Shake, tremble, quiver, flicker.
15b. Shake, mentally, be angry, abashed, fearfully, etc.
16. Throw down, fall.
17. Fall to pieces.
18. Shoot, throw at.
19. Pierce, split.
20. Join, fight, check.
21. Tear.
22. Break, smash.
23. Measure.
24. Blow.
25. Kindle.
26. Milk, yield.
27. Pour, flow, rush.
28. Separate, free, leave, lack.
29. Glean.
30. Choose.
31. Cook, roast, boil.
32. Clean.
33. Wash.
34. Bend, bow.
35. Turn, roll.
36. Press, fix.
37. Squeeze.
38. Drive, thrust.
39. Push, stir, live.
40. Burst, gush, laugh, beam.
41. Dress.
42. Adorn.
43. Strip, remove.
44. Steal.
45. Check.
46. Fill, thrive, swell, grow
strong.
47. Cross.
48. Sweeten.
49. Shorten.
50. Thin, suffer.
51. Fat, stick, love.
52. Lick.
53. Suck, nourish.
54. Drink, swell.
55. Swallow, sip.
56. Vomit.
57. Chew, eat.
58. Open, extend.
59. Reach, strive, rule, have.
60. Conquer, take by violence, struggle.
61. Perform, succeed.
62. Attack, hurt.
63. Hide, drive.
64. Cover, embrace.
65. Bear, carry.
66. Can, be strong.
67. Show.
68. Touch.
69. Strike.
70. Ask.
71. Watch, observe.
72. Lead.
73. Set.
74. Hold, wield.
75. Give, yield.
76. Cough.
77. Thirsty, dry.
78. Hunger.
79. Yawn.
80. Spue.
81. Fly.
82. Sleep.
83. Bristle, dare.
84. Be angry, harsh.
85. Breathe.
86. Speak.
87. Seek.
88. Hear.
89. Smell, sniff.
90. Sweat.
91. Seethe, boil.
92. Dance.
93. Leap.
94. Creep.
95. Stumble.
96. Stick.
97. Burn.
98. Dwell.
99. Stand.
100. Sink, lie, fail.
101. Swing.
102. Hang down, lean.
103. Rise up, grow.
104. Sit.
105. Toil.
106. Weary, waste, slacken.
107. Rejoice, please.
108. Desire, love.
109. Wake.
110. Fear.
111. Cool, refresh.
112. Stink.
113. Hate.
114. Know.
115. Think.
116. Shine.
117. Run.
118. Move, go.
119a. Noise, inarticulate.
119b. Noise, musical.
120. Do.
121. Be.
“These 121 concepts constitute the stock-in-trade with which I maintain
that every thought that has ever passed through the mind of India, so
far as it is known to us in its literature, has been expressed. It
would have been easy to reduce that number still further, for there are
several among them which could be ranged together under more general
concepts. But I leave this further reduction to others, being satisfied
as a first attempt with having shown how small a number of seeds may
produce, and has produced, the enormous intellectual vegetation that
has covered the soil of India from the most distant antiquity to the
present day.”[180]
Now, the first thing which strikes one on reading this list is, that it
unquestionably justifies the inference of its compiler, namely, “if the
Science of Language has proved anything, it has proved that every term
which is applied to a particular idea or object (unless it be a proper
name) is already a general term.” But the next thing which immediately
strikes one is that the list, surprisingly short as it is, nevertheless
is much too long to admit of being interpreted as, in any intelligible
sense of the words, an inventory of “original concepts”—unless by
“original” we are to understand the ultimate results of philological
analysis. That all these concepts are not “original” in the sense of
representing the ideation of really primitive man, is abundantly proved
by two facts.
The first is that fully a third of the whole number might be dispensed
with, and yet leave no important blank in the already limited resources
of the list for the purposes either of communication or reflection. To
yawn, to spew, to vomit, to sweat, and so on, are not forms of activity
of any such vital importance to the needs of a primitive community,
as to demand priority of naming by any aboriginal framers of language.
Moreover, as Professor Max Müller himself elsewhere observes, “even
these 121 concepts might be reduced to a much smaller number, if we
cared to do so. Any one who examines them carefully, will see how easy
it would have been to express to dig by to cut or to strike; to bite
by to cut or to crush; to milk by to squeeze; to glean by to gather;
to steal by to lift.... If we see how many special purposes can be
served by one root, as _I_, to go, or _Pas_, to fasten, the idea that a
dozen of roots might have been made to supply the whole wealth of our
dictionary, appears in itself by no means so ridiculous as is often
supposed.”[181]
Again, in the second place, a large proportional number of the words
have reference to a grade of culture already far in advance of that
which has been attained by most existing savages. “Many concepts, such
as to cook, to roast, to measure, to dress, to adorn, belong clearly
to a later phase of civilized life.”[182] It might have been suitably
added that such “concepts” as to dig, to plant, to milk, &c., betoken
a condition of _pastoral_ life, which, as we know from abundant
evidence, is representative of a comparatively high level of social
evolution.[183] But if “many” of these concepts are thus unmistakably
referable to semi-civilized as distinguished from savage life, what
guarantee can we have that the remainder are “original”? Obviously we
can have no such guarantee; but, on the contrary, find the very best,
because _intrinsic_ evidence, that they belong to a more or less high
level of culture, far removed from that of primitive man. In other
words, we must conclude that these 121 concepts are “original” only in
the sense that they do not now admit of further analysis at the hands
of comparative philologists: they are not original in the sense of
bringing us within any measurable distance of the first beginnings of
articulate speech.[184]
Nevertheless, they are of the utmost value and significance, in that
they bring us down to a period of presumably restricted ideation,
as compared with the enormous development since attained by various
branches of this Indo-European stock—so far, at least, as the growth
of language can be taken as a fair expression of such development.
They are likewise of the highest importance as showing in how
presumably short a period of time (comparatively speaking) so immense
and divergent a growth may proceed from such a simple and germ-like
condition of thought.[185] Lastly, they serve to show in a most
striking manner that the ideas represented, although all of a general
character, are nevertheless of the lowest degree of generality.
Scarcely any of them present us with evidence of reflective thought,
as distinguished from the naming of objects of sense-perception, or
of the simplest forms of activity which are immediately cognizable
as such.[186] In other words, few of these “original concepts”
rise much higher in the scale of ideation than the level to which
I have previously assigned what I have called “named recepts” or
“pre-concepts.” A dumb animal, or an infant, presents a full receptual
appreciation of the majority of actions which the catalogue includes;
and, therefore, so that a society of human beings can speak at all
(_i.e._ presents the power of naming their recepts), it is difficult
to see how they could have avoided a denotation of the more important
recepts which are here concerned.
Another most interesting feature of a general kind which the list
presents is, that it is composed exclusively of verbs.[187] This
peculiarity of the ultimate known roots of all languages, which shows
them to have been expressive of actions and states as distinguished
from objects and qualities, is a peculiarity on which Professor Max
Müller lays much stress. But the inference which he draws from the
fact is clearly not justifiable. This inference is that, as every
root expresses “the consciousness of repeated acts, such as scraping,
digging, striking,” &c., the naming of actions, as distinguished from
objects, “must be considered as the first step in the formation of
concepts.” Now, in drawing this inference—and, indeed, throughout
all his works as far as I remember—Professor Max Müller has entirely
overlooked two most important considerations. First, as already
observed, that the roots in question are _demonstrably_ very far
from having been the original material of language as first coined
by primitive man; and, next, that whatever this original material
may have been, from the first there must have been a struggle for
existence among the really primitive roots—only those surviving which
were most fitted to survive as roots, _i.e._ as the parent stems of
subsequent word-formations. Now, it appears to me obvious enough that
archaic—though not necessarily aboriginal—words which were expressive
of actions, would have stood a better chance of surviving as roots than
those which may have been expressive of objects; first because they
were likely to have been more frequently employed, and next because
many of them must have lent themselves more readily to metaphorical
extension—_especially under a system of animistic thought_.[188]
And, if these things were so, there is nothing remarkable in words
significant of actions having alone survived as roots.[189]
The consideration that it is only those words which were successful
in the struggle for existence that can have become the progenitors
of subsequent language—and therefore the only words that have been
handed down to us as roots—has a still more important bearing upon
another of Professor Max Müller’s generalizations. From the fact
that all his 121 Sanskrit roots are expressive of “general” ideas
(by which term he of course includes what I call generic ideas), he
concludes that from its very earliest origin speech must have been
thus expressive of general ideas; or, in other words, that human
language could not have begun by the naming of particulars: from
the first it must have been concerned with the naming of “notions.”
Now, of course, if any vestige of real evidence could be adduced
to show that this “must have been” the case, most of the foregoing
chapters of the present work would not have been written. For the
whole object of these chapters has been to show, that on psychological
grounds it is abundantly intelligible how the conceptual stage of
ideation may have been gradually evolved from the receptual—the
power of forming general, or truly conceptual ideas, from the power
of forming particular and generic ideas. But if it could be shown—or
even rendered in any degree presumable—that this distinctly human
power of forming truly general ideas arose _de novo_ with the first
birth of articulate speech, assuredly my whole analysis would be
destroyed: the human mind would be shown to present a quality
different in origin—and, therefore, in kind—from all the lower
orders of intelligence: the law of continuity would be interrupted
at the terminal phase: an impassable gulf would be fixed between the
brute and the man. As a matter of fact, however, there is not only no
vestige of any such proof or even presumption; but, as we shall see in
our two following chapters, there is uniform and overwhelming proof
of precisely the opposite doctrine—proof, indeed, so uniform and
overwhelming that it has long ago induced all other philologists to
accept this opposite doctrine as one of the axioms of their science.
Leaving, however, this proof to be adduced in its proper place, I have
now merely to point out the futility of the evidence on which Professor
Max Müller relies.
This evidence consists merely in fact that the “121 original
concepts,” which are embodied in the roots of Aryan speech, are
expressive of “general ideas.” Now, this argument might be worth
considering if there were the smallest reason to suppose that in these
roots of Aryan speech we possess the aboriginal elements of language as
first spoken by man. But as we well know that this is immeasurably far
from being the case, the whole argument collapses. The mere fact that
many words which have survived as roots are words expressive of general
ideas, is no more than we might have antecedently expected. Remembering
that it is a favourable condition to a word surviving as a root that it
should prove itself a prolific parent of other words, obviously it is
those words which were expressive of ideas presenting some degree of
generality that would have had the best chance of thus coming down to
us, even from the comparatively high level of culture which, as we have
seen, is testified to by “the 121 original concepts.” Of course, as I
have already said, the case would have been different if any one were
free to suppose, even as a merely logical possibility, that this level
of culture represented that of primitive man when he first began to
employ articulate speech. But any such supposition is beyond the range
of rational discussion. The 121 concepts themselves yield overwhelming
evidence of belonging to a time _immeasurably remote_ from that of any
speechless progenitor of _Homo sapiens_; and in the enormous interval
(whatever it may have been) many successive generations of words must
_certainly_ have flourished and died.[190]
These remarks are directed to the comparatively few instances of
general ideas which, as a matter of fact, the list of “121 concepts”
presents. As already observed, the great majority of these “concepts”
exhibit no higher degree of “generality” than belongs to what I have
called a “pre-concept,” _i.e._ a “named recept.” But precisely the
same considerations apply to both. For, even supposing that a named
recept was originally a word used only to designate a “particular” as
distinguished from a “generic” idea, obviously it would have stood but
a poor chance of surviving as a root unless it had first undergone a
sufficient degree of extension to have become what I call receptually
connotative. A proper name, for instance, could not, as such, become
a root. Not until it had become extended to other persons or things
of a like class could it have secured a chance of surviving as a
root in the struggle for existence. As a matter of fact, I think it
most probable—not only from general considerations, but also from a
study of the spontaneous names first coined in “baby-language,”—that
aboriginal speech was concerned simultaneously with the naming both of
particular and of generic ideas—_i.e._ of individual percepts and of
recepts. It will be remembered that in Chapter III., while treating of
the Logic of Recepts, I dealt at some length with this subject. Here,
therefore, it will be sufficient to quote the conclusion to which my
analysis led.
“A generic idea is generic because the particular ideas of which
it is composed present such obvious points of resemblance that
they spontaneously fuse together in consciousness; but a general
idea is general for precisely the opposite reason—namely, because
the points of resemblance which it has seized are obscured from
immediate perception, and therefore could never have fused together in
consciousness but for the aid of intentional abstraction, or of the
power of a mind knowingly to deal with its own ideas as ideas. In other
words, the kind of classification with which recepts are concerned is
that which lies nearest to the kind of classification with which all
processes of so called perceptual inference depend—such as mistaking a
bowl for a sphere. But the kind of classification with which concepts
are concerned is that which lies furthest from this purely automatic
grouping of perceptions. Classification there doubtless is in both
cases; but in the one order it is due to the closeness of resemblances
in an act of perception, while in the other it is due to their
remoteness.”[191]
Of course it goes without saying that this “closeness of resemblances
in an act of perception” may be due either to similarities of
sense-perceptions themselves (as when the colour of a ruby is seen
to resemble that of “pigeon’s blood”), or to frequency of their
associations in experience (as when a sea-bird groups together in one
recept the sundry sensations which go to constitute its perception of
water, with its generic classification of water as a medium in which
it is safe to dive). Now, if we remember these things, can we possibly
wonder that the palæontology of speech should prove early roots to
have been chiefly expressive of “generic” as distinguished from
“general” ideas on the one hand, or “particular” ideas on the other?
By failing to observe this real distinction between classification
as receptual and conceptual—_i.e._ as given immediately in the act
of perception itself, or as elaborated of set purpose through the
agency of introspective thought, Professor Max Müller founds his whole
argument on another and an unreal distinction: he everywhere regards
the bestowing of a name as in itself a sufficient proof of conceptual
thought, and therefore constitutes the faculty of denotation,
equally with that of denomination, the distinctive criterion of a
self-conscious mind. But, as we have now so repeatedly seen, such
is certainly not the case. Actions and processes so habitual, or so
immediately apparent to perception, as those with which the great
majority of these “121 concepts” are concerned, do not betoken any
order of ideation higher than the pre-conceptual, in virtue of which
a young child is able to give expression to its higher receptual life
prior to the advent of self-consciousness. Or, as Geiger tersely
says:—“In enzelnen Fällen ist die Entstehung von Gattungsbegriffe aus
Mangel an Unterscheidung gleichwohl kaum zu bezweifeln.”[192]
Again, if we look to the still closer analogy furnished by savages, we
meet with a still further corroboration of this view. For instance,
Professor Sayce remarks that in “all savage and barbarous dialects,
while individual objects of sense have a superabundance of names,
general terms are correspondingly rare.” And he gives a number of
remarkable illustrations.[193]
In view of these considerations, my only wonder is that these 120
root-words do not present _better_ evidence of conceptual thought. I
have already given my reasons for refusing to suppose that we have here
to do with the “original” framers of spoken language; and looking to
the comparatively high level of culture which the people in question
must have reached, it seems remarkable that the root-words of their
language should only in so few instances have risen above the level
of pre-conceptual utterance.[194] This, however, only shows how
comparatively small a part self-conscious reflection need play in the
practical life of uncultured man: it does not show that the people
in question were remarkably deficient in this distinctively human
faculty. Archdeacon Farrar tells us that he has observed the whole
conversational vocabulary of certain English labourers not to exceed
a hundred words, and probably further observation would have shown
that the great majority of these were employed without conceptual
significance. Therefore, if these labourers had had to coin their own
words, it is probable that, without exception, their language would
have been destitute of any terms betokening more than a pre-conceptual
order of ideation. Nevertheless, these men must have been capable,
in however undeveloped a degree, of truly conceptual ideation: and
this proves how unsafe it would be to argue from the absence of
distinctively conceptual terms to the poverty of conceptual faculty
among any people whose root-words may have come down to us—although,
no doubt, in such a case we appear to be getting within a comparatively
short distance of the origin of this faculty.
The point, however, now is that really aboriginal, and therefore
purely denotative names, must certainly have been “generic” as well as
“particular”: they must have been the names of recepts as well as of
percepts, of actions as well as of objects and qualities. Moreover, it
is equally certain that among this aboriginal assemblage of denotative
names as particular and generic, only those belonging to the latter
class could have stood much chance of surviving as roots. In other
words, no aboriginal name could have survived as a root until it had
acquired some greater or less degree of receptual and, therefore, of
connotative value. Hence the fact that the ultimate result of the
philological analysis of any language is that of reducing the language
to a certain small number of roots, and the fact that all these roots
are expressive of general and generic ideas,—these facts in themselves
yield no support whatever to the doctrine, either that these roots
were themselves the aboriginal elements of language, or, _a fortiori_,
that the aboriginal elements of language were expressive of general
ideas.[195]
* * * * *
And this conclusion involves another of scarcely less importance. A
great deal of discussion has been expended over the question as to
whether, or how far, aboriginal language was indebted to the principle
of onomatopœia, or the imitation by articulate names of sounds
obviously distinctive of the objects or actions named. Of course, on
evolutionary principles we should be strongly inclined to suppose that
aboriginal language must have been largely assisted in its formation
by such intentional imitation of natural sounds, seeing that of all
forms of vocal expression they admit of most readily conveying an idea
of the object or action named. And the same applies to the so-called
interjectional element in word-formation, or the utilization as names
of sounds which are naturally expressive of states of human feeling.
On the other hand, contempt has been poured upon this theory as an
adequate explanation of the first beginnings of articulate speech,
on the ground that it is not supported either by history[196] or by
the results of philogenetic inquiry.[197] It is, however, forgotten
by those who argue on this side that names of onomatopoetic origin
must always be, in the first instance, particular; that so long as
they remain particular (as, for example, is the case with our word
“cuckoo”), they cannot have much chance of surviving as roots; that
in proportion as they increase their chances of survival as roots by
becoming more general, they must do so by becoming more conventional;
and, therefore, that the vast majority of roots, even if aboriginally
they were of onomatopoetic origin, must necessarily have had that
origin obscured.
In order to illustrate each and all of these general considerations,
let us turn to the example of our own “baby-language.” The fact that
such language presents so large an element of onomatopœia in itself
furnishes a strong presumption that what is now seen to constitute so
important a principle in the infancy of the individual (notwithstanding
the hereditary tendency to speak), must have constituted at least as
important a principle in the infancy of the race. But the point now is,
that if we mark the connotative extension of any such nursery word,
we may find that just in proportion as it becomes general does its
onomatopoetic origin become obscure. For instance, the late Mr. Darwin
gave me the following particulars with regard to a grandchild of his
own, who was then living in his house. I quote the account from notes
taken at the time.
“The child, who was just beginning to speak, called a duck ‘quack’;
and, by special association, it also called water ‘quack.’ By an
appreciation of the resemblance of qualities, it next extended the term
‘quack’ to denote all birds and insects on the one hand, and all fluid
substances on the other. Lastly, by a still more delicate appreciation
of resemblance, the child eventually called all coins ‘quack,’ because
on the back of a French sou it had once seen the representation of an
eagle. Hence, to the child, the sign ‘quack,’ from having originally
had a very specialized meaning, became more and more extended in
its signification, until it now serves to designate such apparently
different objects as ‘fly,’ ‘wine,’ and ‘coin.’”
Now, if any such process of extending or generalizing aboriginally
onomatopoetic terms were to have taken place among the primitive
framers of human speech, how hopeless would be the task of the
philologist who should now attempt to find the onomatopoetic root!
Yet, as above observed, not only may we be perfectly certain that
such extensions of aboriginal onomatopoetic terms must have taken
place, if any such terms were ever in existence at all (and this
cannot be doubted), but also that it must have been almost a necessary
condition to the survival of an onomatopoetic term as a root that
such an extension of its meaning should have taken place. In other
words, we can see very good reason to conclude that, as a rule, only
those instances of primitive onomatopœia can have survived as roots,
which must long ago have had their onomatopoetic origin hopelessly
obscured. So that nowhere so much as in this case should we be prepared
to entertain the general principle of philological research, that, as
Goethe graphically states it, the original meanings of words become
gradually worn out, like the image and superscription of a coin.[198]
In view of such considerations, my only wonder is that this origin
admits of being traced so often as it does, even as far back as the
comparatively recent times when a pastoral people coined the terms
which afterwards constituted the roots of Sanskrit. _Kas_, to cough;
_kshu_, to sneeze; _proth_, to snort; _ma_, to bleat, and not a
few others, are conceded, even by Professor Max Müller, to be of
obviously imitative origin. In the present connection, however, it
is of interest to notice how this authority deals with such cases. He
says:—“Not one of them is of any importance in helping us to account
for real words in Sanskrit. Most of them have had no offspring at all,
others have had a few descendants, mostly sterile. Their history shows
clearly how far the influence of onomatopœia may go, and if once we
know its legitimate sphere, we shall be less likely to wish to extend
it beyond its proper limits.”[199]
Now, under our present point of view we can see a very good reason
why this element of sterility should have attached to these roots of
Sanskrit whose onomatopoetic origin still admits of being clearly
traced: it is just because they failed to be extended that their
imitative source continues to be apparent.[200] But suppose, for the
sake of illustration, that any one of them had been extended, and what
would have happened? If _ma_, to bleat, had been metaphorically applied
to the crying of a child, and had then become more and more habitually
used in this new signification, while the original meaning became
more and more obsolete, it might have taken the place of any such
root as _bhi_, to fear; _ish_, to love, &c.; and in all the progeny
of words which in this its conventional use it might subsequently
have generated, no trace of imitative origin could now have been
met with—any more than such an origin can be detected in the sound
“quack,” as used by the above-mentioned child to designate a shilling.
Several other considerations to the same general effect might be
adduced. But, to mention only some of the more important, Steinthal
points out that imitative utterance differs widely even among
different races of existing men, so that the onomatopoetic words
of one race do not convey any imitative suggestion to the minds of
another.[201] Similarly, Professor Sayce insists, “it is not necessary
that the imitation of natural sounds should be an exact one; indeed,
that it never can be: all that is wanted is that the imitation
should be recognizable by those addressed. The same natural sound,
consequently, may strike the ear of different persons very differently,
and so be represented in articulate speech in a strangely varying
manner.”[202] Another very good illustration of the same point is to
be found in the names for a grasshopper in different languages. After
giving a number, Archdeacon Farrar remarks that obviously they are “all
imitative: yet how immensely varied by the fantasies of imitation! How
is this to be explained? Simply by the fact to which it is so often
necessary to recur, that words are not mere imitations, but subjective
echoes and reproductions—repercussions which are modified both
organically and ideally—which have moreover been immensely blurred and
disintegrated by the lapse of ages.”[203]
But perhaps the best illustration that has been given of this point is
in the different words which obtain in different languages as names for
Thunder. Two independent treatises have been written on the subject,
one by Grimm,[204] and the other by Pott.[205] While in nearly all the
languages the principle of imitation is more or less clearly apparent,
the greatest diversities occur among the resulting sounds.[206] In this
connection, also, I may adduce yet one further consideration. In his
_Introduction to the Science of Language_, Professor Sayce argues on
several grounds that, when articulation first began, the articulate
sounds were probably in large part dependent for their meaning on the
gestures with which they were accompanied. Consequently, aboriginal
root-words, even supposing that any such had come down to us, and that
their origin were imitative, inasmuch as their imitative value may thus
have in large part depended on appropriately accompanying gestures,
their imitative source would long ago have become obscured.
In view of all these considerations, therefore, I cannot deem the
merely negative evidence against the onomatopoetic origin of articulate
sounds as of any value at all. Even if we had any reason to suppose
that philological analysis were in possession of the really aboriginal
commencements of spoken language, we should still be unable reasonably
to conclude against their imitative origin, merely on the ground that
in our greatly altered circumstances of life and of mind we are not now
able to trace the imitations.
As a matter of fact, however, the evidence which we have on the subject
is not all negative. On the contrary, there is an overwhelming body of
actual and unquestionable proof of the imitative origin of very many
words in all languages—especially those which are spoken by savages,
and are known from their general structure to be in a comparatively
undeveloped state. The evidence being much too copious for quotation, I
must content myself with referring to the excellent and most forcible
epitome which is given of it by Archdeacon Farrar in his works on the
_Origin of Language_ and _Chapters on Language_.[207] The foregoing
remarks, therefore, which I have made on the negative side of the
question, are merely intended to show that the element of onomatopœia
must have entered into the composition of aboriginal speech much more
largely than philologists are now able to prove, notwithstanding that
they have been able to prove how immensely important an element it has
been in this respect. The only wonder is, that when so many causes
have been at work in obscuring and corroding the originally imitative
significance of words, this significance should still admit of being
traced in all languages—even the most highly conventionalized—to the
very large extent in which it does.
The hostility which Professor Max Müller has displayed to the
onomatopoetic theory of the origin of language is the more remarkable,
because in his latest work he has enthusiastically embraced a special
branch of this theory, which has been put forward by M. Noiré.
This special branch of the onomatopoetic theory is that articulate
sign-making had its origin in sounds which are made by bodies of men
when engaged in some common occupation. When sailors row, soldiers
march, builders co-operate in pulling or in lifting, &c., there is
always a tendency to give vent to appropriate sounds, which the nature
of the occupation usually breaks up into rhythmic periods. “These
utterances, noises, shouts, hummings, or songs are a kind of natural
reaction against the inward disturbance caused by muscular effort.
They are the almost involuntary vibrations of the voice, corresponding
to the more or less regular movements of our whole bodily frame.” The
hypothesis, therefore, is that sounds thus naturally evolved, and
differing with different occupations, would sooner or later come to be
conventionally used as the names of these different occupations. And,
if thus used habitually, they would be virtually the same as words,
inasmuch as they would not merely admit of immediate understanding
on the part of others, but, what is even of more importance, they
would, by the mere fact of such conventional usage of names, elevate
what had previously been but a receptual appreciation of an act into a
pre-conceptual designation of it.
Now, I say that this hypothesis, whatever may be thought as to its
probability, is clearly but a special branch of the general theory
of onomatopœia. So that primitive names were intentionally imitative
of natural sounds, for all the purposes of onomatopoetic theory it
makes no difference whether such sounds were made by natural objects
or by man himself. Nor, of the natural sounds which were made by man
himself, does it in any way affect this theory whether the naturally
human sounds were “interjectional” only, “co-operative” only, or
sometimes one and sometimes the other. If, following the example set
by Professor Max Müller, I may be allowed to designate Noiré’s special
branch of the onomatopoetic theory as the Yeo-he-ho theory, it appears
to me impossible to distinguish it in any essential particular from
those other branches which are called by him the Bow-wow and Pooh-pooh
theories—_i.e._ the imitative and the interjectional. Yet he has
become as ardent a supporter of the one branch as he was a vehement
opponent of the others.[208]
For my own part, I think it highly probable that there is an element
of truth in the Yeo-he-ho theory, although I deem it in the last
degree improbable that imitative sounds of this kind constituted the
_only_ source of aboriginal speech. At the most, it seems to me, this
branch of onomatopœia can be accredited with supporting but a small
proportional part of aboriginal language-growth. Nevertheless, as
already observed, I can have no doubt at all that the principle of
onomatopœia in all its branches has been the most important of all
principles which were concerned in the first genesis of speech. That is
to say, I fully agree with the almost unanimous voice of philological
authority on this matter, which may be tersely expressed by allowing
Professor Whitney to act as spokesman.
“Beyond all reasonable question, there was a positively long period
of purely imitative signs, and a longer one of mixed imitative and
traditional ones, the latter gradually gaining upon the former, before
the present condition of things was reached, when the production of new
signs by imitation is only sporadic and of the utmost rarity, and all
language-signs besides are traditional, their increase in any community
being solely caused by variation and combination, and by borrowing from
other communities.”[209]
But now, having thus stated as emphatically as possible my acceptance
of the theory of onomatopœia, I have to express dissent from many of
its more earnest advocates where they represent that it is necessarily
the only theory to be entertained. In other words, I do not agree with
the dogma that articulate speech cannot possibly have had any source,
or sources, other than that which is supplied by vocal imitations.[210]
For, on merely antecedent grounds, I can see no adequate reason for
arbitrarily excluding the possibility of arbitrary invention. If even
civilized children, who are not under the discipline of the “mother
of invention,” will coin a language of their own in which the element
of onomatopœia is barely traceable;[211] and if uneducated deaf-mutes
will spontaneously devise articulate sounds which are necessarily
destitute of any imitative origin;[212] I do not see why it should be
held antecedently impossible that primitive man can have found any
other means of word-formation than that which is supplied by mimicry.
Therefore, while I fully agree with Professor Wundt in holding that
the question before us is one to be dealt with by psychology rather
than philology (seeing that language cannot record the conditions of
its own birth, and that so many causes have been at work to obliterate
aboriginal onomatopœia), I cannot follow him where he argues that
on grounds of psychology there is no room for any other inference
than that the principle of onomatopœia in its widest sense must have
constituted the sole origin of significant articulation.[213]
We have already seen that even the most imitative of vocalists, the
talking birds, will invent wholly arbitrary sounds as denotative
names,[214] and it would be psychologically absurd to suppose that
they are superior to what primitive man must have been in the matter
of finding expedients for semiotic utterance. Again, the clicks of
Hottentots and Bushmen, whatever we suppose their origin to have been,
certainly cannot have had that origin in onomatopœia; and no less
certainly, as Professor Sayce remarks, they still survive to show how
the utterances of speechless man could be made to embody and convey
ideas.[215] Lastly, on the general principle that the development of
the individual furnishes information touching the development of the
race, it is highly significant that the _hitherto speechless_ child
will spontaneously use arbitrary sounds (both articulate and otherwise)
whereby to denotate habitual recepts. And even after it has begun to
learn the use of actual words, arbitrary additions are frequently
made to its vocabulary which defy any explanation at the hands of
onomatopœia—not only, as in the cases above alluded to, where they are
left to themselves, but even in cases where they are in the closest
contact with language as spoken by their elders. I could quote many
instances of this fact; but it will be enough to refer to one already
given on page 144 (foot-note). When, however, these spontaneous efforts
are not controlled by constant association with elders, but fostered
by children of about the same age being left much together, the
remarkable consequence previously alluded to arises—namely, a newly
devised language which depends but in small part upon the principle
of onomatopœia, and is therefore wholly unintelligible to all but its
inventors.[216]
I have now briefly stated all the main facts and considerations
which appear to me worth stating, both for and against the theory of
onomatopœia. And, having done this, I wish in conclusion to make it
clear that the matter is not one which seriously affects the theory of
evolution. To the philologist, no doubt, the question as to how far
the element of onomatopœia entered into the formation of aboriginal
speech is a really important question, so that, as Geiger says,
“Diess ist die gemeinsame Frage, und die antwort wird auf der einen
Seite von einem inneren Zusammenhang zwischen je einem Laut und dem
entsprechenden Begriffe, auf der andern aus Willkür und Uebereinkunft
hergeleitet.”[217] But the question is one which the evolutionist may
view with indifference. Whether words were all originally dependent
on an inherent connection between every sound they made and the idea
thereby expressed, or whether they were all due to arbitrary invention,
in either case the evolutionist may see that they can equally well have
come into existence as the natural products of a natural psychogenesis.
And, _a fortiori_, as an evolutionist, he need not greatly concern
himself with any further question as to the relative degrees in which
imitation and invention may have entered into the composition of
primitive speech.