I have read with interest Prof. Max Müller’s paper on the above subject
in the current issue of _The Monist_, not only because it is in large
part devoted to a consideration of my own work on “Mental Evolution,”
but still more because the explanations which it supplies touching
certain points of disagreement between us appear to show that I have
not misrepresented his statements, even if, as he alleges, I have
misapprehended his meanings.
The work to which allusion has just been made was published in 1888, and,
as far as I am aware, it is only now that Prof. Max Müller has sought to
meet my views as there expressed. Hence we may take it that his answer
is, at all events, well matured. Furthermore, we may take it, from the
tone in which his answer is conveyed, that he credits me with having had
at least an honest desire to understand, and accurately to represent,
his meaning in all the places where I have ventured to criticise it. It
appears, however, that at all events in one important respect I have
betrayed “a complete misapprehension” of his meaning—viz. with reference
to his “theory of the origin of roots” (_The Monist_, p. 582); and it is
for the purpose of correcting this misapprehension that he has published
the latter half of his present paper. My reply, therefore, must take
the form of excusing myself for the complete misapprehensions which are
alleged.
It is desirable at the outset to emphasise a distinction which I was
careful to draw in my work on “Mental Evolution in Man”—that, namely,
between philology and philosophy. A man may be an excellent authority on
the “Science of Language,” and yet but a very indifferent writer on the
“Science of Thought.” On the other hand, a man may know nothing at first
hand touching the special province of a philologist, and nevertheless
be fully capable of criticising what a philologist has published in the
way of theoretical deductions from his facts—especially where these
deductions quit the sphere of philology, and soar into that of Darwinian,
or anti-Darwinian, speculation. This distinction, indeed, between the
particular science of philology and the general scope of philosophy,
Prof. Max Müller himself recognises where he says: “While the student
of language seems to me to have a perfect right to treat the roots of
language as ultimate facts, it is difficult for the philosopher not to
look beyond.” (_The Monist_, p. 579.) Nevertheless he complains of me
because, while accepting all his philological facts upon his authority
as a philologist (save in so far as they are not accepted by other
philologists), I have been obliged to express dissent from not a few
of his theoretical deductions—especially, as I have already indicated,
where these have reference to the general doctrine of evolution as
applied to the mind of man. But how, I may ask, could a treatise be
written on “Mental Evolution in Man,” or “The Origin of Human Faculty,”
without considering the results which have been gained by the science
of comparative philology? Or how can it be maintained that, in order to
deal with these results in relation to the general theory of descent, a
writer must first of all himself become an authority in that particular
science? At any rate, I deemed it enough for the only purposes which I
had in view, to read attentively all the leading authorities in this
science, and, after extracting from them the information upon matters of
fact which their researches had established, to show what I regarded as
the bearing of these facts upon the theory of mental evolution. Nor can I
plead guilty to the charge of arrogant presumption, which the following
words appear to convey:
“We see in his case how dangerous it is for a man who can claim
to speak with authority on his own special subject, to venture
to speak with authority on subjects not his own. Professor
Romanes has, no doubt, read several books on philology and
philosophy, but he is not sufficiently master of his subject to
have the slightest right to speak of men like Noiré, Huxley,
Herbert Spencer, to say nothing of Hobbes, with an air of
superiority. That is entirely out of place.” (_The Monist_, p.
383.)
Now that any such “air of superiority” occurs in my book, I must deny—and
this is a matter of fact. Noiré is alluded to only with reference to
his theory of the origin of language, which I go further in accepting
than does any “philosopher” or “philologist,” with the single exception
of Prof. Max Müller himself. Huxley is mentioned in several places as a
leading authority on anatomical matters, where my argument requires an
authoritative statement upon them. Herbert Spencer, curiously enough,
is never mentioned at all; while Hobbes is named only once, and then as
sustaining, by a “shrewd analysis,” an opinion which I am advocating by
quotations from recognised authorities in philosophy. Truly, therefore,
it would be well for my critic “to say nothing of Hobbes”; and better
still if he had looked at my index before condemning my supposed
treatment of Herbert Spencer, Huxley, and Noiré. As it is, his allusion
to these names “is entirely out of place.”
But even apart from this particularly unfortunate allusion, his more
general charge as to my “venturing to speak authoritatively on subjects
not his [my] own,” is equally out of place. The following is my
introduction to the chapter on Comparative Philology, and I cannot see
that it betokens any “air of superiority”:
“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,
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.”
* * * * *
Having thus disposed of a merely personal matter, I may pass on to my
justification of the “complete misapprehension” into which I have fallen
with respect to Prof. Max Müller’s work on the “Science of Thought.”
In the first place he tells us:
“On page 267 Mr. Romanes says that I profess, as a result of
more recent researches, to have reduced the number of Sanskrit
roots to 121. I wish I had. But the number of roots in Sanskrit
stands as yet at about 800: the number 121 of which he speaks
is the number of concepts expressed by these roots, many of
them conveying the same, or nearly the same, idea.” (_The
Monist_, p. 583.)
Now it is quite true that on page 267 I made the statement which is here
challenged; but as I immediately go on to speak repeatedly of the “number
121” as being “the number of concepts expressed by the roots,”—and
actually quote at length the whole 121 concepts with Prof. Max Müller’s
own heading,—I am not sure that the point is worth the stress which is
now laid upon it. Nevertheless, I may explain why in this one passage
I used the word “roots,” instead of the word “concepts.” Briefly, the
only reason was because, according to Prof. Max Müller’s theory of
the origin of roots, it seemed to me virtually the same thing, from
a psychological point of view, whether we speak of the reduction in
question as pertaining to roots or to concepts. For, according to the
theory, “every root embodies a concept,” or is the obverse side of a
concept. Consequently, if the Sanskrit language presents some 800 roots,
while it is expressive of only 121 concepts, the balance of the 800 roots
must be concerned in conveying the same, or nearly the same, ideas—as
Prof. Max Müller himself expressly asserts in the above quotation from
_The Monist_. Indeed, the whole object of his psychological analysis of
linguistic roots was to prove that such is the case; and, therefore, that
the 121 roots which serve to convey the 121 concepts are the only roots
required for the purposes of communication in Sanskrit speech. No doubt
it would have been better if I had stated all this in my book; but even
if its omission led to obscurity, I can scarcely see that on this account
there could have been a “misrepresentation” where there was certainly
no “misapprehension.” For, as already stated, I spoke of “121 roots”
only once, while I alluded to “121 concepts” many times—and usually,
moreover, in inverted commas. Lastly, it may be observed that, following
his theory concerning the “origin of roots,” Prof. Max Müller himself
so far identifies roots with concepts as to head one of his lists, in
large capitals—ROOTS OR CONCEPTS. Therefore in saying that he professed
to have reduced the psychologically efficient elements of Sanskrit speech
to 121 constituents, it did not appear to me that I was departing from
his own terminology when in one passage I spoke of these 121 constituents
as roots, while everywhere else I spoke of them as concepts. “Give us,”
he says, “about 800 roots, and we can explain the largest dictionary;
give us about 121 concepts, and we can account for the 800 roots.”
(“Science of Thought,” p. 551.) Well, if this is so, the 800 roots (i. e.
phonetically separable elements) have been reduced to the 121 “concepts
or roots” (i. e. psychologically separable elements). My critic cannot
both have his cake and eat it. Either he must abide by the philological
meaning of a root, as the ultimate result of philological analysis; or
else he must abide by his own philosophical meaning of a root, as the
embodiment of a concept. Under the former definition there will be about
800 roots of Sanskrit; under the latter definition, and according to his
analysis, there will be only 121.
* * * * *
The next point with regard to which “complete misapprehension” is alleged
may best be presented by my critic’s own words, thus:
“Professor Romanes thinks it necessary to remark that ‘these
concepts do not represent the ideation of primitive man’! I
never said they did. I never pretended to be acquainted with
the ideation of primitive man. All I maintained was that,
making allowance for obscure words, every thought, that of the
lowest savage as well as of the most minute philosopher, can be
expressed with these 800 roots, and traced back to these 121
concepts.” (_The Monist_, p. 584.)
Now, it is perhaps needless to say, I am extremely glad to learn that
such was the meaning intended; but I trust that the following quotations
will furnish a sufficient excuse for my misunderstanding of it:
“I hope that those who will carefully examine the results
at which I have arrived, will admit that they prove by
overwhelming evidence that the meanings of roots are really
what we expected them to be, and that they express the
primitive social acts of primitive social man, and the states
more or less closely associated with such acts.” (“Science of
Thought,” p. 403.)
From this it appears that if Prof. Max Müller never professed to be
acquainted with the ideation of _primitive_ man, he did profess to have
proved, by overwhelming evidence, a very large acquaintance, not only
with the ideation, but also with primitive acts of primitive _social_
man. Possibly his acquaintance with both these matters is very much
more intimate than mine; but as I have always taken it to be virtually
certain that “primitive man” was “social” in his habits, I should like
to learn the reasons which have induced my critic to believe in a still
more “primitive man,” who was addicted to a solitary mode of life. For,
otherwise, the only distinction on which his criticism appears to rest is
a distinction without a difference.
Again he says:
“The Science of Thought assures us that every thought that ever
crossed the mind of man can be traced back to about 121 simple
concepts.” (Ibid., p. 418.)
And that the word “man” here is not intended tacitly to exclude
“primitive man” (whether “social” or solitary), I gathered from the fact
of the 121 concepts in question being tabulated under the heading, in
large capitals, THE 121 ORIGINAL CONCEPTS. For, if the word “original”
here was intended to mean original only with reference to the Sanskrit
language, why did the writer follow it up with his statement about the
Science of Thought, assuring us that _every_ thought which had _ever_
crossed the mind of _man_ could be _traced back_ to these 121 original
concepts?
Lastly, not only by such particular passages was I led to suppose that
the writer was referring to “primitive man” when he was writing about
“primitive social man,” etc.; but still more was I led to suppose this
by the whole drift and tenor of his work. For what would be the sense
of all his disquisitions upon the importance of linguistic science in
its relation to the theory of evolution, if he intended to restrict his
inferences to the _semi-civilised_ condition of man, which (as he allows)
must have been the condition of the speakers of Sanskrit? Clearly, if
this were his intention, there would have been _no_ sense in all these
disquisitions; and therefore, here again, my critic cannot both preserve
his cake and consume it. Either let him adopt the position which he
takes up in _The Monist_, as a philologist pure and simple, who “never
pretended to be acquainted with the ideation of primitive man,” who
refuses to go beyond the “facts” of the “Science of Language,” or to
speculate upon their theoretical relations to the “Science of Thought”:
or else let him do as he does in his published works—superimpose upon his
functions as a “Student of Language” the functions of a “Philosopher,”
freely speculate upon “the origin of roots,” elaborately argue the whole
psychology of “concepts,” and strenuously endeavor to show that “language
is the Rubicon of mind,” which not only now, but at all times, has
separated man from the lower animals, as a being mysterious in origin, if
not unique in kind.
* * * * *
Next we are told:
“Professor Romanes dwells on what he calls the interesting
feature of all roots being verbs. This is simply a
contradiction in terms. In giving the meaning of roots scholars
generally employ the infinitive or the participle, “to go,”
or “going”; but they have stated again and again that a root
ceases to be a root as soon as it is used in a sentence.” (_The
Monist_, p. 584.)
Now, by a “verb” I understand a word that signifies either an action or a
state; and by a “root” I understand—here agreeing with Prof. Max Müller
himself—“an element of human speech,” so far as this has been hitherto
reduced by philological analysis. Again, I hold—in this also agreeing
with him—that “as soon as a root is used for predication it becomes a
word, whether outwardly it is changed or not.” (“Science of Thought,” p.
440.) Well, if we are agreed upon these points, I do not see how there
can be any “contradiction in terms” when I stated the fact “of all roots
being verbs.”
In the first place, if one were to agree with Prof. Max Müller himself
in holding that originally every root was “something real, something
that was actually used in conversation” (Ibid. p. 420), there can be no
contradiction in terms if we translate this into saying that originally
every root was a word—for the mere quibble that not until it was spoken
did the root become a word does not affect the matter, any more than if
we were to say the same of any word now in use, which has given birth to
a progeny of other words. But even if we disagree with Prof. Max Müller,
and suppose that roots are merely “phonetic elements,” or the residual
extract of a group of originally allied words, we should still be correct
in saying that the “concepts” which they “embody” are all concepts which
now admit of being expressed in equivalent words.
So much for the “contradiction in terms,” which is alleged to arise if we
speak of roots as _words_. Touching the second point, or the accuracy of
saying that the words which roots express are always _verbs_, my defence
is sufficiently easy. For to say, as my critic says, that “in giving
the meaning of roots scholars generally employ the infinitive or the
participle,” appears to me a most unphilosophical observation, since it
appears to indicate that in the opinion of its writer the significance
of a verb is but conventionally given to a root by the verbal form into
which it is thrown by scholars. But the fact is that, even if they tried,
scholars could rarely deprive a root of its significance as a verb, no
matter into what verbal form they might choose to throw it. Take any root
at random, such as HA _to go_. However much we may ring the changes, as
“to go,” “going,” “goer,” it is impossible to get rid of the fundamental
significance of the root as a verb. And although it is, of course,
possible to select a root which presents a more equivocal interpretation,
the cases in which this can be done are, comparatively speaking, not
numerous, and apparently never such as to exclude the probability of its
having primarily conveyed the force of a verb. For instance, HUR _to
fall_, may be regarded either as a verb or a noun-substantive; but we
cannot say that there is anything to render more probable the view of
the root having been originally expressive of a fall than of the act of
falling; and inasmuch as there do not appear to be any roots which _can_
only have originally had the force of nouns or adjectives, while there
are so many which _can_ only have originally had the force of verbs,
we may fairly conclude that in the accidentally more equivocal cases
the roots were likewise originally expressive of actions or of states.
For, if not, why are there not as many roots which convey such meanings
as _sky_, or _blue_ (which never can have had equivalents in the forms
of verbs), as there are roots like HA, where we cannot doubt that the
meaning from the first must have been the meaning of a verb?
I am the more surprised at this head of Prof. Max Müller’s criticism,
because it belongs to the very essence of his own theory touching “the
origin of roots,” that they _must_ all originally have conveyed the
meaning of verbs. Therefore from end to end of his own book he constantly
alludes to roots as expressive of “actions”; never as expressive of
objects or qualities. For instance:
“All, or nearly all, the roots of Sanskrit, or rather of the
Aryan family in general, express, as we shall see, acts, and
more particularly the commonest acts performed by members of a
primitive society.” (“Science of Thought,” p. 272.)
And even in _The Monist_ article itself the same thing is stated thus:
“Let us remember that a most careful psychological analysis
had led Noiré to the conclusion that the germs of all
conceptional thought were to be found in the consciousness of
our own repeated acts. And let us place by the side of this,
the well-ascertained fact that the germs of all conceptional
language, what we call roots, express with few exceptions the
repeated acts of men.” (_The Monist_, p. 580.)
Again:
“We begin with the fact that the great bulk of a language
consists of words, derived, according to the strictest rules,
not from cries, but from articulate roots. No one denies this.
We follow this up with a second fact, that nearly all the roots
express acts of men. No one denies that.” (p. 588.)
Very well then, I submit that the only real distinction between Prof. Max
Müller’s rendering of this “fact,” and my own rendering of it, consists
in my having added “states” to “acts,” and observing that then the
comparatively few outstanding roots may be included with the “nearly all”
under the one category of “verbs.”
For the distinction which he draws in _The Monist_ is not a real
distinction: it is merely a verbal distinction.
Here it is:
“If Professor Romanes approves of my saying that roots stood
for any part of speech, just as the monosyllabic expressions
of children do, I can only say that, if I ever said so, I
expressed myself incorrectly. A root never stands for any part
of speech, because as soon as it is a part of speech it is no
longer a root.” (_The Monist_, p. 585.)
This, as I have previously observed, is merely a quibble. If originally
every root was “something real, something used in conversation,”
originally all roots were _words_, in just the same sense as “the
monosyllabic expressions of children” are words. And if “nearly all these
roots express the acts of man,” while most (if not all) the outstanding
residuum were apparently expressive of states, it follows that the
roots in question were not only words, but _verbs_. And in stating this
“fact” I supposed that I was but following Prof. Max Müller’s statement
of it, where he constitutes it the philological basis of his theory on
the “origin of roots”—viz. that all roots sprang from sounds made by
“primitive social man” when engaged in their “social _acts_.” But, while
accepting this fact, I objected to the theory raised upon it, because
the latter did not consider that roots which originally had the force of
verbs must have been more likely to have survived, and so to have come
down to us, than those which may originally have had the significance
of any other parts of speech. And it was only in order to supply this
further consideration that I alluded to the “fact” at all.
* * * * *
We come next to some disparaging remarks upon “babies,” “parrots,”
and the lower animals generally (_The Monist_, pp. 586-7). Prof. Max
Müller “refuses to argue” with me, “or any other philosopher, either in
the nursery or the menagerie.” So be it. As a philologist, of course,
he is assuredly right; no one would expect him so to argue. But as a
philosopher, who has written a large book on the “Science of Thought,” he
is no less assuredly wrong. And one may be pardoned for wondering at this
intentionally ostrich-like attitude on the part of a philosopher—who is
“going beyond the origin of roots”—with respect to the fundamental germs
of the sign-making faculty.
Again, my critic appears to imagine that I am a supporter of the
onomatopoetic theory—to the extent of regarding _all_ human language as
having originated in imitations of natural sounds. (_The Monist_, pp.
586-7.) But over and over again I have stated that this is not my view.
I believe, indeed, that there is a very large amount of truth in this
theory; but I deem it on all grounds most improbable that the principle
of imitation has been the _only_ principle concerned in the origin of
speech. I have argued that probably many other principles must have been
concerned, including the “synergastic” principle suggested by Noiré, and
enthusiastically adopted by my critic as alone sufficient to explain the
whole problem of the origin of speech—and this although it is clearly but
a particular branch of the general onomatopoetic theory. Hence, so far
as I am concerned, it does not signify one iota whether any given root
owed its origin to the principle of imitation, or to some other of the
general principles which I believe to have been concerned in the birth
of articulate language. And, if possible, still less does it signify
whether or not in the development of any given word, such as “thunder,”
the original root-sound has been afterwards imitatively modified, “from a
feeling that it should be so.” These matters are no doubt of importance
within the four corners of philology; but in relation to the “biological
theory” of descent they present no importance at all.
Yet I am told:
“Those who cannot see the difference between a man, or for all
that, between a mocking-bird, saying _Cuckoo_, and a whole
community fixing on the sound of TAN, as differentiated by
various suffixes and prefixes, and expressing the concept
of stretching in such words as _tonos_, _tone_, _tonitru_,
_thunder_, _tanu_, _tenuis_, _thin_, should not meddle with the
Science of Language.” (_The Monist_, pp. 588-9.)
Doubtless. But as no word of this applies to me, I may be permitted to
observe that if any one who has read my book can possibly suppose that it
does, he should not meddle with the Science of Thought.
* * * * *
In conclusion, if it be the case that I have completely misapprehended
Prof. Max Müller with regard to the points which he has mentioned,—and
all of which I have now considered,—have I not furnished sufficient
justification? Even now I cannot see in what respects it is possible
to amend any subsequent edition of my book, so as to correct the
misapprehensions which are alleged. But although my “mistakes” are thus
far from “clear,” I am glad to have had this opportunity of publicly
discussing them with Prof. Max Müller, if only for the sake of adding the
following remarks.
Be it observed, in the first place, that whatever may be thought of the
foregoing “justification,”—whether it be held that the misapprehensions
are due to ambiguity on the one side or to obtuseness on the other,—at
least it is certain that the misapprehensions complained of all have
reference to points of no importance whatsoever as regards the general
theory of descent, even although some of them are not altogether
without importance as regards the particular science of philology. Thus
it is quite immaterial, so far as the doctrine of _Mental Evolution_
is concerned, whether we say that the roots of Sanskrit are 800,
philologically speaking, or 121, psychologically speaking. Again, as
soon as it is explained by Prof. Max Müller that by his “121 original
concepts” he means the number of concepts “original” only as regards
the Sanskrit language; that by “primitive social man” he means only the
semi-civilised progenitors of the Indo-European race; that by “every
thought that ever crossed the mind of man” admitting of being “traced
back to about 121 simple concepts,” he means no more than that such is
the case as regards the recent and highly evolved Aryan branch of the
human species;—when once all this is explained, it becomes evident that
thus far there _can_ be no difference of opinion between us. For in that
case he is not dealing with “the Origin of Human Faculty,” either in
regard to language or to thought: he is considering merely the higher
inflorescence of both. Once more, whether all, or nearly all, the roots
of Sanskrit can properly be called _words_, and, if so, whether we must
not go still further and call them _verbs_,—these are questions of
mere terminology. If the roots were originally “used in conversation,”
and if, as thus used, they were, with but few doubtful exceptions, all
expressive of “acts” or “states,” it becomes mere verbal hair-splitting
to challenge the propriety of saying that the roots were originally
verbs. At all events, the matter has nothing to do with the general
question of man’s derivative origin. Lastly, the same has to be said of
the purely philological question as to how far the principle of imitation
has obtained in the first formation of these archaic “words,” or “roots.”
For, archaic though they be in a philological sense, in a phylological
sense they are things of yesterday, and so can scarcely be said to have
any direct relation at all to “the origin of speech,” or the rise of
articulate sign-making. This has to be inferred from observations in
the “menagerie,” as distinguished from research in the library; and the
fact that Prof. Max Müller expressly refuses to give me the pleasure of
his company where the best materials for studying the really “primitive”
condition of the sign-making faculty are to be met with, merely renders
more impossible than ever any real collision between his linguistic
studies on the one side, and my “biological theory” on the other.
But although it thus appears sufficiently evident that my
“misapprehensions” of his linguistic conclusions are as unimportant
in relation to the theory of descent as they are few—and, I think,
also excusable—in themselves, it is impossible to doubt that far below
the level of Sanskrit roots, and far beyond the range of philological
science, there is a wide difference of opinion between us. For when he
passes from the “Science of Language” to the “Science of Thought,”—when
he quits his sphere as a philologist to enter that of the philosopher,—he
persistently and consistently affirms that what he calls “the old barrier
between man and beast” remains, and that he is as yet unable to perceive
how it can ever be removed. This barrier of course is predicative
language—the obverse side of conceptional thought; and the firm opinion
thus expressed by so eminent a philologist is not only of weight _per
se_, but is rendered more so on account of the manifest freedom from
prejudice with which it is associated. It is on this account that I
devoted so much space in my book on “Mental Evolution” to a consideration
of his views; and therefore I am sorry that his present reply has not
been directed to meeting my criticisms on this really important matter
of philosophical doctrine, rather than to indicating “misapprehensions”
with regard to such merely trivial matters of a purely philological kind
as those which I have here been dealing with. But perhaps at some future
time he may give me the benefit of his criticism upon my work as a whole,
or not merely on the fringes of such details as really have no bearing on
the objects of that work.
And, if he should ever see his way to doing this, I am quite sure that
the discussion would be one of a friendly character. For the points
at issue would all have reference to that large and vague domain of
speculative theory touching “the origin of human faculty,” where it is
inevitable—and, in my judgment, even desirable—that wide differences of
opinion should obtain. We are but at the commencement of a great and
obscure problem, which only in our own generation has been presented by
the science of biology to the contemplation of philosophy. Therefore it
would be folly indeed if any man were to regard his own opinions upon it
as other than provisional—and even more foolish if he were to introduce
any “_meum_ and _tuum_ into these discussions.”
Thus I invite Prof. Max Müller to state the grounds of his assertion in
_The Monist_, that “all the facts of real language are against” me as
an advocate of what he calls the biological theory of the developmental
origin of man. This theory, he says, “derives no support whatever from
the Science of Language.” I believe, on the other hand, that these are
wholly unwarranted statements; and that the Science of Language does
support the theory in question to as high a degree as is possible from
the nature of the case. On account of this great difference of opinion, I
felt, when writing my book, that I should be doing but scant justice to
the matured judgment of so eminent a philologist if I did not carefully
consider all that he had written upon the subject. And so, as I have
said, I devoted more of my book to a consideration of his views than to
those of any other philologist; and while accepting his scientific facts
on his authority as a philologist, I nevertheless felt it incumbent on me
to show why his philosophical deductions, where they had reference to the
theory of descent, appeared to me by no means of equivalent value. This
distinction, as I observed at the commencement of the present article, is
surely a legitimate distinction; and I should be sorry indeed if anything
that I have ever said can appear inconsistent with the genuine admiration
which is due to Prof. Max Müller as “a student of language,” or with the
no less genuine esteem which I have the best reason for knowing is due to
him as a friend.