WHILE yielding to the charm of some master of language, who of us gives a thought to the fact that the grace and flow, the flexibility, the mysterious eloquence of written speech is largely due to the invention of letters. Only twenty-six simple signs, yet what marvels of simplicity and power! In the readiness of these for new combinations, their varied adjustments and readjustments in the formation of words, we find the life and growth, and practically unlimited expansion of language; the rhythmical melodies of verse; those inherent powers which render them so adaptive to the wants of man; and withal, so easy to be acquired. Yet writing without an alphabet is quite possible. In fact, the history of the past is revealing great nations and people in possession of systems of writing and of extensive literature, not founded on an alphabet.

We are nevertheless to find that writing without an alphabet is a difficult and complicated matter. So serious and difficult, that comparatively few could acquire the art, and that though in great measure this was confined to special classes, as the scribes who devoted themselves to the practice, and the priesthood who were invested with the power, yet the art of writing was understood and in common use to an extent incomprehensible when the difficulties of its acquirement are considered. The results were nevertheless to limit the extensions of knowledge, proving in all directions a barrier to progress.

Truly has it been said that “The history of our alphabet is the golden thread which entwines itself with the long story of man’s civilization;” that “It is the greatest triumph of the human mind;” and again, as “The most wonderful of intellectual achievements.” For we are coming to know that letters are an invention, not spontaneous productions or miracles of language, and that evolution, as in other directions of human inquiry, has much to say upon their origin and history.

Though taking us to a past so remote, the record for the greater part is singularly distinct and clear. The story is, however, but a recent revelation, not even as yet fully told, gathering only sufficient coherence within the past forty years to make the telling intelligible or possible. A fragment of inscription here, a roll of papyrus there, illuminated by the inspirations of genius, and the ages which have so long withheld from us the story of our alphabet, are slowly yielding the secret.

To give in brief review the leading facts in this story is the simple purpose of this history.

Before entering upon our narrative, however, we can best understand the obstacles in this path of research—perhaps best understand letters themselves—by a brief survey of the principles upon which the origin and development of graphic representation are said to depend; perhaps we may see more clearly how scholars groping in the dark in their study of these unknown characters came to perceive first one fact and then another, until the great story of letters was revealed.

We are thus first directed to the fact that at different periods of time, in various parts of the globe, different races of men, each in their own way, have invented methods of communicating with the absent, and for the record of events.

Independently of speech, or the art of writing, other methods employed by primitive man of communicating with his kind should first be noted. Thus, the ancient gesture language, common to all races and people, whereby facial expression, attitudes or gesticulations, sorrow, hatred, love, confidence, regret, all emotions were expressed; that picture action which we find appearing in picture writing.

Again, objects representing ideas which were used as message bearers. In illustration of this we have the story told by Herodotus^[2] of the King of the Scythians who sent as gifts to Darius when about to invade Scythia, a bird, a mouse, a frog and five arrows. When the Persians asked of the messengers the meaning of these gifts, they would not explain, but told them they should discover for themselves what these things signified. The interpretation suggested by Darius was, that since a mouse is bred in the earth, and a frog lives in the water, the Scythians gave up land and water. The bird signified their speedy flight, and the arrows the surrender of their arms to the Persians.

“Not thus,” said Gobyas, “should you interpret this message. It means, O Persians, unless you become birds and fly into the air, or mice, and hide yourselves beneath the earth, or frogs, and leap into the lakes, ye shall never return to your homes, but be smitten with these arrows.”

Akin to objects as message bearers, is the knight’s glove sent as a challenge to combat, the pipe offered by the North American Indian in token of amity, the rosemary sent in remembrance, or the rose as a token of affection.

Other methods employed for sending messages are of curious interest as commonly used by people far removed from each other in time and place. ^[3]As the knotted cords of the Chinese, or the quippas of the Peruvians, which by their numbers, the style of knotting, or the distribution in groups, were used as message bearers to all parts of the country. In the same category also are the notched sticks of the North American Indians, the tally sticks of the Danes, the English and other people.

But while in different parts of the world human beings have invented ways of communicating with the absent without the art of writing, to depict an object instead of conveying an object, would result as a simpler and more lasting method of expression.

Thus, in simple pictures of objects, we find the earliest beginnings of the art of writing. How these may be employed as message bearers or for the record of events we have abundant illustration in the picture writings of the North American Indian on the bark of trees, or inscribed on rocks, metal and stone.

In the same way, in rude carvings with flint chips on bone and ivory, records of the chase have come down to us from that far off time when paleolythic man hunted the hairy rhinoceros, the mammoth and the hyena in the forests of Europe.

Though hardly attaining the art of writing, pictorial representations in kind were the earliest human attempt in this mode of expression. Later, when pictures became the symbols of ideas, as the picture of a bee to symbolize royalty, of an eye to indicate seeing or knowing, two legs to signify walking or going, or a sparrow for cruelty or inferiority, we reach a higher stage of progression—relics or reminiscences often of the old gesture language, or objects sent as symbols of ideas.

These two first stages in the development of the art of writing are known as ideograms, where signs, symbols or figures suggest the ideas of objects without expressing their names. To construct a sentence in this way with the various parts of speech, is impossible.

The next advance was phonetism, the representation of the sound of words. Thus, the picture of a lion or a camel will be understood whatever the language of the picture-maker may be. Perhaps, also, symbols for things, as the sun for light, or an eye for seeing. “But how,” says Hereen, “can the names of persons, as Henry, Lewis, and the like, be distinguished by symbolic pictures?”

This is true also of many other words without the adoption of signs or characters to represent sound, or the names of things, any adequate expression of facts or ideas is impossible. It thus came about that when pictures of objects or symbols of ideas obtained a fixed and permanent sign for the sound in any language phonetism began.

Among the confusions which appear at this stage are the homophones; relics of that primitive stage in speech, the monosyllabic, when few sounds were used to express many things. As an example in modern English, we have such words as pair, pare and pear; or rite, write, right and wright; words so like in sound, so unlike in meaning.

In our language, these homophones for the greater part are defined by the variant spelling, but as without an alphabet there could be no variant spelling, other devices were necessary to indicate the various meanings of words having the same sound.

Of these ingenious devices, numerous, clever, though cumbrous, yet so essential before letters appeared, more hereafter.

In the meantime, we find the same sound sign thus came to be used for words differing widely in sense and signification. These sound signs were still picture writing. In no sense were they letters or alphabetic characters, but pictures of objects which were used to express sound. This first stage in phonetism is therefore often called by philologists the rebus stage.

A distinct illustration of this method of sound representation is given in the rebus form of the sentence, “I can sail round the globe.” Thus, the pronoun “I” is expressed by the picture of an eye; the verb “can” by the picture of a can; “sail” by the picture of a boat or ship’s sail; “round” by a circle, and the word “globe” by a student’s globe.

In this first stage of phonetism we find that pictures of objects do not represent these special objects as in the purely ideographic stage, but the sound. Again, that writing had reached the point where signs and symbols stand for entire words.

For a monosyllabic language this might suffice. The necessities of a polysyllabic language, however, suggested a further advance. This was to syllabism, the second stage in phonetism, and here signs are used to represent the separate articulations of which words are composed.

In an advanced stage of syllabism not all of the articulations of polysyllabic words were thus represented. Some sign attached to the word as a whole came to be used as the sound value of the initial syllable of the word.

This use of signs for the initial syllable of the word is one of those tricks of abbreviation to which the human mind inclines. It is however scientifically known as an application of the acrologic principle; viz: the use of a sign primarily representing a word to denote its initial syllable, or the initial sound. Thus we have the use of the letters “C” for century; “A. D.” for Anno Domini, and other familiar examples. Also, the signs for the Phoenician words Alph, Beth, Gimel, etc., which came finally to appear as the initial letters of these words.

At the same time we are to remember that at this stage these simple signs are as yet representing syllables. They do not as yet separate the vowels from the attached consonants, denoting both together by a simple sign.

Nor at this stage of writing was there any conception of such a division. The vowel seems to have been regarded as inhering in the consonant. As yet no way had been devised to express the vowel sounds.

We can, however, readily perceive that any attempt to treat pure syllabic signs alphabetically would be impossible. The power of the sign for Ne is not “n;” the sign for Ro is not “r;” Se, Si and Su are not “s;” nor is Tu “t.”

The selection of a number of such signs representing initial syllables of words is termed a syllabary. Its formation occurred when all, or a greater part, of the unions of single consonants with vowel sounds in a language had received each its phonetic and characteristic sign and was thus used independently of any previous signification of the word from which it was derived.

Selections of these signs could be used almost as the alphabet is used to form words. That they were not entirely depended upon by many intelligent nations that possessed a syllabary is one of the curiosities in the history of written speech.

The influence of the syllabaries which developed under different conditions in various languages is an exceedingly interesting study, sometimes so increasing the simplicities of written speech as to nearly approach the powers of the alphabet; again, increasing the extraordinary complexities writing had assumed at the syllabic stage.

Thus these syllabaries have been at once the despair and the illumination of scholars, who, attempting to decipher these unknown characters as letters, could make nothing of them, but when finally recognizing their syllabic values, a wonderful period in the history of letters was revealed.

Syllabic systems, wherever found, are a study of special significance; so nearly alphabetic, yet so remote; always suggesting the greater simplicities to be, and yet so oblivious of these simplicities.

But one step further and alphabetism is at hand. Instead of the use of the sign for the phonetic power of the syllable, the use of this sign for the phonetic power of the letter was all that was necessary.

To many nations such an advance was inconceivable. For this, the conception of the elementary sounds of which words are composed is necessary; the vowels and the consonants, the consonant being the chief power in this development.

It has been suggested that this advance when reached was the result of the prominence of the consonant in the syllable. For instance, the phonetic power of the consonant in the syllables sa, se, si, so, su, is constant while the vowels are variable.

The consonants thus appeared to be the substantial elements of words while the vowels were complementary and inconstant. In this way the sign for the syllable came finally to be the sign for the consonant, with the vowel understood. In confirmation of this we find that the first appearance of alphabetic writing—that is where letters only are used for the formation of words—was consonant writing. The earliest, nearest approach to a pure alphabet, was an alphabet of consonants.

The Semitic languages differ from all other idioms in structure. The original roots of Semitic words are tri-consonantal, consisting of three consonants.

Out of a language so constructed it is easy to understand the development of such an alphabet. The confusions of its use are also manifest. Thus, in the changes of signification of the Semitic root word, k-t-b, signifying “write” we have, when spoken, ka-ta-ba, “he has written,” ku-ta-ba, “it has been written,” ka-ta-bu, “writing,” and ka-tu-bu, “written.” In script, however, whatever the signification, in ancient form we have simply k-t-b with the many meanings supposed to be explained by the context. In early Semitic script there was no notation for vowel sounds, nor did these appear until a comparatively recent date.

From this source, as well as from the similarities which these consonantal signs assumed, have arisen many embarrassments in the translation of Hebrew, and curious evidences in textual criticism.

With the Semitic letters, however, we have reached the first alphabet; not the first appearance of letters, or alphabetic characters, but that stage in the evolution of letters where these were used independently to express words.

At this point, surveying the course from its beginnings, we find the tendencies of progression are, first, simple pictures of objects; again, these simple pictures representing ideas, then as denoting sound or the names of objects, later on as syllabic signs, and finally as letters.

Along this line of progress there are, however, certain curious phenomena which record the historical course of writing as distinctly as do the successive deposits of geological periods.

While the tendency of all systems of writing is from ideographism to alphabetism, not all reached this latter stage; some gradually reached phonetism, where they stopped. Others advanced to syllabism and there remained.

Another singular circumstance is that this progress in phonetism is always without giving up ideographism; that every stage is still picture writing.

Again, we find each stage of progress including previous steps of advance, until at last, as in the Egyptian hieroglyphics, we have the full series of pictures of objects and pictures for sound with a formidable array of determinatives and other special signs and significations. This order of progress has been found so constantly true with all original systems of writing among all races, near and remote, that it may be regarded as a natural, universal law.