COMPARATIVE PHILOLOGY.

We have now repeatedly seen that there is only one argument in favour of the view that the elsewhere continuous and universal process of evolution—mental as well as organic—was interrupted at its terminal phase, and that this argument stands on the ground of psychology. But we have also seen that even upon this its own ground the argument admits of abundant refutation. In order the more clearly to show that such is the case, I have hitherto designedly kept my discussion within the limits of psychological science. The time, however, has now come when I can afford to take a new point of departure. It is to Language that my opponents appeal: to Language they shall go.

In previous chapters I have more than once remarked that the science of historical psychology is destitute of fossils: unlike pre-historic structures, pre-historic ideas leave behind them no record of their existence. But now a partial exception must be taken to this general statement. For the new science of Comparative Philology has revealed the important fact that, if on the one hand speech gives expression to ideas, on the other hand it receives impression from them, and that the impressions thus stamped are surprisingly persistent. The consequence is that in philology we possess the same kind of unconscious record of the growth and decay of ideas, as is furnished by palÆontology of the growth and decay of species. Thus viewed, language may be regarded as the stratified deposit of thoughts, wherein they lie embedded ready to be unearthed by the labours of the man of science.

In now turning to this important branch of my subject, I may remark in limine that, like all the sciences, philology can be cultivated only by those who devote themselves specially to the purpose. My function, therefore, will here be that of merely putting together the main results of philological research, so far as this has hitherto proceeded, and so far as these results appear to me to have any bearing upon the “origin of human faculty.” Being thus myself obliged to rely upon authority, where I find that authorities are in conflict—which, I need hardly say, is often the case—I will either avoid the points of disagreement, or else state what has to be said on both sides of the question. But where I find that all competent authorities are in substantial agreement, I will not burden my exposition by tautological quotations.

Among the earlier students of language it was a moot question whether the faculty had its origin in Divine inspiration or in human invention. So long as the question touching the origin of language was supposed to be restricted to one or other of these alternatives, the special creationists in this department of thought may be regarded as having had the best of the argument. And this for the following reasons. Their opponents, for the most part, were unfairly handicapped by a general assumption of special creation as regards the origin of man, and also by a general belief in the confusion of tongues at the Tower of Babel. The theory of evolution having been as yet unformulated, there was an antecedent presumption in favour of the Divine origin of speech, since it appeared in the last degree improbable that Adam and Eve should have been created “with full-summed powers” of intellect, without the means of communicating their ideas to one another. And even where scientific investigators were not expressly dominated by acceptance of the biblical cosmology, many of them were nevertheless implicitly influenced by it, to the extent of supposing that if language were not the result of direct inspiration, it can only have been the result of deliberate invention. But against this supposition of language having been deliberately invented, it was easy for orthodox opponents to answer—“Daily experience informs us, that men who have not learned to articulate in their childhood, never afterwards acquire the faculty of speech but by such helps as savages cannot obtain; and therefore, if speech were invented at all, it must have been either by children who were incapable of invention, or by men who were incapable of speech. A thousand, nay, a million, of children could not think of inventing a language. While the organs are pliable, there is not understanding enough to frame the conception of a language; and by the time that there is understanding, the organs are become too stiff for the task, and therefore, say the advocates for the Divine origin of language, reason as well as history intimates that mankind in all ages must have been speaking animals—the young having constantly acquired this art by imitating those who are older; and we may warrantably conclude that our first parents received it by immediate inspiration.”[142]

There remained, however, the alternative that language might have been the result neither of Divine inspiration nor of human invention; but of natural growth. And although this alternative was clearly perceived by some of the earlier philologists, its full significance could not be appreciated before the advent of the general theory of evolution.[143] Nevertheless, it is here of interest to observe that the theory of evolution was clearly educed from, and applied to, the study of languages by some of the more scientific philologists, before it had been clearly enunciated by naturalists. Thus, for instance, Dr. Latham, while criticizing the passage above quoted, wrote in 1857:—“In the actual field of language, the lines of demarcation are less definitely marked than in the preceding sketch. The phenomena of growth, however, are, upon the whole, what it suggests.... In order to account for the existing lines of demarcation, which are broad and definite, we must bear in mind a fresh phenomenon, viz. the spread of one dialect at the expense of others, a fact which obliterates intermediate forms, and brings extreme ones into geographical juxtaposition.”[144]

Now, at the present day—owing partly to the establishment of the doctrine of evolution in the science of biology, but much more to direct evidence furnished by the science of philology itself—students of language are unanimous in their adoption of the developmental theory. Even Professor Max MÜller insists that “no student of the science of language can be anything but an evolutionist, for, wherever he looks, he sees nothing but evolution going on all around him;”[145] while Schleicher goes so far as to say that “the development of new forms from preceding forms can be much more easily traced, and this on even a larger scale, in the province of words, than in that of plants and animals.”[146]

Here, however, it is needful to distinguish between language and languages. A philologist may be firmly convinced that all languages have developed by way of natural growth from those simplest elements, or “roots,” which we shall presently have to consider. But he may nevertheless hesitate to conclude, with anything like equal certainty, that these simplest elements were themselves developed from still lower ingredients of the sign-making faculty; and hence that not only all languages in particular, but the faculty of language in general, has been the result of a natural evolution.

Here then, let it be noted, we are in the presence of exactly the same distinction with regard to the origin of language, as we were at the beginning of this treatise with regard to the origin of man. For we there saw that while we have the most cogent historical evidence in proof of the principles of evolution having governed the progress of civilization, we have no such direct evidence of the descent of man from a brutal ancestry. And here also we find that, so long as the light of history is able to guide us, there can be no doubt that the principles of evolution have determined the gradual development of languages, in a manner strictly analogous to that in which they have determined the ever-increasing refinement and complexity of social organization. Now, in the latter case we saw that such direct evidence of evolution from lower to higher levels of culture renders it well-nigh certain that the method must have extended backwards beyond the historical period; and hence, that such direct evidence of evolution uniformly pervading the historical period, in itself furnishes a strong prim facie presumption that this period was itself reached by means of a similarly gradual development of human faculty. And thus, also, it is in the case of language. If philology is able to prove the fact of evolution in all known languages as far back as the primitive roots out of which they have severally grown, the presumption becomes exceedingly strong that these earliest and simplest elements, like their later and more complex products, were the result of a natural growth.

Nevertheless, as I have said, it is important to distinguish between demonstrated fact and speculative inference, however strong; and, therefore, I will begin by briefly stating the stages of evolution through which languages are now generally recognized by philologists to have passed, without at present considering the more difficult question as to the origin of roots.

Supposing we take such a word as “uncostliness.” Obviously here the “un” the “li” and the “ness” are derivative appendages, demonstrative elements, suffixes and affixes, or whatever else we care to call modifying constants which the speakers of a language are in the habit of adding to their root-words, for the sake of ringing upon those words whatever changes of meaning occasion may require. These modifying constants, of course, have all had a history, which often admits of being traced. Thus, for instance, in the above illustration, we know that the “li” is an abbreviation of what used to be pronounced as “like;” the “ness,” however, being older than the English language; while the “un” dates back still further. The word “cost,” then, is here the root, as far as English is concerned—though it can be followed (through the Latin con-sta) to an Aryan root, signifying “stand.”

These modifying constants, moreover, are not restricted to suffixes, infixes, and affixes attached to roots, so as to constitute single (or compound) words: they also occur as themselves separate words, which admit of being built into the structure of sentences as pronouns, adverbs, prepositions, &c. And they may occur likewise as so-called “auxiliary verbs,” in the case of some languages, while in the case of others their functions are served by grammatical “inflection” of the words themselves. Thus, according to the “genius” of a language, its roots are made to lend themselves to significant treatment in different ways, or according to different methods. But in all cases the roots are present, and serve as what may be termed the back-bone of a language: the demonstrative elements, in whatever form they appear, are merely what I have termed modifying constants.

From this general fact we may be prepared to expect, on the theory of evolution, that in all languages the roots should be the oldest elements; those elements which serve only the function of “demonstrating” the particular meaning which is to be assigned to the roots on particular occasions, we should expect to have been of later growth. For they serve only the function of giving specific meanings to the general meanings already present in the roots; and, therefore, in the absence of the roots would themselves present no meaning at all. Consequently, as I have said, we should antecedently expect to find that the roots are the earliest discoverable (though not on this account necessarily the most primitive) elements of all languages. And this, as a general rule, is what we do find. In tracing back the family tree of any group of languages, different demonstrative elements are found on different branches, though all these branches proceed from (i.e. are found to contain) the same roots. Of course these roots may be variously modified, both as to sound and the groups of words to which in the different branches they have given origin; but such divergent evolution merely tends to corroborate the proof of a common descent among all the branches concerned.[147]

I have said that all philologists now agree in accepting the doctrine of evolution as applied to languages in general; while there is no such universal agreement touching the precise method or history of evolution in the case of particular languages. I will, therefore, first give a brief statement of the main facts of language-structure, and afterwards render an equally short account of the different views which are entertained upon the question of language-development. Or, to borrow terms from another science, I will first deal with the morphology of the main divisions of the language-kingdom, and then proceed to consider the question of their phylogeny.

More than a thousand languages exist as “living” languages, no one of which is intelligible to the speakers of another. These separate languages, however, are obviously divisible into families—all the members of each family being more or less closely allied, while members of different families do not present any such evidence of genetic affinity. The test of genetic affinity is resemblance in structure, grammar, and roots. Judged by this test, the thousand or more living languages are classified by Professor Friedrich MÜller under “about one hundred families.”[148] Therefore, again to borrow biological terms, we may say that there are about one thousand existing “species” of language, which fall into about one hundred “genera”—all the species in each genus being undoubtedly connected by the ties of genetic affinity.

But besides these species and genera of language, there are what may be termed “orders”—or much larger divisions, each comprising many of the genera. By philologists these orders are usually called “groups,” and whether or not there is any genetic relation among them is still an unsettled question. From the very earliest days of true linguistic research, three of these groups have been recognized, and called respectively, (1) the Isolating, (2) the Agglutinative, and (3) the Inflectional. I will first explain the meaning which these names are intended to bear, and then proceed to consider the results of more recent research upon the question of their phylogeny.

In the Isolating forms of language every word stands by itself, without being capable of inflectional change for purposes of grammatical construction, and without admitting of much assistance for such purposes from demonstrative elements, or modifying constants. Languages of this kind are often called Monosyllabic, from the fact that the isolated words usually occur in the form of single syllables. They have also been called Radical, from the resemblance which their monosyllabic and isolated words present to the primitive roots of languages of other types—roots which, as already indicated, have been unearthed by the labours of the comparative philologist. Thus, upon the whole, the best idea of an isolating language may be gained by comparing it with the “nursery-language” of our own children, who naturally express themselves, when first beginning to speak, by using monosyllabic and isolated words, which further resemble the languages in question by not clearly distinguishing between what we understand as “parts of speech.” For in isolating tongues such variations of grammatical meaning as the words are capable of conveying are mainly produced, either by differences of intonation, or by changing the positions which words occupy in a sentence. Of course these expedients obtain more or less in languages of both the other types; but in the isolating group they have been wrought up into a much greater variety and nicety of usage, so as to become fairly good substitutes for modifying constants on the one hand, and inflectional change on the other. Nevertheless, although inflectional change is wholly absent, modifying constants in the form of auxiliary words are not so. In Chinese, for example, there are what the native grammarians call “full words,” and “empty words.” The full words are the monosyllabic terms, which, when standing by themselves, present meanings of such vague generality as to include, for instance, a ball, round, to make round, in a circle: that is to say, the full words when standing alone do not belong to any one part of speech more than to another. Moreover, one such word may present many totally different meanings, such as to be, truly, he, the letter, thus. In order, therefore, to notify the particular meaning which a full word is intended to convey, the empty words are used as aids supplementary to the devices of intonation and syntax. It is probable that all these empty words were once themselves full words, the meanings of which gradually became obscured, until they acquired a purely arbitrary use for the purpose of defining the sense in which other words were to be understood—just as our word “like,” in its degenerated form of “ly,” is now employed to give adjectives the force of adverbs; although, of course, there is the difference that in isolating tongues the empty or defining words are not fused into the full ones, but themselves remain isolated. In the opinion of many philologists, however, “the use of accessory words, in order to impart the required precision to the principal terms, is the path that leads from monosyllabic to the agglutinative state.”[149]

This Agglutinative, or, as it is sometimes called, Agglomerative state belongs to languages of the second order. Here the words which serve the purpose of modifying constants, or marks of relationship, become fusible with the words which they serve to modify or define, so as to constitute single though polysyllabic compounds, as in the above example, “un-cost-li-ness.” I have already remarked that by long usage many of these modifying constants have had their own original meanings as independent words so completely obscured as to baffle the researches of philologists.

If all our words had been formed on the type of this example un-cost-li-ness, English would have been an agglutinative language. But, as a matter of fact, English, like the rest of the group to which it mainly belongs, has adopted the device of inflecting many of its words (or, rather, has inherited this device from some of its progenitors), and thus belongs to the third order of languages which I have mentioned, namely, the Inflective. Languages of this type are also often termed Transpositive, because the words now admit of being shifted about as to their relative positions in a sentence, without the meaning being thereby affected. That is to say, relations between words are now marked much less by syntax, and much more by individual change. In languages of this kind the principle of agglutination has been so perfected that the original composition is more or less obscured, and the resulting words therefore admit of being themselves twisted into a variety of shapes significant of finer grades of meaning, in the way of declension, conjugation, &c. Or, to state the case as it has been stated by some philologists, in agglutinative tongues the welded elements are not sufficiently welded to admit of flexion: they are too loosely joined together, or still too independent one of another. But when the union has grown more intimate, the structure allows of more artistic treatment at the hands of language-makers: the “amalgamation” of elements having become complete, the resulting alloy can be manipulated in a variety of ways without involving its disintegration. Moreover, this principle of inflection may extend from the component parts to the root itself; not only suffixes and prefixes, but even the word which these modify, may undergo inflectional change. So that, upon the whole, the best general idea of these various types of language-structure may perhaps be given by the following formulÆ, which I take from Hovelacque.[150]

In the isolating type the formula of a word is simply R, and that of a sentence R+R+R, &c., where R stands for “root.” If we represent by r those roots whose sense has become obscured so as to pass into the state of prefixes and suffixes significant only of relationship between other words, we shall have a formula of agglutination, Rr, Rrr, rR, rRr, &c. Lastly, the essence of an inflecting language consists in the power of a root to express, by modification of its own form, its various relations to other roots. Not that the roots of all words are necessarily modified; for they often remain as they do in agglutinating tongues. But they may be modified, and “languages in which relations may be thus expressed, not only by suffixes and prefixes, but also by a modification of the form of the roots, are inflectional languages.” Therefore, if we represent this power of inflectional change on the part of the root itself by the symbol ^x, the agglutinating formula Rr may become R^xr. Moreover, the modifying elements may also be inflected, words thus yielding such formulÆ as Rr^x, Rrr^x, &c.

Such, then, are the three main groups or orders of language. But in addition to them we must notice three others, which have been shown to be clearly separable. These three additional groups are the Polysynthetic, the Incorporating, and the Analytic.

The Polysynthetic (= Incapsulating) order is found among certain savages, especially on the continent of America, where, according to Duponceau, more or less distinctive adherence to this type is to be met with from Greenland to Chili. The peculiarity of such languages consists in the indefinite composition of words by syncope and ellipsis. That is to say, sentences are formed by the running together of compound words of inordinate length, and in the process of fusion the constituent words are so much abbreviated as often to be represented by no more than a single intercalated letter. For example, the Greenland aulisariartorasuarpok, “he-hastened-to-go-afishing,” is made up of aulisar, “to fish,” peartor, “to be engaged in anything,” pinnesuarpok, “he hastens:” and the Chippeway totoccabo, “wine,” is formed of toto, “milk,” with chominabo, “a bunch of grapes.” Thus, polysynthesis consists of fusion with contraction, some of the component words losing their first, and others their last syllables. Moreover, composition of this kind further differs from that which occurs in many other types of language (e.g. our adjectival never-to-be-forgotten), in that the constituent parts may never have attained the rank of independent words, which can be set apart and employed by themselves.

The Incorporating order is merely a subdivision of the agglutinative, and represents an earlier stage of it, wherein the speakers had not yet begun to analyze their sentences, and so still retain in their sentences subordinate words in cumbersome variety, as, for example, “House-I-it-built;” “They-have-them-their-books.”

Again, the Analytic order is merely a subdivision of the inflectional, and represents a later stage of it. “One by one the grammatical relations implied in an inflectional compound are brought out into full relief, and provided with special forms in which to be expressed.” Thus, in English, for example, inflections have largely given place to the use of “auxiliary” words, whereby most of the advantages of refined distinction are retained, while the machinery of expression is considerably simplified.

So that, on the whole, we may classify the Language-kingdom thus:—

Order I. Isolating.

Order II. Agglutinative: (Sub-orders, Polysynthetic and Incorporating).

Order III. Inflectional: (Sub-order, Analytic).

In the opinion of some philologists, however, the Polysynthetic type deserves to be regarded, not as a sub-order of the Agglutinative, but as itself independent of all the other three, and therefore constituting a fourth order. Thus, on the one hand, we have it said that polysynthetic languages must “simply be placed last in the ascending order of the agglutinating series;”[151] while, on the other hand, it is said, “the conception of the sentence that underlies the polysynthetic dialects is the precise converse of that which underlies the isolating or the agglutinative types; the several ideas into which the sentence may be analyzed, instead of being made equal or independent, are combined, like a piece of mosaic, into a single whole.”[152]

These two representative quotations may serve to show how accentuated is the difference of teaching with regard to this particular group of languages. As a mere matter of classification, of course, the question would not be of any importance for us; but as the question of classification involves one of phylogeny, the matter does acquire considerable interest in relation to our subject.

Turning, then, from the classification of language-types to their phylogeny, no one disputes that what I have called the sub-order Incorporating is genetically connected with the order Agglutinative; or that the sub-order Analytic is similarly connected with the order Inflectional. Indeed, these sub-orders are merely branches of these two respective trunks. The question before us, therefore, reduces itself to the relations between the three orders inter se, and also between the polysynthetic type and Order II. I will deal with these two cases separately.

On the one hand it is argued that the isolating, monosyllabic, or “nursery” type of speech must be regarded as the most primitive—in fact, that it presents to actual observation the continued “survival” of that embryonic or “radical” stage of development out of which all the subsequent growths of language have arisen. Again, the proved fact of agglutination is seen to represent a long course of development, wherein words previously isolated were run together into compounds for the purpose of securing that higher differentiation of language-growth which we know as parts of speech. Similarly, the inflectional stage is taken to have been a further elaboration of the agglutinative, in the manner already explained; while, lastly, the use of auxiliary words in analytic tongues is regarded as the final consummation of language-growth.

The theory thus briefly sketched is still maintained by many philologists; and, indeed, in some of its parts is not a theory at all, but a matter of demonstrable fact. Thus, it is manifestly impossible that the phenomena of agglutination can be presented before there are elements to agglutinate: these elements, therefore, must have preceded that process of fusion wherein the “genius” of agglutinated speech consists. Similarly, of course, agglutination must have preceded the inflection of already agglutinated words; while the use of auxiliaries can be proved to have been historically subsequent to inflection. Nevertheless, other philologists have shown good ground for questioning our right to regard these facts as justifying so universal a theory as that the law of language-growth is always to be found in these particular lines, or that all languages of one type must have passed through the lower phase, or phases, before reaching that in which they now appear. The most recent argument on this side of the question is by Professor Sayce, whom, therefore, I will quote.

“We are apt to assume that inflectional languages are more highly advanced than agglutinative ones, and agglutinative languages than isolating ones, and hence that isolation is the lowest stage of the three, at the top of which stands flection. But what we really mean when we say that one language is more advanced than another, is that it is better adapted to express thought, and that the thought to be expressed is itself better. Now, it is a grave question whether from this point of view the three classes of language can really be set the one against the other.”[153]

He then proceeds to argue that isolating languages have an advantage over all other forms in “the attainment of terseness and vividness;” that “the agglutinative languages are in advance of the inflectional in one important point, that, namely, of analyzing the sentence into its component parts, and distinguishing the relations of grammar one from another.... In fact, when we examine closely the principle upon which flection rests, we shall find that it implies an inferior logical faculty to that implied by agglutination.”[154]

Elsewhere he says, “As for the primeval root-language, we have no proof that it ever existed, and to confound it with a modern isolating language is simply erroneous. Equally unproved is the belief that isolating languages develop into agglutinative, and agglutinative into inflectional. At all events, the continued existence of isolating tongues like the Chinese, or of agglutinative like the Magyar and Turkish, shows that the development is not a necessary one.”[155]

I could quote other passages to the same effect; but the above are sufficient to show that we must not unreservedly accept the earlier doctrines previously sketched. There is, indeed, no question about the fact of language-growth as regards particular languages; the question here is as to the evolution of language-types one from another. And I have given prominence to this question in order to make the following remarks upon it.

When we are told that “the continued existence of isolating tongues like the Chinese, or of agglutinative tongues like the Magyar and Turkish, shows that the development is not a necessary one,” we of course at once perceive the unquestionable truth of the statement. But the fact is without relevance to the only question in debate. The continued existence of the Protozoa unquestionably proves that their development into the Metazoa is not necessary; but this fact raises no presumption at all against the doctrine that all the Metazoa have been evolved from the Protozoa.

Similarly, when we are told that “what we really mean when we say that one language is more advanced than another, is that it is better adapted to express thought,” we are again being shunted from the question. The question is whether one type of language-structure develops into another: not whether, when developed, it is “more advanced” than another in the sense of being “better adapted to express thought.” This it may or may not be; but in either case the question of its efficiency as a language has no necessary connection with the question of its development as a language. For it may very well be that from the same origin two or more lines of development may occur in different directions. It is doubtless perfectly true, as Professor Sayce says, that modern Chinese is a higher product of evolution than ancient Chinese along the line of isolating condensation; but this is no proof that the agglutinative languages did not start from an isolating type, and thereafter proceed on a different line of development in accordance with their different “genius,” or method of growth. Naturalists entertain no doubt that two different types of morphological structure, b and [Greek: b], are both descended from a common parent form B, even though b has “advanced” in one line of change and [Greek: b] in another, so that both are now equally efficient from a morphological point of view. Why, then, should a philologist dispute genetic relationship in what appears to be a precisely analogous case, on the sole ground that b is, to his thinking, no less psychologically efficient a language than [Greek: b]?

Lastly, as I have before indicated, it appears to me impossible to dispute that every agglutinative language, in whatever measure it can be proved to be agglutinative, in that measure is thereby proved to have been derived from a language less agglutinative, and therefore more isolating. And, similarly, in whatever measure an inflective language can be proved to inflect its agglutinated words, in that measure is it thereby proved to have been derived from a language less inflective, or a language whose agglutinations had not yet undergone so much of the inflective modification.

On the other hand, as there is no necessary reason why an isolating language should develop into an agglutinative, or an agglutinative into an inflectional, it may very well be that the higher evolution of isolating tongues has proceeded collaterally with that of agglutinative, while the higher evolution of agglutinative has proceeded collaterally with that of inflectional. If this were so, both the schools of philology which we are considering would be equally right, and equally wrong: each would represent a different side of the same truth.

Thus it appears to me that, so far as the purposes of the present treatise are concerned, we may neglect the question of phylogenesis as between these three orders of languages. For, so long as it is on all hands agreed that the principles of evolution are universally concerned in the genesis of every language, it will make no difference to my future argument whether these principles have obtained in one or in more lines of development. There can be no reasonable doubt that in some greater or less degree the three orders are connected: in what precise degree this connection obtains is doubtless a question of high importance to the science of philology: it is of scarcely any importance to the problems which we shall presently have to consider.

But the issue touching the relation between the polysynthetic and other types of language is of more importance for us, inasmuch as it involves the question whether or not we have here to do with the most primitive type of language. In the opinion of some philologists, “these polysynthetic languages are an interesting survival of the early condition of language everywhere, and are but a fresh proof that America is in truth ‘the new world:’ primitive forms of speech that have elsewhere perished long ago still survive there, like the armadillo, to bear record of a bygone past.”[156] On the other hand, it is with equal certainty affirmed that “polysynthesis is not a primitive feature, but an expansion, or, if you will, a second phase of agglutination.”[157]

Of course in dealing with this issue I can only do so as an amateur, quite destitute of authority in matters pertaining to philology; but the points on which I am about to speak have reference to principles so general, that in trying them the lay mind may not be without its uses in the jury-box. Moreover, philologists themselves are at present so ill-informed touching the facts of polysynthetic language, that there is less presumption here than elsewhere in any outsider offering his opinion upon the matters in dispute.[158] It is however, undesirable to occupy space with any tedious rehearsal of the facts on which, after reading the more important literature of the subject, my judgment is based. For what it is worth, this judgment is as follows.

In the first place, it appears to me that those experts have an overwhelmingly strong case who argue in favour of the polysynthetic languages as presenting a highly primitive form of speech. Indeed, so undifferentiated do I think they prove this type of language-structure to be, that I agree with them in concluding that it probably brings us nearer “the origin of speech” than any other type now extant. Furthermore, looking to the wide contrast between this type and that which is presented by the isolating tongues, it appears to me impossible that the one can be genetically connected with the other. For it appears to me that the experts on the opposite side have no less completely proved, that the isolating tongues also present evidence of a highly primitive origin; and, therefore, that whatever amount of evolution and subsequent degeneration (“phonetic decay”) the Chinese language, for instance, may be proved to have undergone, this only goes to show that it has throughout remained true to the isolating principle—just as the Protozoa, through all their long history of evolution, have remained true to their “isolating” type, notwithstanding that some of their branches must long ago have given origin to the “agglutinated” Metazoa. In other words, it appears to me that the experts on this side of the question have been able to place the isolating type of speech on as low a level of development—and, therefore, presumably on as high a level of antiquity—as experts on the other side have been able to claim for the polysynthetic.

If I am right in this opinion, it follows that there must have been at least two points of origin from which all existing languages arose—or rather, let me say, at least two types of language-formation upon which the earliest materials of speech were moulded. For even the strongest advocates of the polysynthetic origin of speech do not venture to question the highly primitive nature of the monosyllabic type. Thus, for instance, Professor Sayce is the principal upholder of the polysynthetic view, and yet he quotes the isolating forms of Chinese and Taic as furnishing “excellent illustrations of the early days of speech;”[159] and he adduces them as “examples from the far East to show us the way in which our words first came into existence.”[160] But if this is allowed to be so even by the leading advocate of the polysynthetic view, I cannot conceive the possibility of the one type having become so completely transformed into the other as to have left no trace in the isolating type of its polysynthetic origin. For, in view of the above admissions, we are left to conclude that the transformation must have taken place soon after the birth of language in any form—notwithstanding that, as Professor Sayce elsewhere insists (in the passage already quoted), “the conception of the sentence which underlies the polysynthetic dialects is the precise converse of that which underlies the isolating or the agglutinative type.”

In view of these statements, therefore, by Professor Sayce himself, I do not think it is necessary for me to go further in justification of the opinion already expressed—namely, that we must recognize at least two types of language-formation upon which the earliest materials of speech were moulded. It is probable enough that both these types of language-formation were independently originated in many parts of the earth’s surface at different times; and it is possible that yet other types may have arisen, which are now either extinct, or fused with some of the later developments of the two which have survived. But, be these things as they may, I believe that both the schools of philology which we are considering have made out their respective cases; and, therefore, that they both err in so often assuming that these cases are mutually exclusive.

It will thus be apparent that I am altogether in favour of the polyphylectic theory of language-development. Even if it were not for the specially philological considerations just adduced, on grounds of merely general reasoning it would appear to me much more probable that so useful a sociological instrument as that of articulate sign-making should have been evolved from the sign-making of tone and gesture, wherever the psychological powers of mankind were far enough advanced to admit of the evolution. And, if this is so, it clearly becomes probable that any aboriginal races which were geographically separated would have slowly and independently elaborated their primitive forms of utterance—supposing, of course, that mankind had become segregated while still in the speechless state, which, as I will subsequently explain, seems to me the most probable supposition. And, if this were the case, it appears to me highly improbable that languages which originated and developed independently of one another should all have been under the necessity of starting either on the monosyllabic, the polysynthetic, or any other type exclusively. That the existing languages of the earth did originate in more than one centre is now the almost universal belief of competent authorities.[161] But too many of these authorities are still bound by what appears to me the wholly gratuitous and highly improbable assumption, that although various languages thus originated in different centres, they must all have been born with an exact family resemblance to one another, so far as type or “genius” is concerned. But there is no basis for such an assumption, either in the physiology or the psychology of mankind. On the contrary, if we look to the nearest analogue of the case, namely, the growing child, we may find abundant evidence of the fact that the earliest attempts at articulate utterance may occur on different types, as we saw so strikingly proved by quotations from Dr. Hale in a previous chapter.

In this connection I would like to conclude the present chapter by giving prominence to an interesting and ingenious hypothesis, which has been suggested by Dr. Hale on the basis of the facts just alluded to.

In order that the merits of this suggestion may be appreciated, it is desirable to remind the reader that the languages now spoken by the native tribes of the American continent present so many and such radical differences among themselves, that, with regard to a large proportion of them, philologists are unable so much as to suggest any philological classification. Thus, to quote Professor Whitney, “as regards the material of expression, it is fully confessed that there is irreconcilable diversity among them. There are a very considerable number of groups, between whose significant signs exist no more apparent correspondencies than between those of English, Hungarian, and Malay; none, namely, which may not be merely fortuitous.”[162] And, what is most curious, these immense differences may obtain between neighbouring tribes who are to all appearance ethnologically identical—as, for instance, the Algonkin, Iroquois, and Dakota groups. Moreover, this diversity of language-structure in some cases goes so far as to reach the very roots of language-growth; “the polysynthetic structure does not belong in the same degree to all American languages: on the contrary, it seems to be altogether effaced, or originally wanting, in some.”[163] Nay, even the isolating type of language has gained a footing, and this in its properly monosyllabic and uninflective form.

Such being the state of matters on the American continent (and also, though to a lesser extent, in the Southern parts of the African), Dr. Hale suggests the following hypothesis by way of explanation. To me it certainly appears a plausible one, and if it should eventually be found to furnish a key for unlocking the mysteries of language-growth in the New World, it would obviously become available as a sufficient explanation of radical diversities of language elsewhere.

Starting from the facts which I have already quoted from his paper at the close of my chapter on Articulation, he argues that if children will thus spontaneously devise a language of their own in a wholly arbitrary manner, even when surrounded by the spoken language of a civilized community, much more would children be likely to do this if they should be accidentally separated from human society, and thus thrown upon their own resources in an isolated condition. Now, “if, under such circumstances, disease or the casualties of a hunter’s life should carry off the parents, the survival of the children would, it is evident, depend mainly upon the nature of the climate and the ease with which food could be procured at all seasons of the year. In ancient Europe, after the present climatical conditions were established, it is doubtful if a family of children under ten years of age could have lived through a single winter. We are not, therefore, surprised to find that no more than four or five linguistic stocks are represented in Europe, and that all of them, except the Basque, are believed, on good evidence, to have been of comparatively late introduction. Even the Basque is traced by some, with much probability, to a source in North Africa. Of Northern America, east of the Rocky Mountains and north of the tropics, the same may be said. The climate and the scarcity of food in winter forbid us to suppose that a brood of orphan children could have survived, except possibly, by a fortunate chance, in some favoured spot on the shore of the Mexican Gulf, where shell-fish, berries, and edible roots are abundant and easy of access.

“But there is one region where Nature seems to offer herself as the willing nurse and bountiful step-mother of the feeble and unprotected. Of all countries on the globe, there is probably not one in which a little flock of very young children would find the means of sustaining existence more readily than in California. Its wonderful climate, mild and equable beyond example, is well known. Mr. Cronise, in his volume on the ‘Natural Wealth of California,’ tells us, that ‘the monthly mean of the thermometer at San Francisco in December, the coldest month, is 50°; in September, the warmest month, 61°.’ And he adds:—‘Although the State reaches to the latitude of Plymouth Bay on the north, the climate, for its whole length, is as mild as that of the regions near the topics. Half the months are rainless. Snow and ice are almost strangers, except in the high altitudes. There are fully two hundred cloudless days in every year. Roses bloom in the open air through all seasons.’ Not less remarkable than this exquisite climate is the astonishing variety of food, of kinds which seem to offer themselves to the tender hands of children. Berries of many sorts—strawberries, blackberries, currants, raspberries, and salmon-berries—are indigenous and abundant. Large fruits and edible nuts on low and pendent boughs may be said, in Milton’s phrase, to ‘hang amiable.’ Mr. Cronise enumerates, among others, the wild cherry and plum, which ‘grow on bushes;’ the barberry, or false grape (Berberis herbosa), a ‘low shrub,’ which bears edible fruit; and the Californian horse-chestnut (Æsculus Californica), ‘a low, spreading tree or shrub, seldom exceeding fifteen feet high,’ which ‘bears abundant fruit much used by the Indians.’ Then there are nutritious roots of various kinds, maturing at different seasons. Fish swarm in the rivers, and are taken by the simplest means. In the spring, Mr. Powers informs us, the whitefish ‘crowd the creeks in such vast numbers that the Indians, by simply throwing in a little brushwood to impede their motion, can literally scoop them out.’ Shell-fish and grubs abound, and are greedily eaten by the natives. Earthworms, which are found everywhere and at all seasons, are a favourite article of diet. As to clothing, we are told by the authority just cited that ‘on the plains all adult males and all children up to ten or twelve went perfectly naked, while the women wore only a narrow strip of deer-skin around the waist.’ Need we wonder that, in such a mild and fruitful region, a great number of separate tribes were found, speaking languages which a careful investigation has classed in nineteen distinct linguistic stocks?

“The climate of the Oregon coast region, though colder than that of California, is still far milder and more equable than that of the same latitude in the east; and the abundance of edible fruits, roots, river-fish, and other food of easy attainment, is very great. A family of young children, if one of them were old enough to take care of the rest, could easily be reared to maturity in a sheltered nook of this genial and fruitful land. We are not, therefore, surprised to find that the number of linguistic stocks in this narrow district, though less than in California, is more than twice as large as in the whole of Europe, and that the greater portion of these stocks are clustered near the Californian boundary....

“Some reminiscences of the parental speech would probably remain with the older children, and be revived and strengthened as their faculties gained force. Thus we may account for the fact, which has perplexed all inquirers, that certain unexpected and sporadic resemblances, both in grammar and in vocabulary, which can hardly be deemed purely accidental, sometimes crop up between the most dissimilar languages....

“A glance at other linguistic provinces will show how aptly this explanation of the origin of language-stocks everywhere applies. Tropical Brazil is a region which combines perpetual summer with a profusion of edible fruits and other varieties of food, not less abundant than in California. Here, if anywhere, there should be a great number of totally distinct languages. We learn on the best authority, that of Baron J. J. von Tschudi, in the Introduction to his recent work on the Khetshua Language, that this is the fact. He says:—‘I possess a collection made by the well-known naturalist, J. Natterer, during his residence of many years in Brazil, of more than a hundred languages, lexically completely distinct, from the interior of Brazil.’ And he adds:—‘The number of so-called isolated languages—that is, of such as, according to our present information, show no relationship to any other, and which therefore form distinct stocks of greater or less extent—is in South America very large, and must, on an approximate estimate, amount to many hundreds. It will perhaps be possible hereafter to include many of them in larger families, but there must still remain a considerable number for which this will not be possible.’”

I have quoted this hypothesis, as previously remarked, because it appears to me philologically interesting; but whatever may be thought of it by professional authorities, the evidence which the American continent furnishes of a polygenetic and polytypic origin of the native languages remains the same. And if there is good reason for concluding in favour of polygenetic origins of different types as regards the languages on that continent, of course the probability arises that radical differences of structure among languages of the Old World admit of being explained by their having been derived from similarly independent sources.[164]