CHAPTER V.

THE CONSTITUENT ELEMENTS OF LANGUAGE.

I TRIED to prove in the first chapter that the whole of what we call the human mind is realised in language, and in language only. Our next task would have been to try to discover the constituent elements of language, and watch in their development the true historical development of the human mind. But before we could safely approach this task, it seemed necessary to remove a preliminary objection which arose from the theory of evolution, as interpreted by Darwin and some of his followers, namely, that as man was the descendant of an animal, the human mind could not differ in kind from the animal mind, and language therefore could only be a higher evolution of those sounds which animals utter, such as the roaring of lions, the barking of dogs, or the singing of birds.

Having shown, as I hope, in Chapters ii and iv, that the theory of evolution, as held by Darwin himself, does by no means necessitate the historical descent of the animal man from some other kind of animal, we now find ourselves free to undertake the analysis of language without any limitations as to the elements we ought to look for, and we therefore proceed to our task without any let or hindrance. If we should find that the ultimate elements in our

The Residua.

analysis of language turn out to be the cries of animals, more or less successfully imitated by men, or something like the sounds which men utter themselves when suffering from pain or joy or any other powerful emotion, this would prove a strong support of the opinion of certain followers of Darwin, stronger than any, I should venture to say, which has been produced by themselves. If on the contrary our analysis should lead us to a different result, we know at all events that our rear is safe, and we need no longer fear that the supposed descent of man from some other animal can again be appealed to as proving, without any further arguments, the utter futility of our researches. When we analyse any language and separate all that is merely formal in words, we always arrive in the end at certain residua, which resist further analysis. It matters little how we call these stubborn residua, whether roots, or elements, or phonetic types. What is important is the fact that, after we have removed the whole crust of historical growth, when we have broken up every compound, and separated every suffix, prefix, or infix, there remain certain simple substances which will yield to no solvent. This applies not only to the Aryan, but to the Semitic and Turanian languages likewise, nay, to every language which does not consist of roots only, such as the ancient Chinese. These simple substances being granted, we can understand the whole structure of language, we can make again the language which we have unmade. It was this simple process of etymological analysis and synthesis which I tried to represent in as clear a light as possible in my Lectures on the Science of Language, first published in 1861.

Roots ultimate

elements in the Science of

Language.

Those who have read these lectures will remember how strongly I opposed any attempt on the part of the students of language to go beyond roots, such as we actually find them at the end of a most careful analysis. It was thought at the time that my protests against all attempts either to go beyond roots or to ignore them as the types from which all words must be derived were too vehement. But I believe it is now generally admitted, even by some of my former opponents, that the slightest concession to what, not ironically, but simply descriptively, I called the Bow-wow and Pooh-pooh theories in the etymological analysis of words, would have been utter ruin to the character of the Science of Language. It is pleasant to find, as one grows older, how certain dangerous tendencies, which one had to oppose with all one's might, simply vanish and are seen no more.

Cells.

These roots of language have often been compared to cells, the last elements of all organic Roots and beings. Whatever differences of opinion there may be between different schools of physiologists, this one result seems permanently established, that the primary elements of all living organisms are the simple cells, so that the problem of creation has assumed a new form, and has become the problem of the origin and nature of these cells.

So far there is a certain similarity between the discoveries of physiologists and philologists. The most important result which has been obtained by a truly scientific study of language is this, that, after accounting for all that is purely formal as the result of juxtaposition, agglutination, and inflection, there remain in the end certain simple elements of human

speech-phonetic cells-commonly called roots. In place, therefore, of the old question of the origin of language, we have now to deal with the new question of the origin of roots.

Polygenetic

Here, however, the analogy between the two sciences, in their solution of the highest and Monoge problems, comes to an end. There are, netic Schools. indeed, two schools of physiologists, the polygenetic and the monogenetic, the former admitting from the beginning a variety of primitive cells, the latter postulating but one cell, as the source of all being. But it is clear that the monogenetic school is becoming more and more powerful. Darwin, as we saw, was satisfied with admitting four or five beginnings for plants, and the same number for animals. But his most ardent disciple, Professor Haeckel, treats his master's hesitation on this point with ill-disguised contempt. One little cell is all that he wants to explain the Universe, and he boldly claims for his primordial Moneres, the ancestor of plants and animals and men, a self-generating power, the so-called generatio spontanea or aequivoca.

Roots identi

in power.

It seems to me that the students of language have given to the problem of the origin of lancal in form, guage a far more exact and scientific form. but different As long as they deal with what may be called the Biology of language, as long as they simply wish to explain the actual phenomena of spoken dialects all over the world, scholars are satisfied with treating the variety of living cells, or the significant roots of language, as ultimate facts. These roots are what remains in the crucible after the most careful analysis of human language, and there is

nothing to lead us on to search for one primordial root, or for a small number of uniform roots, except the mediaeval idea that Nature loves simplicity. There was a time when scholars imagined they could derive a language from nine roots, or even from one; but these attempts were purely ephemeral1. At present we know that, though the number of roots may have been unlimited, the number of those which remain as the actual feeders of each family of language is very small, and, according to Pott, amounts probably on an average to no more than about one thousand.

Some of these roots are, no doubt, secondary and tertiary formations, and may be reduced to a smaller number of primary forms. But here, too, philological research seems to me to show far more deference to the commandments of true philosophy than the prevalent physiological speculations. While the leading physiologists are striving to reduce all variety to uniformity, the student of language, in his treatment of roots, often distinguishes where, to all outward appearance, there is no perceptible difference whatso

ever.

If in the same language or in the same cluster of languages there are roots of exactly the same sound, but different in their later development, a separate existence and an independent origin are allowed to each. There is, for instance, in the Aryan family the well-known root DÂ. From it we have Sk. dǎdāmi, I give; Greek, didwμi; Lat. do; Old Slavonic, da-mi; Lithuanian, dů-mi2; and an endless variety of derivatives, such as dônum, a gift; French, don

1 Lectures on the Science of Language, vol. i. p. 44. 2 Pott, Etymologische Forschungen, 2nd edit., 1867, p. 105.