Chapter XVII: Appendix: Comparative View of Sanskrit and Other Languages, (2)

I myself referred to the difference between a high and a low note for a totally different purpose, viz., in order to call attention to those strange lines and limits in nature which, in spite of insensible graduation, enable us to distinguish broad degrees of sound which we call keys; broad degrees of light, which we call colors; broad degrees of heat, for which our language has a less perfect nomenclature. These lines and limits have never been explained, nor the higher limits which separate sound from light, and light from heat. Why we should derive pleasure from the exact number of vibrations which yield C, and then have painful sensations till we come to the exact number of vibrations which yield C sharp, remains as yet a mystery. But as showing that nature had drawn these sharp lines across the continuous stream of vibrations, whether of sound or light, seemed to me an important problem, particularly for evolutionist philosophers, who see in nature nothing but “insensible graduation.”

The next charge brought against me is, that I overlook the undoubted and undisputed fact that species do actually vary in nature. This seems to me begging the whole question. If terms like _species_ are fetched from the lumber-room of scholastic philosophy, they must be defined with logical exactness, particularly at present, when the very existence of such a thing as a _species_ depends on the meaning which we assign to it. Nature gives us individuals only, and each individual differs from the other. But “species” is a thing of _human workmanship_,[5] and it depends entirely on the disputed definition of the term, whether species vary or not. In one sense, Mr. Darwin’s book, “On the Origin of Species,” may be called an attempt to repeal the term “species,” or, at all events, an attempt at giving a new definition to that word which it never had before. No one appreciates more than I do the service he has rendered in calling forth a new examination of that old and somewhat rusty instrument of thought.[6] Only, do not let us take for granted what has to be proved.

The dust of words grows thicker and thicker as we go on, for I am next told that the same line of proof would show “that the stature of a man or boy was identical, because the boy passes through every gradation on attaining the one stature from the other. No one could maintain such a position who grasped the doctrines of continuity and of the differential calculus.” It seems to me that even without the help of the differential calculus, we can, with the help of logic and grammar, put a stop to this argument. Boy is the subject, stature looks like a subject, but is merely a predicate, and should have been treated as such by Mr. Darwin. If a boy arrives by insensible graduation or growth at the stature of man, the man is substantially the same as the boy. His stature may be different, the color of his hair may be so likewise; but what philosophers used to call the substance, or the individuality, or the personality, or what we may call the man, remains the same. If evolutionists really maintain that the difference between man and beast is the same as between a grown-up man and a boy, the whole of my argument is granted, and granted with a completeness which I had no right to expect. Will Mr. Darwin, Senior, indorse the concessions thus made by Mr. Darwin, Junior?

In order to show how the simplest matters can be complicated by a free use of scholastic terms, I quote the following sentence, which is meant as an answer to my argument:--

“According to what is called the Darwinian theory, organisms are in
fact precisely the result of a multiple integration of a complex
function of a very great number of variables; many of such variables
being bound together by relationships amongst themselves, an example
of one such relationship being afforded by the law, which has been
called ‘correlation of growth.’”

Next follows a rocket from Mr. Whitney’s armory:--

“As a linguist,” he says, “Professor Müller claims to have found in
language an endowment which has no analogies, and no preparations in
even the beings nearest to man, and of which, therefore, no process
of transmutation could furnish an explanation. Here is the pivot on
which his whole argument rests and revolves.”

So far, the statement is correct, only that I expressed myself a little more cautiously. It is well known, that the animals which in other respects come nearest to man, possess very imperfect phonetic organs, and that it would be improper, therefore, to refer more particularly to them. But, however that may be, I expected at all events some proof that I had made a mistake, that my argument jars, or my pivot gives. But nothing of the kind. No facts, no arguments, but simply an assertion that I do not argue the case with moderation and acuteness, on strict scientific grounds, and by scientific methods in setting up language as the specific difference between man and animals. And why? Because many other writers have adduced other differences as _the_ correct ones.

There is a good deal of purely explosive matter in these vague charges of want of moderation and acuteness. But what is the kernel? I represented language as the specific difference between man and animals, without mentioning other differences which others believe to be specific. It would seem to show moderation rather than the absence of it, if I confined myself to language, to the study of which I have devoted the whole of my life; and perhaps a certain acuteness, in not touching on questions which I do not pretend to have studied, as they ought to be. But there were other reasons, too, which made me look upon language as _the_ specific difference. The so-called specific differences mentioned by others fall into two classes--those that are implied by language, as I defined the word, and those which have been proved untenable by Mr. Darwin and others. Let us read on now, to see what these specific differences are:--

“Man alone is capable of progressive improvement.”

Partly denied by Mr. Darwin, partly shown to be the result of language, through which each successive generation profits by the experience of its predecessors.

“He alone makes use of tools or fire.”
The former disproved by Mr. Darwin, the latter true.

“He alone domesticates other animals.”
Denied, in the case of the ants.

“He alone possesses property.”
Disproved by every dog in-the-manger.

“He alone employs language.”
True.

“No other animal is self-conscious.”
Either right or wrong, according to the definition of the word,
and never capable of direct proof.

“He alone comprehends himself.”
True, implied by language.

“He alone has the power of abstraction.”
True, implied by language.

“He alone possesses general ideas.”
True, implied by language.

“He alone has sense of beauty.”
Disproved or rendered doubtful by sexual selection.

“He alone is liable to caprice.”
Disproved by every horse, or monkey, or mule.

“He alone has the feeling of gratitude.”
Disproved by every dog.

“He alone has the feeling of mystery.”
_Cela me passe._

“He alone believes in God.”
True.

“He alone is endowed with a conscience.”
Denied by Mr. Darwin.

Did it show then such want of moderation or acuteness if I confined myself to language, and what is implied by language, as the specific difference between man and beast? Really, one sometimes yearns for an adversary who can hit straight, instead of these random strokes page after page.

The next attack is so feeble that I should gladly pass it by, did I not know from past experience that the very opposite motive would be assigned to my doing so. I had stated that if there is a _terra incognita_ which excludes all positive knowledge, it is the mind of animals. How, then, I am asked, do you know that no animal possesses the faintest germs of the faculty of abstracting and generalizing, and that animals receive their knowledge through the senses only? I still recollect the time when any philosopher who, even by way of illustration, ventured to appeal to the mind of animals, was simply tabooed, and I thought every student of the history of philosophy would have understood what I meant by saying that the whole subject was transcendent. However, here is my answer: I hold that animals receive their knowledge through the senses, because I can apply a crucial test, and show that if I shut their eyes, they cannot see. And I hold that they are without the faculty of abstracting and generalizing, because I have here nothing before me but mere assertions, I know of no crucial test to prove that these assertions are true. Those who have read my Lectures, and were able to reduce them to a skeleton of logical statement, might have seen that I had adduced another reason, viz., the fact that general conceptions are impossible without language (using language in the widest sense, so as to include hieroglyphic, numerical, and other signs), and that as no one has yet discovered any outward traces of language among animals, we are justified in not ascribing to them, as yet, the possession of abstract ideas. This seems to me to explain fully “why the same person (viz., my poor self) should be involved in such profound ignorance, and yet have so complete a knowledge of the limits of the animal mind.” If I had said that man has five senses, and no more, would that be wrong? Yet having myself only five senses, I could not possibly prove that other men may not have a sixth sense, or at all events a disposition to develop it. But I am quite willing to carry my agnosticism, with regard to the inner life of animals, still further, and to say again what I wrote in my Lectures (p. 46):--

“I say again and again, that according to the strict rules of
positive philosophy, we have no right either to assert or to deny
anything with reference to the so-called mind of animals.”

But there is another piece of Chinese artillery brought out by Mr. G. Darwin. As if not trusting it himself, he calls on Mr. Whitney to fire it off--“The minds of our fellow men, too,” we are told, “are a _terra incognita_ in exactly the same sense as are those of animals.”

No student of psychology would deny that each individual has immediate knowledge of his own mind only, but even Mr. G. Darwin reminds Mr. Whitney that, after all, with man we have one additional source of evidence--viz., language; nay, he even doubts whether there may not be others, too. If Mr. Darwin, Jr., grants that, I willingly grant him that the horse’s impression of green--nay, my friend’s impression of green--may be totally different from my own, to say nothing of Daltonism, color-blindness, and all the rest.[7]

After this, I need hardly dwell on the old attempts at proving, by a number of anecdotes, that animals possess conceptual knowledge. The anecdotes are always amusing, and are sure to meet with a grateful public, but for our purpose they have long been ruled out of court. If Mr. Darwin, Jr., should ever pass through Oxford, I promise to show him in my own dog, Waldmann, far more startling instances of sagacity than any he has mentioned, though I am afraid he will be confirmed all the more in his anthropomorphic interpretation of canine intelligence.

Now comes a new appeal _ad populum_. I had ventured to say that in our days nothing was more strongly to be recommended to young and old philosophers than a study of the history of philosophy. There is a continuity, not only in Nature, but also in the progress of the human mind; and to ignore that continuity, to begin always like Thales or Democritus, is like having a special creation every day. Evolutionists seem to imagine that there is evolution for everything, except for evolutionism. What would chemists say, if every young student began again with the theory of a phlogiston, or every geologist with Vulcanism, or every astronomer with the Ptolemæic system? However, I did not go back very far; I only claimed a little consideration for the work done by such giants as Locke, Hume, Berkeley, and Kant. I expressed a hope that certain questions might be considered as closed, or, if they were to be re-opened, that at least the controversy should be taken up where it was left at the end of the last debate. Here, however, I failed to make any impression. My appeal is stigmatized as “an attempt to crush my adversaries by a reference to Kant, Hume, Berkeley, and Locke.” And the popular tribune finishes with the following brave words: “Fortunately we live in an age, which (except for temporary relapses) does not pay any great attention to the pious founders, and which tries to judge for itself.”

I never try to crush my adversaries by deputy. Kant, Hume, Berkeley, and Locke may all be antiquated for all I know; but I still hold it would be useful to read them, before we declare too emphatically that we have left them behind.

I cannot deny myself the satisfaction of quoting on this point the wise and weighty words of Huxley:--

“It is much easier to ask such questions than to answer them,
especially if one desires to be on good terms with one’s
contemporaries: but, if I must give an answer, it is this: The
growth of physical science is now so prodigiously rapid, that those
who are actively engaged in keeping up with the present, have much
ado to find time to look at the past, and even grow into the habit
of neglecting it. But, natural as this result may be, it is none the
less detrimental. The intellect loses, for there is assuredly no
more effectual method of clearing up one’s own mind on any subject
than by talking it over, so to speak, with men of real power and
grasp who have considered it from a totally different point of view.
The parallax of time helps us to the true position of a conception,
as the parallax of space helps us to that of a star. And the moral
nature loses no less. It is well to turn aside from the fretful stir
of the present, and to dwell with gratitude and respect upon the
services of those mighty men of old who have gone down to the grave
with their weapons of war, but who, while they yet lived, won
splendid victories over ignorance.”

Next follow some extraordinary efforts on Mr. Whitney’s part to show that Locke, whose arguments I had simply re-stated, knew very little about human or animal understanding, and then the threadbare argument of the deaf and dumb is brushed up once more. Until something new is said on that old subject, I must be allowed to remain myself deaf and dumb.[8]

Then comes the final and decisive charge. I had said that “if the science of language has proved anything, it has proved that conceptual or discursive thought can be carried on in words only.” Here again I had quoted a strong array of authorities--not, indeed, to kill free inquiry--I am not so bloodthirsty, as my friends imagine--but to direct it to those channels where it had been carried on before. I quoted Locke, I quoted Schelling, Hegel, Wilhelm von Humboldt, Schopenhauer, and Mansel--philosophers diametrically opposed to each other on many points, yet all agreeing in what seems to many so strange a doctrine, that conceptual thought is impossible without language (comprehending by language hieroglyphic, numerical, and similar symbols). I might have quoted many other thinkers and poets. Professor Huxley seems clearly to have seen the difference between trains of thought and trains of feelings. “Brutes,” he says, “though, from the absence of language, they can have no trains of thoughts, but only trains of feelings, yet have a consciousness which, more or less distinctly, foreshadows our own.” And who could express the right view of language more beautifully than Jean Paul?--

“Mich dünkt, der Mensch würde sich, so wie das spracblose Thier, das
in der äussern Welt, wie in einem dunkeln, betäubenden Wellen-Meere
schwimmt, ebenfalls in dem vollgestirnten Himmel der äussern
Anschauung dumpf verlieren, wenn er das verworrene Leuchten nicht
durch Sprache in Sternbilder abtheilte, und sich durch diese das
Ganze in Theile für das Bewusstein auflösete.”

Having discussed that question very fully in my Lectures, I shall attempt no more at present than to show that the objections raised by Mr. Darwin, Jr., entirely miss the point. Does he really think that those men could have spent all their lives in considering that question, and never have been struck by the palpable objections raised by him? Let us treat such neighbors, at least like ourselves. I shall, however, do my best to show Mr. Darwin that even I had not been ignorant of these objections. I shall follow him through every point, and, for fear of misrepresenting him, quote his own words:--

“(1) Concepts may be formed, and yet not put before the
consciousness of the conceiver, so that he ‘realizes’ what he is
doing.”

Does that mean that the conceiver conceives concepts without conceiving them? Then, I ask, whom do these concepts belong to, where are they, and under what conditions were they realized? Is to conceive an active or a passive verb? May I once more quote Kant without incurring the suspicion of wishing to strangle free inquiry by authority? “Concepts,” says the old veteran, “are founded on the spontaneity of thought, sensuous intuitions on the receptivity of impressions.”

“(2) Complex thoughts are doubtless impossible without symbols, just
as are the higher mathematics?”

Are lower mathematics possible without numerical symbols, and where is the line which separates complex from simple thought? Everything would seem to depend on that line which is so often spoken of by our critics. There ought to be something in that line which would at once remove the blunders committed by Humboldt and others. It would define the limit between inarticulate and articulate thought; it might possibly be the very frontier between the animal and the human mind, and yet that magic line is simply conceived, spoken of freely, but never realized, _i.e._, never traced with logical precision. Till that is done, that line, though it may exist, is to me as if it did not exist.

“(3) We know that dogs doubt and hesitate, and finally determine to
act without any external determining circumstance.”

How this argument fits in here, is not quite clear to me; but, whatever its drift may be, a perusal of Professor Huxley’s excellent paper, “The Hypothesis that Animals are Automata,” will supply a full answer.

“(4) Professor Whitney very happily illustrates the independence of
thought from language, by calling up our state of mind when casting
about, often in the most open manner, for new designations, for new
forms of knowledge, or when drawing distinctions, and pointing
conclusions, which words are then stretched or narrowed to cover.”

Language with us has become so completely traditional, that we frequently learn words first and their meaning afterwards. The problem of the original relation between concepts and words, however, refers to periods when these words did not yet exist, but had to be framed for the first time. We are speaking of totally different things; he, of the geology, I, if I may say so, of the chemistry of speech. But even if we accepted the test from modern languages, does not the very form of the question supply the answer? If we want _new_ designations, _new_ forms of knowledge, do we not confess that we have old designations, though imperfect ones; old forms of knowledge which no longer answer our purpose? Our old words, then, become gradually stretched or narrowed, exactly as our knowledge becomes stretched or narrowed, or we at last throw away the old word, and borrow another from our own, or even from a foreign language.

“It is a proof,” Mr. Darwin says, “that we realized and conceived
the idea of the texture and nature of a musical sound before we had
a word for it, that we had to borrow the expressive word “_timbre_”
from the French.”

But how did we realize and conceive the idea before we had a word for it? Surely, by old words. We called it quality, texture, nature--we knew it as the result of the presence and absence of various harmonics. In German, we stretched an old word, and called it _Farbe_; in English, _timbre_ was borrowed from the French, just as we may call a pound _vingt-cinq francs_; but the French themselves got their word by the ordinary process--viz., by stretching the old word, _tympanum_.

“(5) If Müller had brought before him some wholly new animal he
would find that he could shut his eyes, and call up the image of it
readily enough without any accompanying name.”

All this is far, far away from the real field of battle. No doubt, if I look at the sun and shut my eyes, the image remains for a time. By imagination I can also recall other sensuous impressions, and, in an attack of fever, I have had sensuous impressions resuscitated without my will. But how does that touch conceptual knowledge? As soon as I want to know what animal it is which I conjure up or imagine to myself, I must either have, for shortness’ sake, its scientific name, or I must conceive and realize its ears, or its legs, or its tail, or something else, but always something for which there is a name.

I have thus, in spite of the old warning, _Ne Hercules contra duos_, gone through the whole string of charges brought against me by Mr. Darwin and Professor Whitney; and while trying to show them that I was not entirely unprepared for their combined attack, I hope I have not been wanting in that respect which is due even to a somewhat rancorous assailant. I have not returned evil for evil, nor have I noticed objections which I could not refute without seeming to be offensive. Is it not mere skirmishing with blank cartridge, when Professor Whitney assures me that I have never fathomed “the theory of the antecedency of the idea to the word in the minds of those who hold that theory?” Surely, that is the theory which everybody holds who forms his idea of the origin of language from the manner in which we acquire a traditional language ready made, or, later in life, learn foreign languages. It has been my object to show that our problem is not, how languages are learnt, but how language is developed. We might as well form our ideas of the origin of the alphabet from the manner in which we learn to write, and then smile when we are told that, in writing “F” we still draw in the two upper strokes, the two horns of the _cerastes_, and that the connecting line in the “H” is the last remnant of the lines dividing the sieve, both hieroglyphics occurring in the name of Chufu or Cheops.

Philosophy is a study as much as philology, and though common sense is, no doubt, very valuable within its proper limits, I do not hesitate to say, though I hear already the distant grumbling of _Jupiter tonans_, that it is generally the very opposite of philosophy. One of the most eminent and most learned of living German philosophers--Professor Carriere, of Munchen--says in a very friendly review of Professor Whitney’s “Lectures on Language”--

“Philosophical depth and precision in psychological analysis are not
his strong points, and in that respect the reader will hardly find
anything new in his Lectures.”

He goes on to say that--

“The American scholar did not see that language is meant first for
forming, afterwards for communicating thought.” “Wordmaking,” he
says with great truth, “is the first philosophy--the first poetry of
mankind. We can have sensations, desires, intentions, but we cannot
think, in the proper sense of the word, without language. Every word
expresses the general. Mr. Whitney has not understood this, and his
calling language a human institution is very shallow.”

Against Professor Whitney’s view that language is arbitrary and conventional, and against the opposite view that language is instinctive, Professor Carriere quotes the happy expression of M. Renan, “_La liaison du sens et du mot n’est jamais nécessaire, jamais arbitraire, toujours elle est motivée._” Here the nail is hit on the head. Professor Carriero highly commends Professor Whitney’s lectures, and he does by no means adopt all my own views; but he felt obliged to enter a protest against certain journalistic proceedings which in Germany have attracted general attention.

In conclusion, if I may judge from Professor Whitney’s lectures, unless he has changed very much of late, I doubt whether he would prove a real ally of Mr. Darwin in his views on the origin of language. Towards the end of his article, even Mr. Darwin, Jr., becomes suspicious. Professor Whitney, he says, makes a dangerous assertion when he says that we shall never know anything of the transitional forms through which language has passed, and he advises his friend to read a book lately published by Count G. A. de Goddesand Liancourt and F. Pincott, called “Primitive and Universal Laws of Language,” in which he would find much information and enlightenment on the real origin of roots. There is an unintentional irony in that advice which Professor Whitney will not fail to appreciate. How any one who cares for truth can speak of a dangerous assertion, I do not understand. The Pope may say so, or a barrister; a true friend of truth knows of no danger.

In his “Lectures on Language,” Professor Whitney protests strongly against Darwinian materialism. But, as he confesses himself half a convert to the _Bow-wow_ and _Pooh-pooh_ theories, thus showing how wrong I was in supposing that those theories had no advocates among comparative philologists in the nineteenth century; nay, as now, after he has discovered at last that I am no believer in _Ding-dongism_, he seems inclined to say a kind word for the advocates of that theory--Heyse and Steinthal--who knows whether, after my Lectures on Darwin’s “Philosophy of Language,” he may not be converted by Bleek and Haeckel, the mad Darwinian, as he calls him?

All this, no doubt, has its humorous side, and I have tried to answer it good-humoredly. But it seems to me that it also has a very serious import. Why is there all this wrangling as to whether man is the descendant of a lower animal or not? Why cannot people examine the question in a temper more consonant with a real love of truth? Why look for artificial barriers between man and beast, if they are not there? Why try to remove real barriers, if they are there? Surely we shall remain what we are, whatever befall. When we throw the question back into a very distant antiquity, all seems to grow confused and out of focus. Yet time and space make little difference in the solution of these problems. Let us see what exists to-day. We see to-day that the lowest of savages--men whose language is said to be no better than the clucking of hens, or the twittering of birds, and who have been declared in many respects lower even than animals, possess this one specific characteristic, that if you take one of their babies, and bring it up in England, it will learn to speak as well as any English baby, while no amount of education will elicit any attempts at language from the highest animals, whether bipeds or quadrupeds. That disposition cannot have, been formed by definite nervous structures, congenitally framed, for we are told by the best Agriologists that both father and mother clucked like hens. This fact, therefore, unless disproved by experiment, remains, whatever the explanation may be.

Let us suppose, then, that myriads of years ago there was, out of myriads of animal beings, one, and one only, which made that step which in the end led to language, while the whole rest of the creation remained behind;--what would follow? That one being then, like the savage baby now, must have possessed something of his own--a germ very imperfect, it may be, yet found nowhere else, and that germ, that capacity, that disposition--call it what you like--is, and always will remain the specific difference of himself and all his descendants. It makes no difference whether we say it came of itself, or it was due to environment, or it was the gift of a Being in whom we live and move. All these are but different expressions for the Unknown. If that germ of the Logos had to pass through thousands of forms, from the Protogenes to Adam, before it was fit to fulfill its purpose, what is that to us? It was there _potentiâ_ from the beginning; it manifested itself where it was, in the paulo-post-future man; it never manifested itself where it was not, in any of the creatures that were animals from the beginning, and remained so to the end.

Surely, even if all scholastic philosophy must now be swept away, if to be able to reduce all the wisdom of the past to a _tabula rasa_ is henceforth to be the test of a true philosopher, a few landmarks may still be allowed to remain, and we may venture to quote, for instance, _Ex nihilo nihil fit_, without being accused of trying to crush free inquiry by an appeal to authority. Language is something, it pre-supposes something; and that which it pre-supposes, that from which it sprang, whatever its pre-historic, pre-mundane, pre-cosmic state may have been, must have been different from that from which it did not spring. People ask whether that germ of language was “slowly evolved,” or “divinely implanted,” but if they would but lay a firm grip on their words and thoughts, they would see that these two expressions, which have been made the watchwords of two hostile camps, differ from each other dialectically only.

That there is in us an animal--aye, a bestial nature--has never been denied; to deny it would take away the very foundation of Psychology and Ethics. We cannot be reminded too often that all the materials of our knowledge we share with animals; that, like them, we begin with sensuous impressions, and then, like ourselves, and like ourselves only, proceed to the General, the Ideal, the Eternal. We cannot be reminded too often that in many things we are like the beasts of the field, but that, like ourselves, and like ourselves only, we can rise superior to our bestial self, and strive after what is Unselfish, Good, and God-like. The wing by which we soar above the Sensuous, was called by wise men of old the _Logos_; the wing which lifts us above the Sensual, was called by good men of old the _Daimonion_. Let us take continual care, especially within the precincts of the Temple of Science, lest by abusing the gift of speech or doing violence to the voice of conscience, we soil the two wings of our soul, and fall back, through our own fault, to the dreaded level of the Gorilla.

[Footnote 1: “The vast number of grammatical forms has had a
stratified origin. As on the surface of the earth older and
younger layers of stones are found one above the other, or one by
the side of the other, We had similar appearances in language at
any time of its existence.” Curtius, _Zur Chronologie_, p. 14.]

[Footnote 2: See _Academy_, 19 June, 1875.]

[Footnote 3: As it has been objected that I had no right to claim
Dr. Whewell’s authority in support of my classification, I may
here add a passage from a letter (Nov. 4, 1861) addressed to me by
Dr. Whewell, in which he fully approves of my treating the Science
of Language as one of the physical sciences. “You have more than
once done me the honor, in your lectures, of referring to what I
have written but it seems to me possible that you may not have
remarked how completely I agree with you in classing the Science
of Language among the physical sciences, as to its history and
structure.”]

[Footnote 4: _Antikritik, Wie einer den Nagel auf den Kopf
trifft_: Berl. 1874.]

[Footnote 5: Cf. Sachs’ _Botany_, p. 830.]

[Footnote 6: See _Lectures on the Science of Language_, vol. ii.]

[Footnote 7: Fiske, _Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy_, vol. i.
p. 17.]

[Footnote 8: See Kilian, _Uber die Racenfrage der Semitischen und
Arischen Sprachbände_, 1874.]

X.

IN SELF-DEFENSE.

PRESENT STATE OF SCIENTIFIC STUDIES.

It has been remarked by many observers that in all branches of physical as well as historical learning there is at the present moment a strongly pronounced tendency towards special researches. No one can hold his own among his fellow-workers who cannot point to some discovery, however small, to some observation, to some decipherings, to some edition of a text hitherto unpublished, or, at least, to some conjectural readings which are, in the true sense of the word, his property. A man must now have served from the ranks before he is admitted to act as a general, and not even Darwin or Mommsen would have commanded general attention for their theories on the ancient history of Rome, or on the primitive development of animal life, unless they had been known for years as sturdy workers in their respective quarries.

On the whole, I believe that this state of public opinion has produced a salutary effect, but it has also its dangers. An army that means conquest, cannot always depend on its scouts and pioneers, nor must it be broken up altogether into single detachments of tirailleurs. From time to time, it has to make a combined movement in advance, and for that purpose it wants commanders who know the general outlines of the battle-field, and are familiar with the work that can best be done by each branch of the service.

EVOLUTIONISM.

If we look upon scholars, historians, students of physical science, and abstract philosophers, as so many branches of the great army of knowledge which has been fighting its way for centuries for the conquest of truth, it might be said, if we may follow up our comparison a little further, that the light cavalry of physical science had lately made a quick movement in advance, and detached itself too much from the support of the infantry and heavy artillery. The charge was made against the old impregnable fortress, the Origin of Life, and to judge from the victorious hurrahs of the assaulting squadron, we might have thought that a breach had at last been effected, and that the keys to the long hidden secrets of creation and development had been surrendered. As the general commanding this attack, we all recognize Mr. Darwin, supported by a brilliant staff of dashing officers, and if ever general was well chosen for victory, it was the author of the “Origin of Species.”

There was indeed for a time a sanguine hope, shared by many a brave soldier, that the old warfare of the world would, in our time, be crowned with success, that we should know at last what we are, whence we came, and whither we go; that, beginning with the simplest elementary substances, we should be able to follow the process of combination and division, leading by numberless and imperceptible changes from the lowest Bathybios to the highest Hypsibios, and that we should succeed in establishing by incontrovertible facts what old sages had but guessed, viz., that there is nowhere anything hard and specific in nature, but all is flowing and growing, without an efficient cause or a determining purpose, under the sway of circumstances only, or of a self-created environment. Πάντα ῥεῖ.

But that hope is no longer so loudly and confidently expressed as it was some years ago. For a time all seemed clear and simple. We began with Protoplasm, which anybody might see at the bottom of the sea, developing into Moneres, and we ended with the bimanous mammal called _Homo_, whether _sapiens_ or _insipiens_, everything between the two being matter of imperceptible development.

DIFFICULTIES IN EVOLUTIONISM.

The difficulties began where they generally begin, at the beginning and at the end. _Protoplasm_ was a name that produced at first a soothing effect on the inquisitive mind, but when it was asked, whence that power of development, possessed by the Protoplasm which begins as a Moneres and ends as Homo, but entirely absent in other Protoplasm, which resists all mechanical manipulation, and never enters upon organic growth, it was seen that the problem of development had not been solved, but only shifted, and that, instead of simple Protoplasm, very peculiar kinds of Protoplasm were required, which under circumstances might become and remain a Moneres, and under circumstances might become and remain _Homo_ forever. That which determined Protoplasm to enter upon its marvelous career, the first κινοῦν ἀκινητόν, remained as unknown as ever. It was open to call it an internal and unconscious, or an external and conscious power, or both together: physical, metaphysical, and religious mythology were left as free as ever. The best proof of this we find in the fact that Mr. Darwin himself retained his belief in a personal Creator, while Haeckel denies all necessity of admitting a conscious agent; and Von Hartmann[1] sees in what is called the philosophy of evolutionism the strongest confirmation of idealism, “all development being in truth but the realization of the unconscious reason of the creative idea.”

GLOTTOLOGY AND EVOLUTIONISM.

While the difficulty at the beginning consists in this that, after all, nothing can be developed except what was enveloped, the difficulty at the end is this that something is supposed to be developed that was not enveloped. It was here where I thought it became my duty to draw Mr. Darwin’s attention to difficulties which he had not suspected at all, or which, at all events, he had allowed himself to under-value. Mr. Darwin had tried to prove that there was nothing to prevent us from admitting a possible transition from the brute to man, as far as their physical structure was concerned, and it was natural that he should wish to believe that the same applied to their mental capacities. Now, whatever difference of opinion there might be among philosophers as to the classification and naming of these capacities, and as to any rudimentary traces of them to be discovered in animals, there had always been a universal consent that language was a distinguishing characteristic of man. Without inquiring what was implied by language, so much was certain, that language was something tangible, present in every man, absent in every brute. Nothing, therefore, was more natural than that Mr. Darwin should wish to show that this was an error: that language was nothing specific in man, but had its antecedents, however imperfect, in the signs of communication among animals. Influenced, no doubt, by the works of some of his friends and relatives on the origin of language, he thought that it had been proved that our words could be derived _directly_ from imitative and interjectional sounds. If the Science of Language has proved anything, it has proved that this is not the case. We know that, with certain exceptions, about which there can be little controversy, all our words are derived from roots, and that every one of these roots is the expression of a general concept. “Without roots, no language; without concepts, no roots,” these are the two pillars on which our philosophy of language stands, and with which it falls.

MR. WEDGWOOD’S DICTIONARY.

Any word taken from Mr. Wedgwood’s Dictionary will show the difference between those who derive words _directly_ from imitative and interjectional sounds, and those who do not. For instance, s.v. _to plunge_, we read:--

“Fr. _plonger_ Du. _plotsen_, _plonssen_, _plonzen_, to fall into
the water--Kil.; _plotsen_, also to fall suddenly on the ground. The
origin, like that of _plump_, is a representation of the noise made
by the fall. Swiss _bluntschen_, the sound of a thick heavy body
falling into the water.” Under _plump_ we read, “that the radical
image is the sound made by a compact body falling into the water, or
of a mass of wet falling to the ground. _He smit den sten in’t
water, plump! seg dat_, ‘He threw the stone into the water; it cried
plump!’ _Plumpen_, to make the noise represented by plump, to fall
with such a noise, etc., etc., etc.”

All this sounds extremely plausible, and to a man not specially conversant with linguistic studies, far more plausible than the real etymology of the word. To plunge is, no doubt, as Mr. Wedgwood says, the French _plonger_ but the French _plonger_ is _plumbicare_, while in Italian _piombare_ is _cadere a piombo_, to fall straight like the plummet. To plunge, therefore, has nothing to do with the splashing sound of heavy bodies falling into the water, but with the concept of straightness, here symbolized by the plummet.

This case, however, would only show the disregard of historical facts with which the onomatopœic school has been so frequently and so justly charged. But as we cannot trace _plumbum_, or μόλυβος, or Old Slav. _olovo_ with any certainty to a root such as _mal_, to be soft, let us take another word, such as _feather_. Here, again, we find that Mr. Wedgwood connects it with such words as Bav. _fledern_, Du. _vlederen_, to flap, flutter, the loss of the _l_ being explained by such words as to splutter and to sputter. We have first to note the disregard of historical facts, for _feather_ is O.H.G. _fedara_, Sk. pat-tra, Gr. πτερόν for πετερον, all derived from a root _pat_, to fly, from which we have also _penna_, old _pesna_, πέτ-ομαι, _peto_, _impetus_, etc. The root _pat_ expresses violent motion, and it is specialized into upward motion, πέτομαι, I fly; downward motion, Sk. +patati+, he falls; and onward motion, as in Latin _peto_, _impetus_, etc. Feather, therefore, as derived from this root, was conceived as the instrument of flying, and was never intended to imitate the noise of Du. _vlederen_, to flutter, and to flap.

MY LECTURES ON MR. DARWIN’S PHILOSOPHY OF LANGUAGE.

As this want of historical treatment among onomatopœic philologists has frequently been dwelt on by myself and others, these instances may suffice to mark the difference between the school so ably and powerfully represented by Mr. Wedgwood, and the school of Bopp, to which I and most comparative philologists belong. It was in the name of that school that I ventured to address my protest to the school of evolutionists, reminding them of difficulties, which they had either ignored altogether, or, at all events, greatly undervalued, and putting our case before them in such a form that even philosophers, not conversant with the special researches of philologists, might gain a clear insight into the present state of our science, and form their opinion accordingly.

In doing this I thought I was simply performing a duty which, in the present state of divided and subdivided labor, has to be performed, if we wish to prevent a useless waste of life. However different our pursuits may be, we all belong, as I said before, to the same army, we all have the same interests at heart, we are bound together by what the French would call the strongest of all solidarities, the love of truth. If I had thought only of my own fellow-laborers in the field of the Science of Language, I should not have considered that there was any necessity for the three Lectures which I delivered in 1873 at the Royal Institution. In my first course of Lectures on the Science of Language (1861), delivered before Evolutionism had assumed its present dimensions, I had already expressed my conviction that language is the one great barrier between the brute and man.

“Man speaks,” I said, “and no brute has ever uttered a word.
Language is something more palpable than a fold of the brain or an
angle of the skull. It admits of no caviling, and no process of
natural selection will ever distill significant words out of the
notes of birds or the cries of beasts.”

No scholar, so far as I know, has ever controverted any of these statements. But when Evolutionism became, as it fully deserved, the absorbing interest of all students of nature, when it was supposed that, if a Moneres could develop into a Man, Bow-wow and Pooh-pooh might well have developed by imperceptible degrees into Greek and Latin, I thought it was time to state the case for the Science of Language and its bearing on some of the problems of Evolutionism more fully, and I gladly accepted the invitation to lecture once more on this subject at the Royal Institution in 1873. My object was no more than a statement of facts, showing that the results of the Science of Language did not at present tally with the results of Evolutionism, that words could no longer be derived directly from imitative and interjectional sounds, that between these sounds and the first beginnings of language, in the technical sense of the word, a barrier had been discovered, represented by what we call Roots, and that, as far as we know, no attempt, not even the faintest, has ever been made by any animal, except man, to approach or to cross that barrier. I went one step further. I showed that Roots were with man the embodiments of general concepts, and that the only way in which man realized general concepts, was by means of those roots, and words derived from roots. I therefore argued as follows: We do not know anything and cannot possibly know anything of the mind of animals: therefore, the proper attitude of the philosopher with regard to the mental capacities of animals is one of complete neutrality. For all we know, the mental capacities of animals may be of a higher order than our own, as their sensuous capacities certainly are in many cases. All this, however, is guesswork; one thing only is certain. If we are right that man realizes his conceptual thought by means of words, derived from roots, and that no animal possesses words derived from roots, it follows, not indeed, that animals have no conceptual thought (in saying this, I went too far), but that their conceptual thought is different in its realized shape from our own.

From public and private discussions which followed the delivery of my lectures at the Royal Institution (an abstract of them was published in “Fraser’s Magazine,” and republished, I believe, in America), it became clear to me that the object which I had in view had been fully attained. General attention had been roused to the fact that at all events the Science of Language had something to say in the matter of Evolutionism, and I know that those whom it most concerned were turning their thoughts in good earnest to the difficulties which I had pointed out. I wanted no more, and I thought it best to let the matter ferment for a time.

MR. GEORGE DARWIN’S ARTICLE IN THE “CONTEMPORARY REVIEW.”

But what was my surprise when I found that a gentleman who had acquired considerable notoriety, not indeed by any special and original researches in Comparative Philology, but by his repeated attempts at vilifying the works of other scholars, Professor Whitney, had sent a paper to Mr. Darwin, intended to throw discredit on the statements which I had recommended to his serious consideration. I did not know of that paper till an abstract of it appeared in the “Contemporary Review,” signed George Darwin, and written with the avowed purpose of discrediting the statements which I had made in my Lecture at the Royal Institution. If Professor Whitney’s appeal had been addressed to scholars only, I should gladly have left them to judge for themselves. But as Mr. Darwin, Jr., was prevailed upon to stand sponsor to Professor Whitney’s last production, and to lend to it, if not the weight, at least the lustre of his name, I could not, without appearing uncourteous, let it pass in silence. I am not one of those who believe that truth is much advanced by public controversy, and I have carefully eschewed it during the whole of my literary career. But if I had left Professor Whitney’s assertions unanswered, I could hardly have complained, if Mr. Darwin, Sr., and the many excellent _savants_ who share his views, had imagined that I had represented the difficulties which the students of language feel with regard to animals developing a language, in a false light; that in fact, instead of wishing to assist, I had tried to impede the onward march of our brave army. I have that faith in οἱ περὶ Darwin, that I believe they want honest advice, from whatever quarter it may come, and I therefore was persuaded to deviate for once from my usual course, and, by answering _seriatim_ every objection raised by Professor Whitney, to show that my advice had been tendered _bonâ fide_, that I had not spoken in the character of a special pleader, but simply and solely as a man of truth.

MY ANSWER TO MR. DARWIN.

My “Answer to Mr. Darwin” appeared in the “Contemporary Review” of November, 1874, and if it had only elicited the letter which I received from Mr. Darwin, Sr., I should have been amply repaid for the trouble I had taken in the matter.

It produced, however, a still more important result, for it elicited from the American assailant a hasty rejoinder, which opened the eyes even of his best friends to the utter weakness of his case. Professor Whitney, himself, had evidently not expected that I should notice his assault. He had challenged me so often before, and I had never answered him. Why, then, should I have replied now? My answer is, because, for the first time, his charges had been countersigned by another.

I had not even read his books before, and he blames me severely for that neglect, bluntly asking me, why I had not read them. That is indeed a question extremely difficult to answer without appearing to be rude. However, I may say this, that to know what books one must read, and what books one may safely leave unread, is an art which, in these days of literary fertility, every student has to learn. We know on the whole what each scholar is doing, we know those who are engaged in special and original work, and we are in duty bound to read whatever they write. This in the present state of Comparative Philology, when independent work is being done in every country of Europe, is as much as any man can do, nay, often more than I feel able to do. But then, on the other hand, we claim the liberty of leaving uncut other books in our science, which, however entertaining they may be in other respects, are not likely to contain any new facts. In doing this, we run a risk, but we cannot help it.

And let me ask Professor Whitney, if by chance he had opened a book and alighted on the following passage, would he have read much more?

“Take as instances _home_ and _homely_, _scarce_ and _scarcely_,
_direct_ and _directly_, _lust_ and _lusty_, _naught_ and _naughty_,
_clerk_ and _clergy_, a _forge_ and a _forgery_, _candid_ and
_candidate_, _hospital_ and _hospitality_, _idiom_ and _idiocy_,
_alight_ and _delight_, etc.”

Is there any philologist, comparative or otherwise, who does not know that _light_, the Gothic _liuhath_, is connected with the Latin _lucere_; that to _delight_ is connected with Latin _delector_, Old French _deleiter_, and with Latin _de-lic-ere_; while to _alight_ is of Teutonic origin, and connected with Gothic _leihts_, Latin _levis_, Sanskrit _laghus_?

But then, Professor Whitney continues, when at last he had forced me to read some of his writings, why did I not read them carefully? Why did I read Mr. Darwin’s article in the “Contemporary Review” only, and not his own in an American journal?

Now here I feel somewhat guilty: still I can offer some excuse. I did not read Professor Whitney’s reply in the American original, first, because I could not get it in time; secondly, because I only felt bound to answer the arguments which Mr. Darwin had adopted as his own. Looking at the original article afterwards, I found that I had not been entirely wrong. I see that Mr. Darwin has used a very wise discretion in his selection, and I may now tell Professor Whitney that he ought really to be extremely grateful that nothing except what Mr. Darwin had approved of, was placed before the English readers of the “Contemporary Review,” and therefore answered by me in the same journal.

THE PHENICIAN ALPHABET.