APPENDIX.
COMPARATIVE VIEW OF SANSKRIT AND OTHER LANGUAGES,
By T. H. Colebrooke.
Oxford, September, 1874.
I mentioned in my Address before the Aryan section of the Oriental Congress that I possessed some MS. notes of Colebrooke’s on Comparative Philology. They were sent to me some time ago by his son, Sir E. Colebrooke, who gave me leave to publish them, if I thought them of sufficient importance. They were written down, as far as we know, about the years 1801 or 1802, and contain long lists of words expressive of some of the most important elements of early civilization, in Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, Teutonic, Celtic, and Slavonic. Like everything that Colebrooke wrote, these lists are prepared with great care. They exist in rough notes, in a first, and in a second copy. I give them from the second copy, in which many words from less important languages are omitted, and several doubtful comparisons suppressed. I have purposely altered nothing, for the interest of these lists is chiefly historical, showing how, long before the days of Bopp and Grimm, Colebrooke had clearly perceived the relationship of all the principal branches of the Aryan family, and, what is more important, how he had anticipated the historical conclusions which a comparison of the principal words of the great dialects of the Aryan family enables us to draw with regard to the state of civilization anterior to the first separation of the Aryan race. No one acquainted with the progress which Comparative Philology has made during the last seventy years would think of quoting some of the comparisons here suggested by Colebrooke as authoritative. The restraints which phonetic laws have since imposed on the comparison of words were unknown in his days. But with all that, it is most surprising to see how careful Colebrooke was, even when he had to guess, and how well he succeeded in collecting those words which form the earliest common dictionary of our ancestors, and supply the only trustworthy materials for a history of the very beginnings of the Aryan race.
Max Muller.
The transliteration system in this section is different from Müller’s. Note in particular:
c, c’h, ch, j : k, kh, c, j (Müller’s k, kh, k, g)
rĭ : ṛ (Müller’s ri)
ä ï ö ü : dots represent dieresis, not umlaut
The letter ṭ was shown as t́ (t with acute). This has been regularized because Colebrooke’s form may not display reliably. The form ń for ṇ has been retained; ḍ does not occur.
Father.
Sans. Pitrĭ (-tá). Beng. Hind. Pitá. Pers. Pider.
Sans. Janayitrĭ (-tá). Gr. Geneter, Gennetor. Lat. Genitor.
Sans. Táta. Beng. Tát. Arm. Tat. Wal. Corn. Tad. Ang. Dad.
Sans. Vaptrĭ (-tá). Beng. Bápá. Hind. Bábá, Báp. Germ. Vater. Belg. Vader. Isl. Bader. Gr. Lat. Pater.
Mother.
Sans. Janayitrí, Jananí. Gr. Gennêteira. Lat. Genitrix.
Sans. Mátrĭ (-tá). Beng. Mátá. Lat. Mater. Gr. Meter. Sclav. Mati. Ir. Mat’hair. Germ. Mutter. Sax. Moder. Belg. Isl. Mooder.
N.B. The roots jan and jani (the past tense of which last is jajnyé, pronounced jagyé in Bengal, Tirhut, etc.) are evidently analogous to the Latin gigno, and Greek gennao.
Son.
Sans. Putra. Hind. Putr, Pút. Támil. Putren. Ori. Púá.
Sans. Súnu. Hind. Sún, Suän. Goth. Sunus. Sax. Suna. Belg. Soen, Sone. Sue. Son. Dalm. Szun. Pol. Boh. Syn. Scl. Sin, Syn.
Grandson.
Sans. Naptrĭ (-tá). Lat. Nepos. Hind. Nátí. Mahr. Nátú.
Granddaughter.
Sans. Naptrí. Lat. Neptis. Hind. Natní. Beng. Nátní. Ori. Nátuni.
Daughter’s Son.
Sans. Dauhitra. Beng. Dauhitro. Hind. Dóhtá. Gr. Thugatridous.
Son’s Son.
Sans. Pautra. Hind. Pótá. Beng. Pautro.
Daughter.
Sans. Duhitrĭ (-tá). Beng. Duhitá. Hind. Dóhitá. Goth. Dauhter. Sax. Dohter. Pers. Dokhter. Belg. Dochtere. Germ. Tochter. Gr. Thygater. Sue. Dotter. Isl. Dooter. Dan. Daater.
Sans. Tócá. Russ. Doke. Hind. Dhíya, Dhí. Or. Jhíä. Scl. Hzhi. Dalm. Hchii. Boh. Dey, Deera. Ir. Dear.
Brother.
Sans. Bhrátrĭ (-tá). Hind. Bhrátá, Bhaï, Bhayá, Bír, Bíran. Pers. Birádar. Corn. Bredar. Wal. Braud. Ir. Brathair. Arm. Breur. Mona. Breyr. Scl. Brat. Russ. Brate. Dalm. Brath. Boh. Bradr. Germ. Bruder. Ang.-Sax. Brother. Sax. Brother. Lat. Frater. Gall. Frère.
Sister.
Sans. Bhaginí. Hind. Bhagní, Bahin, Bhainá. Beng. Bhoginí, Boïn. Mahr. Bahin. Or. Bhauní.
Sans. Swasrĭ (-sá). Ir. Shiur. Gall. Soeur. Mona. Sywr. Sicil. Suora. Lat. Soror. Germ. Schwester. Sax. Sweoster. Goth. Swister. Holl. Zuster. Wal. C’huaer.
Father-in-law.
Sans. Śwaśura. Beng. Sósur. Mahr. Sasará. Hind. Susar, Súsrá, Sasúr. Lat. Sócer, Socerus. Gr. Hecyros.
Mother-in-law.
Sans. Śwaśrú. Beng. Sosru, Sásuri. Hind. Sás. Mahr. Sású. Lat. Socrus. Gr. Hecyra.
Wife’s Brother.
Sans. Syála. Beng. Syáloc. Hind. Sálá. Or. Salá.
Husband’s Brother.
Sans. Dévrĭ (-vá), Dévara. Hind. Déwar. Guj. Díyar. Mahr. Dír. Gr. Daêr. Lat. Levir (olim Devir).
Son-in-law.
Sans. Jámátrĭ (-tá). Hind. Jamáí, Jawáí. Pers. Dámád.
Widow.
Sans. Vidhavá. Lat. Vidua. Sax. Widwa. Holl. Weduwe.
Daughter-in-law.
Sans. Badhú. Hind. Bahú. Beng. Bäú. Gall. Bru.
Sans. Snushá. Cashm. Nus. Penj. Nuh. Gr. Nyos. Lat. Nurus.
Sun.
Sans. Heli (-lis). Gr. Helios. Arm. Heol. Wal. Hayl, Heyluen.
Sans. Mitra. Pehl. Mithra.
Sans. Mihara, Mahira. Pers. Mihr.
Sans. Súra, Súrya. Hind. Súrej. Mahr. Súrj, Súrya. Ori. Suruy.
Moon.
Sans. Chandra. Hind. Chánd, Chandr, Chandramá.
Sans. Más (máh). Pers. Máh. Boh. Mesyc. Pol. Miesyac. Dalm. Miszecz.
Star.
Sans. Tárá. Hind. Tárá. Pers. Sitareh. Gr. Aster. Belg. Sterre. Sax. Steorra. Germ. Stern. Corn. Arm. Steren.
Month.
Sans. Mása (-sas). Hind. Mahiná, Más. Pers. Máh. Scl. Messcz. Dalm. Miszecz. Wal. Misguaith. Gr. Mene. Lat. Mensis. Gall. Mois.
Day.
Sans. Diva. Mahr. Diwas. Lat. Dies. Sax. Dæg.
Sans. Dina. Hind. Din. Boh. Den. Scl. Dan. Dalm. Daan. Pol. Dzien. Ang. (Ant.) Den.
Night.
Sans. Rátri. Hind. Rát. Penj. Rátter.
Sans. Niś, Niśá. Wal. Arm. Nos.
Sans. Nactá. Lat. Nox. Gr. Nyx. Goth. Nahts, Nauts. Sax. Niht. Isl. Natt. Boh. Noc. Gall. Nuit.
By Night.
Sans. (adv.) Nactam. Lat. Noctu. Gr. Nyctor.
Sky, Heaven.
Sans. Div, Diva. Beng. Dibi. Liv. Debbes.
Sans. Swar, Swarga. Hind. Swarag. Guz. Sarag. Cant. Cerua.
Sans. Nabhas. Beng. Nebho. Russ. Nebo. Scl. Nebu. Boh. Nebe. Pol. Niebo.
God.
Sans. Déva (-vas), Dévatá. Hind. Déwatá. Penj. Déú. Tamil. Taivam. Lat. Deus. Gr. Theos. Wal. Diju. Ir. Diu.
Sans. Bhagaván. Dalm. Bogh. Croat. Bog.
Fire.
Sans. Agni. Casm. Agin. Beng. Águn. Hind. Ag. Scl. Ogein. Croat. Ogayn. Pol. Ogien. Dalm. Ogany. Lat. Ignis.
Sans. Vahni. Boh. Ohen.
Sans. Anala. Beng. Onol. Mona. Aul.
Sans. Śushman (má). Cant. Sua.
Sans. Tanúnapát. Wal. Tân. Ir. Teene.
Sans. Varhis. Sax. Vür. Belg. Vier.
Water.
Sans. Áp. Pers. Áb.
Sans. Páníya. Hind. Pání.
Sans. Udaca. Russ. Ouode. Scl. Voda. Boh. Woda.
Sans. Níra, Nára. Beng. Nír. Carn. Níra. Tel. Níllu. Vulg. Gr. Nero.
Sans. Jala. Hind. Jal. Ir. Gil.
Sans. Arńa. Ir. An.
Sans. Vár, Vári. Beng. Bár. Ir. Bir. Cant. Vra.
Cloud.
Sans. Abhra. Penj. Abhar. Casm. Abar. Pers. Abr. Gr. Ombros. Lat. Imber.
Man.
Sans. Nara. Pers. Nar. Gr. Aner.
Sans. Mánava, Mánusha. Guz. Mánas. Beng. Mánus. Dan. Mand. Sax. Man, Men.
Mind.
Sans. Manas. Gr. Menos. Lat. Mens.
Bone.
Sans. Had´d´a. Hind. Hadí.
Sans. Asthi. Lat. Os. Gr. Osteon.
Hand.
Sans. Hasta. Hind. Hát’h. Penj. Hatt’h. Beng. Hát. Pers. Dest.
Sans. Cara. Gr. Cheir. Vulg. Gr. Chere.
Sans. Páni. Wal. Pawen. Ang. Paw.
Knee.
Sans. Jánu. Penj. Jáhnu. Pers. Zánu. Hind. Gutaná. Gr. Gonu. Lat. Genu. Gall. Genou. Sax. Cneow.
Foot.
Sans. Páda, Pad. Or. Pád. Beng. Pod, Pá. Hind. Páú, Payar. Lat. Pes (pedis). Gr. Pous (podos). Vulg. Gr. Podare. Gall. Pied. Goth. Fotus. Sax. Fot, Vot. Sue. Foot.
Sans. Anghri. Beng. Onghri. Scl. Noga. Pol. Nogi.
Breast.
Sans. Stana. Beng. Stan. (Ang. Pap.) Gr. Sternon. Lat. Sternum. (Ang. Chest.)
Navel.
Sans. Nábhi. Hind. Nábh. Beng. Náï. Or. Nahi. Pers. Náf. Gr. Omphalos. Sax. Nafela, Navela.
Ear.
Sans. Carńa. Hind. Cán. Arm. Skuarn. Corn. Skevam.
Nose.
Sans. Nasicá, Násá, Nasya. Hind. Nác. Penj. Nacca. Casm. Nast. Lat. Nasus. Germ. Nase. Belg. Nuese. Sax. Noese, Nosa. Sue. Nasa. Boh. Nos. Scl. Nus. Dalm. Nooss.
Tooth.
Sans. Danta. Hind. Dánt. Penj. Dand. Pers. Dendan. Wal. Dant. Lat. Dens. Gall. Dent. Gr. Odous (-ontos). Belg. Tant, Tand. Sax. Toth.
Mouth.
Sans. Muc’ha. Hind. Muc’h, Muh, Munh, Múnh. Penj. Múh. Guz. Móh. Sax. Muth.
Elbow.
Sans. Anka, flank; Anga, membrum. Gr. Agkōn.
Voice.
Sans. Vách (vác). Lat. Vox. Gr. Ossa.
Name.
Sans. Náman (-ma). Hind. Nám, Náon̆. Pers. Nám. Gr. Onoma. Lat. Nomen. Gall. Nom. Sax. Nama.
King.
Sans. Ráj (-t´, -d´), Rájan (-já). Hind. Rájá. Lat. Rex. Gall. Roy. Wal. Rhuy, Rhiydh. Ir. Righ, Rak.
Kingdom.
Sans. Rájnya (-am). Lat. Regnum.
Town.
Sans. C’héta. Hind. C’hérá. Wal. Kaer. Arm. Koer.
House.
Sans. Ócas. Gr. Oicos.
Sans. Grĭha. Hind. Ghar. Casm. Gar.
Ship or Boat.
Sans. Nau (naus). Gr. Naus. Lat. Navis. Pers. Nau. Hind. Nau, Náú. Or. Ná. Carn. Náviya.
A Small Boat.
Sans. Plava. Mah. Plav. Gr. Ploion.
Thing, Wealth.
Sans. Rai (rás). Lat. Res.
Mountain.
Sans. Parvata. Hind. Parbat, Pahár. Penj. Parabat. Carn. Parbatavu.
Sans. Adri. Penj. Adari. Ir. Ard.
Sans. Naga, Aga. Ir. Aigh.
Sans. Grávan (-vá), Giri. Lus. Grib. Scl. Hrib.
Rock or Stone.
Sans. Prastara. Hind. Patt’har. Guz. Pat’har. Beng. Pat’har. Gr. Petra. Lat. Petra.
Sans. Grávan (-vá). Penj. Garáv.
Tree.
Sans. Dru (drus), Druma (-mas). Gr. Drys (Drymos, a wood). Epir. Druu. Russ. Dreous. Scl. Drevu.
Sans. Taru. Goth. Triu, Trie. Sax. Treo, Treow. Dan. Tree.
Pomegranate.
Sans. Róhita. Gr. Rhoa, Rhoia.
Horse.
Sans. Ghóṭaca. Hind. Ghórá. Guz. Ghóró. Casm. Guru. Wal. Goruydh, Govar.
Sans. Haya (-yas). Ant. Sans. Arusha. Isl. Hors, Hestur. Dan. Hest. Sue. Hast. Sax. Hors.
Sans. Aśva. Penj. Aswa. Pers. Asp.
Ass.
Sans. C’hara. Penj. C’har. Pers. Khar.
Sans. Gardabha. Hind. Gadhá. Tirh. Gadahá.
Mule.
Sans. Aśwatara. Pers. Astar.
Camel.
Sans. Ushṭra. Hind. Unt. Guz. Ut. Penj. Ustar. Pers. Ushtur, Shutur.
Ox, Cow, Bull.
Sans. Gó (gaus). Hind. Gau, Gáí. Beng. Goru. Pers. Gau. Sax. Cu. Sue. Koo. Belg. Koe. Germ. Kue. Sans. Ucshan (-shá). Sax. Oxa. Dan. Oxe. Isl. Uxe. Boh. Ochse. Germ. Ochs. Wai. Ychs.
Sans. Vrĭsha, Vrĭshan (-shá). Tirh. Brikh. Boh. Byk. Pol. Beik. Dalm. Bak. Lus. Bik. Hung. Bika. Wal. Byuch. Arm. Biych. Corn. Byuh.
Goat.
Sans. Bucca, Barcara. Hind. Bacrá. Mahr. Bócar. Guz. Bócaró. Beng. Bócá. Arm. Buch. Corn. Byk. Sax. Bucca. Gall. Bouc. Sue. Bock. Belg. Bocke. Ital. Becco.
Ewe.
Sans. Avi (-vis). Gr. Ois. Lat. Ovis. Sax. Eowe.
Wool.
Sans. Urńá. Hind. Un. Scl. Volna. Pol. Welna. Boh. Wlna. Dalm. Vuna. Sue. Ull. Isl. Ull. Belg. Wul. Germ. Wolle. A.-Sax. Wulle. Wal. Gulan. Corn. Gluan. Arm. Gloan. Ir. Olann.
Hair of the Body.
Sans. Lava. Ir. Lo.
Sans. Lóman (-ma), Róman (-ma). Hind. Róán. Beng. Lóm, Róm. Casm. Rúm. Mah. Rómé.
Hair of the Head.
Sans. Césa. Hind. Cés. Casm. Cís. Lat. Crinis.
Sans. Bála. Hind. Bál.
Hog.
Sans. Súcara (fem -rí). Penj. Súr. Hind. Súär, Súwar, Sú, Suén. Beng. Shúcar, Shúór. Mahr. Dúcar. Tirh. Súgar. Nepal. Surún. Dan. Suin. Sue. Swiin. Lus. Swina. Carn. Swynia, Swine. Ang. Swine. Sax. Sugn. Holl. Soeg, Sauwe. Germ. Sauw. Ang. Sow. Belg. Soch. Lat. Sus. Gr. Hys, Sys. Lacon. Sika. Pers. Khuc. Wal. Húkh. Corn. Hoch, Hoh.
Boar.
Sans. Varáha. Hind. Baráh. Oris. Barahá. Beng. Boráhó, Borá. Corn. Bora, Baedh. Belg. Beer. Sax. Bar. Ang. Boar. Span. Berraco. Gall. Verrat. Ital. Verro.
Mouse.
Sans. Múshaca, Múshá. Hind. Mus, Musá, Musí, Músrí, Músná. Penj. Múshá. Tirh. Mús. Lat. Mus. Gr. Mûs. Sax. Mus.
Bear.
Sans. Ricsha. Hind. Rích’h. Penj. Richh. Guz. Rénchh. Tirh. Rikh.
Sans. Bhalla, Bhallaca, Bhállúca. Hind. Bhál, Bhálú.
Sans. Ach’ha, Acsha. Gr. Arctos. Wal. Arth.
Wolf.
Sans. Vrĭca. Dalm. Vuuk. Scl. Vulk. Pol. Wulk.
Insect.
Sans. Crĭmi. Pers. Cirm. Beng. Crimi. Tamil. Crimi.
Serpent.
Sans. Ahi (ahis). Gr. Ophis. Sans. Sarpa. Pers. Serp. Lat. Serpens. Hind. Sárp.
Cuckoo.
Sans. Cocila. Hind. Coil. Lat. Cuculus. Gr. Kokkyx.
Sans. Pica. Lat. Picus.
Crab.
Sans. Carcata. Beng. Cáncŕá, Céncŕá. Hind. Céncrá, Cécrá. Gr. Carcinos. Lat. Cancer. Wal. Krank. Corn. Arm. Kankr. Gall. Cancre. Ir. Kruban. Sax. Crabbe. Ang. Crab.
Cucumber.
Sans. Carcatí. Beng. Cáncur. Hind. Cácrí. Lat. Cucumer, Cucumis. Gall. Concombre. Ang. Cucumber.
Sound.
Sans. Swana, Swána. Lat. Sonus. Wal. Sûn, Sôn, Sain. Sax. Sund.
Sleep.
Sans. Swapna, Śaya, Swápa. Beng. Shóön. Hind. (Supna) Sona [to sleep]. Gr. Hypnos. Wal. Heppian [to sleep]. Sax. Sleepan. Ang. Sleep.
New.
Sans. Nava (m. Navas, f. Navá, n. Navam), Navína. Lat. Novus. Gr. Neos, Nearos. Pers. Nó. Hind. Nayá, Nawén. Beng. Niara. Wal. Corn. Neuydh. Ir. Núadh. Arm. Nevedh, Noadh. Gall. Neuf. Ang. New. Sax. Neow.
Young.
Sans. Yuvan (Yuvâ). Lat. Juvenis.
Thin.
Sans. Tanus. Lat. Tenuis.
Great.
Sans. Mahâ. Gr. Megas. Lat. Magnus.
Broad.
Sans. Urus. Gr. Eurus.
Old.
Sans. Jírńas. Gr. Geron.
Other.
Sans. Itaras. Gr. Heteros.
Sans. Anyas. Lat. Alius.
Fool.
Sans. Múd’has, Múrchas. Gr. Moros.
Dry.
Sans. Csháras. Gr. Xeros.
Sin.
Sans. Agha. Gr. Hagos (veneratio, scelus).
One.
Sans. Eca. Hind. Beng. etc. Ec. Pers. Yéc.
Two.
Sans. Dwi (nom. du. Dwau). Hind. Do. Pers. Do. Gr. Dyo. Lat. Duo. Gall. Deux. Corn. Deau. Arm. Dou. Ir. Do. Goth. Twai. Sax. Twu. Ang. Two.
Three.
Sans. Tri (nom. pl. Trayas). Lat. Tres. Gr. Treis. Gall. Trois. Germ. Drei. Holl. Dry. Sax. Threo. Ang. Three. Wal. Arm. Ir. Tri. Corn. Tre.
Four.
Sans. Chatur (nom. pl. Chatwáras, fem. Chatasras). Lat. Quatuor. Gall. Quatre. Gr. Tessares. Pers. Chehár. Hind. Chehár.
And.
Sans. Cha. Lat. Que.
Five.
Sans. Pancha. Hind. Pánch. Pers. Penj. Gr. Pente. Arm. Corn. Pemp. Wai. Pymp.
Six.
Sans. Shash. Pers. Shesh. Lat. Sex. Gr. Hex. Gall. Ang. Six. Wal. Khuêkh. Corn. Huih. Arm. Huekh. Ir. She, Seishear.
Seven.
Sans. Sapta. Lat. Septem. Gall. Sept. Germ. Sieben. Ang. Seven. Sax. Seofon. Gr. Hepta. Pers. Heft. Hind. Sát. Wal. Saith. Arm. Corn. Seith. Ir. Sheakhd.
Eight.
Sans. Asht’a. Pers. Hasht. Hind. Áth. Gall. Huit. Sax. Eahta. Ang. Eight. Ir. Okht. Lat. Octo.
Nine.
Sans. Nava. Hind. Nó. Lat. Novem. Wal. Corn. Nau. Arm. Nâo. Ir. Nyi. Pers. Noh. Gall. Neuf. Sax. Nigon. Ang. Nine.
Ten.
Sans. Daśa. Hind. Das. Pers. Dah. Lat. Decem. Ir. Deikh. Arm. Dêk. Corn. Dêg.
PRONOUNS.
I.
Sans. Aham (acc. Má; poss. and dat. Mé; du. Nau; pl. Nas). Lat. Gr. Ego, etc. Pers. Men. Hind. Mai. Ir. Me. Wal. Corn. Mi. Arm. Ma.
Thou.
Sans. Twam (acc. Twá; poss. and dat. Té; du. Vám; pl. Vas). Lat. Tu, etc. Gr. Su, etc. Hind. Tú, Tain. Beng. Tumi, Tui. Ir. Tu. Pers. To. Arm. Te. Corn. Ta. Wal. Ti.
PREPOSITIONS, ETC.
Sans. Antar. Lat. Inter. Sans. Upari. Gr. Hyper. Lat. Super. Sans. Upa. Gr. Hypo. Lat. Sub. Sans. Apa. Gr. Apo. Sans. Pari. Gr. Peri. Sans. Pra. Gr. Lat. Pro. Sans. Pará. Gr. Pera. Sans. Abhi. Gr. Amphi. Sans. Ati. Gr. Anti. Sans. Ama. Gr. Amá. Sans. Anu. Gr. Ana.
TERMINATIONS.
Sans. (terminations of comparatives and superlatives) Taras, tamas. Gr. Teros, tatos. Lat. Terus, timus. Sans. Ishṭhas. Gr. Istos.
Sans. (termin. of nouns of agency) Trĭ. Gr. Tor, ter. Lat. Tor.
Sans. (termin. of participle) Tas. Gr. Tos. Lat. Tus.
Sans. (termin. of supine) Tum. Lat. Tum.
VERBS.
To Be, Root AS.
Sans. Asti, Asi, Asmi, Santi, Stha, Smas.
Gr. Esti, Eîs (Essi), Eimi (D. Emmi), Eisi (D. Enti), Este, Esmen (D. Eimes).
Lat. Est, Es, Sum, Sunt, Estis, Sumus.
To Go, Root I.
Sans. Éti, Ési. Émi, Yanti, Itha, Imas.
Lat. It, Is, Eo, Eunt, Itis, Imus.
Gr. Eîsi, Eîs, Eîmi, Eîsi, Ite, Imen (D. Imes).
To Eat, Root AD.
Sans. Atti, Atsi, Admi, Adanti, Attha, Admas. Lat. Edit, Edis, Edo, Edunt, Editis, Edimus. Gr. Esthiei. Sax. Etan.
To Give, Root DA.
Sans. Dadáti, Dadási, Dadámi. Lat. Dat, Das, Do. Gr. Didōsi, Didōs, Didōmi.
Hence, Sans. Dánam, Lat. Donum.
To Join, Root YUJ.
Sans. Yunacti, Yunjanti. Lat. Jungit, Jungunt. Sans. Yunajmi. Gr. Zeugnumi.
Hence, Sans. Yugam. Lat. Yugum. Gr. Zugos, Zugon. Hind. Juä. Sax. Geoc. Ang. Yoke. Dutch. Joek.
To Sit, Root SAD.
Sans. Sídati, Sídanti. Lat. Sedet, Sedent.
Hence, Sans. Sadas. Lat. Sedes.
To Subdue, Root DAM.
Sans. Dámayati. Gr. Damaei. Lat. Domat.
Hence, Damanam. Damnum.
To Drink, Root PA or PĪ
Sans. Pibati, Pibanti; Piyaté. Lat. Bibit, Bibunt. Gr. Pinei, Pinousi.
To Die, Root MRĬ.
Sans. Mrĭyaté, Mrĭyanté. Lat. Moritur, Moriuntur.
Hence, Mrĭtis, Mors, Mrĭtas, Mortuus.
To Know, Root JNYA.
Sans. Jánátí, Jánanti. Gr. Ginosco or Gignosco. Lat. Nosco.
Hence, Jnyátas. Lat. Nótus. Gr. Gnostos.
To Beget, Root JAN.
Sans. Jáyaté. Pret. Jajnyé (pronounced jagyé). Gr. Ginomai vel Gignomai. Lat. Gigno.
To Go, Root SRĬP.
Sans. Sarpati. Lat. Serpit. Gr. Herpei.
To See, Root DRĬS.
Gr. Derco. Sans. Drĭś. Hind. Dék’h, to see.
To Procreate, Root SU.
Sans. Súyaté (rad. Sú).
Hence, Sans. Súta, son. Hind. Suän̆. Gr. Huios, Huieus.
To Know, Root VID.
Sans. Vid, to know. Lat. Video, to see.
To Delight, Root TRĬP.
Sans. Trip. Gr. Terpo.
To Strew, Root STRĬ.
Sans. Strĭ. Lat. Sterno. Ang. To strew. Gr. Stornumi, Stronnumi.
ADVERBS, ETC.
Sans. A. Gr. A priv. (before vowels An).
Sans. Su. Gr. Eû.
Sans. Dus. Gr. Dys.
Sans. Cha. Gr. Te. Lat. Que.
Sans. Na, No. Lat. Ne, Non. Ang. No.
Sans. Chit (in comp.). Lat. Quid. Gr. Ti.
Sans. Nanu. Lat. Nonne.
Sans. Prabháte. Gr. Proï.
Sans. Pura, Puratas. Gr. Pro, Proteros, etc.
Sans. Punar. Gr. Palin.
Sans. Pura. Gr. Palai.
Sans. Alam. Gr. Halis.
Sans. Hyas. Gr. Chthes.
Sans. Adya. Hind. Aj. Lat. Hodie.
Footnotes to Chapter VII (VIII):
Life of Colebrooke
1. Miscellaneous Essays. By Henry Thomas Colebrooke. With a Life of the author by his son. In three volumes. London: 1872.
2. The word Gentoo, which was commonly applied in the last century to the Hindus, is, according to Wilson, derived from the Portuguese word gentio, gentile or heathen. The word caste, too, comes from the same source.
3. See the list of words given at the end of this article, p. 400.
IX.
MY REPLY TO MR. DARWIN.
During the whole of the year that has just passed away, all my spare time has been required for the completion of my edition of the Rig-Veda and its Sanskrit commentary. I had to shut my eyes to everything else. Many a book which I felt tempted to read was put aside, and hardly a single Review could draw me away from my purpose. Thus it has come to pass that I did not know, till a few days ago, that some Lectures which I had delivered at the Royal Institution on “Mr. Darwin’s Philosophy of Language,” and which had been fully reported in “Fraser’s Magazine” for May, June, and July, 1873, had elicited a reply emanating from one who writes if not in, at least with Mr. Darwin’s name, and who himself would be, no doubt most proud to acknowledge the influence of “family bias.” I could not have guessed from the title of the paper, “Professor Whitney on the Origin of Language: by George H. Darwin,” that it was meant as an answer to the arguments which I had ventured to advance in my Lectures at the Royal Institution against Mr. Darwin’s views on language. It was only when telling a friend that I soon hoped to find time to complete those Lectures, that I was asked whether I had seen Darwin’s reply. I read it at once in the November number of the “Contemporary Review;” and, as it will take some time before I can hope to finish my book on “Language as the true barrier between Man and Beast,” I determined, in the meantime, to publish a brief rejoinder to the defense of Mr. Darwin’s philosophy, so ably and chivalrously conducted by his son.
With regard to the proximate cause of Mr. Darwin’s defense of his father’s views on language—viz. an article in the “Quarterly Review,” I may say at once that I knew nothing about it till I saw Mr. G. Darwin’s article; and if there should be any suspicion in Mr. Darwin’s mind that the writer in the “Quarterly Review” is in any sense of the word my alter ego I can completely remove that impression.
It seems that the writer in the “Quarterly” expressed himself in the following terms with regard to Mr. Darwin’s competency on linguistic problems:—
“Few recent intellectual phenomena are more astounding than the ignorance of these elementary yet fundamental distinctions and principles (i.e., as to the essence of language) exhibited by conspicuous advocates of the monistic hypothesis. Mr. Darwin, for example, does not exhibit the faintest indication of having grasped them.”
Mr. Darwin, I mean the father, if he has read my lectures, or anything else I have written, might easily have known that that is not the tone in which I write, least of all when speaking of men who have rendered such excellent service to the advancement of science as the author of the book “On the Origin of Species.” To me, the few pages devoted to language by Mr. Darwin were full of interest, as showing the conclusions to which that school of philosophy which he so worthily represents is driven with regard to the nature and origin of language. If put into more becoming language, however, I do not think there would be anything offensive in stating that Mr. Darwin, Sr., knows the results of the Science of Language at second hand only, and that his opinions on the subject, however interesting as coming from him, cannot be accepted or quoted as authoritative. It has often done infinite mischief when men who have acquired a right to speak with authority on one subject, express opinions on other subjects with which they are but slightly acquainted. These opinions, though never intended for that purpose, are sure to be invested by others, particularly by interested persons, with an authority to which in themselves they have no right whatever. It is true it would be difficult to carry on any scientific work, without to some extent recognizing the authority of those who have established their claim to a certain amount of infallibility within their own special spheres of study. But when either the Pope expresses an opinion on astronomy, or the Duke of Wellington on a work of art, they certainly ought not to be offended if asked for their reasons, like any other mortals. No linguistic student, if he had ventured to express an opinion on the fertilization of orchids, differing from that of Mr. Darwin, would feel aggrieved by being told that his opinion, though showing intelligence, did not show that real grasp of the whole bearing of the problem which can be acquired by a life-long devotion only. If the linguistic student, who may be fond of orchids, cared only for a temporary triumph in the eyes of the world, he might easily find, among the numerous antagonists of Mr. Darwin, one who agreed with himself, and appeal to him as showing that he, though a mere layman in the Science of Botany, was supported in his opinions by other distinguished botanists. But no real advance in the discovery of truth can ever be achieved by such mere cleverness. How can the soundness and truth of Mr. Darwin’s philosophy of language be established by an appeal like that with which Mr. Darwin, Jr., opens his defense of his father?
“Professor Whitney,” he says, “is the first philologist of note who has professedly taken on himself to combat the views of Professor Max Müller; and as the opinions of the latter most properly command a vast deal of respect in England, we think it will be good service to direct the attention of English readers to this powerful attack, and, as we think, successful refutation of the somewhat dogmatic views of our Oxford linguist.”
First of all, nothing would convey a more erroneous impression than to say that Professor Whitney was the first philologist of note who has combated my views. There is as much combat in the linguistic as in the physical camp, though Mr. Darwin may not be aware of it. Beginning with Professor Pott, I could give a long list of most illustrious scholars in Germany, France, Italy, and surely in England also, who have subjected my views on language to a far more searching criticism than Professor Whitney in America. But even if Professor Whitney were the only philologist who differed from me, or agreed with Mr. Darwin, how would that affect the soundness of Mr. Darwin’s theories on language? Suppose I were to quote in return the opinion of M. Renouvier, the distinguished author of “Les Principes de la Nature,” who, in his journal, “La Critique Philosophique,” expresses his conviction that my criticism of Mr. Darwin’s philosophy contains not a simple polémique, but has the character of a rédressement; would that dishearten Mr. Darwin? I must confess that I had never before read Professor Whitney’s “Lectures on Language,” which were published in America in 1867; and I ought to thank Mr. Darwin for having obliged me to do so now, for I have seldom perused a book with greater interest and pleasure,—I might almost say, amusement. It was like walking through old familiar places, like listening to music which one knows one has heard before somewhere, and, for that very reason, enjoys all the more. Not unfrequently I was met by the ipsissima verba of my own lectures on the Science of Language, though immediately after they seemed to be changed into an inverted fugue. Often I saw how carefully the same books and pamphlets which I had waded through had been studied: and on almost every page there were the same doubts and difficulties, the same hopes and fears, the same hesitations and misgivings through which I myself well remembered having passed when preparing my two series of “Lectures on Language.” Of course, we must not expect in Professor Whitney’s Lectures, anything like a systematic or exhaustive treatment. They touch on points which were most likely to interest large audiences at Washington, and other towns in America. They were meant to be popular, and nothing would be more unfair than to blame an author for not giving what he did not mean to give. The only just complaint we have heard made about these Lectures is that they give sometimes too much of what is irreverently called “padding.” Professor Whitney had read my own Lectures before writing his; and though he is quite right in saying the principal facts on which his reasonings are founded have been for some time past the commonplaces of Comparative Philology, and required no acknowledgment, he makes an honorable exception in my favor, and acknowledges most readily having borrowed here and there an illustration from my Lectures. As to my own views on the Science of Language, I am glad to find that on all really important points, he far more frequently indorses them—nay, corroborates them by new proofs and illustrations—than attempts to refute them; and even in the latter case he generally does so by simply pronouncing his decided preference for one out of two opinions, while I had been satisfied with stating what could be said on either side. He might here and there have tempered the wind to the shorn lamb, but I believe there is far more license allowed in America, in the expression of dissent, than in England; and it is both interesting and instructive in the study of Dialectic Growth, to see how words which would be considered offensive in England, have ceased to be so on the other side of the Atlantic, and are admitted into the most respectable of American Reviews.
With regard to the question, for instance, on which so much has lately been written, whether we ought to ascribe to language a natural growth or historical change, I see not one single argument produced on either side of the question in Professor Whitney’s Second Lecture, beyond those which I had discussed in my Second Lecture. After stating all that could be said in support of extending the name of history to the gradual development of language, I tried to show that, after all, that name would not be quite accurate.
“The process,” I said, “through which language is settled and unsettled combines in one the two opposite elements of necessity and free will. Though the individual seems to be the prime agent in producing new words and new grammatical forms, he is so only after his individuality has been merged in the common action of the family, tribe, or nation to which he belongs. He can do nothing by himself, and the first impulse to a new formation in language, though given by an individual, is mostly, if not always, given without premeditation, nay, unconsciously. The individual, as such, is powerless, and the results, apparently produced by him, depend on laws beyond his control, and on the coöperation of all those who form together with him one class, one body, one organic whole.” (Page 43.)
After going through the whole argument, I summed up in the end by saying:—
“We cannot be careful enough in the use of our words. Strictly speaking, neither history nor growth is applicable to the changes of the shifting surface of the earth. History applies to the actions of free agents, growth to the natural unfolding of organic beings. We speak, however, of the growth of the crust of the earth,1 and we know what we mean by it; and it is in this sense, but not in the sense of growth as applied to a tree, that we have a right to speak of the growth of language.”
What do we find in Professor Whitney’s Second Lecture? He objects, like myself, to comparing the growth of language and the growth of a tree, and like myself, he admits of an excuse, viz., when the metaphor is employed for the sake of brevity or liveliness of delineation (p. 35). I had said:—
“Ever since Horace, it has been usual to compare the changes of language with the growth of trees. But comparisons are treacherous things; and though we cannot help using metaphorical expressions, we should always be on our guard,” etc.
So far we are in perfect harmony. But immediately after, the wind begins to blow. One sentence is torn out from the context, where I had said:—
“That it is not in the power of man (not men) either to produce or to prevent change in language; that we might think as well of changing the laws which control the circulation of our blood, or of adding an inch to our height, as of altering the laws of speech, or inventing new words, according to our pleasure.”
In order to guard against every possible apprehension as to what I meant by according to our pleasure, I quoted the well-known anecdotes of the Emperor Tiberius and of the Emperor Sigismund, and referred to the attempts of Protagoras, and other purists, as equally futile. Here the Republican indignation of the American writer is roused; I, at least, can find no other motive. He tells me that what I really wanted to say was this:—
“If so high and mighty a personage as an emperor could not do so small a thing as alter the gender and termination of a single word—much less can any one of inferior consideration hope to accomplish such a change.” . . .
He then exclaims:—
“The utter futility of deriving such a doctrine from such a pair of incidents, or a thousand like them, is almost too obvious to be worth the trouble of pointing out. . . . High political station does not confer the right to make or unmake language,” etc.
Now every reader, even though looking only at these short extracts, will see that the real point of my argument is here entirely missed, though I do not mean to say that it was intentionally missed. The stress was laid by me on the words according to our pleasure; and in order to elucidate that point, I first quoted instances taken from those who in other matters have the right of saying car tel est mon plaisir, and then from others. I feel a little guilty in not having mentioned the anecdote about carrosse; but not being able to verify it, I thought I might leave it to my opponents. However, after having quoted the two Emperors, I quoted a more humble personage, Protagoras, and referred to other attempts at purism in language; but all that is, of course, passed over by my critic, as not answering his purpose.
Sometimes, amidst all the loud assertion of difference of opinion on Professor Whitney’s part, not only the substantial, but strange to say, the verbal agreement between his and my own Second Lecture is startling. I had said: “The first impulse to a new formation in language, though given by an individual, is mostly, if not always, given without premeditation, nay, unconsciously.” My antagonist varies this very slightly and says: “The work of each individual is done unpremeditately, or, as it were, unconsciously” (p. 45). While I had said that we individually can no more change language, selon notre plaisir, than we can add an inch to our stature, Professor Whitney again adopts a slight alteration and expresses himself as follows: “They (the facts of language) are almost as little the work of man as is the form of his skull” (p. 52). What is the difference between us? What is the difference between changing our stature and changing our skull? Nor does he use the word growth as applied to language, less frequently than myself; nay, sometimes he uses it so entirely without the necessary limitations, that even I should have shrunk from adopting his phraseology. We read—“In this sense language is a growth” (p. 46); “a language, like an organic body, is no mere aggregate of similar particles—it is a complex of related and mutually helpful parts” (p. 46); “language is fitly comparable with an organized body” (p. 50); “compared with them, language is a real growth” (p. 51); etc., etc., etc.
In fact, after all has been said by Professor Whitney that had been said before, the only difference that remains is this—that he, after making all these concessions, prefers to class the Science of Language as an historical, not as a physical science. Why should he not? Everybody who is familiar with such questions, knows that all depends on a clear and accurate definition of the terms which we employ. The method of the Science of Language and the physical sciences is admitted, even by him, to be the same (p. 52). Everything therefore depends on the wider or narrower definition which we adopt of physical science. Enlarge the definition of the natural sciences, and the science of language will enter in freely; narrow it, and it will enter with difficulty, or not at all. The same with the historical sciences. Enlarge their definition, and the science of language will enter in freely; narrow it, and it will enter with difficulty, or not at all. There is hardly a word that is used in so many different meanings as nature, and that man in many of his apparently freest acts is under the sway of unsuspected laws of nature, cannot sound so very novel to a student of Kant’s writings, to say nothing of later philosophers.2 My principal object in claiming for the Science of Language the name of a physical science, was to make it quite clear, once for all, that Comparative Philology was totally distinct from ordinary Philology, that it treats language not as a vehicle of literature, but for its own sake; that it wants to explain the origin and development far more than the idiomatic use of words, and that for all these purposes it must adopt a strictly inductive method. Many of these views which, when I delivered my first lectures, met with very determined opposition, are now generally accepted, and I can well understand, that younger readers should be surprised at the elaborate and minute arguments by which I tried to show in what sense the Science of Language may be counted as one of the physical sciences. Let them but read other books of the same period, and they will see with how much zeal these questions were then being discussed, particularly in England. Writing in England, and chiefly for English readers, I tried as much as possible to adapt myself to the intellectual atmosphere of that country, and as to the classification of the inductive sciences, I started from that which was then most widely known, that of Whewell in his “History of the Inductive Sciences.” He classes the Science of Language as one of the palaitiological sciences, but makes a distinction between palaitiological sciences treating of material things—for instance, geology, and others respecting the products which result from man’s imaginative and social endowments—for instance, Comparative Philology. He still excludes the latter from the circle of the physical sciences,3 properly so called, but he adds:—
“We have seen that biology leads us to psychology, if we choose to follow the path; and thus the passage from the material to the immaterial has already unfolded itself at one point; and we now perceive that there are several large provinces of speculation which concern subjects belonging to man’s immaterial nature, and which are governed by the same laws as sciences altogether physical. It is not our business to dwell on the prospects which our philosophy thus opens to our contemplation: but we may allow ourselves, in this last stage of our pilgrimage among the foundations of the physical sciences, to be cheered and animated by the ray that thus beams upon us, however dimly, from a higher and brighter region.”
Considering the high position which Dr. Whewell held among the conflicting parties of philosophic and religious thought in England, we should hardly have expected that the hope which he expressed of a possible transition from the material to the immaterial, and the place which he tentatively, and I more decidedly, assigned to the Science of Language, could have roused any orthodox animosities. Yet here is the secret spring of Professor Whitney’s efforts to claim for the Science of Language, in spite of his own admissions as a scholar, a place among the moral and historical, as distinct from the physical sciences. The theological bias, long kept back, breaks through at last, and we are treated to the following sermon:—
“There is a school of modern philosophers who are trying to materialize all science, to eliminate the distinction between the physical and the intellectual and moral, to declare for nought the free action of the human will, and to resolve the whole story of the fates of mankind into a series of purely material effects, produced by assignable physical causes, and explainable in the past, or determinable in the future, by an intimate knowledge of those causes, by a recognition of the action of compulsory motives upon the passively obedient nature of man. With such, language will naturally pass, along with the rest, for a physical product, and its study for physical science; and, however we may dissent from their general classification, we cannot quarrel with its application in the particular instance. But by those who still hold to the grand distinction,” etc., etc., etc.
At the end of this arguing pro and con., the matter itself remains exactly where it was before. The Science of Language is a physical science, if we extend the meaning of nature so far as to include human nature, in those manifestations at least where the individual does not act freely, but under reciprocal restraint. The Science of Language is an historical, or, as Professor Whitney prefers to call it, a moral science, if we comprehend under history the acts performed by men “unpremeditately, or, as it were, unconsciously,” and therefore beyond the reach of moral considerations.
I may seem to have entered more fully into this question than its real importance requires, but I was anxious, before replying to Mr. Darwin’s objections, to show to him the general style of argument that pervades Professor Whitney’s writings, and the character of the armory from which he has borrowed his weapons against me. I have not been able to get access to Professor Whitney’s last article, and shall therefore confine myself here to those arguments only which Mr. Darwin has adopted as his own, though, even if I had seen the whole of the American article, I should have preferred not to enter into any personal controversy with Professor Whitney. I have expressed my sincere appreciation of the industry and acumen which that scholar displays in his lectures on the Science of Language. There are some portions, particularly those on the Semitic and American languages, where he has left me far behind. There are some illustrations extremely well chosen, and worked out with a touch of poetic genius; there are whole chapters where by keeping more on the surface of his subject, he has succeeded in making it far more attractive and popular than I could have hoped to do. That treatment, however, entails its dangers, unless an author remembers, at every moment, that in addressing a popular audience he is in honor bound to be far more careful than if he writes for his own professional colleagues only. The comparative portion, I mean particularly the Seventh Lecture, is hardly what one would have expected from so experienced a teacher, and it is strange to find (p. 219) the inscription on the Duilian column referred to about B.C. 263, after Ritschl and Mommsen had pointed out its affected archaisms; to see (p. 222) the name Ahura-Mazda rendered by “the mighty spirit;” to meet (p. 258) with “sarvanâman,” the Sanskrit name for pronoun, translated by “name for everything, universal designation;” to hear the Phœnician alphabet still spoken of as the ultimate source of the world’s alphabets, etc. Such mistakes, however, can be corrected, but what can never be corrected is the unfortunate tone which Professor Whitney has adopted throughout. His one object seems to be to show to his countrymen that he is the equal of Bopp, Renan, Schleicher, Steinthal, Bleek, Hang, and others—aye, their superior. In stating their opinions, in criticizing their work, in suggesting motives, he shrinks from nothing, evidently trusting to the old adage, semper aliquid hœret. I have often asked myself, why should Professor Whitney have assumed this exceptional position among Comparative Philologists. It is not American to attack others, simply in order to acquire notoriety. America has possessed, and still possesses, some excellent scholars, whom every one of these German and French savants would be proud to acknowledge as his peers. Mr. Marsh’s “Lectures on the English Language” are a recognized standard work in England; Professor’s March’s “Anglo-Saxon Grammar” has been praised by everybody. Why is there no trace of self-assertion or personal abuse in any of their works? It is curious to observe in Professor Whitney’s works, that the less he has thought on certain subjects, the louder he speaks, and where arguments fail him, epitheta ornantia, such as worthless, futile, absurd, ridiculous, superficial, unsound, high-flown, pretentious, disingenuous, false, are poured out in abundance. I believe there is not one of these choice counters with which, at some time or other, he has not presented me; nay, he has even poured the soothing oil of praise over my bruised head. Quand on se permet tout, on peut faire quelque chose. But what has been the result? It has actually become a distinction to belong to the noble army of his martyrs, while, whenever one is praised by him, one feels inclined to say with Phocion, οὐ δὴ πού τι κακὸν λέγων ἐμαυτὸν λέληθα.
What such behavior may lead to, we have lately seen in an encounter between the same American savant and Professor Steinthal, of Berlin.4 In his earlier writings Professor Whitney spoke of Professor Steinthal as an eminent master in linguistic science, from whose writings he had derived the greatest instruction and enlightenment. Afterwards the friendly relations between the Yale and Berlin professors seem to have changed, and at last Professor Steinthal became so exasperated by the misrepresentations and the overbearing tone of the American linguist, that he, in a moment of irritation, forgot himself so far as to retaliate with the same missiles with which he had been assailed. What the missiles used in such encounters are, may be seen from a few specimens. One could hardly quote them all in an English Review. While dwelling on the system of bold misrepresentation adopted by Professor Whitney, Professor Steinthal calls him—“That vain man who only wants to be named and praised;” “that horrible humbug;” “that scolding flirt;” “that tricky attorney;” “wherever I read him, hollow vacuity yawns in my face; arrogant vanity grins at me.” Surely, mere words can go no further—we must expect to hear of tomahawk and bowie-knife next. Scholars who object to the use of such weapons, whether for offensive or defensive purposes, can do nothing but what I have done for years—remain silent, select what is good in Professor Whitney’s writings, and try to forget the rest.
Surely, students of language, of all people in the world, ought to know what words are made of, and how easy it is to pour out a whole dictionary of abuse without producing the slightest effect. A page of offensive language weighs nothing—it simply shows the gall of bitterness and the weakness of the cause; whereas real learning, real love of truth, real sympathy with our fellow-laborers, manifest themselves in a very different manner. There were philosophers of old who held that words must have been produced by nature, not by art, because curses produced such terrible effects. Professor Whitney holds that language was produced θέσει, not φύσει, and yet he shares the same superstitious faith in words. He bitterly complains that those whom he reviles, do not revile him again. He wonders that no one answers his strictures, and he is gradually becoming convinced that he is unanswerable. Whatever Mr. Darwin, Jr., may think of Professor Whitney as an ally, I feel certain that Mr. Darwin, Sr., would be the last to approve the spirit of his works, and that a few pages of his controversial writings would make him say: Non tali auxilio.
I now proceed to examine some of the extracts which Mr. Darwin, Jr., adopts from Professor Whitney’s article, and even in them we shall see at once what I may call the spirit of the advocate, though others might call it by another name.
Instead of examining the facts on which my conclusions were founded, or showing, by one or two cases, at least, that I had made a mistake or offended against the strict rules of logic, there appears the following sweeping exordium, which has done service before in many an opening address of the counsel for the defendant:—
“It is never entirely easy to reduce to a skeleton of logical statement a discussion as carried on by Müller, because he is careless of logical sequence and connection, preferring to pour himself out, as it were, over his subject, in a gush of genial assertion and interesting illustration.”
Where is the force of such a sentence? It is a mere pouring out of assertions, though without any interesting illustration, and not exactly genial. All we learn from it is, that Professor Whitney does not find it entirely easy to reduce what I have written to a skeleton of logical sequence, but whether the fault is mine or his, remains surely to be proved. There may be a very strong logical backbone in arguments which make the least display of Aldrich, while in others there is a kind of whited and sepulchral logic which seldom augurs well for what is behind and beneath.
There is a very simple rule of logic, sometimes called the Law of the Excluded Middle, according to which either a given proposition or its contradictory must be true. By selecting passages somewhat freely from different parts of Professor Whitney’s lectures, nothing would be easier than to prove, and not simply to assert that he has violated again and again that fundamental principle. In his earlier Lectures we are told, that “to ascribe the differences of language and linguistic growth directly to physical causes, . . . . is wholly meaningless and futile” (p. 152). When we come to the great variety of the American languages, we are told that “their differentiation has been favored by the influence of the variety of climate and mode of life.” On page 40, we read that a great genius “may now and then coin a new word!” On page 123, we are told “it is not true that a genius can impress a marked effect upon language.” On page 177, M. Renan and myself are told that we have committed a serious error in admitting dialects as antecedent feeders of national or classical languages, and that it is hardly worth while to spend any effort in refuting such an opinion. On page 181, we read, “a certain degree of dialectic variety is inseparable from the being of any language,” etc., etc., etc.
I should not call this a fair way of dealing with any book; I only give these few specimens to show that the task of changing Professor Whitney’s Lecture into a logical skeleton would not always be an easy one.
The pleading is now carried on by Mr. G. Darwin:—
“In taking up the cudgels, Müller is clearly impelled by an overmastering fear lest man should lose ‘his proud position in the creation’ if his animal descent is proved.”
I should in nowise be ashamed of the fear thus ascribed to me, but whether it was an overmastering fear, let those judge who have read such passages in my Lectures, as the following:—
“The question is not whether the belief that animals so distant as a man, a monkey, an elephant, and a humming bird, a snake, a frog, and a fish, could all have sprung from the same parents is monstrous, but simply and solely whether it is true. If it is true, we shall soon learn to digest it. Appeals to the pride or humility of man, to scientific courage, or religious piety, are all equally out of place.”
If this and other passages in my Lectures are inspired by overmastering fear, then surely Talleyrand was right in saying that language was intended to disguise our thoughts. And may I not add, that if such charges can be made with impunity, we shall soon have to say, with a still more notorious diplomatist, “What is truth?” Such reckless charges may look heroic, but what applied to the famous charge of Balaclava, applies to them: C’est magnifique, sans doute, mais ce n’est pas la guerre.
I am next charged, I do not know whether by the senior or the junior counsel, with maintaining the extraordinary position that if an insensible graduation could be established between ape and man, their minds would be identical.
Here all depends on what is meant by mind and by identical. Does Mr. Darwin mean by “mind” something substantial—an agent that deals with the impressions received through the senses, as a builder deals with his bricks? Then, according to his father’s view, the one builder may build a mere hovel, the other may erect a cathedral, but through their descent they are substantially the same. Or does he mean by “mind,” the mode and manner in which sensations are received and arranged, what one might call, in fact, the law of sensuous gravitation? Then I say again, according to his father’s view, that law is substantially the same for animal and man. Nor is this a conclusion derived from Mr. Darwin’s premises against his will. It is the opinion strongly advocated by him. He has collected the most interesting observations on the incipient germs, not only of language, but of æsthetics and ethics, among animals. If Mr. Darwin, Jr., holds that the mind of man is not substantially identical with the animal mind, if he admits a break somewhere in the ascending scale from the Protogenes to the first Man, then we should be driven to the old conclusion—viz., that man was formed of the dust of the ground, but that God breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul. Does Mr. Darwin, Jr., accept this?
Next it is said, that by a similar argument the distinction between black and white, hot and cold, a high and a low note might be eliminated. This sounds no doubt formidable—it almost looks like a logical skeleton. But let us not be frightened by words. Black and white are no doubt as different as possible, so are hot and cold, a high and a low note. But what is the difference between a high and a low note? It is simply the smaller or larger number of vibrations in a given time. We can count these vibrations, and we also know that, from time to time, as the velocity of the vibrations increases, our dull senses can distinguish new tones. We have therefore here to deal with differences that used to be called differences of degree, as opposed to differences in kind. What applies to a low and a high note, applies to a low and high degree of heat, and to the various degrees of light which we call by the names of colors. In all these cases, what philosophers call the substance, remains the same, just as, according to evolutionists, the substance of man and animal is the same. Therefore, if man differs from an animal no more than a high note differs from a low, or, vice versâ, if a high note differs no more from a low than man differs from an ape, my argument would seem to stand in spite of the shower of words poured over it.
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:—