One theory is that primitive words were imitative of sounds: man copied the barking of dogs and thereby obtained a natural word with the meaning of ‘dog’ or ‘bark.’ To this theory, nicknamed the bow-wow theory, Renan objects that it seems rather absurd to set up this chronological sequence: first the lower animals are original enough to cry and roar; and then comes man, making a language for himself by imitating his inferiors. But surely man would imitate not only the cries of inferior animals, but also those of his fellow-men, and the salient point of the theory is this: sounds which in one creature were produced without any meaning, but which were characteristic of that creature, could by man be used to designate the creature itself (or the movement or action productive of the sound). In this way an originally unmeaning sound could in the mouth of an imitator and in the mind of someone hearing that imitation acquire a real meaning. In the chapter on Sound Symbolism I have tried to show how from the rudest and most direct imitations of this kind we may arrive through many gradations at some of the subtlest effects of human speech, and how imitation, in the widest sense we can give to this word—a wider sense than most advocates of the theory seem able to imagine—is so far from belonging exclusively to a primitive age that it is not extinct even yet. There is not much of value in Max Müller’s remark that “the onomatopœic theory goes very smoothly as long as it deals with cackling hens and quacking ducks; but round that poultry-yard there is a high wall, and we soon find that it is behind that wall that language really begins” (Life 2. 97), or in his other remark that “words of this kind (cuckoo) are, like artificial flowers, without a root. They are sterile, and unfit to express anything beyond the one object which they imitate” (ib. 1. 410). But cuckoo may become cuckold (Fr. cocu), and from cock are derived the names Müller himself mentions, Fr. coquet, coquetterie, cocart, cocarde, coquelicot.... Echoic words may be just as fertile as any other part of the vocabulary.
Another theory is the interjectional, nicknamed the pooh-pooh, theory: language is derived from instinctive ejaculations called forth by pain or other intense sensations or feelings. The adherents of this theory generally take these interjections for granted, without asking about the way in which they have come into existence. Darwin, however, in The Expression of the Emotions, gives purely physiological reasons for some interjections, as when the feeling of contempt or disgust is accompanied by a tendency “to blow out of the mouth or nostrils, and this produces sounds like pooh or pish.” Again, “when anyone is startled or suddenly astonished, there is an instantaneous tendency, likewise from an intelligible cause, namely, to be ready for prolonged exertion, to open the mouth widely, so as to draw a deep and rapid inspiration. When the next full expiration follows, the mouth is slightly closed, and the lips, from causes hereafter to be discussed, are somewhat protruded; and this form of the mouth, if the voice be at all exerted, produces ... the sound of the vowel o. Certainly a deep sound of a prolonged Oh! may be heard from a whole crowd of people immediately after witnessing any astonishing spectacle. If, together with surprise, pain be felt, there is a tendency to contract all the muscles of the body, including those of the face, and the lips will then be drawn back; and this will perhaps account for the sound becoming higher and assuming the character of Ah! or Ach!”
To the ordinary interjectional theory it may be objected that the usual interjections are abrupt expressions for sudden sensations and emotions; they are therefore isolated in relation to the speech material used in the rest of the language. “Between interjection and word there is a chasm wide enough to allow us to say that the interjection is the negation of language, for interjections are employed only when one either cannot or will not speak” (Benfey Gesch 295). This ‘chasm’ is also shown phonetically by the fact that the most spontaneous interjections often contain sounds which are not used in language proper, voiceless vowels, inspiratory sounds, clicks, etc., whence the impossibility properly to represent them by means of our ordinary alphabet: the spellings pooh, pish, whew, tut are very poor renderings indeed of the natural sounds. On the other hand, many interjections are now more or less conventionalized and are learnt like any other words, consequently with a different form in different languages: in pain a German and a Seelander will exclaim au, a Jutlander aus, a Frenchman ahi and an Englishman oh, or perhaps ow. Kipling writes in one of his stories: “That man is no Afghan, for they weep ‘Ai! Ai!’ Nor is he of Hindustan, for they weep ‘Oh! Ho!’ He weeps after the fashion of the white men, who say, ‘Ow! Ow!’”
A closely related theory is the nativistic, nicknamed the ding-dong, theory, according to which there is a mystic harmony between sound and sense: “There is a law which runs through nearly the whole of nature, that everything which is struck rings. Each substance has its peculiar ring.” Language is the result of an instinct, a “faculty peculiar to man in his primitive state, by which every impression from without received its vocal expression from within”—a faculty which “became extinct when its object was fulfilled.” This theory, which Max Müller propounded and afterwards wisely abandoned, is mentioned here for the curiosity of the matter only.
Noiré started a fourth theory, nicknamed the yo-he-ho: under any strong muscular effort it is a relief to the system to let breath come out strongly and repeatedly, and by that process to let the vocal chords vibrate in different ways; when primitive acts were performed in common, they would, therefore, naturally be accompanied with some sounds which would come to be associated with the idea of the act performed and stand as a name for it; the first words would accordingly mean something like ‘heave’ or ‘haul.’
Now, these theories, here imperfectly reproduced each in a few lines, are mutually antagonistic: thus Noiré thinks it possible to explain the origin of speech without sound imitation. And yet what should prevent our combining these several theories and using them concurrently? It would seem to matter very little whether the first word uttered by man was bow-wow or pooh-pooh, for the fact remains that he said both one and the other. Each of the three chief theories enables one to explain parts of language, but still only parts, and not even the most important parts—the main body of language seems hardly to be touched by any of them. Again, with the exception of Noiré’s theory, they are too individualistic and take too little account of language as a means of human intercourse. Moreover, they all tacitly assume that up to the creation of language man had remained mute or silent; but this is most improbable from a physiological point of view. As a rule we do not find an organ already perfected on the first occasion of its use; it is only by use that an organ is developed.
XXI.—§ 3. Method.
So much for the results of the first method of approaching the question of the origin of speech, that of trying to picture to oneself a speechless mankind and speculating on the way in which language could then have originated. We shall now, as hinted above (p. [413]), indicate the ways in which it is possible to supplement, and even in some measure to supplant, this speculative or deductive method by means of inductive reasonings. These can be based on three fields of investigation, namely:
(1) The language of children;
(2) The language of primitive races, and
(3) The history of language.
Of these, the third is the most fruitful source of information.