LECTURE VI.

RISE AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE.

LANGUAGE, which is the foundation of all eloquence, signifies, in general, the expression of our ideas by certain articulate sounds, which are used as the signs of those ideas. The connection between words and ideas may, in general, be considered as arbitrary and conventional, owing to the agreement of men among themselves; the clear proof of which is, that different nations have different languages, or a different set of articulate sounds, which they have chosen for communicating their ideas.

This artificial method of communicating thought, we now behold carried to the highest perfection. Language is become a vehicle by which the most delicate and refined emotions of one mind can be transmitted, or transfused into another. Not only are names given to all objects around us, by which means an easy and speedy intercourse is carried on for providing the necessaries of life, but all the relations and differences among these objects are minutely marked, the invisible sentiments of the mind are described, the most abstract notions and conceptions are rendered intelligible; and all the ideas which science can discover, or imagination create, are known by their proper names. Nay, language has been carried so far as to be made an instrument of the most refined luxury. Not resting in mere perspicuity, we require ornament also; not satisfied with having the conceptions of others made known to us, we make a farther demand, to have them so decked and adorned as to entertain our fancy; and this demand it is found very possible to gratify.

But in order to form an adequate idea of the origin of lan

What does language signify? Why may the connection between words and ideas be considered arbitrary and conventional; and of this, what is a clear proof? In what state do we now behold this artificial method of communication; and what is language become? How is this remark illustrated? How does it appear that language has been carried so far as to be made an instrument of the most refined luxury? But in order to form an adequate idea of the origin of language, what is necessary; and at that time, in what condition were mankind?

guage, it is necessary to contemplate the circumstances of mankind in their earliest and rudest state. They were then a wandering, scattered race; no society among them except families; and the family society, too, very imperfect, as their method of living by hunting and pasturage must have separated them frequently from one another. In this situation, when so much divided, and their intercourse so rare, how could any one set of sounds, or words, be generally agreed on as the signs of their ideas? Supposing that a few, whom chance or necessity threw together, agreed, by some means, upon certain signs; yet by what authority could these be propagated among other tribes, or families, so as to spread and grow up into a language? One would think, that in order for any language to fix and extend itself, men must have been previously gathered together in considerable numbers; society must have been already far advanced; and yet, on the other hand, there seems to have been an absolute necessity for speech, previous to the formation of society. For by what bond could any multitude of men be kept together, or be made to join in the prosecution of any common interest, until, by the assistance of speech, they could communicate their wants and intentions to one another? So that, either how society could subsist previous to language, or how words could rise into a language, previous to the formation of society, seem to be points attended with equal difficulty. And when we consider farther, that curious analogy which prevails in the construction of almost all languages, and that deep and subtle logic on which they are founded, difficulties increase so much upon us, on all hands, that there seems to be no small reason for referring the origin of all languages to divine teaching, or inspiration. But supposing language to have had a divine origin, we cannot, however, suppose, that a perfect system of it was at once given to man. It is much more natural to think, that God taught our first parents such language only, as suited their present occasions; leaving them, as he did in other things, to enlarge and improve it as their future necessities should

In this situation, what would be impossible; and what supposition follows? In order for any language to fix and extend itself, what must have been done; and yet, on the other hand, what is remarked; and why? What points, consequently, seem to be attended with equal difficulty? What farther consideration induces us to refer the origin of all languages to divine inspiration? But, allowing that language had a divine origin, what can we not suppose; and what is much more natural ?

require. Consequently, those first rudiments of speech must have been poor and narrow; and we are at full liberty to inquire in what manner, and by what steps, language advanced to the state in which we now find it.

If we should suppose a period before any words were invented or known, it is clear that men could have no other method of communicating, to others, what they felt, than by the cries of passion, accompanied with such motions and gestures as were farther expressive of passion. These, indeed, are the only signs which nature teaches all men, and which are understood by all. One who saw another going into some place where he himself had been frightened, or exposed to danger, and who sought to warn his neighbor of the danger, could contrive no other method of doing so, than by uttering those cries, and making those gestures, which are the signs of fear: just as two men, at this day, would endeavor to make themselves be understood by each other, who should be thrown together on a desolate island, ignorant of each other's language. Those exclamations, therefore, called by grammarians, interjections, uttered in a strong and passionate manner, were, beyond doubt, the first elements or beginnings of speech.

When more enlarged communications became necessary, and names began to be assigned to objects, in what manner can we suppose men to have proceeded in this application of names, or invention of words? Doubtless, by imitating, as much as they could, the nature of the object which they named, by the sound of the name which they gave to it. As a painter, who would represent grass, must employ green color; so in the infancy of language, one giving a name to any thing harsh or boisterous, would, of course, employ a harsh or boisterous sound. He could not do otherwise, if he meant to excite in the hearer the idea of that thing which he sought to name. To suppose words invented, or names given to things, in a manner purely arbitrary, is to suppose

What must, consequently, have been the state of those first rudiments of speech; and what follows? If we suppose a period before words were invented, what method only, would men have for communicating what they felt to others; and why? How is this remark illustrated? What instance is given; and what, consequently, were the first elements of speech? When more enlarged communications became necessary, in what manner did men proceed in their application of names; and how is this illustrated? Under what circumstances could he not do otherwise? What would be to suppose an effect without a cause; and for what reason?

an effect without a cause. some motive that led to the assigning of one name rather than another; and we can conceive no motive which would more generally operate upon men in their first efforts towards language, than a desire to paint by speech, the objects which they named, in a manner more or less complete, according as it was in the power of the human voice to effect this imitation.

There must have always been

Wherever objects were to be named, in which sound, noise, or motion, were concerned, the imitation by words was abundantly obvious. Nothing was more natural, than to imitate, by the sound of the voice, the quality of the sound or noise which any external object made; and to form its name accordingly. Thus, in all languages, we find a multitude of words that are evidently constructed upon this principle. A certain bird is termed the cuckoo, from the sound which it emits. When one sort of wind is said to whistle, and another to roar; when a serpent is said to hiss, a fly to buz, and falling timber to crash; when a stream is said to flow, and hail to rattle; the resemblance between the word and the thing signified, is plainly discernable. But in the names of objects which address the sight only, where neither noise nor motion is concerned, and still more in the terms appropriated to moral ideas, this analogy appears to fail. Yet many learned men have been of opinion, that though in such cases it becomes more obscure, it is not altogether lost; but that throughout the radical words of all languages, there may be traced some correspondence with the object signified. With regard to moral and intellectual ideas, they remark, that in every language, the terms significant of them, are derived from the names of sensible objects to which they are conceived to be analogous; and with regard to sensible objects pertaining merely to sight, they remark, that their most distinguishing qualities have certain radical sounds appropriated to the expression of them, in a great variety of languages.

This principle, however, of a natural relation between

Where was the imitation by words abundantly obvious; and thus, in all languages, what do we find? What instances are mentioned, illustrative of this remark? But where does this analogy appear to fail; yet many learned men have been of what opinion? With regard to moral and intellectual ideas, and with regard to sensible objects pertaining merely to sight, what do they remark? When only can this principle be applied to language?

words and objects, can only be applied to language in its most simple and primitive state. Though in every tongue some remains of it can be traced, it were utterly vain to search for it throughout the whole construction of any modern language. As the multitude of terms increase in every nation, and the immense field of language is filled up, words, by a thousand fanciful and irregular methods of derivation and composition, deviate widely from the primitive character of their roots, and lose all resemblance in sound to the thing signified. This is the present state of language. Words, as we now employ them, taken in the general, may be considered as symbols, not as imitations; as arbitrary or instituted, not natural signs of ideas. But there can be no doubt, that language, the nearer we remount to its rise among men, will be found to partake more of a natural expression.

A second character of language, in its early state, is drawn from the manner in which words were at first pronounced. Interjections, it has been shown, or passionate exclamations, were the first elements of speech. Men labored to communicate their feelings to one another, by those expressive cries and gestures which nature taught them. After words, or names of objects, began to be introduced, this mode of speaking by natural signs, could not be all at once disused. For language, in its infancy must have been extremely barren; and there doubtless was a period among all rude nations, when conversation was carried on by a very few words, intermixed with many exclamations and earnest gestures. The small stock of words which men as yet possessed, rendered these helps absolutely necessary for explaining their conceptions; and rude uncultivated men, not having always at hand even the few words which they knew, would naturally labor to make themselves understood, by varying their tones of voice, and accompanying their tones with the most significant gesticulations they could make.

Though in every tongue some remains of it can be traced, yet what were utterly vain; and why? As this is the present state of language, how may words, as we now employ them, be considered; but of what can there be no doubt? Whence is a second character of language, in its early state, drawn? What were the first elements of speech; and why were they? After words began to be introduced, why could not this mode of speaking be, at once, disused? What rendered these helps absolutely necessary; and what follows?