Speech as a Barrier Between Man and Beast

MAX MÜLLER, after admitting “ the extraordinary accounts of the intellect, the understanding, the caution, the judgment, the sagacity, acuteness, cleverness, genius, or even social virtues of animals,” intrenches himself behind the “one palpable fact, namely, that, whatever animals do or do not do, no animal has ever spoken. This assertion is not strictly true. Parrots and ravens utter articulate sounds as distinctly as the average cockney, and in most cases make quite as intelligent and edifying use of them for the expression of ideas.

That no animal has ever made a natural and habitual use of articulate speech for the communication of its thoughts and feelings is a truism which it would seem superfluous to emphasize or italicize. Equally irrelevant to the point at issue is the statement that “ in every book on logic language is quoted as the specific difference between man and other beings.” It is not by the definitions of logicians that questions of this kind are to be decided. The Greeks called beasts speechless creatures (rà azoyu) just as they called foreigners tongueless (awtton), meaning thereby persons whose language was unintelligible to them; and the epithet was no more appropriate in the former case than in the latter. It was for the same reason that the Roman poet Ovid, when banished to the Pontus, characterized himself as a barbarian, because his language was not understood by the inhabitants of that country, — barbarus hie ego sum, quia non intelligor ulli. But such expressions must not be taken too literally.

Hobbes makes speaking the test of rationality,— homo animal rationale, quia orationale, — and assumes both powers to be the exclusive property of man ; but his pithy statement is a quibble in fact as well as in form, and much better as a pun than as a psychological proposition. " Language is our Rubicon,” says Max Müller, “ and no brute will dare to cross it.” Why not ? Because, if he does, our definitions will transform him from a brute into a man. “ In a series of forms graduating from some apelike creature to man,” Max Müller maintains that the point where the animal ceases and the man begins can be determined with absolute precision, since " it would be coincident with the beginning of the radical period of language, with the first formation of a general idea embodied in the only form in which we find it embodied, namely, in the roots of our language.”

In reply to the statement that “ both man and monkey are born without language,” Müller asks “ why a man always learns to speak, a monkey never.” This query, if it is to be regarded as anything more than a bit of banter, implies a gross misconception of the theory of evolution, as though it involved the development of an individual monkey into an individual man. One might as well deny the descent of the dog from the wolf because a dog always learns to bark, a wolf never. In the course of ages, and as the result of long processes of evolution and transformation, monkeys have learned to speak, but when they have acquired this faculty we call them men.

Max Müller stops at roots or “phonetic cells” as “ultimate facts in the analysis of language,” and virtually says to the philologist, " Thus far shalt. thou go, and no farther, and here shall thy researches be stayed.” “ The scholar,” he declares, “ begins and ends with these phonetic types ; or, if he ignores them, and traces words back to the cries of animals or to the interjections of men, he does so at his peril. The philosopher goes beyond, and he discovers in the line which separates rational from emotional language, conceptual from intuitional knowledge, — in the roots of language he discovers the true barrier between Man and Beast.”

The philologist, who recognizes in the roots of language the Ultima Thule beyond which he dare not push his investigations, confesses thereby his incompetency to solve the problem of the origin of language, and must resign this field of inquiry to the zoöpsychologist, who, freeing himself from the trammels and illusions of metaphysics, seeks to find a firm basis for his science in the strict and systematic study of facts. Imagine the folly of the physiologist who should say to his fellow-scientists: “ In your researches you must begin and end with cells. If, in studying organic structures, you go back of cells and endeavor to discover the laws underlying their origin, you do so at your peril. Beware of the dangerous seductions of cytoblast and cytogenesis and treacherous quagmires of protoplasm.”

Nevertheless, this attitude of mind is natural enough to the philologist, who is so absorbed in the laws which govern the transmutations of words that he comes to regard these metamorphoses as finalities, and never goes behind and beyond them. We must look, therefore, not to comparative philology, but to comparative psychology, for the discovery of the origin of language. Philology has to do with the growth and development of speech out of roots, which are assumed to be ultimate and unanalysable elements, like the purely hypothetical particles which the physicist calls atoms; but as to the nature and genesis of roots themselves the philologist of today is as puzzled and perplexed as was the old Vedic poet when, in the presence of the universe and its mysterious generation, he could only utter the pathetic and helpless cry, “ Who indeed knows, who can declare, whence it sprang, whence this evolution ? ”

Doubtless the emotional stage precedes the intellectual or rational stage in the growth of language, hut the former mode of expression does not cease when the latter begins, nor is it possible to draw a fixed and fast line of demarcation between them, Pd and mâ are the roots of pâtri and mâtri, and mean in Sanskrit to protect and to form, indicating the function of the father as the defender, and of the mother as the moulder, of children. But how did they come to have these significations ? Surely the infant who first used these expressions — and they are universally recognized as belonging to the vocabulary of babes — did not associate with them the ideas which philologists now discover, and which grammarians and etymologists at a very early period put into them. How arbitrary these inferences are is evident from the variety of interpretations of which such words are Susceptible. Thus mâ means also to measure; hence the moon, as the measurer of time, was called mâtri; and from this point of view the term for mother was explained as referring to her office as the head of the household, who kept the keys of closet and pantry, and meted out to the servants and other members of the family the things necessary for them. It is furthermore a suspicious circumstance touching the habits of the Indo-Aryan’s progenitors that pâ means to drink, and pâtri signifies a drinker; and for aught we know the verbal coincidence may not be accidental. As regards mâ, it means also bleating as a goat, and occurs in this sense in the Rig-Veda; and it is probable that in this onomatopoetic expression we come nearer to the real origin of the word for mother.

There is a vast deal of vague speculation and untenable assertion concerning the origin and formation of roots in language. In Sanskrit, for example, there are three radical words gar, meaning respectively to swallow, to make a noise, and to wake. It is conceivable, says Max Müller, that the first two of these roots may have been originally one and the same, and that gar, from meaning to swallow, may have come to mean the indistinct and disagreeable noise which often attends deglutition, and which in speaking is called swallowing letters or words. Yet the third root, he adds, can hardly be traced back to the same source, but has the right to be treated as a legitimate and independent companion of the other roots. From this example he deduces the general principle that if roots have the same form, but a different meaning, they are to be regarded as originally different, notwithstanding their outward resemblance. He then passes from etymology to embryology, and reasons from analogy that “ if two germs, though apparently alike, grow, under all circumstances, the one always into an ape and never beyond, the other always into a man and never below, then the two germs, though indistinguishable at first, and though following for a time the same line of embryonic development. are different from the beginning, whatever their beginning may have been.”

In this statement he begs the whole question at issue; and the philological illustration which he brings to bear upon an anthropological theory for the purpose of refuting it is itself exceedingly questionable, since nothing is easier or would be more natural than to derive gar, to wake, from gar, to make a noise ; so that all three roots not only may have had, but probably did have, a common origin. In no case can it be positively affirmed that roots of the same form are not of the same origin, however widely they may differ from one another in signification.

One of Darwin’s grandchildren, as Mr, Romanes states, called a duck “ quack,” and by a special and easily intelligible association called water also “ quack.” The same term was afterwards extended to all fowls and winged creatures and to all fluids. A French sou and an American dollar were called “quack ” on account of the eagle stamped upon them, and the same name was then given to all coins. Thus “ quack ” came to mean bird, fly, angel, wine, pond, river, shilling, medal, etc., and it is easy to trace every step of the process by which it acquired these various significations.

According to Max Müller’s reasoning, “ quack ” in the sense of duck or bird must have a radically different origin from “quack ” in the sense of pond or shilling. But how do we know that all roots having the same form, but different meanings, may not have originated in this manner? Because we can no longer trace a word through all phases of its development and metamorphosis is no proof that the development and metamorphosis never took place. The evolution of the word “quack” in the vocabulary of the aforesaid child shows furthermore that a purely onomatopoetic root is not always sterile, but may be prodigiously and puzzdingly prolific, germinating in the mind of the primitive man, and springing up and bearing fruit fifty or a hundred fold.

When we speak of a train of cars as “ telescoped,” this use of the word has nothing in common with its primary and etymological meaning, and can be understood only by a knowledge of the construction of a telescope out of concentric tubes sliding into each other. Again, the telescopic chimney of a war vessel is not a point of far-seeing observation, as the composition of the qualifying word would imply, but a chimney that may be shoved together endwise, and thus put out of reach of the enemy’s shot.

Dr. Hun records in The Monthly Journal of Psychological Medicine (1868) the case of a girl who invented a language of her own, and taught it to her younger brother. Papa and mamma used separately meant father and mother ; but when linked together in the compound papamamma they meant church, prayer-book, praying and other acts of religions worship, because the child saw her parents going to church together. Gar odo meant “ Send for the horse,” and also paper and pencil, because the order for the horse was often written. Bau signified soldier and bishop. because both seemed to be more gorgeously dressed than other persons. Here the clothes made the man, and furnished the sole basis of his classification. It needed only the simplest and most superficial point of association in order to attach the most diverse significations to the same word.

To the objection that these examples are mere childish whimseys, and that languages never originate and grow up in this manner, it may be replied that such an assertion assumes the very point to be proved. Mr. Horatio Hale maintains that the aboriginal tongues of South America and South Africa were produced in precisely this way. He thinks, too, that, the numerous tribal dialects west of the Rocky Mountains had their origin in the isolation of orphaned children, and that such a result is possible, and indeed inevitable, wherever the climate and other external conditions are favorable to the survival of small children bereft of their parents and separated from their kinsmen.

Again, Max Müller observes, in explanation of the manner in which roots were formed, that, “ after a long struggle, the uncertain phonetic imitations of special impressions became the definite phonetic representations of general concepts.” Thus “ there must have been many imitations of the falling of stones, trees, leaves, rivers, rain, and hail, but in the end they were all combined in the simple root pat, expressive of quick movement, whether in falling, flying, or running. By giving up all that could remind the hearer of any special sound of rushing objects, the root pat became fitted as a sign of the general concept of quick movement.” There was a great number of “ imitative sounds of falling, out of which pat was selected, or out of which pat, by a higher degree of fitness, struggled into life and fixity.” So, too, the prolific root mar, to grind or to break, “ must be looked upon as tuned down from innumerable imitations of the sounds of breaking, crushing, crunching, crashing, smashing, mashing, cracking, creaking, rattling and clattering, mauling and marring, till at last, after removing all that seemed too special, there remained the smooth and manageable Aryan root of mar.”

Now, pray, when did this remarkable evolution, which implies the close and continuous exercise of rare powers of comparison and abstraction and the perfect maturity of the intellectual faculties, take place ? “ Language,” we are informed, “ presupposes the formation of concepts,” and “ all such concepts are embodied in roots.” The formation of these concepts, then, must have preceded, logically and chronologically, the formation of the roots in which they are embodied, and must therefore have been effected without the aid of language, which was subsequently evolved or elaborated out of these roots. What becomes, then, of the assertion that it is impossible to think or to generalize without language, since language itself originated in a long and laborious process of thought and generalization ?

The manner in which the word “quack,” in the case already cited, gradually acquired its widely different meanings is perfectly intelligible. Suppose, now, that the child, after having grown to manhood, retained, as the result of isolation, the use of the word ” quack in its diverse significations, and taught and transmitted it to his posterity, so that it became incorporated in the language of his race. In a few generations, especially among a rude people, the origin of the word would be forgotten, and it would be difficult to imagine how it came to acquire such a variety of meanings, and to stand for so many objects having apparently no connection with one another. In due time the philologist would come with his apparatus cricus, subject the word to a strictly scientific analysis, apply all the approved tests, and, after great expenditure of etymological erudition and conjectural ingenuity, would discover half a dozen wholly independent roots of “quack” which could not be traced to one and the same source.

No one knows how often, in the formative period of language, it may have happened that the growth of a word and the multiplication of its meanings may have been obscured and rendered incomprehensible because the intermediate stages of its development were forgotten, and the connecting links that made the transition easy and natural were lost. In the instance just cited we have also an example of a fruitful onomatopoetic root. Indeed, in our own tongue, “quack, the mere imitation of an animal cry, has given rise to a variety of words and conceptions, such as quack, quacksalver, quackery, which are as remote in their relations to the webfooted fowl as is the man who “plays at ducks and drakes ” with his money, and ends his career as a “ lame duck.”

Nothing could be more abrupt or incredible, to take an illustration from nature, than the metamorphoses of the Lepidoptera, the same individual undergoing the most marvelous changes from caterpillar into chrysalis, and again into butterfly. Here the transformations are so great that, if we saw merely the result. we should never suspect the nature of the process. Creatures that for a long time were supposed to be entirely distinct, and were classified as belonging not only to different genera, but even to different orders of animals, are now known to be the same individual in different phases or stages of its development. Thus, as we are told by an eminent authority on Crustacea, “ the Zoëa. the Megalops, and the Carcinus Moenas, or shore crab, are but the baby, the child, and the adult forms of a single individual.”

What is here shown to be true of living organisms is still more probable of roots of speech ; and the naturalist might, with at least equal cogency and validity, argue analogically from the identity of these so exceedingly diverse Crustacea, or from the common origin of man and ape, that roots like dâ and gar, however much they may differ in meaning. are really traceable to one and the same source.

“ Show me only one root in the language of animals,” says Max Müller, “ such as ak, to be sharp and quick, and from it two derivatives, as asva, the quick one, — the horse, — and acutus, sharp or quick witted ; nay, show me one animal that has the power of forming roots, that can put one and two together, and realize the simplest dual concept; show me one animal that can think and say ‘ two,’ and I should say that, so far as language is concerned, we cannot oppose Mr. Darwin’s argument, and that man has, or at least may have been, developed, from some lower animal.”

Nothing could be more absurd than this sort of philological ultimatum, since, according to the theory of evolution, the language of animals has not yet reached the root stage and never can reach it; for it would then become articulate speech, and be no longer the language of animals, but the language of man. But this is surely no evidence or indication that one may not grow out of the other ; on the contrary, it rather suggests the possibility of such growth and development.

We cannot be certain, however, that animals may not have general concepts. “When a dog, in eager pursuit of some object, yelps ak-ak, how do we know that this sharp utterance, which expresses the strong and impatient desire of the dog to overtake the object, may not stand in the canine mind for the general concept of quickness ? It is used in pursuing all animals and inanimate things, bird, hare, squirrel, stick, or stone, and cannot therefore denote any single one of them, but must have a general signification. For aught we know, the language of animals may he made up of undeveloped roots vaguely expressive of general concepts, or may even contain derivative sounds. The bark of a dog after bringing a stick or a stone to its master and requesting him to throw it again is slightly different from the sharp yelp uttered in pursuing it; and it is impossible to know whether these sounds may not stand to each other in the relation of the radical to its derivative.

Darwin asserts that “ the dog, since being domesticated, has learned to bark in at least five or six distinct tones, namely: the hark of eagerness, as in the chase; that of anger, as well as growling ; the yelp, or howl of despair, when shut up ; the baying at night ; the bark of joy, when starting on a walk with his master ; and the very distinct one of demand or supplication, as when wishing for a door or window to be opened.” This variety of tones, expressing different desires and emotions in an animal that in its wild state could not bark at all, marks a very considerable advance in the power of vocal utterance as the result of association with man.

Max Müller has recently come to the conclusion that roots originated in cries uttered by men in performing certain actions, such as digging, cutting, lifting, or pounding. This so-called clamor concomitans, or sound attending the action, became by association a clamor significans, or sound signifying the action. This explanation of the genesis of roots is doubtless, to a certain extent, correct, but comes perilously near to the “bowwow” and pooh-pooh " theories which he formerly rejected with ridicule and ineffable scorn. It would be hard, however, to find a finer combination of concomitant and significant clamor than the deep bay of a pack of hounds.

In one of his lectures Müller quotes, as “ an excellent answer to the interjectional theory,” the following observations of Horne Tooke in the Diversions of Purley: “ The dominion of speech is erected upon the downfall of interjections. Without the artful contrivance of language, mankind would have had nothing but interjections with which to communicate orally any of their feelings. The neighing of a horse, the lowing of a cow, the barking of a dog, the purring of a cat, sneezing, coughing, groaning, shrieking, and every other involuntary convulsion with oral sound have almost as good a title to be called parts of speech as interjections have. Voluntary interjections are employed only when the suddenness and vehemence of some affection or passion return men to their natural state, and make them for a moment forget the use of speech ; or when, from some circumstance, the shortness of time will not permit them to exercise it.”

This passage really confirms in the strongest manner the theory which it is cited in order to refute. The dominion of every improved implement is founded upon the downfall of an inferior implement. Thus the steel plough has superseded the pointed piece of wood with which the primitive husbandman scratched the surface of the earth ; the matchlock has supplanted the crossbow, the Remington rifle the rude musket, and the steam car the old stagecoach. Everywhere in the progress of human invention the better instrument takes the place of the poorer one and robs it of its supremacy. The evolution of language furnishes no exception to this universal law. It is a means of communicating ideas and emotions from one person to another, and the more clearly, concisely, and forcibly it performs this function the more perfect it is as an instrument. To speak of the grammatically complicated, and therefore practically clumsy, Sanskrit as superior to the simple and handy English, and I to characterize the latter as the result of degeneration and decay, is an abuse of terms involving an utter misconception of the purpose for which language exists. Sanskrit may be more interesting philologically than English, just as the five-toed eohippus and the three-toed hipparion may be more interesting anatomically than the horse ; but no one would deny that the modern quadruped combines in a greater degree simplicity of structure with efficiency of function, and is therefore, as an animal, superior to its ancient prototypes.

The very fact that, as Horne Tooke observes, men return to their natural state in the use of interjections and exclamations well-nigh proves that these are the raw material, or linguistic protoplasm, out of which articulate or organic speech was evolved. But to compare a cough and a sneeze to an interjection, or to put them in the same category with the neigh of a horse, the bark of a dog, or the purr of a cat. shows a strange lack of discrimination between purely physical and involuntary convulsions and vocal sounds intended to express emotions of the mind. A cough or a sneeze may he more or less successfully imitated, like a stage laugh, and thus become the sign and suggestion of an idea; but a genuine cough or sneeze is a violent expulsion of the air through the throat or nose in consequence of local irritation beyond a man’s control, and lias, therefore, no oral or intellectual element in it.

As regards the ability of animals to " think and say ‘ two,’ ” it has been proved conclusively that the magpie and some other birds, even in their wild state, can count at least four, and this fact is recognized and utilized by fowlers ; but if it be true that it is impossible to form the concept “ four ” without the aid of language, it follows that the magpie must be able to say “ four ” in a language of its own. To deny this conclusion because we do not understand “margot” (as the magpie language might he called) would be to set up our own ignorance as a standard by which to test the magpie’s intellectual capacity, and thus fall into the fallacy of argumentum ab ignorantia facti. This knowledge of numeration can be greatly extended by instruction. A chimpanzee in the London Zoölogical Gardens, says Mr. Romanes, has been taught to count five. Ask her for four, three, two, or five straws in any order of succession, and she will give the exact number required. She understands not only the names of these numerals, but also other words and phrases, just as a child does before learning to speak.

All classification rests upon the power of generalization, and this faculty belongs to the lower animals as well as to men. As has been remarked by an acute observer : “ Dogs can distinguish strangers and acquaintances, well-dressed persons from persons in rags, the canine species from all other species. They cannot carry their classification far, not from want of memory and intelligence, but from want of a well-defined language and printed books.” The dullest dog has a lively perception of the difference between canine and feline. No matter how much the particular dog may vary from other individuals of the species,

he is never confounded with the cat, but is at once recognized as canine. The dog not only thinks of these so diverse creatures as belonging to the same class, but is also conscious of belonging to it himself. Man’s intellectual superiority consists in possessing a greater number of these concepts, and in being able to compare and combine them in reasoning processes with greater accuracy and facility, than the beast, although there are tribes of men in which this superiority is so slight as to be scarcely perceptible.

Exclamations, according to Max Müller, ‘‘ are as little to be called words as the expressive.gesttires which usually accompany these exclamations.” No one asserts that they are words in the strict sense of the term ; all that is claimed for them is that they express thoughts and feelings or reveal states of the mind, and may be regarded as language. This he admits when he adds,

“In fact, interjections, together with gestures, the movements of the muscles of the mouth and the eye, would be quite sufficient for all purposes which language .answers with the majority of mankind.” But as such exclamations and gesticulations are not words and do not constitute language, the majority of mankind are destitute of thought, since we are assured that “ language and thought are inseparable,” and that “ there is no thought without words, as little as there are words without thought.”

Professor Mansel is nearer the truth when he says, " As a matter of necessity, men must think by symbols ; as a matter of fact, they do think by language.” But although words are the most convenient and most perfect symbols of thought, they are by no means the only ones. A man can count three by holding up three fingers, or by touching three objects, or by laying down three sticks, as the Veddahs do in bartering, without the aid of articulate speech. A dog can do the same by harking three times. It is not true that “language begins where interjections end.” Articulate speech begins where pantomimic expression, emphasized by mere hooting and hallooing, ends; but both are instruments of thought and symbols for the representation and communication of ideas.

“ Speech,” as Professor Whitney has justly observed, " is not a personal possession, but a social institution. What we may severally choose to say is not language until it is accepted and employed by our fellows. The whole development of speech is wrought out by the community. That is a word, and only that, which is understood in a community. Their mutual understanding is the tie that connects it with the idea. It is a sign which each one has acquired from without, from the usage of others.” Goethe, in his epigram Etymologie, expresses the same thought: —

“ Man,” says Wilhelm von Humboldt, “ understands himself fully only by testing the intelligibility of his words on others. The objectivity is increased when the word which he has formed is echoed back to him from the mouth of another. At the same time, it is not thereby robbed in the least of its subjective character, since man feels himself always one with man.” What is felt and expressed by the individual must be re-felt and re-expressed by the mass and stamped with its indorsement before it is accepted as speech.

Among savage tribes, and even among a people so highly civilized as the Arab’s, signs and gestures play a very important part in the expression of thought, and the Neapolitan’s love of pantomime and skill in the use of it are well known. Of the Veddahs of Ceylon Sir James Emerson Tennent says, " So degraded are some of these wretched outcasts that it has appeared doubtful in certain cases whether they have any language whatever;” and Mr. G. R. Mercer, who, by a long residence in their country, acquired an intimate knowledge of their habits, affirms that “ even their communications with one another are made by signs, grimaces, and guttural Sounds which bear little or no resemblance to distinct words or systematized language.” It is not correct, from an anthropological point of view, to characterize the Veddahs as “ degraded.” They are simply primitive and undeveloped. They are the remains of the aborigines of Ceylon ; and the few articulate words they utter they have learned, parrot-like, from the Singhalese, who invaded and conquered the country, and now constitute its chief population.

Lord Monboddo’s seemingly absurd and much-ridiculed theory that language was formed by an assembly of learned men convened for that purpose is right so far as it affirms the conventional and communal, character of articulate speech and written language ; and this is doubtless all that the laird meant to imply by his rather bullish statement. He did not intend to assert that language was framed, like a political platform, by a body of men come together expressly for that object, but that it was gradually developed in consequence of their coming together as individuals, families, and communities, and endeavoring to understand one another by means of gestures and exclamations and onomatopoetie sounds. It was also the most intelligent men of their time ; those who were endowed with the greatest amount of wisdom, the quickest wits, and the readiest faculty of invention ; in short, the foremost men of primitive life, who contributed most to this result. Then, as now, the progress of the race was due to the impetus imparted to it by the best brains, and was far less the effect of happy chance than we are fain to imagine.

Articulate speech is an immense help to the intellectual processes of induction and deduction, abstraction and generalization, but by no means essential to these mental operations. As Dr. Paul Carus observes, " the act of naming is an enormous economy of mental activity ; ” but it is not absolutely necessary to this kind of activity.

The fox must have an abstract idea of danger apart from any concrete form or embodiment of it; otherwise he would not be constantly on the alert, anticipating peril when it is not present. Flourens asserts, “ It is a fact that beasts do not form general ideas, and it is another fact that man does form them ; ” he then adds : “ The study of mind by mind is that which puts the final stamp upon the profound difference separating beast from man. Intelligence in beasts does not study intelligence.” Buffon caps the climax of this sort of dogmatism by declaring that in animals “ c’est le corps qui parle au corps” A body talking to another body without the mediation of mental faculties would be a phenomenon worth seeing.

Pantomime is the natural language of man and the lower animals, and is intelligible without previous study. In this respect it differs from articulate speech, which is mainly conventional in its character. A word has the meaning which common consent has tacitly attributed to it, and which usage has sanctioned. It is not necessary, however, that any two persons should agree beforehand as to the signification of mimetic movements in order to be able to communicate their ideas in this manner. Two deaf-mutes, or savages of alien tribes, on meeting for the first time, have no definite stock of signs with which to converse, but create them as they go along. If one sign fails to express the thought clearly, they try another. If A wishes to convey to C the drift of a previous conversation with B, he will do so by means of signs many of which differ from those used in conversing with B. He will constantly invent new and more expressive signs, and thereby convey his meaning more fully and distinctly than in his first conversation. This natural sign language may be enlarged and perfected, as it is in institutes for deaf-mutes, by the introduction of conventional elements, and thus an extended mimetic system for the communication of thought may be developed.

The dog expresses thoughts and emotions by wagging his tail to quite as good purpose as many persons do by wagging their tongues. We impart our wishes to animals almost exclusively by gestures, until they learn to understand our words, which then alone suffice, so that the pantomime is no longer necessary except for sake of emphasis in case they refuse to obey. Animals also, in communicating their desires to us, make use of signs accompanied by all sorts of vocal utterances, which through association have become intelligible.

Among insects, especially ants and bees, the language of gesture is highly developed. Owing to the smallness of these creatures, it is difficult to observe them in their conversational intercourse, and their remoteness from us in structure and organization renders it still more difficult for us to identify ourselves with them through sympathy, and to get a clear conception of their states of mind. We are fully justified, however, in inferring from their conduct that they communicate their ideas to one another with rapidity, precision, and intelligibleness. “ If psychologists of today,'’ remarks Professor Wundt, ” overlooking all that an animal can express through gestures and sounds, limit the possession of language to mankind, such a conclusion is scarcely less absurd than that of many philosophers of antiquity who regarded the languages of barbarous nations as animal cries.”

This observation is perfectly true, but not new, inasmuch as it was made more than fourteen centuries ago-by the Neoplatonist Porphyrius in his treatise on abstinence from animal food (dwoyis After stating that the different tones used by animals show that they have a language for the expression of different sentiments, such as anger, fear, and affection, he adds : “To deny animals language because it is unintelligible to us would be as absurd as for the crows to maintain that their croaking is the only rational speech, and that we are devoid of reason because we do not understand it; or for the inhabitants of Attica to claim that theirs is the only language, and that all who do not speak it are devoid of reason. Nevertheless, an inhabitant of Attica could as easily understand the language of crows as those of Persians and Syrians.” Foreign tongues, to those who hear them for the first time, are hardly more intelligible than the inarticulate sounds uttered by animals. The Emperor Julian compared the speech of the Germans to the caw of ravens, and to the Athenians the conversation of Thracians and Scythians sounded like the chatter of cranes.

Professor Jaeger’s assertion that animals have merely emotional language (Gefühlssprache) in distinction from the language of thought ( Gedankensprache) is psychologically untenable. In all operations of the mind, thoughts and feelings are inextricably interblended, and it is impossible to draw a line of demarcation between them. There is no language of emotion as opposed to or essentially distinct from language of thought. Emotion is only thought under tension, thought strongly emphasized and impelled by desire. Every cry or exclamation presupposes an idea or intellectual conception, without which the emotion would never arise ; and it is hardly possible to determine where the one begins and the other ends.

To what an extent animals are at the mercy of metaphysicians is illustrated by the following passage from a treatise by Professor Green : “ There is no reason to suppose, because the burnt dog shuns the fire, that it perceives any relation between it and the pain of being burnt.

. . . The dog’s conduct may be accounted for by the simple sequence of an imagination upon a visual sensation, resembling ones which actual pain has previously followed. . . . Till dogs can talk, what data have we on which to found another explanation ? " We have precisely the same data in the case of the burnt dog as in the case of the burnt child who shuns the fire ; and we are justified in reasoning from analogy that the conduct of the dog is due to the same perception of cause and effect as that of t he child. “ The simple sequence of an imagination upon a visual sensation, resembling ones which actual pain has previously followed.”means, when translated from metaphysical jargon into plain English, that, when a dog sees a flame, its resemblance to another flame which burned him leads him to avoid it, lest this one should also burn him. The misfortune of dogs in not being endowed with articulate speech is greatly aggravated if it renders them liable to have such elaborate philosophy as this mouthed over them.

The phenomenon of aphasia furnishes additional evidence that the faculty of speech is not essential to the exercise of thought or to the power of reasoning. Aphasia, or speechlessness, as has been shown by Bouilland, Broca, and other pathologists, is the result of a disease or lesion of the third frontal convolution of the left hemisphere of the brain. Any injury of this part produces a partial or complete loss of articulate speech without disturbing or diminishing in the least the action of the intellectual faculties. The vocal organs and all the mechanism of articulation remain intact, and the ability to think logically and consecutively is unimpaired. There is no paralysis of the muscular apparatus necessary to the enunciation of words, and no derangement of the mental operations so far as the formation and orderly sequence of conceptions are concerned ; only the power of correct verbal expression is gone. Max Müller speaks with contempt of " a fold of the brain ; ” but here we have an instance in which articulate speech is dependent upon the full development and the healthy action of a mere fold of the brain, which, if his own theory be true, is the Rubicon separating man from the brute.

The aphasiac can express his thoughts and feelings by facial movements, gesticulations, and guttural noises, but is unable to articulate words correctly. He thus reverts to the condition of mankind prior to the development of the speech - producing cerebral convolution plus the knowledge and mental capacity acquired since that time. Finkelnburg reports the extreme case of a woman whose memory for things and persons was normal, and in whose general conduct nothing anomalous was observable, but who had lost entirely the use of speech, and could understand neither spoken nor written words. She was a pious Catholic, but never made the sign of the cross of her own accord or when told to do so, yet readily imitated others when she saw them do it. She was in the hospital three months, but never learned that the ringing of the bell was the signal lor dinner. Symbols even of the most general character had for her no significance ; her understanding was confined strictly and directly to things, and her consciousness seems to have sunk to the level of a rather dull anthropoid.

In apes, cretins, and many microcephalous persons, the convolution of the brain on which the power of articulate speech depends is rudimentary. Human and simian brains are constructed on precisely the same plan, and differ only in the development and consequent arrangement of the convolutions. “ In man.” says Professor Vogt, “the third frontal convolution is extraordinarily developed and covers the insula, whilst the transverse central convolutions are much less prominent; in the ape, on the contrary, the third frontal convolution is but slightly developed, whilst the central transverse convolutions are very large, descending quite to the edge of the hemisphere and giving to the fissure of Sylvius the form of a V.”

The difference is one of degree, and not of kind, resulting from the higher evolution of the same type. Max Müller admits it to be possible and intelligible that “ that most wonderful of organs, the eye, has been developed out of a pigmentary spot, and the ear out of a particularly sore place in the skin, — that, in fact, an animal without any organs of sense may in time grow into an animal with organs of sense ; ” but “ by no effort of the understanding, by no stretch of imagination,” he declares, “can I explain to myself how language could have grown out of anything which animals possess, even if we granted them millions of years for that purpose.” In other words, he can imagine how a sore spot in the skin could grow into a complex and delicate organ like the ear, or a sensitive black spot could develop into the marvelous mechanism of the eye. but by no mental effort can he conceive how an imperfectly developed convolution in the brain of an ape could become a perfectly developed convolution in the brain of a man. Surely this is one of the strangest freaks of the imagination on record. Yet he admits the correctness of Dr. Broca’s conclusions on this subject. “So much,” he says, “seems to be established : if a certain portion of the brain on the left side of the anterior lobe happens to be affected by disease, the patient becomes unable to use rational language; while, unless some other mental disease is added to aphasia, he retains the faculty of emotional language, and of communicating with others by means of signs and gestures.” This statement is not exact. Aphasia is not the loss of rational language, but of articulate speech, which is something quite different. The aphasiac can exercise his reasoning powers and can entertain and express by pantomime rational ideas, but he is unable to utter or embody them in either oral or written words, although he may understand them when addressed to his ear or eye.

Sometimes there is not an entire cessation, but a curious and comical perversion of speech in the patients, who use words having no connection with the ideas they wish to convey, and are often, though not always, unconscious of any discrepancy or impropriety in their language. Thus Trousseau narrates the case of a lady who, on receiving a call, met her visitor with a kindly smile, and, pointing to a chair, exclaimed, “ Pig, brute, stupid fool! ” “ Madame begs you to be seated,” said a friend who was present, and thus interpreted the courtesy really intended by the rude greeting. The lady’s conduct was otherwise sensible, and her process of thought logical and rational, although her utterances were wholly irrelevant, and usually most coarse when meant to be most charming.

Another striking case, recorded by Trousseau and cited by Bateman, is that of Professor Rostan, who, while occupied in reading one of Lamartine ’s literary conversations, began to be aware that he only partially comprehended the sense of the text. He stopped for a moment, then resumed his reading, and again experienced the same difficulty. He became alarmed and wished to call for assistance, when, to his surprise, he found himself unable to speak a word. It now occurred to him that he might have had a stroke of apoplexy, but he could move all his limbs and discover no evidences of paralysis. He rang the bell, but when the servant appeared he could not tell what he wanted. He could move his tongue in all directions, and seemed to have full control of his vocal organs, but could not express a thought by speech. He made a sign that he wished to write, but when pen and ink and paper were brought, although he had the perfect use of his hand, he could not express a thought by writing. After the lapse of two or three hours a physician came, and Rostan, turning up his sleeve and pointing to his arm, thereby manifested the desire to be bled. No sooner was this done, and the local pressure on the brain relieved, than he was able to utter a few words, and after twelve hours was completely restored and could speak as well as ever.

An orang-outang that had once been bled on account of illness, not feeling well some time afterwards, went from one person to another, and, pointing to the vein in his arm, signified plainly enough that he wished the operation to be repeated. In this instance, the orang, not being endowed with articulate speech owing to the rudimentary condition of a convolution of the brain, expressed his ideas just as the Frenchman did, who had been temporarily deprived of the faculty of articulate speech owing to the suspension of function in the same convolution of the brain. The process of reasoning was identical in both cases.

The idea of recovery from sickness was associated with the act of venesection as the result of experience. In short, the man reverted for the time being to the condition of the monkey. How then should it be deemed a thing impossible for him to have risen out of such a condition ?

It is also interesting to note that an injury to the brain of the lower animals sometimes produces phenomena analogous to those of aphasia in man; causing birds, for example, to sing their notes wrong, reversing the intonation and accent, like the quail mentioned by Dr. Abbott, which, owing to such an accident, persistently whistled “ white-bob ” instead of " bob-white.’’

It would be superfluous to multiply instances of the capability of understanding articulate speech manifested by monkeys, horses, dogs, cats, elephants, birds, and other animals that acquire this power, as children do, through the ear and by the exercise of attention. They also show a nice discrimination in distinguishing between words similar in sound. A parrot or a raven masters a new sentence by repeating it, and working at it, just as a schoolboy solves a bard problem. These birds associate sounds with objects, and thus invent names for them. Every dog is a “ bowwow,” and every cat a tL miau-miau.” The denotative term has an onomatopoetic origin, and by the process of generalization is applied to all animals of the species ; it is not necessary that the parrot should have heard each individual dog bark or cat mew before giving it its appropriate name. A raven belonging to Gotthard Heidegger, a clergyman and rector of the gymnasium in Zürich, was constantly picking up words dropped in general conversation, and using them afterwards in the most surprising manner.

Even animals whose laryngeal apparatus is not structurally adapted to the production of articulate sounds may he taught to utter them. Leibnitz mentions a dog which had learned to pronounce thirty words distinctly. In the Dumfries Journal of January, 1829, an account is given of a dog which called out “ “W illiam so as to be clearly understood ; and Mr. Romanes cites the case of an English terrier which had been taught to say, “ How are you, grandmam ? ” The careful and systematic experiments now being made in this direction by Professor A. Graham Bell and other scientists are exceedingly interesting, and may lead to important results.

In view of these facts, it is evident that the barrier between human and animal intelligence, once deemed impassable, is becoming more and more imperceptible, and with the rapid progress of zoöpsychological research will soon disappear altogether. When we remember,"' says Professor Sayce, “the inarticulate clicks which still form part of the Bushman’s language, it would seem as if no line of division could be drawn between man and beast, even when language is made the test.” Apes make use of similar clicks for a like purpose, and these sounds are doubtless survivals of speech before it became distinctively articulate.

E. P. Evans.