{"id":885,"date":"2013-07-13T01:31:01","date_gmt":"2013-07-13T01:31:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/localhost\/?p=885"},"modified":"2013-07-13T01:31:01","modified_gmt":"2013-07-13T01:31:01","slug":"97-the-origins-of-aryan-speech-vol-10-the-secret-of-the-veda-volume-10","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/01-works-of-sri-aurobindo\/01-sabcl\/10-the-secret-of-the-veda-volume-10\/97-the-origins-of-aryan-speech-vol-10-the-secret-of-the-veda-volume-10","title":{"rendered":"-97_The Origins of Aryan Speech.htm"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n
\n

\nTHE ORIGINS OF ARYAN
\nSPEECH<\/font><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nINTRODUCTORY<\/b><\/font>
\n<\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nAmong all the many promising beginnings of
\nwhich the nineteenth century was the witness, none perhaps was hailed
\nwith greater eagerness by the world of culture and science
\nthan the triumphant debut of Comparative Philology. None
\nperhaps has been more disappointing in its results. The philologists indeed place a high value on their line of study, \u2014 nor
\nis that to be wondered at, in spite of all its defects, \u2014 and persist in giving it the name of Science; but the scientists are of a
\nvery different opinion. In Germany, in the very metropolis both
\nof Science and of philology, the word philology has become a
\nterm of disparagement; nor are the philologists in a position to
\nretort. Physical Science has proceeded by the soundest and most
\nscrupulous methods and produced a mass of indisputable results
\nwhich, by their magnitude and far-reaching consequences, have
\nrevolutionised the world and justly entitled the age of their development to the title of the wonderful century. Comparative
\nPhilology has hardly moved a step beyond its origins; all the rest
\nhas been a mass of conjectural and ingenious learning of which
\nthe brilliance is only equalled by the uncertainty and unsound-
\nness. Even so great a philologist as Renan was obliged in the
\nlater part of his career, begun with such unlimited hopes, to a
\ndeprecating apology for the "little conjectural sciences" to which
\nhe had devoted his life’s energies. At the beginning of the
\ncentury’s philological researches, when the Sanskrit tongue had
\nbeen discovered, when Max M\u00fcller was exulting in his fatal
\nformula, "pitā, patēr, pater, voter, father",<\/i> the Science of Language seemed to be on the point of self-revelation; as the result
\nof the century’s toil it can be asserted by thinkers of repute that
\nthe very idea of a Science of Language is a chimera! No doubt,
\nthe case against Comparative Philology has been overstated.
\nIf it has not discovered the Science of Language, it has at least
\nswept out of existence the fantastic, arbitrary and almost lawless
\nEtymology of our forefathers. It has given us juster notions about<\/font><\/p>\n

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\nthe relations and history of extant languages and the processes
\nby which old tongues have degenerated into that detritus out of
\nwhich a new form of speech fashions itself. Above all, it has
\ngiven us the firmly established notion that our investigations into language
\nmust be a search for rules and laws and not free and untrammelled gambollings among individual derivations. The
\nway has been prepared; many difficulties have been cleared out
\nof our way. Still scientific philology is non-existent; much less
\nhas there been any real approach to the discovery of the Science
\nof Language.<\/font><\/p>\n

\nDoes it follow that a Science of Language is undiscoverable ?
\nIn India, at least, with its great psychological systems mounting
\nto the remotest prehistoric antiquity, we cannot easily believe
\nthat regular and systematic processes of Nature are not at the
\nbasis of all phenomena of sound and speech. European philology has missed the
\nroad to the truth because an excessive enthusiasm and eager haste to catch at and exaggerate imperfect,
\nsubordinate and often misleading formulae has involved it in
\nbypaths that lead to no resting-place; but somewhere the road
\nexists. If it exists, it can be found. The right clue alone is wanted
\nand a freedom of mind which can pursue it unencumbered by
\nprepossessions and undeterred by the orthodoxies of the learned.
\nAbove all if the science of philology is to cease to figure among
\nthe petty conjectural sciences, among which even Renan was
\ncompelled to classify it, \u2014 and conjectural science means pseudo-science, since fixed, sound and verifiable bases and methods
\nindependent of conjecture are the primary condition of Science,
\n\u2014 then the habit of hasty generalisation, of light and presumptuous inferences, of the chase after mere ingenuities and the
\nsatisfaction of curious and learned speculation which are the
\npitfalls of verbal scholarship must be rigidly eschewed and re-
\nlegated to the waste paper basket of humanity, counted among
\nits necessary toys which, having now issued out of the nursery, we
\nshould put away into their appropriate lumber-room. Where
\nthere is insufficient evidence or equal probability in conflicting
\nsolutions, Science admits conjectural hypotheses as a step towards
\ndiscovery. But the abuse of this concession to our human ignorance, the habit of erecting flimsy conjectures as the assured gains<\/font><\/p>\n

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\nof knowledge is the curse of philology. A Science which is nine-tenths conjecture has no right at this stage of the human march,
\nto make much of itself or seek to impose itself on the mind of
\nthe race. Its right attitude is humility, its chief business to seek
\nalways for surer foundations and a better justification for its
\nexistence.<\/font><\/p>\n

\nTo seek for such a stronger and surer
\nfoundation is the object of this work. In order that the attempt may succeed, it is
\nnecessary first to perceive the errors committed in the past and to
\neschew them. The first error committed by the philologists after
\ntheir momentous discovery of the Sanskrit tongue, was to
\nexaggerate the importance of their first superficial discoveries.
\nThe first glance is apt to be superficial; the perceptions drawn
\nfrom an initial survey stand always in need of correction. If then
\nwe are so dazzled and led away by them as to make them the
\nvery key of our future knowledge, its central plank, its basic plat- form we
\nprepare for ourselves grievous disappointments. Comparative Philology, guilty of this error, has seized on a minor
\nclue and mistaken it for a major or chief clue. When Max M\u00fcller
\ntrumpeted forth to the world in his attractive studies the great
\nrapprochement, pitā, patēr, pater, voter, father,<\/i> he was preparing
\nthe bankruptcy of the new science; he was leading it away from
\nthe truer clues, the wider vistas that lay behind. The most extra-
\nordinary and imposingly unsubstantial structures were reared on
\nthe narrow basis of that unfortunate formula. First, there was
\nthe elaborate division of civilised humanity into the Aryan,
\nSemitic, Dravidian and Turanean races, based upon the philological classification of the ancient and modern languages. More
\nsensible and careful reflection has shown us that community of
\nlanguage is no proof of community of blood or ethnological
\nidentity; the French are not a Latin race because they speak a
\ncorrupt and nasalised Latin, nor the Bulgars Slavs in blood because the Ugro-Finnish races have been wholly Slavonicised in
\ncivilisation and language. Scientific researches of another kind
\nhave confirmed this useful and timely negation. The philologists
\nhave, for instance, split up, on the strength of linguistic differences, the Indian nationality into the northern Aryan race and
\n<\/font>the southern Dravidian, but sound observation shows a single<\/p>\n

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\nphysical type with minor variations pervading the whole of
\nIndia from Cape Comorin to Afghanistan. Language is there-
\nfore discredited as an ethnological factor. The races of India
\nmay be all pure Dravidians, if indeed such an entity as a Dravidian race exists or ever existed, or they may be pure Aryans, if
\nindeed such an entity as an Aryan race exists or ever existed, or
\nthey may be a mixed race with one predominant strain, but in
\nany case the linguistic division of the tongues of India into the
\nSanskritic and the Tamilic counts for nothing in that problem.
\nYet so great is the force of attractive generalisations and widely
\npopularised errors that all the world goes on perpetuating the
\nblunder talking of the Indo-European races, claiming or disclaiming Aryan kinship and building on that basis of falsehood
\nthe most far-reaching political, social or pseudo-scientific conclusions.<\/font><\/p>\n

\nBut if language is no sound factor of ethnological research,
\nit may be put forward as a proof of common civilisation and used
\nas a useful and reliable guide to the phenomena of early civilisations. Enormous, most ingenious, most painstaking have been
\nthe efforts to extract from the meanings of words a picture of the
\nearly Aryan civilisation previous to the dispersion of their tribes,
\nVedic scholarship has built upon this conjectural science of philology, upon a
\nbrilliantly ingenious and attractive but wholly conjectural and unreliable interpretation of the Vedas, a remarkable,
\nminute and captivating picture of an early half-savage Aryan
\ncivilisation in India. How much value can we attach to these
\ndazzling structures? None, for they have no assured scientific
\nbasis. They may be true and last, they may be partly true yet
\nhave to be seriously modified, they may be entirely false and no
\ntrace of them be left in the ultimate conclusion of human know-
\nledge on the subject; we have no means of determining between
\nthese three possibilities. The now settled rendering of Veda
\nwhich reigns hitherto because it has never been critically and
\nminutely examined, is sure before long to be powerfully at-
\ntacked and questioned. One thing may be confidently expected
\nthat even if India was ever invaded, colonised or civilised by northern
\nworshippers of Sun and Fire, yet the picture of that invasion richly painted by philological scholarship from the Rig-veda <\/font><\/p>\n

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\nwill prove to be a modern legend and not ancient history,
\nand even if a half-savage Aryan civilisation existed in India in
\nearly times, the astonishingly elaborate modern descriptions
\nof Vedic India will turn out a philological mirage and phantasmagoria. The wider question of an early Aryan civilisation must
\nequally be postponed, till we have sounder materials. The present
\ntheory is wholly illusory; for it assumes that common terms
\nimply a common civilisation, an assumption which sins both by
\nexcess and by defect. It sins by excess; it cannot be argued, for
\ninstance, that because the Romans and Indians have a common
\nterm for a particular utensil, therefore that utensil was possessed
\nby their ancestors in common previous to their separation.
\nWe must know first the history of the contact between the
\nancestors of the two races; we must be sure that the extant
\nRoman word did not replace an original Latin term not possessed by the Indians;
\nwe must be sure that the Romans did not receive the term by transmission from Greek or Celt without ever
\nhaving had any identity, connection or contact with our Aryan
\nforefathers; we must be proof against many other possible solutions about which philology can give us no guarantee either
\nnegative or affirmative. The Indian suranga,<\/i> a tunnel, is supposed
\nto be the Greek surinx.<\/i> We cannot, therefore, argue that the
\nGreeks and Indians possessed the common art of tunnel-making
\nbefore their dispersion or even that the Indians who borrowed
\nthe word from Greece, never knew what an underground excavation might be till they learned it from Macedonian engineers.
\nThe Bengali term for telescope is durbīn,<\/i> a word not of European,
\norigin. We cannot conclude that the Bengalis had invented the
\ntelescope independently before their contact with the Europeans.
\nYet on the principles by which the philologists seem to be guided
\nin their conjectural restorations of vanished cultures, these are
\nprecisely the conclusions at which we should arrive. Here we have a knowledge of
\nthe historical facts to correct our speculations ; but the prehistoric ages are not similarly defended. Historical data are entirely wanting and we are left at the mercy of
\nwords and their misleading indications. But a little reflection on
\nthe vicissitudes of languages and specially some study of the
\npeculiar linguistic phenomena created in India by the impact of<\/font><\/p>\n

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\nthe English tongue on our literary vernaculars, the first rush with
\nwhich English words attempted to oust, in conversation and
\nletter-writing, even common indigenous terms in their own
\nfavour and the reaction by which the vernaculars are now finding
\nnew Sanskritic terms to express the novel concepts introduced by
\nthe Europeans, will be sufficient to convince any thoughtful mind
\nhow rash are the premises of these philological culture-restorers
\nand how excessive and precarious their conclusions. Nor do
\nthey sin by excess alone, but by defect also. They consistently
\nignore the patent fact that in prehistoric and preliterary times
\nthe vocabularies of primitive languages must have varied from
\ncentury to century to an extent of which we with our ideas of
\nlanguage drawn from the classical and modern literary tongues
\ncan form little conception. It is, I believe, an established fact of
\nanthropology that many savage tongues change their vocabulary
\nalmost from generation to generation. It is, therefore, perfectly
\npossible that the implements of civilisation and culture ideas for
\nwhich no two Aryan tongues have a common term may yet have
\nbeen common property before their dispersion; since each of them may have
\nrejected after that dispersion the original common term for a neologism of its own manufacture. It is the
\npreservation of common terms and not their disappearance that
\nis the miracle of language.<\/font><\/p>\n

\nI exclude, therefore, and exclude rightly from the domain
\nof philology as I conceive it all ethnological conclusions, all inferences from words to the culture and civilisation of the men or
\nraces who used them, however alluring may be those speculations, however attractive, interesting and probable may be the
\ninferences which we are tempted to draw in the course of our
\nstudy. The philologist has nothing to do with ethnology. The
\nphilologist has nothing to do with sociology, anthropology and
\narchaeology. His sole business is or ought to be with the history
\nof words and of the association of ideas with the sound forms which they
\nrepresent. By strictly confining himself to this province, by the self-denial with which he eschews all irrelevent
\ndistractions and delights on his somewhat dry and dusty road,
\nhe will increase his concentration on his own proper work
\nand avoid lures which may draw him away from the great discoveries <\/font> <\/p>\n

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\nawaiting mankind on this
\nbadly explored tract of knowledge.<\/font><\/p>\n

\nBut the affinities of languages to each other are, at least, a
\nproper field for the labours of philology. Nevertheless, even here
\nI am compelled to hold that the scholarship of Europe has fallen
\ninto an error in giving this subject of study the first standing
\namong the objects of philology. Are we really quite sure that we
\nknow what constitutes community or diversity of origin between
\ntwo different languages \u2014 so different, for instance, as Latin
\nand Sanskrit, Sanskrit and Tamil, Tamil and Latin? Latin,
\nGreek and Sanskrit are supposed to be sister Aryan tongues,
\nTamil is set apart as of other and Dravidian origin. If we enquire
\non what foundation this distinct and contrary treatment rests,
\nwe shall find that community of origin is supposed on two main
\ngrounds, a common body of ordinary and familiar terms and a
\nconsiderable community of grammatical forms and uses. We
\ncome back to the initial formula, pitā, patēr, pater, voter, father.
\n<\/i>What other test, it may be asked, can be found for determining linguistic
\nkinship ? Possibly none, but a little dispassionate consideration will give us, it seems to me, ground to pause and reflect
\nvery long and seriously before we classify languages too confidently upon this slender basis. The mere possession of a large
\nbody of common terms is, it is recognised, insufficient to establish kinship; it may establish nothing more than contact or co-
\nhabitation. Tamil has a very large body of Sanskrit words in
\nits rich vocabulary, but it is not therefore a Sanskritic language.
\nThe common terms must be those which express ordinary and
\nfamiliar ideas and objects, such as domestic relations, numerals,
\npronouns, the heavenly bodies, the ideas of being, having, etc.,
\n\u2014 those terms that are most commonly in the mouths of men,
\nespecially of primitive men, and are, therefore, shall we say, least
\nliable to variation? Sanskrit says addressing the father, pitar,
\n<\/i>Greek patēr,<\/i> Latin pater,<\/i> but Tamil says appā;<\/i> Sanskrit says
\naddressing the mother mātar,<\/i> Greek mēter,<\/i> Latin mater,<\/i> but
\nTamil ammā;<\/i> for the numeral seven Sanskrit says saptan<\/i> or sapta,
\n<\/i>Greek hepta,<\/i> Latin septa,<\/i> but Tamil eḷ̣u;<\/i> for the first
\nperson Sanskrit says aham,<\/i> Greek egō<\/i> or egōn,<\/i> Latin ego,<\/i> but Tamil
\nnān;<\/i> for
\nthe sun, Sanskrit says sūra<\/i> or sūrya,<\/i> Greek helios,<\/i> Latin sol,<\/i> but<\/font><\/p>\n

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\nTamil \u00f1āyir;<\/i> for the idea of being, Sanskrit has as, asmi,<\/i> Greek
\nhas einai<\/i> and eimi,<\/i> Latin esse<\/i> and sum<\/i>, but Tamil iru.<\/i> The basis
\nof differentiation, then, appears with a striking clearness. There
\nis no doubt about it. Sanskrit, Greek and Latin belong to one
\nlinguistic family which we may call conveniently the Aryan or
\nIndo-European, Tamil to another for which we can get no more
\nconvenient term than Dravidian.<\/font><\/p>\n

\nSo far, good. We seem to be standing on a firm foundation,
\nto be in possession of a rule which can be applied with some-
\nthing like scientific accuracy. But when we go a little farther, the
\nfair prospect clouds a little, mists of doubt begin to creep into our
\nfield of vision. Mother and father we have; but there are other
\ndomestic relations. Over the daughter of the house, the primaeval milk-maid, the Aryan sisters show the slight beginnings
\nof a spirit of disagreement. The Sanskrit father addresses her in
\nthe orthodox fashion, duhitar,<\/i> O milkmaid; Greek as well as
\nGerman and English parents follow suit with thugather, tochter,
\n<\/i>and daughter,<\/i> but Latin has abandoned its pastoral ideas, knows
\nnothing of duhitā<\/i> and uses a word filia<\/i> which has no conceivable
\nconnection with the milk-pail and is not connected with any
\nvariant for daughter in the kindred tongues. Was Latin then a
\nmixed tongue drawing from a non-Aryan stock for its conception of daughterhood ? But this is only a single and negligible
\nvariation. We go farther and find, when we come to the word
\nfor son, these Aryan languages seem to differ hopelessly and give
\nup all appearance of unity. Sanskrit says putra,<\/i> Greek huios,
\n<\/i>Latin films,<\/i> the three languages use three words void of all mutual connection. We cannot indeed arrive at the conclusion that
\nthese languages were Aryan in their conception of fatherhood
\nand motherhood, but sonhood is a Dravidian conception, \u2014
\nlike architecture, monism and most other civilised conceptions,
\naccording to some modern authorities; for Sanskrit has a literary
\nterm for child or son, sūnuḥ,<\/i> with which we can connect the
\nGerman sohn,<\/i> English son<\/i> and more remotely the Greek huios.
\n<\/i>We explain the difference then by supposing that these languages
\ndid possess an original common term for son, possibly sunū,
\n<\/i>which was dropped by many of them at least in a colloquial
\nexpression, Sanskrit relegated it to the language of high literature,<\/font><\/p>\n

 
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\nGreek adopted another form from the same root, Latin
\nlost it altogether and substituted for it films<\/i> as it has substituted
\nfilia<\/i> for duhitā.<\/i> This sort of fluidity in the commonest terms
\nseems to have been common \u2014 Greek has lost its original word
\nfor brother, phrator,<\/i> which its sisters retain, and substituted
\nadelphos,<\/i> for which they have no correspondents, Sanskrit has
\nabandoned the common word for the numeral one unus, ein,
\none<\/i> and substituted a word eka,<\/i> unknown to any other Aryan
\ntongue; all differ over the third personal pronoun; for moon
\nGreek has selene,<\/i> Latin luna,<\/i> Sanskrit candra.<\/i> But when we admit
\nthese facts, a very important part of our scientific basis is sapped
\nand the edifice begins to totter. For we come back to this fatal
\nfact that even in the commonest terms the ancient languages
\ntended to lose their original vocabulary and diverge from each
\nother so that if the process had not been arrested by an early
\nliterature all obvious proof of relationship might well have disappeared. It is only the accident of an early and continuous
\nSanskrit literature that enables us to establish the original unity
\nof the Aryan tongues. If it were not for the old Sanskrit writings,
\nif only the ordinary Sanskrit colloquial vocables had survived who could be
\ncertain of these connections? or who could confidently affiliate colloquial
\nBengali with its ordinary domestic terms to Latin any more certainly than Telugu
\nor Tamil? How then are we to be sure that the dissonance of Tamil itself with
\nthe Aryan tongues is not due to an early separation and an extensive change of its vocabulary during its preliterary ages?
\nI shall be able, at a later stage of this inquiry to afford some
\nground for supposing the Tamil numerals to be early Aryan
\nvocables abandoned by Sanskrit but still traceable in the Veda or scattered and
\nimbedded in the various Aryan tongues and the Tamil pronouns similarly the
\nprimitive Aryan denominatives of which traces still remain in the ancient
\ntongues. I shall be able to show also that large families of words supposed to
\nbe pure Tamil are identical in the mass, though not in their units, with the
\nAryan family. But then we are logically driven towards this conclusion that
\nabsence of a common vocabulary for common ideas and objects is not necessarily a proof of diverse origin.
\nDiversity of grammatical forms? But are we certain that the<\/font><\/p>\n

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\nTamil forms are not equally old Aryan forms, corrupted but
\npreserved by the early deliquescence of the Tamilic dialect?
\nSome of them are common to the modern Aryan vernaculars,
\nbut unknown to Sanskrit, and it has even been thence concluded
\nby some that the Aryan vernaculars were originally non-Aryan
\ntongues linguistically overpowered by the foreign invader. But
\nif so then into what quagmires of uncertainty do we not descend ?
\nOur shadow of a scientific basis, our fixed classification of language families have disappeared into shifting vestibules of nothingness.<\/font><\/p>\n

\nNor is this all the havoc that more mature consideration
\nworks in the established theory of the philologists. We have
\nfound a wide divergence between the Tamil common terms and
\nthose shared in common by the "Aryan" dialects; but let us
\nlook a little more closely into these divergences. The Tamil for
\nfather is appā,<\/i> not pitā;<\/i> there is no corresponding word in
\nSanskrit, but we have what one might call a reverse of the word
\nin apatyam,<\/i> son, in aptyam,<\/i> offspring and apna,<\/i> offspring. These
\nthree words point decisively to a Sanskrit root ap,<\/i> to produce or
\ncreate, for which other evidence in abundance can be found.
\nWhat is there to prevent us from supposing appā,<\/i> father, to be the
\nTamil form for an old Aryan active derivative from this root
\ncorresponding to the passive derivative apatyam7<\/i> Mother in
\nTamil is ammā,<\/i> not mātā;<\/i> there is no Sanskrit word ammā,<\/i> but
\nthere is the well-known Sanskrit vocable ambā,<\/i> mother. What is
\nto prevent us from understanding the Tamil ammā<\/i> as an Aryan
\nform equivalent to ambā,<\/i> derived from the root amb<\/i> to produce,
\nwhich gives us amba<\/i> and ambaka,<\/i> father, ambā, ambikā<\/i> and ambi,
\n<\/i>mother and ambarīṣa,<\/i> colt of a horse or the young of an animal.
\nSodara,<\/i> a high Sanskrit word, is the common colloquial term in
\nTamil for brother and replaces the northern vernacular bhāi
\n<\/i>and classical bhrātā. Akkā,<\/i> a Sanskrit word with many variants,
\nis the colloquial term in Tamil for elder sister. In all these cases
\nan obsolete or high literary term in Sanskrit is the ordinary
\ncolloquial term in Tamil, just as we see the high literary Sanskrit
\nsūnuḥ<\/i> appearing in the colloquial German sohn<\/i> and English
\nson,<\/i> the obsolete and certainly high literary Aryan adalbha<\/i> undivided, appearing in the colloquial Greek adelphos,<\/i> brother.<\/font><\/p>\n

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\nWhat are we to conclude from these and a host of other instances
\nwhich will appear in a later volume of this work ? That Tamil is
\nan Aryan dialect, like Greek, like German ? Surely not, \u2014 the
\nevidence is not sufficient; but that it is possible for a non-Aryan
\ntongue to substitute largely and freely Aryan vocables for its
\nmost common and familiar terms and lose its own native expression. But then we are
\nagain driven by inexorable logic to this conclusion that just as the absence of a common vocabulary for
\ncommon and domestic terms is not a sure proof of diverse origin,
\nso also the possession of an almost identical vocabulary for these
\nterms is not a sure proof of common origin. These things prove,
\nat the most, intimate contact or separate development; they do
\nnot prove and in themselves cannot prove anything more. But
\non what basis then are we to distinguish and classify various
\nlanguage families? Can we positively say that Tamil is a non-
\nAryan or Greek, Latin and German Aryan tongues ? From the
\nindication of grammatical forms and uses, from the general
\nimpression created by the divergence or identity of the vocables
\ninherited by the languages we are comparing? But the first is
\ntoo scanty and inconclusive, the second too empirical, uncertain
\nand treacherous a test; both are the reverse of scientific, both, as
\nreflection will show, might lead us into the largest and most radical errors. Rather than to form a conclusion by such a principle
\nit is better to abstain from all conclusions and turn to a more
\nthorough and profitable initial labour.<\/font><\/p>\n

\nI conclude that it is too early, in the history of philological
\nresearch, we have made as yet too crude and slender a foundation
\nto rear upon it the superstructure of scientific laws and scientific
\nclassifications. We cannot yet arrive at a sound and certain
\nclassification of human tongues still extant in speech, record or
\nliterature. We must recognise that our divisions are popular, not scientific,
\nbased upon superficial identities, not upon the one sound foundation for a
\nscience, the study of various species in their development from the embryo to
\nthe finished form or, failing the necessary material, a reverse study tracing back the
\nfinished forms to the embryonic and digging down into the
\nhidden original foetus of language. The reproach of the real
\nscientist against the petty conjectural pseudo-science of philology<\/font><\/p>\n

 
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\nis just; it must be removed by the adoption
\nof a sounder method and greater self-restraint, the renunciation of brilliant
\nsuperficialities and a more scrupulous, sceptical and patient system of
\nresearch. In the present work I renounce, therefore, however
\nalluring the temptation, however strong the facts may seem to a
\nsuperficial study, all attempt to speculate on the identities or
\nrelationships of the different languages, on the evidence of philology as to the character and history of primitive human civilisations, or any other subject whatever not strictly within the four
\nwalls of my subject. That subject is the origin, growth and development of human language as it is shown to us by the embryology of the language ordinarily called Sanskrit and three ancient
\ntongues, two dead and one living which have evidently come at
\nleast into contact with it, the Latin, Greek and Tamil. I have
\ncalled my work, for convenience’s sake, ‘The Origins of Aryan
\nSpeech’; but I would have it clearly understood that by using this
\nfamiliar epithet I do not for a moment wish to imply any opinion
\nas to the relationship of the four languages included in my survey,
\nor the race origin of the peoples speaking them or even of the
\nethnic origins of the Sanskrit speaking peoples. I did not wish to
\nuse the word Sanskrit, both because it is only a term meaning
\npolished or correct and designating the literary tongue of ancient
\nIndia as distinct from the vernaculars used by the women and the
\ncommon people and because my scope is somewhat wider than
\nthe classical tongue of the northern Hindus. I base my conclusions on the evidence of the Sanskrit language helped out by those
\nparts of the Greek, Latin and Tamil tongues which are cognate
\nto the word-families of Sanskrit, and by the origins of Aryan
\nspeech I mean, properly, the origin of human speech as used
\nand developed by those who fashioned these word-families and
\ntheir stocks and off-shoots. The significance of the word Aryan,
\nas I use it, goes no farther.<\/font><\/p>\n

\nIn such an enquiry, it is obvious that a kind of science of
\nlinguistic embryology is the first necessity. In other words, it is
\nonly in proportion as we get away from the habits and notions
\nand apparent facts of formed human speech in its use by modern
\nand civilised people, only in proportion as we get nearer to the
\nfirst roots and rudiments of the structure of the more ancient<\/font><\/p>\n

 
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\nand primitive languages that we shall have any chance of making
\nreally fruitful discoveries. Just as from the study of the formed
\noutward man, animal, plant, the great truths of evolution could
\nnot be discovered or, if discovered, not firmly fixed, \u2014just as
\nonly by going back from the formed creature to its skeleton and
\nfrom the skeleton to the embryo could the great truth be established that in matter also the great Vedantic formula holds good,
\n\u2014 of a world formed by the development of many forms from
\none seed, in the will of the universal Being, ekam bījam bahudhā
\nyaḥ. karoti,<\/i> so also in language; if the origin and unity of human
\nspeech can be found and established, if it can be shown that its
\ndevelopment was governed by fixed laws and processes, it is only
\nby going back to its earliest forms that the discovery is to be
\nmade and its proofs established. Modern speech is largely a
\nfixed and almost artificial form, not precisely a fossil, but an
\norganism proceeding towards arrest and fossilisation. The ideas
\nits study suggests to us are well calculated to lead us entirely
\nastray. In modern language the word is a fixed conventional
\nsymbol having for no good reason that we know a significance
\nwe are bound by custom to attach to it. We mean by wolf a certain
\nkind of animal, but why we use this sound and not another to
\nmean it, except as a mere lawless fact of historical development,
\nwe do not know, do not care to think. Any other sound would, for
\nus, be equally good for the purpose, provided the custom-bound
\nmentality prevailing in our environment could be persuaded to
\nsanction it. It is only when we go back to the early tongues and
\nfind, for instance, that the Sanskrit word for wolf means radically "tearing" that we get a glimpse of one law at least of the
\ndevelopment of language. Again, in modern speech we have fixed
\nparts of speech; noun, adjective, verb, adverb are to us different
\nwords even when their forms are the same. Only when we go
\nback to the earlier tongues do we get a glimpse of the striking,
\nthe illuminating fact that in the most fundamental forms a single
\nmonosyllable did service equally for noun, adjective, verb and
\nadverb and that man in his earliest use of speech probably made
\nin his mind little or no conscious difference between these various
\nuses. We see the word vṛka<\/i> in modern Sanskrit used only as a
\nnoun signifying wolf; in the Veda it means simply tearing or a<\/font><\/p>\n

 
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\ntearer, is used indifferently as a noun or adjective, even in its
\nnoun-use has much of the freedom of an adjective and can be
\napplied freely to a wolf, a demon, an enemy, a disruptive force
\nor anything that tears. We find in the Veda, although there are
\nadverbial forms corresponding to the Latin adverb in e<\/i> and ter,
\n<\/i>the adjective itself used continually as a pure adjective and yet in
\na relation to the verb and its action which corresponds to our
\nmodern use of adverbs and adverbial or prepositional phrases or
\nsubordinate adverbial clauses. Still more remarkable, we find
\nnouns and adjectives used frequently as verbs with an object in
\nthe accusative case depending on the verbal idea in the root. We
\nare prepared, therefore, to find that in the simplest and earliest
\nforms of the Aryan tongue the use of a word was quite fluid, that
\na word like cit<\/i> for instance might equally mean to know, knowing, knows, knower, knowledge, or knowingly and be used by the
\nspeaker without any distinct idea of the particular employment
\nhe was making of the pliant vocable. Again, the tendency to
\nfixity in modern tongues, the tendency to use words as mere
\ncounters and symbols of ideas, not as living entities themselves
\nthe parents of thought, creates a tendency to limit severely the use
\nof a single word in several different senses and also a tendency to
\navoid the use of many different words for the expression of a
\nsingle object or idea. When we have got the word ‘strike’ to mean
\na voluntary and organised cessation of work by labourers, we
\nare satisfied; we would be embarrassed if we had to choose
\nbetween this and fifteen other words equally common and having
\nthe same significance; still more should we feel embarrassed if
\nthe same word could mean a blow, a sunbeam, anger, death, life,
\ndarkness, shelter, a house, food and prayer. Yet this is precisely
\nthe phenomenon,\u2014again, I suggest a most striking and illuminating phenomenon, \u2014 we find in the early history of speech.
\nEven in later Sanskrit the wealth of apparently unconnected
\nsignificances borne by a single word is phenomenal, but in Vedic
\nSanskrit it is more than phenomenal and offers a serious stumbling-block to any attempt by moderns to fix the exact and in-
\ndisputable sense of the Aryan hymns. I shall give evidence in
\nthis work for concluding that in yet earlier speech the licence was
\nmuch greater, that each word, not only exceptionally but ordinarily, <\/font> <\/p>\n

 
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\nwas capable of numerous different meanings and each
\nobject or idea could be expressed by many, often by as many
\nas fifty different words each derived from a different root. To
\nour ideas such a state of things would be one merely of lawless
\nconfusion negativing the very idea of any law of speech or any possibility of a
\nlinguistic Science, but I shall show that this extraordinary freedom and pliancy arose inevitably out of the very
\nnature of human speech in its beginnings and as a result of the
\nvery laws which presided over its pristine development.<\/font><\/p>\n

\nBy going back thus from the artificial use of a developed
\nspeech in modern language nearer to the natural use of primitive
\nspeech by our earlier forefathers we gain two important points.
\nWe get rid of the idea of a conventional fixed connection between
\nthe sound and its sense and we perceive that a certain object is
\nexpressed by a certain sound because for some reason it suggested
\na particular and striking action or characteristic which distinguished that object to the earlier human mind. Ancient man did
\nnot say in his mind as would the sophisticated modern, "Here is
\na gory carnivorous animal, with four legs, of the canine species
\nwho hunts in packs and is particularly associated in my mind
\nwith Russia and the winter and snow and the steppes; let us find
\na suitable name for him"; he had fewer ideas about the wolf in
\nhis mind, no preoccupation with ideas of scientific classification
\nand much preoccupation with the physical fact of his contact with
\nthe wolf. It was this chief all-important physical fact he selected
\nwhen he cried to his companion, not "here is the wolf", but
\nsimply "this tearer", ayam vrkah<\/i> The question remains, why
\nthe word vrkah<\/i> more than another suggested the idea of tearing.
\nThe Sanskrit language carries us one step back, but not yet to
\nthe final step, by showing us that it is not the formed word vṛkaḥ
\n<\/i>with which we have to deal, but the word vṛc,<\/i> that root of which
\nvṛka<\/i> is only one of several outgrowths. For the second obsession
\nit helps us to get rid of is the modern connection of the developed
\nword with some precise shade of an idea that we have accustomed
\nit to convey. The word delimitation<\/i> and the complex sense it
\nconveys are with us welded together; we need not remember
\nthat it comes from limes,<\/i> a boundary, and that the single syllable
\nlime,<\/i> which is the backbone of the word, does not carry to us by<\/font><\/p>\n

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\n

itself the fundamental core of the
\nsense. But I think it can be
\nshown that even in the Vedic times men using the word vṛka
\n<\/i>had the sense of the root vṛc<\/i> foremost in their minds and it was
\nthat root which to their mentality was the rigid fixed significant
\npart of speech; the full word being still fluid and depending for
\nits use on the associations wakened by the root it contained. If
\nthat be so, we can partly see why words remained fluid in their
\nsense, varying according to the particular idea wakened by the
\nroot-sound in the mentality of the speaker. We can see also
\nwhy this root itself was fluid not only in its significances, but in
\nits use and why even in the formed and developed word the
\nnominal, adjectival, verbal and adverbial uses were, even in the
\ncomparatively late stage of speech we find in the Vedas, so imperfectly distinguished, so little rigid and separate, so much run
\ninto each other. We get back always to the root as the determining unit of language. In the particular inquiry we have
\nbefore us, the basis for a science of language, we make a most
\nimportant advance. We need not enquire why vṛka<\/i> meant tearer;<\/font>
\nwe shall enquire instead what the sound
\nvṛc<\/i> meant to the early
\nAryan-speaking races and why it bore the particular significance
\nor significances we actually find imbedded in it. We have not to
\nask why dolabra<\/i> in Latin means an axe, dalmi<\/i> in Sanskrit means
\nIndra’s thunderbolt, dalapa<\/i> and dala<\/i> are applied to weapons, or
\ndalanam<\/i> meaning crushing or delphi<\/i> in Greek is the name given
\nto a place of caverns and ravines, but we may confine ourselves
\nto an enquiry into the nature of the mother-root dal<\/i> of which all
\nthese different but cognate uses are the result. Not that the variations noted have no importance but their importance is minor
\nand subsidiary. We may indeed divide the history of speech-
\norigins into two parts, the embryonic into which research must
\nbe immediate as of the first importance, the structural which is
\nless important and therefore may be kept for subsequent and
\nsubsidiary inquiry. In the first we note the roots of speech and
\ninquire how vṛc<\/i> came to mean to tear, dal<\/i> to split or crush, whether arbitrarily or by the operation of some law of nature; in the
\nsecond we note the modifications and additions by which those
\nroots grow into developed words, word-groups, word-families
\nand word-clans and why those modifications and additions had<\/font><\/p>\n

 
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\n

the effect on sense and use which we
\nfind them to have exercised,
\nwhy the termination ana<\/i> turns dal<\/i> into an adjective or a noun
\nand what is the source and sense of the various terminations
\nābra, bhi, bha, (del)phoi, (dal)bhāh, ān<\/i> (Greek ōn)<\/i> and ana.<\/i><\/font><\/p>\n

This superior importance of the root in
\nearly language to
\nthe formed word is one of those submerged facts of language the
\nneglect of which has been one of the chief causes of philology’s
\nscientific abortiveness as a science. The first comparative philologists made, it seems to me, a fatal mistake when, misled by the
\nwider preoccupation with the formed word, they fixed on the
\ncorrelation pitā, patēr, pater, voter, father<\/i> as the clef, or the
\nmūlamantra,<\/i> of their science and began to argue from it to all
\nsorts of sound or unsound conclusions. The real clef, the real
\ncorrelation is to be found in this other agreement, dalbhi, dalana,
\ndolabra, dolon,<\/i><\/font>\u00b9<\/font> delphi,<\/i> leading to the idea of a common mother-
\nroot, common word-families, common word-clans, kindred
\nword-nations, or, as we call them, languages. And if it had been
\nalso noticed that in all these languages dal<\/i> means also pretence
\nor fraud and has other common or kindred significances and
\nsome attempt made to discover the reason for one sound having
\nthese various significant uses, the foundation of a real Science of
\nLanguages might have been formed. We should incidentally
\nhave discovered, perhaps, the real connections of the ancient
\nlanguages and the common mentality of the so-called Aryan
\npeoples. We find dolabra<\/i> in Latin for axe, we find no corresponding word in Greek or Sanskrit for axe; to argue thence
\nthat the Aryan forefathers had not invented or adopted the axe
\nas a weapon before their dispersion, is to land oneself in a region
\nof futile and nebulous uncertainties and rash inferences. But
\nwhen we have noted that dolabra<\/i> in Latin, dolon<\/i> in Greek, dala,
\ndalapa<\/i> and dalmi<\/i> in Sanskrit were all various derivatives freely
\ndeveloped from dal<\/i> to split, and all used for some kind of weapon,
\nwe get hold of a fruitful and luminous certainty. We see the
\ncommon or original mentality working, we see the apparently
\nfree and loose yet really regular processes by which words were
\nformed; we see too that not the possession of the same identical
\nformed words, but the selection of a root word and of one among<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\u00b9<\/font>Dolos,<\/i> fraud; dolon,<\/i>
\ndagger; doulos,<\/i> slave.<\/font><\/p>\n

 
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several children of the same root word
\nto express a particular
\nobject or idea was the secret both of the common element and of
\nthe large and free variation that we actually mid of the vocabulary of the Aryan languages.<\/font><\/p>\n


\nI have said enough to show the character of the enquiry which I propose to
\npursue in the present work. This character arises necessarily from the very
\nnature of the problem we have before us, the processes by which language took
\nbirth and formation. In the physical sciences we have a simple and homogeneous material of study; for, however complex may be the
\nforces or constituents at work, they are all of one nature and
\nobey one class of laws; all the constituents are forms developed
\nby the vibration of material ether, all the forces are energies of
\nthese ethereal vibrations which have either knotted themselves
\ninto these formal constituents of objects and are at work in them
\nor else still work freely upon them from outside. But in the
\nmental sciences we are confronted with heterogeneous material
\nand heterogeneous forces and action of forces; we have to deal
\nfirst with a physical material and medium, the nature and action
\nof which by itself would be easy enough to study and regular
\nenough in its action, but for the second element, the mental
\nagency working in and upon its physical medium and material.
\nWe see a cricket ball flying through the air, we know the elements
\nof action and statics that work into and upon its flight and we
\ncan tell easily enough either by calculation or judgment not only
\nin what direction it will pursue its flight, but where it will fall.
\nWe see a bird flying through the air, \u2014 a physical object like the
\ncricket ball flying through the same physical medium; but we
\nknow neither in what direction it will fly, nor where it will alight.
\nThe material is the same, a physical body, the medium is the
\nsame, the physical atmosphere; to a certain extent even the
\nenergy is the same, the physical Pranic energy, as it is called in
\nour philosophy, inherent in matter. But another force not
\nphysical has seized on this physical force, is acting in it and on it
\nand so far as the physical medium will allow, fulfilling itself
\nthrough it. This force is mental energy, and its presence suffices
\nto change the pure or molecular Pranic energy we find in the
\ncricket ball into the mixed or nervous Pranic energy we find in<\/font><\/p>\n

 
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the bird. But if we could so develop
\nour mental perceptions as
\nto be able to estimate by judgment or measure by calculation
\nthe force of nervous energy animating the bird at the moment of
\nits flight, even then we could not determine its direction or goal.
\nThe reason is that there is not only a difference in the energy, but
\na difference in the agency. The agency is the mental power dwelling in the merely physical object, the power of a mental will
\nwhich is not only indwelling but to a certain extent free. There
\nis an intention in the bird’s flight; if we can perceive that intention, we can then judge whither it will fly, where it will alight,
\nprovided always that it does not change its intention. The cricket
\nball is also thrown by a mental agent with an intention, but that
\nagent being external and not indwelling, the ball cannot, once
\nit is propelled in a certain direction, with a certain force, change
\nthat direction or exceed that force unless turned or driven
\nforward by a new object it meets in it& flight. n itself it is not
\nfree. The bird is also propelled by a mental agent with an intention, in a certain direction, with a certain force of nervous energy
\nin its flight. Let nothing change in the mental will working it
\nand its flight may possibly be estimated and fixed like the cricket
\nball’s. It also may be turned by an object meeting it, a tree or a
\ndanger in the way, an attractive object out of the way, but the
\nmental power dwells within and is, as we should say, free to
\nchoose whether it shall be turned aside or not, whether it shall
\ncontinue its way or not. But also it is free entirely to change its
\noriginal intention without any external reasons, to increase or
\ndiminish, to use its output of nervous energy in the act, to employ
\nit in a direction and towards a goal which are quite foreign to
\nthe original object of the flight. We can study and estimate
\nthe physical and nervous forces it uses, but we cannot make
\na science of the bird’s flight unless we go behind matter and
\nmaterial force and study the nature of this conscious agent and
\nthe laws, if any, which determine, annul or restrict its apparent
\nfreedom.<\/font><\/p>\n

Philology is the attempt to form such a
\nmental science, \u2014
\nfor language has this twofold, aspect; its material is physical,
\nthe sounds formed by the human tongue working on the air
\nvibrations; the energy using it is nervous, the molecular Pranic<\/font>
\n <\/p>\n

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activity of the brain using the vocal
\nagents and itself used and
\nmodified by a mental energy, the nervous impulse to express,
\nto bring out of the crude material of sensation the clearness and
\npreciseness of the idea; the agent using it is a mental will, free so
\nfar as we can see, but free within the limits of its physical material
\nto vary and determine its use, for that purpose, of the range of
\nvocal sound. In order to arrive at the laws which have governed
\nthe formation of any given human tongue, \u2014 and my purpose
\nnow is not to study the origins of human speech generally, but the
\norigins of Aryan speech, \u2014 we must examine, first, the way in
\nwhich the instrument of vocal sound has been determined and
\nused by the agent, secondly, the way in which the relation of the
\nparticular ideas to be expressed to the particular sound or
\nsounds which express it, has been determined. There must
\nalways be these two elements, the structure of the language, its
\nseeds, roots, formation and growth, and the psychology of the
\nuse of the structure.<\/font><\/p>\n

Alone of the Aryan tongues, the present
\nstructure of the
\nSanskrit language still preserves this original type of the Aryan
\nstructure. In this ancient tongue alone, we see not entirely in all
\nthe original forms, but in the original essential parts and rules of
\nformation, the skeleton, the members, the entrails of this organism. It is through this study, then, of Sanskrit, especially aided
\nby whatever light we can get from the more regular and richly-structured among the other Aryan languages, that we must seek
\nfor our origins. The structure we find is one of extraordinary
\ninitial simplicity and also of extraordinarily mathematical and
\nscientific regularity of formation. We have in Sanskrit four open
\nsounds or pure vowels, a<\/i> (<\/font>अ<\/font>), i<\/i> (<\/font>इ<\/font>), u<\/i> (<\/font>उ<\/font>), ṛ<\/i> (<\/font>
\nऋ<\/font>) with
\ntheir lengthened forms, ā<\/i> (<\/font>आ<\/font>), ī<\/i> (<\/font>ई<\/font>), ū<\/i> (<\/font>
\nऊ<\/font>), and
\nṛ<\/i> (<\/font>ॠ<\/font>) (we have
\nto mention but may omit for practical purposes the rare vowel Iṛ,<\/i> (<\/font>लृ<\/font>),
\nsupplemented by two other open sounds which the grammarians
\nare probably right in regarding as impure vowels or modifications
\nof i<\/i> (<\/font>इ<\/font>) and
\nu <\/i>(<\/font>उ)<\/font>;
\nthey are <\/font>t<\/font>he vowels e <\/i>
\n(<\/font>ए) <\/font>
\nand o<\/i> (<\/font>ओ<\/font>), each
\nwith its farther modification into ai <\/i>(<\/font>ऐ<\/font>) and au<\/i> (<\/font>औ<\/font>). Then we
\nhave five symmetrical Vargas or classes of closed sounds or
\nconsonants, the gutturals, k <\/i>(<\/font>क्<\/font>), kh<\/i> (<\/font>ख्<\/font>), g<\/i> (<\/font>ग्<\/font>), gh<\/i>
\n(<\/font>घ्<\/font>), n<\/i> (<\/font>ङ्<\/font>), the
\npalatals c (<\/font>च्<\/font>),ch<\/i> (<\/font>छ्<\/font>), j<\/i> (<\/font>ज्<\/font>), jh<\/i> (<\/font>झ्<\/font>), \u00f1<\/i> (<\/font>ञ्<\/font>), the
\ncerebrals, answering <\/font> <\/p>\n

 
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\napproximately to the English
\ndentals, ̣ṭ<\/i> (<\/font>ट्<\/font>), ṭh<\/i> (<\/font>ठ्<\/font>), ḍ<\/i> (<\/font>ड्<\/font>),
\nḍh<\/i> (<\/font>ढ्<\/font>), ṇ<\/i> (<\/font>ण्<\/font>); the pure dentals answering to the Celtic and
\ncontinental dentals we find in Irish and in French, Spanish or
\nItalian t<\/i> (<\/font>त्<\/font>), th<\/i> (<\/font>थ्<\/font>), d<\/i> (<\/font>द्<\/font>), dh<\/i>
\n(<\/font>ध्<\/font>),
\nn<\/i> (<\/font>न्<\/font>) and the labials, p<\/i>
\n(<\/font>प्<\/font>),
\nph <\/i>(<\/font>फ्<\/font>),
\nb<\/i> (<\/font>ब्<\/font>), bh<\/i> (<\/font>भ्<\/font>), m<\/i> (<\/font>म्<\/font>). Each of these classes consists of a
\nhard sound, k <\/i>(<\/font>क्<\/font>),
\nc<\/i> (<\/font>च्<\/font>), t <\/i>
\n(<\/font>ट्<\/font>), ṭ<\/i> (<\/font>त्<\/font>), p<\/i> (<\/font>प्<\/font>), with
\nits aspirate, kh
\n<\/i>(<\/font>ख्<\/font>), ch <\/i>
\n(<\/font>छ्<\/font>), ṭh<\/i> (<\/font>ठ्<\/font>), th<\/i>
\n(<\/font>थ्<\/font>),
\nph <\/i>(<\/font>फ्<\/font>),<\/i> a corresponding sound
\ng <\/i>(<\/font>ग्<\/font>),
\nj<\/i> (<\/font>ज्)<\/font>
\nd<\/i>̣ (<\/font>ड्<\/font>)
\nd <\/i>(<\/font>द्<\/font>), b<\/i>
\n(<\/font>ब्) <\/font>
\nwith its aspirate gh <\/i>(<\/font>घ)<\/font>, jh <\/i>(<\/font>झ्<\/font>), ḍh<\/i> (<\/font>ढ्<\/font>), dh
\n<\/i>(<\/font>ध्<\/font>),  bh<\/i> (<\/font>भ्<\/font>), and a class nasal, n<\/i> (<\/font>ञ्<\/font>), \u00f1<\/i> (<\/font>ण्<\/font>), ṇ<\/i> (<\/font>न्<\/font>),
\nn <\/i>(<\/font>ङ्<\/font>,) m <\/i>(<\/font>म्<\/font>).
\nBut of these nasals only the last three have any separate existence or importance; the others are modifications of the general
\nnasal sound, m<\/i> (<\/font>म्<\/font>), n<\/i> (<\/font>न्<\/font>), which are found only in conjunction
\nwith the other consonants of their class and are brought into
\nexistence by that conjunction. The cerebral class is also a peculiar
\nclass; they have so close a kinship to the dental both in sound
\nand in use that they may almost be regarded as modified dentals
\nrather than an original separate class. Finally, in addition to the
\nordinary vowels and consonants we have a class composed of the
\nfour liquids y<\/i> (<\/font>य्<\/font>),
\nr <\/i>(<\/font>र्<\/font>),
\nI <\/i>(<\/font>ल्<\/font>), v (<\/font>व्<\/font>), which are evidently
\ntreated
\nas semi-vowels, y <\/i> (<\/font>य्<\/font>) being the semi-vowel form of i<\/i> (<\/font>इ<\/font>), v<\/i> (<\/font>व्<\/font>)
\nof u<\/i> (<\/font>उ<\/font>), r <\/i>
\n(<\/font>र्<\/font>)
\nof ṛ<\/i> (<\/font>ऋ<\/font>), \/ (<\/font>ल्<\/font>) of Iṛ<\/i>
\n(<\/font>लृ<\/font>),\u2014this
\nsemi-vowel
\ncharacter of r<\/i> (<\/font>र्<\/font>) and \/ (<\/font>ल्<\/font>) is the reason Why in Latin prosody
\nthey have not always the full value of the consonant, why, for
\ninstance, the u<\/i> in volueris<\/i> is optionally long or short; we have
\nthe triple sibilation ś<\/i> (<\/font>श्<\/font>),
\nṣ <\/i>(<\/font>ष्<\/font>)
\nand s<\/i> (<\/font>स्<\/font>), ś,<\/i> palatal, ṣ<\/i>
\ncerebral,
\ns<\/i> dental; we have the pure aspirate, h<\/i> (<\/font>ह<\/font>). With the possible
\nexception of the cerebral class and the variable nasal, it can
\nhardly be doubted, I think, that the Sanskrit alphabet represents
\nthe original vocal instrument of Aryan speech. Its regular, symmetrical and methodical character is evident and might tempt
\nus to see in it a creation of some scientific intellect, if we did not
\nknow that Nature in a certain portion other pure physical action
\nhas precisely this regularity, symmetry and fixity and that the
\nmind, at any rate in its earlier unintellectualised action, when
\nman is more guided by sensation and impulse and hasty perception, tends to bring in the element of irregularity and caprice
\nand not a greater method and symmetry. We may even say,
\nnot absolutely, but within the range of the linguistic facts and<\/font><\/p>\n

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periods available to us, the greater
\nthe symmetry and unconscious
\nscientific regularity, the more ancient the stage of the language.
\nThe advanced stages of language show an increasing detrition,
\ndeliquescence, capricious variation, the loss of useful sounds,
\nthe passage, sometimes transitory, sometimes permanent of slight
\nand unnecessary variations of the same sound to the dignity of
\nseparate letters. Such a variation, unsuccessful in permanence
\ncan be seen in the Vedic modification of the soft cerebral ḍ<\/i> (<\/font>ड्<\/font>)
\ninto a cerebral liquid ḷ<\/i> (<\/font>ळ्<\/font>). This sound disappears in later
\nSanskrit, but has fixed itself in Tamil and Marathi. Such is the
\nsimple instrument out of which the majestic and expressive
\nharmonies of the Sanskrit language have been formed.<\/font><\/p>\n


\nThe use of the instrument by the earlier Aryans for the formation of words seems to have been equally symmetrical, methodical and in close touch with the physical facts of vocal expression. These letters are used as so many seed-sounds; out of
\nthem primitive root-sounds are formed by the simple combination of the four vowels or less frequently the modified vowels
\nwith each of the consonants, the two dependent nasals n<\/i> (<\/font>ङ्<\/font>)
\nand \u00f1<\/i>  (<\/font>ञ्<\/font>) and the cerebral nasal ṇ<\/i>
\n(<\/font>ण्<\/font>) excepted. Thus with d<\/i>
\n(<\/font>द्<\/font>)
\nas a base sound, the early Aryans were able to make for themselves root-sounds which they used indifferently as nouns, adjectives, verbs or adverbs to express root-ideas, \u2014da<\/i> (<\/font>द<\/font>), da<\/i> (<\/font>दा<\/font>),
\ndi<\/i> (<\/font>दि<\/font> ), dī<\/i> (<\/font>दी<\/font>), du <\/i>(<\/font>दु<\/font>), dū<\/i>  (<\/font>दू<\/font>), dṛ<\/i> (<\/font>दृ<\/font>), and
\ndṛ<\/i> (<\/font>दॄ<\/font>). All these
\nroots did not endure as separate words, but those which did,
\nleft an often vigorous progeny behind them which preserve
\nin themselves the evidence for the existence of their progenitor.
\nEspecially have the roots formed by the short a<\/i> (<\/font>अ<\/font>) passed out of
\nuse without a single exception. In addition the Aryans could form
\nif they chose the modified root-sounds de<\/i> (<\/font>दे<\/font>), dai<\/i> (<\/font>दै<\/font>),
\ndo <\/i>(<\/font>दो<\/font>), dau <\/i>(<\/font>दौ<\/font>).<\/i> The vowel bases were also used, since the nature of speech
\npermitted it, as root-sounds and root-words. But obviously the
\nkernel of language, though it might suffice for primitive beings, is
\ntoo limited in range to satisfy the self-extensive tendency of human
\nspeech. We see therefore a class of secondary root-sounds and
\nroot-words grow up from the primitive root by the further addition to it of any of the consonant sounds with its necessary or
\nnatural modification of the already existing root-idea. Thus on<\/font>
\n <\/p>\n

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the basis of the now lost primitive
\nroot da,<\/i> it was possible to have
\nfour guttural short secondary roots, dak <\/i>(<\/font>दक्<\/font>), dakh <\/i>
\n(<\/font>दख्<\/font>), dag <\/i>
\n(<\/font>दग्<\/font>), dagh<\/i> (<\/font>दघ्<\/font>) and four long, dāk<\/i> (<\/font>दाक्<\/font>), dākh<\/i> (<\/font>दाख्<\/font>), dāg<\/i> (<\/font>दाग्<\/font>),
\ndāgh
\n<\/i>(<\/font>दाघ्<\/font>), which might be regarded either as separate words or long
\nforms of the short root; so also eight palatal, eight cerebral,
\nwith the two nasal forms daṇ<\/i> (<\/font>दण्<\/font>) and dāṇ<\/i> (<\/font>दाण्<\/font>), making ten,
\nten dental, ten ‘labial liquid, six sibilant and two aspirate
\nsecondary roots. It was possible also to nasalise any of these
\nforms, establishing for instance, dank <\/i>(<\/font>दंक्<\/font>), dankh<\/i> (<\/font>दंख्<\/font>), dang
\n<\/i>(<\/font>दंग्<\/font>) and dangh<\/i> (<\/font>दंघ्<\/font>). It seems not unnatural to suppose that
\nall these roots existed in the earlier forms of the Aryan Speech,
\nbut by the time of our first literary records, the greater number
\nof them have disappeared, some leaving behind them a scanty or
\nnumerous progeny, others perishing with their frail descendants.
\nIf we take a single example, the primitive base root ma<\/i> (<\/font>म<\/font>),
\nwe find ma <\/i>(<\/font>म<\/font>) itself dead but existing in the noun forms ma
\n<\/i>(<\/font>म<\/font>), mā<\/i> (<\/font>मा<\/font>), man<\/i> (<\/font>मन्<\/font>), mataḥ<\/i> (<\/font>मत<\/font>:), matam<\/i> (<\/font>मतम्<\/font>);
\nman<\/i> (<\/font>मन्<\/font>)
\nexisting only in the nasal form mank<\/i> (<\/font>मंक्<\/font>) and in its own descendants makara<\/i> (<\/font>मकर<\/font>), makura<\/i> (<\/font>मकुर<\/font>), makula<\/i> (<\/font>मकुल<\/font>) etc., and in
\ntertiary formations makk<\/i> (<\/font>मक्क्<\/font>) and makṣ<\/i> (<\/font>मक्क्ष्<\/font>); makk<\/i> (<\/font>मक्क्<\/font>)
\nstill
\nexisting as a root-word in the forms makh<\/i> (<\/font>मख्<\/font>) and mankh <\/i>(<\/font>मंख्<\/font>); mag<\/i> (<\/font>मग्<\/font>) only in its descendants and in its nasal forms
\nmang <\/i>(<\/font>मंग्<\/font>)<\/font>, magh<\/i> (<\/font>मघ्<\/font>) in its nasalised form mangh
\n<\/i>(<\/font>मंघ्<\/font>); mac<\/i>(<\/font>मच्<\/font>)
\n<\/i>still alive, but childless except in its nasal disguise manc<\/i> (<\/font>मंच्)<\/font>;<\/font>
\nmach<\/i> (<\/font>मछ्<\/font>) dead with its
\nposterity, maj <\/i>(<\/font>मज्<\/font>) alive in its descendants
\nand its nasal form manj<\/i> (<\/font>मंज्<\/font>), majh<\/i> (<\/font>मझ्<\/font>) wholly obsolete. We
\nfind in the long forms mā.<\/i> (<\/font>मा<\/font>) and mākṣ<\/i> (<\/font>माक्ष्<\/font>) as separate
\nroots and words with māk<\/i> (<\/font>माक्<\/font>), mākh<\/i> (<\/font>माख्<\/font>), māgh<\/i> (<\/font>माघ्<\/font>),
\nmāc<\/i> (<\/font>माच्<\/font> ), and māch<\/i> (<\/font>माछ्<\/font>) as their substantial parts, but
\nmore usually deriving, it would seem, from a lengthening of
\nthe short root, than from the long form as a separate root.
\nFinally, tertiary roots have been formed less regularly but still
\nwith some freedom by the addition of semi-vowels to the seed-sound in either primitive or secondary root thus giving us roots
\nlike dhyai<\/i> (<\/font>ध्यै<\/font>), dhvan<\/i> (<\/font>ध्वन्<\/font>), sru <\/i>(<\/font>स्रु<\/font>), hlād<\/i> (<\/font>ह्लाद्<\/font>), or of
\nother
\nconsonants where the combination was possible, giving us roots
\nlike stu<\/i> (<\/font>स्तु<\/font>), ścyu<\/i> (<\/font>श्च्यु<\/font>), hrad<\/i> (<\/font>ह्रद<\/font>) etc., or else by the
\naddition of
\nanother consonant to the final of the secondary root, giving us<\/font><\/p>\n

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forms like vall<\/i> (<\/font>वल्ल्<\/font>), majj<\/i>
\n(<\/font>मज्ज्<\/font>) etc. These are the pure root-forms. But a sort of illegitimate tertiary root is formed by the
\nvowel guṇa<\/i> or modification, as for example, of the vowel ṛ
\n<\/i>(<\/font>ऋ<\/font>) into ar<\/i> (<\/font>अर्<\/font>), and ṛ<\/i> (<\/font>ॠ<\/font>) into ār<\/i> (<\/font>आर्<\/font>), so that we have
\nthe
\nalternative forms ṛc<\/i> (<\/font>ऋच<\/font>) and arc<\/i> (<\/font>अर्च्) <\/font>
\nor ark<\/i> (<\/font>अर्क्<\/font>); the
\nforms
\ncarṣ<\/i> (<\/font>चर्ष्<\/font>) and car<\/i> (<\/font>चर्<\/font>) replacing cṛṣ<\/i> (<\/font>चृष्<\/font>) and cṛ<\/i>
\n(<\/font>चृ<\/font>) which
\nare now dead, the forms mṛj<\/i> (<\/font>मृज्<\/font>) and marj<\/i> (<\/font>मर्ज्<\/font>) etc. We find
\ntoo, certain early tendencies of consonantal modifications,
\none has an initial tendency to get rid of the palatal c<\/i> (<\/font>च्<\/font>)
\nch<\/i> (<\/font>छ्)<\/font> and j<\/i> (<\/font>ज्<\/font>) jh<\/i> (<\/font>झ्<\/font>), replace them by
\nk <\/i>(<\/font>क्<\/font>) and
\ng <\/i>(<\/font>ग्<\/font>)<\/font>, a
\ntendency entirely fulfilled in Latin, but arrested in the course
\nof half fulfilment in Sanskrit. This principle of guṇa<\/i> is of great
\nimportance in the study of the physical formation of the
\nlanguage and of its psychological development, especially as it
\nintroduces a first element of doubt and confusion into an
\notherwise crystal clearness of structure and perfect mechanic
\nregularity of formation. The vowel guna or modification works
\nby the substitution either of the modified vowel, e <\/i>(<\/font>ए<\/font>) for i<\/i> (<\/font>इ)<\/font>,
\no<\/i> (<\/font>ओ<\/font>) for u <\/i>
\n(<\/font>उ<\/font>),
\nso<\/i> that we have from vi<\/i> (<\/font>वि<\/font>) the case
\nform ves
\n<\/i>(<\/font>वेस्<\/font>)<\/font>, veḥ.<\/i> (<\/font>वे:<\/font>), from janu<\/i> (<\/font>जनु<\/font>) the case form janoḥ<\/i> (<\/font>जनो:<\/font>),
\nor of the
\npure semi-vowel sound y<\/i> (<\/font>य्<\/font>) for i<\/i> (<\/font>इ<\/font>), v (<\/font>व्<\/font>) for
\nu <\/i>(<\/font>उ<\/font>),
\nr<\/i> (<\/font>र्<\/font>)
\nfor
\nṛ<\/i> (<\/font>ऋ<\/font>), or a little impurely rā<\/i> (<\/font>रा<\/font>), so that from vi<\/i> (<\/font>वि<\/font>) we
\nhave the
\nverbal form vyantaḥ.<\/i> (<\/font>व्यन्त:<\/font>), from śu <\/i>(<\/font>शु<\/font>),<\/i> the verbal form aśvaḥ
\n<\/i>(<\/font>अश्व:<\/font>), from vṛ <\/i>
\n(<\/font>वृ<\/font>) or, vṛh<\/i> (<\/font>व्रह<\/font>) the noun vraha<\/i> (<\/font>वृह<\/font>), or else of
\nme supported semi-vowel sound, ay<\/i> (<\/font>अय्<\/font>) for i<\/i> (<\/font>इ<\/font>), av<\/i> (<\/font>अव्<\/font>) for
\nu<\/i> (<\/font>उ<\/font>), ar<\/i> (<\/font>अर्<\/font>) for ṛ<\/i>(<\/font>ऋ<\/font>),
\nal<\/i> (<\/font>अल्<\/font>) for lṛ <\/i>
\n(<\/font>लृ<\/font>),<\/i> so that
\nwe have
\nfrom vi<\/i> the noun vayas<\/i> (<\/font>वयस्<\/font>), from śru <\/i>(<\/font>श्रु<\/font>) the noun śravas
\n<\/i>(<\/font>श्रवस्<\/font>), from sṛ<\/i> (<\/font>सृ<\/font>) the noun saras<\/i>
\n(<\/font>सरस्<\/font>),<\/i> from klṛp<\/i>
\n(<\/font>क्लृप्<\/font>)
\nthe
\nnoun kalpa<\/i> (<\/font>कल्प<\/font>). These forms constitute the simple gunation
\nof the short vowel sounds a<\/i> (<\/font>अ<\/font>), i <\/i>(<\/font>इ<\/font>),
\nu <\/i>(<\/font>उ<\/font>),
\nṛ<\/i> (<\/font>ऋ<\/font>), lr <\/i>
\n(<\/font>लृ) <\/font>
\n in
\naddition we have the long modification or vrddhi,<\/i> an extension
\nof the principle of lengthening which gives us the long forms
\nof the words; we have ai <\/i>(<\/font>ऐ<\/font>) or āy<\/i> (<\/font>आय् <\/font>
\n) from i<\/i> (<\/font>इ<\/font>), au<\/i>
\n(<\/font>औ<\/font>) or āv
\n<\/i> (<\/font>आव्<\/font>) from
\nu <\/i>(<\/font>उ<\/font>), ār<\/i> (<\/font>अर्<\/font>) from ṛ<\/i> (<\/font>ऋ<\/font>), āl<\/i> (<\/font>आल्<\/font>) from
\nIṛ<\/i> (<\/font>लृ<\/font>),
\nwhile a<\/i> (<\/font>अ<\/font>) has no vṛddhi<\/i> proper but only the lengthening ā <\/i> (<\/font>आ<\/font>). The principal confusion that arises out of this primitive
\ndeparture from simplicity of sound-development is the frequent
\nuncertainty between a regular secondary root and the irregular<\/font><\/p>\n

 
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gunated root. We have, for instance,
\nthe regular root ar<\/i> (<\/font>अर्<\/font>)
\nderiving from the primitive root a<\/i> (<\/font>अ<\/font>) and the illegitimate root
\nar<\/i> (<\/font>अर<\/font>) deriving from the primitive root ṛ<\/i> (<\/font>ऋ<\/font>); we have the
\nforms kala<\/i> (<\/font>कल<\/font>) and kāla<\/i> (<\/font>काल<\/font>), which, if judged only by their
\nstructure, may derive either from klṛ<\/i> (<\/font>क्लृ<\/font>) or from kal<\/i> (<\/font>कल्)<\/font>;
\nwe
\nhave āyus<\/i> (<\/font>अयुस्<\/font>) and ayus<\/i> (<\/font>आयुस्<\/font>) which, similarly judged, may
\nderive either from the root forms a<\/i> (<\/font>अ<\/font>) and ā<\/i> (<\/font>आ<\/font>) or from the
\nroot forms u <\/i><\/font>(उ) <\/font>
\nand i<\/i> (<\/font>इ<\/font>). The main consonantal modifications
\nin Sanskrit are structural and consist in the assimilation of
\nlike consonants, a hard sound becoming soft by association
\nwith a soft sound, as soft sound hard by association with a hard
\nsound, aspirates being replaced in conjunction by the corresponding unaspirated sound and modifying their companion in
\nreturn, e.g. lapsyate<\/i> (<\/font>लप्स्यते<\/font>) and labdhum<\/i> (<\/font>लब्धुम्<\/font>) from labh<\/i>
\n(<\/font>लभ्<\/font>)
\nsubstituted for labh-syate<\/i> (<\/font>लभ्-स्यते<\/font>) and labh-tum<\/i> (<\/font>लभ्-तुम्<\/font>), vyūḍha
\n<\/i>(<\/font>व्युढ<\/font>) from vyūh<\/i> (<\/font>व्युह्) <\/font>
\n replacing vyūhta (<\/i><\/font>व्युह्त) <\/font>
\n.<\/i> Beyond this
\ntendency to obey certain subtle but easily recognisable tendencies of mutual modification, which in themselves suggest
\nonly certain minor and unimportant doubts, the one really
\ncorruptive tendency in Sanskrit is the arrested impulse towards
\ndisappearance of the palatal family. This has gone so far that
\nsuch forms as ketu <\/i>(<\/font>केतु<\/font>) can be considered by Indian grammarians, quite erroneously, to proceed from the root cit<\/i> (<\/font>चित्<\/font>)
\nand not from the root kit<\/i> (<\/font>कित्<\/font>) which is its natural parent.
\nIn reality, however, the only genuine palatal modifications are
\nthose in sandhi,<\/i> which substitute k<\/i> (<\/font>क्<\/font>) for c<\/i> (<\/font>च्<\/font>), g<\/i>
\n(<\/font>ग्<\/font>) for j<\/i> (<\/font>ज्<\/font>)
\nat the end of a word or in certain combinations, e.g. lagna<\/i> (<\/font>लग्न<\/font>)
\nfor lajna <\/i>(<\/font>लज्न<\/font>), vaktṛ<\/i> (<\/font>वक्तृ<\/font>) for vactṛ<\/i> (<\/font>वच्तृ<\/font>), vakva<\/i> (<\/font>वक्व<\/font>) for vacva
\n<\/i>(<\/font>वच्व<\/font>), the noun vākya<\/i> (<\/font>वाक्य<\/font>) from the root vac<\/i> (<\/font>वच्<\/font>), the
\nperfect cikāya<\/i> (<\/font>चिकाय<\/font>) and cikye<\/i> (<\/font>चिक्ये<\/font>). Side by side with these
\nmodificatory combinations we have regular forms, such as yaj\u00f1a,
\n<\/i>(<\/font>यज्ञ)<\/font> vācya<\/i> (<\/font>वाच्य<\/font>), cicāya<\/i> (<\/font>चिचाय<\/font>), cicye<\/i> (<\/font>चिच्ये<\/font>). It is even
\nopen to question whether the forms cikāya<\/i> (<\/font>चिकाय<\/font>) and cikye
\n<\/i>(<\/font>चिक्ये<\/font>) are not rather from the root ki<\/i> (<\/font>कि<\/font>) than actual descendants from the parent root ci<\/i> (<\/font>चि<\/font>) in whose nest they have
\nfound a home.<\/font> <\/p>\n

These elements of variation noted, we
\nare in a position to
\nfollow the second stage in the flowering of speech from the root-state <\/font><\/p>\n

 
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\nto the stage in which we pass on
\nby a natural transition
\nto the structural development of language. So far we have a
\nlanguage formed of the simplest and most regular elements.
\nThe seed-sounds, eight vowels and their modifications four in
\nnumber; five classes of consonants and the nasals; one quaternary of liquids or semi-vowels: three sibilants; one aspirate
\nbased on each of these; their first developments, the primitive
\nand parent roots, as from the seed-sound v<\/i> (<\/font>व्<\/font>), the primitive root-group va<\/i> (<\/font>व<\/font>), vā<\/i> (<\/font>वा<\/font>), vi<\/i> (<\/font>वि<\/font>), vī<\/i> (<\/font>वी<\/font>), vṛ<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वृ<\/font>) vṛ<\/i> (<\/font>वॄ<\/font>) and possibly
\nvu<\/i> (<\/font>वु<\/font>), vū <\/i> (<\/font>वू<\/font>), ve<\/i> (<\/font>वे<\/font>), vai <\/i>(<\/font>वै)<\/font>, vo <\/i>
\n(<\/font>वो<\/font>),vau<\/i> (<\/font>वौ<\/font>);
\nround each
\nprimitive root its family of secondary roots, round the primitive
\nva<\/i> (<\/font>व<\/font>) its family, vak<\/i> (<\/font>वक्<\/font>), vakh<\/i> (<\/font>वख्<\/font>), vag<\/i> (<\/font>वग्<\/font>), vagh<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वघ्<\/font>);<\/font>
\nvac<\/i> (<\/font>वच्<\/font>), vach<\/i> (<\/font>वछ्<\/font>), vaj<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वज्<\/font>), vajh<\/i> (<\/font>वझ्<\/font>); vaṭ<\/i> (<\/font>वट्<\/font>), vaṭh<\/i> (<\/font>वठ्<\/font>),
\nvaḍ <\/i>(<\/font>वड्<\/font>), vaḍh<\/i> (<\/font>वढ<\/font>), vaṇ<\/i> (<\/font>वण्<\/font>);
\nvat <\/i>(<\/font>वत्<\/font>), vath<\/i> (<\/font>वथ्<\/font>), vad<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वद्<\/font>),
\nvadh<\/i> (<\/font>वध्<\/font>), van<\/i> (<\/font>वन्<\/font>); vap<\/i> (<\/font>वप्<\/font>), vaph <\/i>(<\/font>वफ्<\/font>), vab<\/i> (<\/font>वब्<\/font>), vabh<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वभ्<\/font>),
\nvam <\/i><\/font>(वम्) <\/font>
\n;<\/i> and possibly vay<\/i> (<\/font>वय्<\/font>), var<\/i> (<\/font>वर्<\/font>), val<\/i> (<\/font>वल्<\/font>), vav<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वव्<\/font>); vaś <\/i>(<\/font>वश्<\/font>), vas<\/i> (<\/font>वष्<\/font>), vas<\/i> (<\/font>वस्<\/font>), vah<\/i> (<\/font>वह्<\/font>); \u2014the eight or more families
\nof this group forming a root-clan, with a certain variable
\nnumber of tertiary dependents such as va\u00f1c<\/i> (<\/font>वञच्<\/font>), vang<\/i> (<\/font>वङग्<\/font>),
\nvand<\/i> (<\/font>वन्द्<\/font>), valg <\/i>(<\/font>वल्ग्<\/font>), vams<\/i> (<\/font>वंस्<\/font>), vank <\/i>(<\/font>वङ्क्<\/font>) vraj <\/i>(<\/font>व्रज्<\/font>) etc.
\nForty of these clans would constitute the whole range of
\nprimitive language. Each word would in the primitive nature
\nof language, like each man in the primitive constitution
\nof human society, fulfil at once several functions, noun,
\nverb, adjective and adverb at once, the inflection of the
\nvoice, the use of gesture and the quickness of the instinct
\nmaking up for the absence of delicacy and precision in the
\nshades of speech. Such a language though of small compass
\nwould be one, it is clear, of great simplicity, of mechanical regularity of formation built up perfectly in its small range by the
\nautomatic methods of Nature, and sufficient to express the first
\nphysical and emotional needs of the human race. But the increasing demands of the intellect would in time compel a fresh growth
\nof language and a more intricate flowering of forms. The first
\ninstrument in such a growth, the first in urgency, importance and
\ntime, would be the impulse towards distinguishing more formally
\nbetween the action, the agent and the object, and therefore of
\nestablishing some sort of formal distinction, however vague at<\/font>
\n <\/p>\n

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first, between the noun-idea and the
\nverb-idea. The second impulse, possibly simultaneous, would be towards
\ndistinguishing structurally, \u2014 for it is possible that the various root forms of
\none family were already used for that object, \u2014 between the various lines and
\nshades of action, of establishing in modern language, tense forms, voices,
\nmoods. The third impulse would be towards the formal distinction of various
\nattributes, such as number and gender, and various relations of the subject and
\nobject themselves to the action, of establishing case forms and forms of
\nsingularity, duality, plurality. The elaboration of special forms for adjective
\nand adverb seems to have been a later, the latter in fact the latest of the
\noperations of structural development, because in the early mentality the need of these distinctions
\nwas the least pressing.<\/font><\/p>\n

When we examine how the old Aryan
\nspeakers managed
\nthe satisfaction of these needs and this new and rich efflorescence
\nof the language plant we find that Nature in them was perfectly
\nfaithful to the principle of her first operations and that the whole
\nof the mighty structure of the Sanskrit language was built up by
\na very slight extension of her original movement. This extension
\nwas reared and made possible by the simple, necessary and inevitable device of using the vowels a<\/i> (<\/font>अ)  <\/font>
\ni<\/i> (<\/font>इ<\/font>), u<\/i> <\/font>
\n(उ) <\/font> and ṛ<\/i>
\n(<\/font>ऋ<\/font>)
\nwith their long forms and modifications as enclitic or support
\nsounds subsequently prefixed sometimes to the root, but at first
\nused to form appendage sounds only. The Aryans by the aid
\nof this device proceeded, just as they had formed root-words
\nby adding the consonant sounds to the primitive root-sounds,
\nby adding for instance d<\/i> (<\/font>द्<\/font>) or l<\/i> (<\/font>ल्<\/font>) to va<\/i> (<\/font>व<\/font>) had formed vad
\n<\/i>(<\/font>वद्<\/font>) and val<\/i> (<\/font>वल्<\/font>), so now to form structural sounds by adding to
\nthe developed root-word any of the same consonant sounds, pure
\nor conjunct with others, with an enclitic sound either as the
\nconnective support or a formatory support or both, or else by
\nadding the enclitic sound alone as a substantial appendage.
\nThus, having the root vad <\/i>(<\/font>वद्<\/font>),<\/i> they could form from it at
\ntheir will by the addition of the consonant t<\/i> (<\/font>त्<\/font>), vadat <\/i>
\n(<\/font>वदत्<\/font>),
\nvadit<\/i> (<\/font>वदित्<\/font>), vadut<\/i> (<\/font>वदुत्<\/font>), vadṛt<\/i> (<\/font>वदृत्<\/font>) or vadata<\/i> (<\/font>वदत<\/font>), vadita
\n<\/i>(<\/font>वदित<\/font>), vaduta<\/i> (<\/font>वदुत<\/font>), vadṛta<\/i> (<\/font>वदृत<\/font>), or vadati<\/i> (<\/font>वदति<\/font>), vaditi<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वदिति<\/font>),
\nvaduti<\/i> (<\/font>वदुति<\/font>), vadṛti <\/i>(<\/font>वदृति<\/font>) or vadatu<\/i> (<\/font>वदतु<\/font>), vaditu<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वदितु<\/font>), vadutu<\/i><\/font>
\n <\/p>\n

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(<\/font>वदुतु<\/font>),  vadṛtu<\/i> (<\/font>वदृतु<\/font>), or else vadatri<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वदत्रि<\/font>), vaditri<\/i> (<\/font>वदित्रि<\/font>), vadutri
\n<\/i>(<\/font>वदुत्रि<\/font>); vadṛtri<\/i> (<\/font>वदृत्रि<\/font>) or else they could use the enclitic only and
\nform vada <\/i>(<\/font>वद<\/font>), vadi<\/i> (<\/font>वदि<\/font>), vadu<\/i> (<\/font>वदु<\/font>), vadṛ<\/i> (<\/font>वदृ<\/font>), or they
\ncould
\nemploy the conjunct sounds tr<\/i> (<\/font>त्र्<\/font>), ty<\/i> (<\/font>त्य्<\/font>), tv <\/i>(<\/font>त्व्<\/font>), tm<\/i> (<\/font>त्म्<\/font>),
\ntn<\/i>
\n(<\/font>त्न्<\/font>), and produce such forms as vadatra<\/i> (<\/font>वदत्र)<\/font>, vadatya <\/i>(<\/font>वदत्य<\/font>), vadatva<\/i> (<\/font>वदत्व<\/font>), vadatma<\/i> (<\/font>वदत्म<\/font>), vadatna<\/i> (<\/font>वदत्न<\/font>). As a matter of
\nfact we do not find and would not expect to find all these possibilities actually used in the case of a single word. With the
\ngrowth of intellectual richness and precision there would be a
\ncorresponding growth in the mental will-action and the supersession of the mechanical mind processes by more clearly and
\nconsciously selective mind processes. Nevertheless we do find
\npractically all these forms distributed over the root-clans and
\nfamilies of the Aryan word-nation. We find the simple nominal
\nforms built by the addition of the sole enclitic richly and almost
\nuniversally distributed. The richness of forms is much greater
\nin earlier Aryan speech than in later literature. From the root
\nsan<\/i> (<\/font>सन्<\/font>) for instance, we find in Vedic speech all the forms
\nsana<\/i> (<\/font>सन<\/font>), sani<\/i> (<\/font>सनि<\/font>), sanu<\/i> (<\/font>सनु<\/font>) (contracted into snu <\/i><\/font>
\nस्नु<\/font>),<\/i>
\nbut
\nin later Sanskrit they have all disappeared. We find also in
\nVeda variants like caratha<\/i> (<\/font>चरथ<\/font>) and carutha<\/i> (<\/font>चरुथ<\/font>), raha<\/i> (<\/font>रह<\/font>)
\nand rāha<\/i> (<\/font>राह<\/font>), but in later Sanskrit caratha <\/i>(<\/font>चरथ<\/font>) has been
\nrejected, rah<\/i> (<\/font>रह्<\/font>) and rāh<\/i> (<\/font>रह्)<\/font> preserved but rigidly distinguished in their significances. We find most nouns in
\npossession of the a<\/i> (<\/font>अ<\/font>) noun form, some in possession of the i<\/i>
\n(<\/font>इ<\/font>) form, some in possession of the u <\/i><\/font>
\n(उ<\/font>) form. We find a
\npreference for the simple hard consonant over the aspirate and
\nthe soft p<\/i> (<\/font>प्<\/font>) is<\/i> more frequent in structural nouns than
\nph <\/i>(<\/font>फ्<\/font>)
\nor bh<\/i> <\/font>(भ्<\/font>) but both
\nph <\/i>(<\/font>फ्<\/font>) and bh <\/i><\/font>
\n(भ्<\/font>) occur, p<\/i> (<\/font>प्<\/font>) is
\nmore
\nfrequent than b<\/i> (<\/font>ब्<\/font>), but b<\/i> (<\/font>ब्<\/font>) occurs. We find certain consonants
\npreferred over others, especially k<\/i> (<\/font>क्<\/font>), t <\/i><\/font>
\n(त्<\/font>), n <\/i>(<\/font>न्<\/font>),
\ns <\/i>(<\/font>स्<\/font>) either
\nin themselves or in their combinations; we find certain appendage forms like as<\/i> (<\/font>अस्)<\/font>, in<\/i> (<\/font>इन्<\/font>), an<\/i> (<\/font>अन्<\/font>), at<\/i> (<\/font>अत्<\/font>),
\ntri<\/i> (<\/font>त्रि<\/font>),
\nvat <\/i>(<\/font>वत्<\/font>),
\nvan<\/i> (<\/font>वन्<\/font>), formalised into regular nominal and verbal
\nterminations. We see double appendages, side by side with the
\nsimple jitva<\/i> (<\/font>जित्व<\/font>), we may have jitvara<\/i> (<\/font>जित्वर<\/font>), jitvan<\/i> (<\/font>जित्वन<\/font>)
\netc. Throughout we see or divine behind the present state of
\nthe Sanskrit language a wide and free natural labour of formation <\/font>  <\/p>\n

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\nfollowed by a narrowing process of
\nrejection and selection. But always the same original principle, either simply
\nor complexly applied, with modification or without modification of the
\nroot-vowels and consonants, is and remains the whole basis
\nand means of noun-structure.<\/font><\/p>\n

In the variations of the verb, in the
\nformation of case we
\nfind always the same principle. The root conjugates itself by the
\naddition of appendages such as mi<\/i> (<\/font>मि<\/font>), si<\/i> (<\/font>सि<\/font>), ti<\/i> (<\/font>ति<\/font>),
\netc., m<\/i> (<\/font>म्<\/font>),
\ny<\/i> <\/font>(य्) <\/font>
\n. h<\/i> (<\/font>ह्<\/font>), ta<\/i> (<\/font>त<\/font>), va<\/i> (<\/font>व<\/font>), (all of them forms
\nused also for
\nnominal structures), either simply or with the support of the
\nenclitic a<\/i> (<\/font>अ<\/font>), i<\/i> (<\/font>इ<\/font>), or rarely u <\/i>
\n(<\/font>उ<\/font>), short,
\nlengthened or modified, giving us such forms as vacmi<\/i> (<\/font>वच्मि<\/font>), vakṣi<\/i> (<\/font>वक्षि<\/font>), vadasi
\n<\/i>(<\/font>वदसि<\/font>), vadāsi<\/i> (<\/font>वदासि<\/font>), vadat<\/i> (<\/font>वद्त्<\/font>), vadati<\/i> (<\/font>वदति<\/font>), vadāti<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वदाति<\/font>).
\nIn the verb forms other devices are used such as the insertion
\nof an appendage like n<\/i> (<\/font>न्<\/font>), nā,<\/i> (<\/font>ना<\/font>), nu<\/i> (<\/font>नु<\/font>) or ni<\/i> (<\/font>नि<\/font>)
\nin preference to the simple vowel enclitic; the prefixing of the enclitic
\na<\/i> (<\/font>अ<\/font>) or augment to help out the fixing of tense significance;<\/font>
\nthe reduplication of the essential part
\nof the root in various ways,
\netc. We notice the significant fact that even here Vedic Sanskrit
\nis much richer and freer in its variations. Sanskrit is yet more
\nnarrow, rigid and selective, the former using alternative forms
\nlike bhavati<\/i> (<\/font>भवति<\/font>), bhavaḥ<\/i> (<\/font>भव:<\/font>), bhavate<\/i> (<\/font>भवते<\/font>). The latter
\nrejects
\nall but the first. The case inflexions differ from the verb forms
\nonly in the appendages prefixed, not in their principle or
\neven in themselves; as<\/i> (<\/font>अस्<\/font>), am<\/i> (<\/font>अम्<\/font>), ās<\/i> (<\/font>आस्<\/font>), os<\/i>
\n(<\/font>ओस्<\/font>), ām
\n<\/i> (<\/font>आम्<\/font>) are all verbal as well as nominal inflexions. But substantially the whole of the language with all its forms and inflexions is the inevitable result of the use by Nature in man of one
\nsingle rich device, one single fixed principle of sound formation
\nemployed with surprisingly few variations, with an astonishingly
\nfixed, imperative and almost tyrannous regularity but also a free
\nand even superfluous original abundance in the formation. The inflexional character of Aryan speech is itself no accident but the
\ninevitable result, almost physically inevitable, of the first seed
\nselection of sound-process, that original apparently trifling selection of the law of the individual being which is at the basis of all
\nNature’s infinitely varied regularities. Fidelity to the principle
\nalready selected being once observed the rest results from the<\/font><\/p>\n

 
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\n

\nvery nature and necessities of the
\nsound-instrument that is
\nemployed. Therefore, in the outward form of language, we see the
\noperation of a regular natural law proceeding almost precisely
\nas Nature proceeds in the physical world to form a vegetable or
\nan animal genus and its species.<\/font><\/p>\n

We have taken one step in the
\nperception of the laws that
\ngovern the origin and growth of language; but this step is nothing
\nor little unless we can find an equal regularity, an equal reign of
\nfixed process on the psychological side, in the determining of the
\nrelation of particular sense to particular sound. No arbitrary or
\nintellectual choice but a natural selection has determined the
\ngrowth and arrangement of the sounds, simple or structural, in
\ntheir groups and families. Is it an arbitrary or intellectual choice
\nor a law of natural selection that has determined their significances ? If the latter be true and it must be so, if a Science of
\nLanguage be possible, then having this peculiar arrangement of
\nsignificant sounds, certain truths follow inevitably. First: the
\nseed-sound v<\/i> (<\/font>व<\/font>), for example, must have in it something inherent
\nin it which connected it in man’s mind originally in the first
\nnatural state of speech, with the actual senses borne by the
\nprimitive roots va<\/i> (<\/font>व<\/font>), vā <\/i>(<\/font>वा<\/font>),
\nvi<\/i> (<\/font>वि<\/font>), vī<\/i> (<\/font>वी<\/font>), vu<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वु<\/font>),vū<\/i>(<\/font>वू<\/font>)<\/font>,
\nvṛ<\/i> (<\/font>वृ<\/font>) vṛ<\/i> (<\/font>वॄ<\/font>) in the primitive language.Secondly, whatever
\nvariations there are in sense between these roots must be
\ndetermined originally by some inherent tendency of significance
\nin the variable or vowel element, a<\/i> (<\/font>अ<\/font>), ā<\/i> (<\/font>आ<\/font>), i<\/i> (<\/font>इ<\/font>),
\nī <\/i>(<\/font>ई<\/font>),
\nu <\/i>(<\/font>उ<\/font>), ū <\/i>(<\/font>ऊ<\/font>), ṛ<\/i> (<\/font>ऋ<\/font>), ṛ<\/i> (<\/font>ॠ<\/font>). Thirdly, the secondary roots depending
\nin va<\/i> (<\/font>व<\/font>), vac<\/i> (<\/font>वच्<\/font>), vakh <\/i>(<\/font>वख्<\/font>), va\u00f1j<\/i> (<\/font>वञज्<\/font>), vam<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वम्<\/font>), val <\/i>(<\/font>वल्<\/font>), vap<\/i> (<\/font>वप्<\/font>), vah<\/i> (<\/font>वह्<\/font>), vaś<\/i> (<\/font>वश्<\/font>), vas<\/i> (<\/font>वस्<\/font>), etc. must have
\na
\ncommon element in their significances and, so far as they varied
\noriginally, must have varied as a result of the element of
\ndifference, the consonantal termination c <\/i><\/font>
\n(च्) <\/font>, j<\/i> (<\/font>ज्<\/font>), m<\/i> (<\/font>म्<\/font>), \/
\n(<\/font>ल्<\/font>),
\np<\/i> (<\/font>प्<\/font>). h<\/i> (<\/font>ह्<\/font>), ś<\/i> (<\/font>श्<\/font>). s<\/i> (<\/font>स्<\/font>) respectively. Finally in
\nthe structural
\nstate of language, although as a result of the growing power
\nof conscious selection other determining factors may have entered
\ninto the selection of particular significances for the particular
\nwords, yet the original factor cannot have been entirely inoperative and such forms as vadana<\/i> (<\/font>वदन<\/font>), vadatra<\/i> (<\/font>वदत्र<\/font>), vada<\/i>
\n(<\/font>वद<\/font>),
\netc. must have been governed in the development of their sense<\/font><\/p>\n

 
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dominantly by their substantial and
\ncommon sound-element, to
\na certain extent by their variable and subordinate element. I
\nshall attempt to show by an examination of the Sanskrit
\nlanguage that all these laws are actually true of Aryan speech,
\ntheir truth borne out or often established beyond a shadow of
\ndoubt by the facts of the language.<\/font><\/p>\n


\nTHE
\n<\/span>END<\/span><\/font><\/b><\/p>\n

\nPage <\/font>
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THE ORIGINS OF ARYAN SPEECH   INTRODUCTORY   Among all the many promising beginnings of which the nineteenth century was the witness, none perhaps was…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[17],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-885","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-10-the-secret-of-the-veda-volume-10","wpcat-17-id"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/885","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=885"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/885\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=885"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=885"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=885"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}