Multilingualism

Understanding Linguistic Diversity

John Edwards

• Publisher: Continuum
• Year: 2012
• ISBN:
  9781441113764
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Filología
• Subtopic: Lingüística

HOW DO LANGUAGES LIVE AND DIE? WHAT ROLE DOES TRANSLATION PLAY IN HELPING LANGUAGES TO THRIVE? ARE POLYGLOTS VIEWED WITH SUSPICION, GIVEN THE LINKS BETWEEN LANGUAGE AND IDENTITY? IS THE MAINTENANCE AND REVIVAL OF FLAGGING LANGUAGES WORTH THE EFFORT? CAN A LANGUAGE REMAIN 'PURE'? IF LANGUAGE PATTERNS CONSTANTLY ALTER, WHAT DOES THIS SAY ABOUT IDENTITY? Multilingualism is everywhere in a globalized society. This book looks at the origins and development of languages, at language contact and competition, and at the emergence and the consequences of multilingualism. Edwards also examines lingua francas, pidgins, creoles and artificial languages as a part of a broader snapshot of the social life of language. This compelling short introduction is required reading for all entry-level students of multilingualism, and a primer for language lovers in general.

CHAPTER ONE

The Diversity of Languages

The First Language

In the story of Babel, the divine punishment for human temerity was the confusion of languages. But, if linguistic diversity first occurred at this point, what was the original language, the divine variety? For a very long time, this was a question of greatest importance, and it generally took the form of enquiry into the language of Eden. After all, Genesis tells us that after God had made all the birds and beasts, he ‘brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them: and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof’. Once, then, there was an original and ideal language and, unlike all languages since, there was a mystical but perfect correspondence between words and the things that they named. The early speculations here are, of course, without linguistic or historical merit, but they are of considerable psychological and social interest because they reveal what an important contribution language has always made to our sense of who we are. And what could be more important than being able to show that your language was, in fact, the very first one (or, at least, a lineal descendant of that ‘Adamic’ variety)? The implications for group and individual identity, for relations with other people and for communication – both instrumental and symbolic – are great. The ‘winner’ here would be able to claim both linguistic and cultural superiority. The search for the divine language, then, is the earliest example of something that remains of considerable importance in all discussions of multilingual contact and conflict, because these almost always involve bigger and smaller varieties of greater or lesser social force, languages with which speakers have very close affiliations and about which they hold very strong opinions.

Debate about the first language persisted for a long time. Even though Thomas Hobbes pointed out in the seventeenth century that there was no scriptural evidence for any particular language and even though (as he added) Adam’s language was in any event lost at the tower of Babel, enquiries were carried out throughout the eighteenth century. The general opinion was that Hebrew was the original language, but many others were also suggested, including the Celtic languages, Flemish, Danish, Swedish, Polish, Basque, Hungarian, Breton, German and Chinese. Claims for these languages were not unrelated, of course, to political developments and aspirations. Some assertions were both pointed and amusing. One seventeenth-century writer argued that God spoke Spanish to Adam, the Devil spoke Italian and Adam and Eve subsequently apologized to God in French. Some Persian scholars felt that Adam and Eve spoke their language, the snake spoke Arabic and Gabriel spoke Turkish. Even at the time, of course, there were many who saw how ludicrous things were becoming: one satirist suggested that God spoke Swedish, Adam spoke Danish and Eve was seduced by a snake that spoke to her in French.

Another early approach to finding linguistic primacy in a multilingual world involved experiments with infants. Herodotus reports that the Egyptian pharaoh, Psamtik, arranged for two babies to be nurtured without hearing any language. At the age of two, the infants apparently said becos, a Phrygian word meaning bread. Early in the thirteenth century, the Holy Roman Emperor attempted a similar experiment, but without success, for it was found that ‘the children could not live without clappings of the hands, and gestures, and gladness of countenance, and blandishments’. Later on, James IV of Scotland put two infants with a dumb woman, and ‘some say they spoke good Hebrew’. All of these attempts were based on the assumption that, if left uninfluenced, children would somehow come out with the original language. This rather bizarre idea went unsupported, of course, not least by the naturally occurring ‘experiments’ provided throughout history by ‘wolf-children’ and ‘bear-children’. None of these feral youngsters were able to speak, and most efforts to teach them a language were failures. Victor, the ‘wild boy of Aveyron’, discovered in 1799 aged about 11, is the best known case here.

Putting these ill-considered speculations aside, the question of language origins remains a puzzle. Was there one original language (the principle of monogenesis) or did several emerge more or less simultaneously, in different places (polygenesis)? And, in either case, just how did language arise? We are obviously on shaky ground here, so much so that, in 1866, the Linguistic Society of Paris forbade all further discussions on language origins, on the grounds that all would be fruitless. Only relatively recently has the question been given renewed attention. Modern ideas of language origins are embedded in an evolutionary picture in which the development of speech had survival value. A very recent theory, one that is of some particular relevance to group solidarity, holds that the utility of language was originally linked to social bonding. Gossip, the banal exchange of social experiences, is seen as a sort of human ‘mutual grooming’. The most proficient speakers might have improved their survival chances by being more informed and more manipulative. The theory is controversial, but the universality of gossip – which accounts for about 70 per cent of everyday talk – is indisputable.

Comparing Languages

However, wherever and whenever human language first arose, the scholarly community is virtually as one in the assertion that all known varieties are of considerable complexity: there are no ‘primitive’ languages, none is more ‘logical’ than any other, no ‘exotic language’ full of sounds unfamiliar to the western ear should be thought to signal any inherent neurocognitive variation between the inhabitants of Amazonia and those of Arizona. It is easy to point to differences – sometimes very striking differences indeed – across languages, and history reveals many instances in which particular variations have been seized upon to make one sort of case or another. Language A has no words for numbers higher than ten. Speakers of language B have a colour lexicon that makes no distinction between green and blue. The vocabulary of language C reveals its speakers’ belief that stones have a vital life force. Would we be right to assume that the first group is mathematically illiterate, that the optical rods and cones of second-group members are deficient, and that the third-community animists are mired in dark-age ignorance? Possibly, although further reflection might show that the complex kinship vocabulary of the first group shows a refinement and nuance far exceeding that found in any ‘developed’ language, that the desert-dwelling members of the second community have separate words for dozens of subtle shades of brown – rivalled in western societies only by the usage of paint manufacturers and interior decorators – and that those benighted animists have a system of tenses that puts even classical Greek verbal complexity to shame.

The point here is a simple one: languages develop according to the needs of their speakers. There are no ‘primitive’ forms, but, equally, there are few languages that are ‘ over-developed’. Why have a higher-order number system if there is no necessity to go beyond something like ‘one, two, three, many’? Why bother with many shades of green and blue when you live in the Sahara? And what, in a pre-scientific society that – like all societies – finds it necessary to understand its surroundings, could be more reasonable than to explain the mysteries of nature in essentially spiritual terms when no other explanations are available? A final point here: we can be certain (because we have any amount of evidence) that if the living conditions of members of groups A, B and C change, their languages will change, too, in accordance with altered circumstances. Those desert-dwellers will soon fine-tune their blue-green spectrum once they’ve struck oil and moved to the south of England.

Words themselves are only indicators. The real meaning of scholarly assertions about linguistic adequacy is that language keeps pace with conceptual advancement, which in turn determines the very needs of which even speakers can be aware. While there must obviously be a finite lag between new ideas and new terms, this lag varies inversely with the general importance of the idea. How long did it take for ‘astronaut’ to enter common usage? And, even while it was waiting to make its entrance, there were all sorts of other descriptive terms to fill the temporary void (‘spaceman’). Description, albeit rough, is always possible.

Languages are best seen as different systems reflecting different varieties of the human condition. Although they may be unequal in complexity at given points, this does not imply that some have greater overall expressive power. To put it another way, we could say that not all varieties have the same capabilities: different social, geographical and other circumstances determine what elements will be needed and, therefore, developed. All are, however, potentially functionally equivalent. Languages differ in lexical, grammatical, phonological and other ways, but questions of overall linguistic ‘goodness’ are simply wrong-headed.

Different languages interpret and codify the world in different ways, and a moment’s reflection will surely lead to the conclusion that the great variation in physical and social environments, over time and space, would make any other arrangement nonsensical. To repeat, however, no language has been found which is inadequate for the current needs of its users. To the surprise of some, acceptance of this idea has quite a long history. In the sixteenth century, for instance, Joachim du Bellay pointed out that ‘all languages are of a like value … to each man his language can competently communicate every doctrine’, and he went on to reject the idea that ‘diverse tongues are fitted to signify diverse conceptions’. Historically, this may have been a minority view, but it is now the received scholarly wisdom. The famous linguist, Edward Sapir, thus observed in 1921 that

the lowliest South African Bushman speaks in the

forms of a rich symbolic system that is in

essence perfectly comparable to the speech of

the cultivated Frenchman … When it comes to linguistic

form, Plato walks with the Macedonian swineherd,

Confucius with the head-hunting savage of Assam.

Sapir’s phrasing here is no longer quite comme il faut, perhaps – and there is more head-hunting now in corporate jungles than in those of Assam – but his words are endorsed by all linguists. That this endorsement is not shared by everyone outside the academic cloisters is one of the many reasons why a broader and deeper general awareness of language and languages is always to be encouraged.

Languages and Language Families

How many languages are there in the world? Which are the most widespread, and which ones have the greatest number of speakers? It turns out that these are not easy questions to answer. In the early twentieth century, the Académie française identified some 2,800 different languages, and German scholars argued for about 3,000. A British estimate, however, suggested that there were 1,500 languages in the world. Contemporary scholars suggest a much higher figure: perhaps 4,500 languages. This is variability of a large order, and it obviously reflects a lack of sufficient linguistic knowledge.

The world may be much smaller now than it once was, but there are still areas that remain little known. In parts of Africa, South America and Oceania, for example, the linguistic jigsaw still lacks some pieces, while having others that don’t seem to fit. Consider the island of New Guinea, for instance: it is perhaps the richest and most complex linguistic area in the world, and is home to many groups and languages about which we know very little. It is the second largest island in the world (after Greenland) – almost a continent in itself, in fact, although geologically Australian. The history of human habitation is exceptionally long: almost 60,000 years. New Guinea is home to many ecosystems, ranging from mountains to savannas to rain forests; consequently, the range of biodiversity is immense. There is equal breadth of human cultural and linguistic diversity: among a population that may be as high as eight million, there are perhaps 1,000 language communities. The size of the island, its challenging terrain, and its complicated and often troubled history have all contributed to make our knowledge far from precise. In some areas, indeed, we are faced with Rumsfeldian ‘known unknowns’: we are aware that there remain dozens of communities still designated as ‘uncontacted tribal groups’, particularly in the western half of the island (which is part of Indonesia).

Languages are arranged in families of related varieties, about which our knowledge is relatively recent. In 1786, Sir William Jones presented a paper to the Asiatick Society of Bengal, in which the British orientalist and jurist noted the obvious relationships among Sanskrit, Greek and Latin. He argued that the similarities were so pronounced that ‘no philologer could examine them all three without believing them to have sprung from some common source which, perhaps, no longer exists’. Jones proposed the existence of an ‘Indo-European’ family, which would include Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, German and Celtic languages. The basic idea had been current for some time, and the term ‘Indo-European’ had been introduced a generation earlier, but now the insistence on a source variety linking geographically widespread languages was clearly stated. An historical approach to language classification, with its evolutionary tenor, was not novel in the century of Darwin’s Origin of Species; so, as with the earlier linguistic analogues to herbals and bestiaries, language families were now viewed as products and reflections of evolutionary development.

Given the difficulties of accurate linguistic determination touched upon above, and to be further considered in the next chapter we can understand that accuracy in placing languages into families, and even in estimating the number of such families, is also difficult. The idea of the language ‘family’ is further complicated when we bear in mind the ‘tree’ metaphors that imply one original-language ‘trunk’ (or possibly a small number of such trunks: recall the note, above, about monogenesis and polygenesis); perhaps all languages are really relatives within one great ‘super-family’. If we move upward and onward from an original trunk, however, it is easy to see that there is a very great deal of room for later classification: what one set of scholars might reasonably see as a family of closely linked branches, another set might consider to be a number of separate families, or perhaps sub-families. The large Indo-European family, for instance – all members of which may descend from an original ‘Proto-Indo-European’ trunk – has a number of sub-families, among the most important of which are the Germanic, Celtic, Hellenic and Italic subdivisions. Estimates of the number of contemporary language families, then, range widely: perhaps as few as 100, perhaps as many as 300.

The greatest number of speakers (about 2.5 billion) is found among the 450 Indo-European languages. The Niger-Congo and Austronesian families are much smaller (each with about 350 million speakers), but contain much greater language diversity: there are more than 1,500 languages in the former, and almost 1,300 in the latter. Other important assemblages include the Afro-Asiatic and Sino-Tibetan families. Drawing on several relevant sources a decade ago, I suggested an upper estimate of the number of English speakers (mother-tongue speakers and all others, considered together) to be about 1,400 million. This figure placed English ahead of Chinese (with about 1,000 million speakers) and well ahead of Hindi, in third place with 700 million speakers. My figure was seen in some quarters to be too high, but later analyses have borne it out. David Crystal now puts the figure at about 1,500 million, which ‘suggests that approximately one in four of the world’s population are now capable of communicating to a useful level in English’. Actual numbers aside, there can surely be little disagreement with Crystal’s simple observation that ‘there has never been a language so widely spread or spoken by so many people as English.’

For some languages, it has proved impossible to give an accurate classification: these varieties are known as ‘language isolates’. This is true for ancient varieties known only because of references in classical literature: besides the Cappadocian to which I shall return (below), there are languages such as Bithynian and Pontic about which we know next to nothing. Ainu, the language of a group in Japan who are physically unlike the Japanese themselves, is a modern example of a variety that won’t quite fit with others, as are the languages of the Salish and Kootenay peoples of British Columbia. So, too, is the now-extinct language of the Beothuks in Newfoundland. This society was ruthlessly slaughtered by Europeans, with the assistance of Indian mercenaries from the mainland, and the last speaker died of disease in St John’s in 1829. It is ironic that this tribe should have been the one to prompt the generic term ‘Red Indian’: when John Cabot (Giovanni Caboto) first encountered them in the late fifteenth century, he observed and reported their custom of rubbing themselves with red ochre.

Modern Basque is also an isolate, thought to be a relic of pre-Indo-European Europe. Like the Ainu, the Basques are genetically different from their neighbours, and such biological classification provides data that supplement language-family assessments and speculations. If the speakers of Basque were already living in their mountains before those great immigrant waves from the east arrived, what could be more reasonable than to expect that they would be both linguistically and biologically different from their European neighbours? Similar triangulations between linguistic and genetic scholarship have reinforced classifications of cultural communities in other parts of the world too.

CHAPTER TWO

Interpreting Language Diversity

We must expand a little upon the lack of knowledge that makes counting and categorizing languages so difficult. At the most basic level, we find that language surveys are non-existent or incomplete in many parts of the world. Even in ‘developed’ societies, language census information is notoriously unreliable (see also Chapter 4). Sometimes, this means that languages are ‘missed’ altogether and, sometimes, the scope of known varieties becomes confused. The Canadian census of 1951 reported 14,000 speakers of Scottish Gaelic, a figure that dropped to 7,500 a decade later, but then, in 1971, re-emerged as 21,400. Did Gaelic fade away, only to return half again stronger than it was 20 years earlier? The answer is no. For that 1971 count, all Celtic languages other than Welsh were lumped in with the Gaelic figures.

Dead or Ali...

Table of contents

• Cover-Page
• Half-Title
• Series_Page
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Prologue
• 1 The Diversity of Languages
• 2 Interpreting Language Diversity
• 3 Multilingual Abilities
• 4 The Emergence and Measurement of Multilingualism
• 5 The Consequences of Babel: Lingua Francas
• 6 The Consequences of Babel: Translation
• 7 Keeping Languages Pure
• 8 Languages and Identities in Transition
• 9 Endangered Languages and the Will to Survive
• 10 Linguistic Intervention and the ‘New’ Ecology of Language
• Epilogue
• Notes and References
• Index