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Program August-December 2015

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[Updated 5 August 2015]
5
August
Esperanto: some observations of a speaker-linguist
Ken Miner
University of Kansas
19
August
John Stoddart’s The Philosophy of Language: the “last truly universalist work”
Joseph Subbiondo
California Institute of Integral Studies
2
September
Antoine Meillet and the Armenian genocide
Sébastien Moret
University of Tartu
16
September
Las disciplinas lingüísticas en la España decimonónica: Julián González de Soto y el Colegio de Figueras (1839-1845)
María José García Folgado
Universitat de València
30
September
Translator proditor. The affirmation of the authorial voice in Matias Ruiz Blanco.
Roxana Sarion
University of Amsterdam
14
October
Family resemblance and semantics: the vagaries of a not so new concept
Jean-Michel Fortis
Laboratoire d’histoire des théories linguistiques, Université Paris-Diderot
28
October
Phonetische Studien – applied linguistics gets its first journal?
Andrew Linn
University of Sheffield
11
November
The Formungstrieb of Georg von der Gabelentz
James McElvenny
Universität Potsdam
25
November
break
9
December
Spanish language in Portuguese texts (16th to 19th centuries)
Sónia Duarte
Centro de Linguística da Universidade do Porto

Esperanto: some observations of a speaker-linguist

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Ken Miner
University of Kansas (emer.)

Esperantism is one of those many small worlds that have more substance to them than outsiders think but less than most insiders think. The twain rarely meet. Much linguistic attention to Esperanto, including almost all of my own, is in Esperanto and therefore inaccessible to non-Esperantists. For this reason I have responded to James McElvenny’s invitation to say something about the language here. I will simply summarize some of the work I and others have done; the basic information about the language, its origin, history and progress, is readily available elsewhere.

My affiliation with Esperanto has been somewhat unusual. I learned the language from the age of about fourteen, but regarding the movement – the attempt to advance Esperanto as a serious solution to the world’s “language problem” – from the sixties I favored instead an inward-turning approach: acknowledge the futility of getting the language “recognized” and simply nurture the language and its community of speakers. (Apparently I was not alone; in the eighties, a group sharing this view actually factionalized themselves and are today known as Raumists.)

Not being an “Esperanto salesman” (see Language Log for November 21, 2011) I was not disturbed when my later linguistic work, in part following on that of others, revealed aspects of the language well outside its usual portrayal. Throughout the history of the movement, Esperanto was promoted as regular and easy to learn, with intuitive word-formation reducible to early “keys” containing, with basic grammar, lists of morphemes (available in 26 languages by 1933). But the regularity of Esperanto is only in its inflectional morphology; its derivational morphology, as actually developed, is quite capricious, and certain aspectual and pragmatic matters are actually undetermined. As for ease of learning, the excellent practical grammar, Plena Manlibro de Esperanta Gramatiko [complete handbook of Esperanto grammar] (ELNA, 2005), by the tireless Bertil Wennergren, runs to nearly 700 pages. For a quick comparison, admittedly perhaps unfair, Michael Coulson’s Teach Yourself Sanskrit, widely used as a college textbook, is only 513 pages, and it has reading selections and a lexicon.

Phonology

Esperanto is supposed to have only minor allophonic variation; the basic principle is “one letter, one sound”. This quite overlooks what happens in poetic elision, where final /-o/ (marking nouns) may optionally drop, being replaced in writing by an apostrophe and leaving final clusters, including voiceless obstruent + /r, m/: /kapr/, /ŝultr/, /supr/, /pastr/, /patr/, /astr/, /majstr/, /ventr/; /abism/, /skism/, /komunism/, etc.[1] These are no problem if a vowel follows in the next syllable, but we find lines of verse like

  • El supr’ ĉiela mi ne ĵetos fulmojn
    from heavenly height I will not cast bolts
  • Kun ĉefpastr’ kapitol’-supron irados plu
    with Monsignor will continue going to the top of Campidoglio
  • Nigra aperas abism’ senradia
    black appears an abyss with no ray [of light]

The pronunciation of such lines without introducing an extra syllable is not provided for; presumably the sonorants will be devoiced, resulting in voiceless allophones. Zamenhof apparently gave little thought to the results of elision (although his own usage has been examined). Since any root or radical can be left standing, even things like line-final /latv/, /lingv/, /pugn/ and /himn/ (with non-syllabic /n/), /binokl/ (with non-syllabic /l/) etc. are theoretically possible. Admittedly most of the objectionable actual examples are from the hand of a single poet-translator, the prolific Antoni Grabowsky (1857-1921). But since for many Esperantists the language has been chiefly or only a written one, there has been carelessness about elision. One translator of Catullus’ line “vivamus mea Lesbia atque amemus” even came up with Ni vivu kaj ni amu, mia Lesb’ which is going to give you either /lezb/ or /lesp/, since obviously once voicing ceases within a syllable, it cannot begin again in the same syllable; this will result in morphophonemic variation, no less, since /s/, /z/, /p/ and /b/ are all phonemes.

Incidentally, one might wonder why one would write poetry and other literature in a language designed to be an auxiliary language, but Zamenhof and his followers did exactly that. This in part accounts for the Raumist point of view: one can argue that from the beginning there was a tendency to nurture not merely a movement but a language.

Morphology

Here is where the most interesting issues are; they involve lexical categories and the word as a morphological unit – conflicts between what appear to have been the original ideas of Esperanto and subsequent development of the language, some of it quite early. I will begin with lexical categories, discussed by Grimley Evans (1997) and others. Nouns are marked by a suffix /-o/, adjectives by a suffix /-a/, verbs in the infinitive by /-i/. Thus we have /detruo/ ‘destruction’, /detrua/ ‘destructive’, /detrui/ ‘to destroy’. This leaves the root, /detru/, in theory a “naked root” similar to those of Semitic, supposedly unmarked for category. However, the actual development of the language has decided against “naked roots”: roots turn out to belong in themselves to nominal, adjectival, or verbal categories. This shows up when suffixes other than /-o/, /-a/, /-i/ are attached to them. For example there is a suffix /-iĝ/ meaning ‘become whatever the root signifies’. Take /detru/: /detruiĝi/ means ‘to be destroyed’. If /detru/ were nominal, /detruiĝi/ would mean something like ‘to become destruction’. If /detru/ were adjectival, /detruiĝi/ would mean ‘to become destructive’. Therefore /detru/ is inherently verbal. Take /virg/ ‘virginal’. /Virgo/ does not mean ‘virgin’ but if anything ‘virginity’ (though the word actually used with that meaning is /virgeco/, with /-ec/ ‘characteristic’). A virgin is a /virgulino/ (/-ul/ ‘person’, /-in/ ‘feminine’). Thus /virg/ is inherently adjectival.

Two realities ensue: (a) contrary to what it seems Zamenhof intended, when one learns a new root one must also learn what its inherent category is, and (b) all lexical words other than adverbs are doubly marked for category. Thus /detrui/ is marked twice as a verb, once in the inherently verbal root and once in the suffix /-i/. /Virga/ ‘virginal’ is marked twice as an adjective, once in the inherently adjectival root and once in the suffix /-a/. And so on.

In addition, the categories turn out to be arbitrary. This can be shown by selecting pairs of roots belonging to the same semantic field, such as /bros/ ‘brush’ and /komb/ ‘comb’. Here the categories of the roots can be determined with the help of the suffix /-il/ ‘tool’: one brushes with a /broso/ but one combs with a /kombilo/, showing that /bros/ is inherently nominal, while /komb/ is inherently verbal. Yet the meanings of the roots, which are so similar, could scarcely be the reason for the difference in category.

A similar pair, again from the same semantic field, is /elegant/ and /dand/: here we can use the suffix /-ul/ ‘person’, mentioned above, to reveal the categories. A /dando/ is a dandy; /dandulo/ would therefore be redundant. An elegant person however is an /elegantulo/. This shows that /elegant/ is inherently adjectival while /dand/ is inherently nominal.

Though there is a long story behind all this (as Wennergren has extensively documented), we can explain this arbitrariness simply by saying that when roots were taken from the national languages, they were taken with their categories, not as “naked roots”. Transitivity is also arbitrary for the same reason. Here a useful pair from the same semantic field is /dron/ and /sufok/. The useful suffix in this case is /-ig/, ‘cause’. /Droni/ means ‘to drown’ and is intransitive. /Sufoki/ means ‘to suffocate’ and is transitive. Therefore /dronigi/ meaning ‘cause to drown’ is fine while /sufokigi/ could only mean ‘to cause someone to suffocate someone else’ and I haven’t seen it used.

Most Esperantists today, especially those who are linguistically sophisticated (and many are),[2] are willing to live with arbitrary root categories and root transitivity. However, due to compounding, lexical category and transitivity must also be properties of words. In the case of lexical category, there is no issue: the final element of the compound determines the category of the whole – as in many languages. Not so with transitivity.

Many simple verbs are transitive: /filtri/ ‘to filter’, /ŝovi/ ‘to shove, shift’, /ĝeni/ ‘to disturb’, /generi/ ‘to generate’. Many simple verbs are intransitive: /babili/ ‘to chat’, /ĝemi/ ‘to groan’, /stari/ ‘to stand’, /esti/ ‘to be’, /halti/ ‘to stop’. Some are both: /zumi/ ‘to hum’, /eskapi/ ‘to escape’, /fiŝi/ ‘to fish’, /afekti/ ‘to pretend’, /paroli/ ‘to speak’, /nebuli/ ‘to (be)cloud’, /ludi/ ‘to play’. Since all these simple verbs consist only of root and verbal suffix, the transitivity (submorphemic) must be marked on the root: /filtr/ +tr ; /babil/ -tr ; /zum/ ±tr, etc.

However many compound verbs show that transitivity must be marked also on the entire word. Take for example /postkuri/ ‘to chase’ from /post/ ‘after’ and /kuri/ ‘to run’. /Kuri/ is intransitive, but /postkuri/ is transitive. Clearly /postkuri/ is transitive as a word. Among similar examples are /preterkuri/, ‘to outrun’, /antaŭiri/ ‘to precede’, /ĉirkaŭiri/ ‘to go around’, /eniri/ ‘to enter’, all based on the intransitive verbs /iri/ ‘to go’ and /kuri/. But other verbs made with /iri/ and /kuri/ are intransitive: /deiri/, ‘to start from’, /antaŭeniri/ ‘to go forward’, /foriri/ ‘to go away’, /forkuri/ ‘to run away’. Similarly /perlabori/ ‘to earn’, /ellabori/ ‘to develop’ based on the intransitive verb /labori/ ‘to work’.

But the word is not a morphological unit in what we might call Esperantic theory: the unit is the morpheme. Words are in theory linearly built up.[3] Yet from the beginning, dictionaries were compiled, and still are, based on the word. Necessarily, because the meanings of many words (as in most languages) cannot be determined only from their component parts. A /vortaro/, from /vort/ ‘word’ and /-ar/ ‘collection’, is not just any collection of words, but a dictionary. Thus it appears that there has long been a tension in the language between word-based grammar and morpheme-based grammar.

Grimley Evans (1997) has shown that prefixes must sometimes modify not merely the following element, but the entire word. One example is /alglui/ ‘to glue something to something’, from /al-/ ‘to’, /glu/ ‘glue’. /Glu/ is an inherently nominal root. The structure has to be [al[glui]] and not [[alglu]i], since [alglu] by itself is not meaningful. This fortifies the notion of the word as a unit, but it leaves us with the problem of the scope of prefixes. There is no way to predict the structure of a given word. Some go one way, some the other. In the following, the prefix modifies its following element (see the Appendix for a detailed explanation of all the examples):

  • ekskoloniano [[ekskoloni][ano]], not *[[eks][koloniano]] ‘excolonial’ (person)
  • ĉefministrejo [[ĉefministr][ejo]], not *[[ĉef][ministrejo]] ‘prime minister’s office’
  • plibonigi [[plibon][igi]], not *[[pli][bonigi]] ‘improve’
  • malavarega [[malavar][ega]], not *[[mal][avarega]] ‘extremely generous’

But in the following, the prefix modifies the entire word:

  • ĉefoficejo [[ĉef][oficejo]], not *[[ĉefofic][ejo]] ‘main office’
  • pludaŭrigi [[plu][daŭrigi]], not *[[pludaŭr][igi]] ‘continue further’
  • mallaborema [[mal][laborema]], not *[[mallabor][ema]] ‘lazy’
  • eksklubano [[eks][klubano]], not *[[eksklub][ano]] ‘ex-club-member’

The above examples are more or less standard words; their meanings are fixed by usage. In the case of more spontaneous formations, wherein lies the oft-noted creativity of the language, one often cannot be sure of the structure and therefore of the precise meaning:

  • fibestejo: [[fibest][ejo]] or [[fi][bestejo]]? A place for contemptible animals or a contemptible place for animals?
  • fireĝido: [[fireĝ][ido]] or [[fi][reĝido]]? The son of a contemptible king or the contemptible son of a king?
  • praspecano: [[praspec][ano]] or [[pra][specano]]? A member of a primitive species or a primitive member of a species?
  • eklegigi: [[ekleg][igi]] or [[ek][legigi]]? To make someone suddenly read or to suddenly make someone read?
  • mismemorigi: [[mismemor][igi]] or [[mis][memorigi]]? To make someone remember wrongly or to wrongly make someone remember?
  • ĉeffakulo: [[ĉeffak][ulo]] or [[ĉef][fakulo]]? A specialist in the main field or the main specialist?

There are other morphological problems here and there. A standard word is /ekfloro/ ‘a sudden flowering’ from /ek-/ ‘suddenly; incipiently’ and /flor/ ‘flower’. /Ek-/ is normally attached to verbs. The root /flor/ is nominal: /floro/ is a flower. However, there is a verb /flori/ ‘to flower’. If we insist that the root is the same in the verb and the noun, then in /ekfloro/ we have /ek-/ attached to a nominal root. I will admit that ‘a sudden flower’ is very poetic, but /ekfloro/ does not mean that.

Much of what I have written above would seem to support the notion, now popular among thoughtful Esperantists and perhaps especially those of the Raumist persuasion, that Esperanto, though created as an artificial, regular and morphologically ideal language, has through its century and a quarter of use become more like a natural language. Except in the areas of tense & aspect, telicity and pragmatics (on these see below), there is something to be said for that idea.

Tense & aspect: there was long a dispute, which survives today, about compound tenses. The passive system is not symmetrical with the active system. This asymmetry had two solutions; some speakers went one way, some the other, probably depending on their native languages. The problem was officially resolved by fiat and in favor of the apparent majority (there is a language academy after all), but to this day speakers differ; therefore one is never certain whether /mia aŭto estis riparata/ means ‘my car was repaired’ or ‘my car was being repaired’. (The issue of aspect involves a suffix /-ad/ ‘duration’ and is too complex to go into here.)

A problem that has never been resolved, however, is that of telicity in general. A simple descriptive assertion like /li iris en la domon/ ‘he went/was going into the house’ for some speakers is telic, for some atelic, as can be seen from very lengthy disputes in the newsgroup soc.culture.esperanto in past years. But telicity was only really understood after Zeno Vendler’s work beginning in the fifties (e.g., Vendler 1957); Zamenhof and early Esperantists could not have been expected to be aware of Aktionsarten at all, even if Zamenhof had paid any attention to the linguistics of his time, which he did not.

Another area developed only in recent times is pragmatics, including factivity: it is not clear in Esperanto which verbs and head nouns are factive in cases where their meanings do not make it obvious. Factivity is not clear in, for example, /indigni ke/ ‘resent (it) that’, /lamenti ke/ ‘lament that’, /plendi ke/ ‘complain that’, /priplori/ ‘bemoan’, /grumbli ke/ ‘grumble that’, /koleri ke/ ‘be angry that’, /montri ke/ ‘show that’. The entire area of pragmatics in relation to Esperanto is in need of attention. Presumably speakers simply apply the pragmatics of their native languages to Esperanto. (Alan Reed Libert has already, in this blog, broached the subject.)

Here then are the difficulties in the notion of Esperanto’s acquired naturalism: speakers of natural languages can be presumed to know (tacitly of course) their compound tenses, which verb phrases are telic and which are atelic, and which verbs are factive. And they have apparently mastered rich systems of pragmatics. It is difficult to see how such problems could ever be resolved for Esperanto, even by a language academy. A planned language has to stop somewhere, while linguistic insights into natural languages continue to develop.

“Native speakers”

There are people whose first language was Esperanto, and these are often referred to by movement Esperantists as “native speakers” (in part because in Esperanto the standard term for “native speaker” is /denaska parolanto/ and /denaska/ means literally ‘from birth’). Obviously they are not native speakers; they did not grow up in a language community speaking Esperanto, and they are not a source of grammaticality and meanings as are native speakers of natural languages. Their situation is often no different from that of an acquaintance of my youth, whose best language was American English, but whose first language was Croatian, of which he remembered only a few phrases. The fallacies are, apparently, (a) the notion that one’s first language is necessarily one’s native language and/or (b) the belief that one learns one’s native language primarily from one’s parents. I have encountered two denaskaj speakers of Esperanto; one, whose father is influential in the movement, kept up his interest in the language and blogged in it for a time, but of course his Esperanto is no better than mine; the other also still used the language but seemed rather embarrassed at being constantly touted as a “native speaker”, and sometimes needed a dictionary. I am told that many of these people never use the language in adulthood at all. (George and Paul Soros are said to be examples.)

Esperanto was devised as an auxiliary language, therefore its ideal use would supposedly be that of a monolingual. Yet the best Esperantists are, as one might expect, polyglot and/or linguistically sophisticated. They quickly pick up on turns of phrase used in the national languages; these enter Esperanto and enrich it. Perhaps as a result of this enrichment, the language works quite well in spite of the points of vagueness I have mentioned, even among non-Europeans, especially if they are polyglot. But even after a century and a quarter, it is still likely that the comprehension of Esperanto is best between speakers in the same branch of Indo-European: Germanic to Germanic, Romance to Romance, Slavic to Slavic, etc. I say “likely” because, oddly enough, the comprehension of Esperanto has never been systematically examined to my knowledge at all.

Would it work in some kind of official capacity? Probably the main problem is vocabulary. Many thousands of words are added every year to the important national languages, mainly due to the rapid development of science and technology. Esperanto vocabulary development is geared to a somewhat smaller world, although in theory any “international word” is automatically an Esperanto word (properly Esperantized of course). But it seems that if there were any interest at all on the part of the EU countries in an artificial auxiliary language, there would be talk of Interlingua, which is quite widely readable for the educated even without study and which has no potentially embarrassing ideological and emotional baggage. But to my knowledge there isn’t.

Something ought to be said about the number of Esperanto speakers. In the past, exaggerated claims have been made. Even today (well, last time I looked), Wikipedia tells us there are at least 100,000 fluent speakers (and, of course, around 1,000 “native speakers”). I think 50,000 is more likely.[4] But there are still people around who seem to believe that since determining the number of speakers is next to impossible (who counts as a speaker? etc.), it is perfectly all right to claim a million or two.

Prejudices

One thing that seems to offend amateur linguists about Esperanto is that it uses the pronominal form /mi/ even in the nominative, as if it were a pidgin or a creole; in most of Indo-European, m-forms are found only in the oblique cases. But Celtic (at least Goidelic), where the VSO order obscures it, and, for that matter, Hindi-Urdu, where the SOV order doesn’t obscure it, also have m-forms in the nominative; in fact the pronoun “I” in Scots Gaelic happens to be identical with the Esperanto. Some are bothered by constantly seeing /la/ ‘the’ used with nouns ending in /-o/ (since all nouns end in /-o/). Esperanto has no grammatical gender, but in Occitan final /a/ becomes [ɔ]. So Esperanto is not as odd as it at first seems.

Notes

[1] I append here a glossary, arranged alphabetically, of the morphemes used in the examples some of which are not glossed in the text:

/abism/ ‘abyss’; /-an/ ‘member’; /astr/ ‘heavenly body’; /avar/ ‘greedy’; /best/ ‘animal’; /binokl/ ‘binoculars’; /bon/ ‘good’; /ĉef-/ ‘main’; /daŭr/ ‘duration’; /-eg/ augmentative; /-ej/ ‘place’; /eks-/ ‘ex-, former’; /-em/ ‘tending toward’; /fak/ ‘specialty’; /fi-/ ‘contemptible’; /himn/ ‘hymn’; /-id/ ‘offspring’; /-ig/ ‘cause to become’; /-iĝ/ ‘become’; /kapr/ ‘goat’; /klub/ ‘club’; /koloni/ ‘colony’; /komunism/ ‘communism’; /labor/ ‘work’; /latv/ ‘Latvian’; /leg/ ‘read’; /lingv/ ‘language’; /majstr/ ‘master’; /mal-/ ‘opposite’; /memor/ ‘remember’; /ministr/ ‘minister’; /mis-/ ‘wrongly’; /ofic/ ‘office’ (position); /pastr/ ‘pastor’; /patr/ ‘father’; /pli-/ ‘more’; /plu/ ‘further’; /pra-/ ‘early, primeval’; /pugn/ ‘fist’; /reĝ/ ‘king’; /skism/ ‘schism’; /spec/ ‘kind, species’; /ŝultr/ ‘shoulder’; /supr/ ‘above’; /-ul/ ‘person’; /ventr/ ‘stomach’

[2] Indeed there are professional linguists other than myself who are Esperantists: Jouko Lindstedt, Cyril Brosch, Marc van Oostendorp, Probal Dasgupta, John C. Wells, Ilona Koutny, Liu Haitao, Detlev Blanke, to name a few. Amateur linguists have contributed a great deal to most of the topics I discuss here. This article is bibliographically weak in that I no longer remember who pointed out what, and even Grimley Evans 1997 is no longer available online. Any help from readers would be appreciated. As far as I know, mine are: (1) the phonological observations, (2) the claim that wide scope of prefixes is quite common, (3) noting uncertainty of structure in nonce forms, (4) the points about tense & aspect, telicity in general, factivity and general pragmatics, and (5) the point about “native speakers”. For the rest I cannot claim originality, other than the language of discussion.

[3] There seems to have been much dependence on “logic” in the early days. In 1913 the Academy accepted a proposal of René de Saussure (the brother of Ferdinand de Saussure, often called the father of structural linguistics), to the effect that “word-formation in Esperanto is founded on the logical and direct construction of each separate word and not on so-called rules of derivation.” Significantly, in early writings on Esperanto grammar, morphemes were called “words”.

[4] That is the estimate of van Dijk (1999; 2nd edition 2003), an important work which, unfortunately, remains untranslated.

Appendix: details of examples

ekskoloniano [[ekskoloni][ano]], not *[[eks][koloniano]] ‘excolonial’ (person)

The first bracketing denotes a member of an entity which used to be a colony. The second bracketing denotes someone who used to be a member of a colony. A native of Congo would be designated by the first; a former native of Anguilla would be designated by the second.

ĉefministrejo [[ĉefministr][ejo]], not *[[ĉef][ministrejo]] ‘prime minister’s office’

The first bracketing denotes a place where a prime minister lives or works. The second bracketing denotes the main abode or workplace of a minister or ministers. 10 Downing Street would be designated by the first; 70 Whitehall would be designated by the second.

plibonigi [[plibon][igi]], not *[[pli][bonigi]] ‘improve’

The first bracketing denotes the activity of making better; the second bracketing denotes the activity of augmenting an improvement. If I add a wing to my house, I am doing the first. If I add floor heating to that wing, I am doing the second.

malavarega [[malavar][ega]], not *[[mal][avarega]] ‘extremely generous’

The first bracketing describes someone who is very generous. The second describes someone who is abstemious to the point of sainthood (the opposite of rapacious). Warren Buffet might be designated by the first; St. Francis of Assisi might be designated by the second.

ĉefoficejo [[ĉef][oficejo]], not *[[ĉefofic][ejo]] ‘main office’

The first bracketing denotes a main office. The second denotes the abode or workplace of the main office-holder. The main office of a corporate headquarters would be designated by the first; the Oval Office in the White House would be designated by the second.

pludaŭrigi [[plu][daŭrigi]], not *[[pludaŭr][igi]] ‘continue further’

The first bracketing denotes the activity of continuing further to make something last. The second denotes the activity of making something last longer. Continuing a filibuster would be an example of the first; painting a house would be an example of the second.

mallaborema [[mal][laborema]], not *[[mallabor][ema]] ‘lazy’

The first describes someone who is lazy; the second is really not a possibility since [mallabor] suggests that there is an activity that is the opposite of work – play perhaps; but /mallabori/ is not used with that meaning (/ludi/) other than in jest.

eksklubano [[eks][klubano]], not *[[eksklub][ano]] ‘ex-club-member’

The first denotes a person who was formerly a member of a club. The second denotes a member of an entity which was formerly a club. The present British Prime Minister, formerly a member of the Bullington Club, is an example of the first. If the Sierra Club becomes incorporated, its members will be examples of the second.

If some of the distinctions seem hazy, there clearly are differences in sense, even if their referents were to be the same.

References

Grimley Evans, Edmund, “Lingvaj notoj” [language notes], La Brita Esperantisto (Mar-Apr 1997, pp 57-59).

Van Dijk, Ziko, Esperanto Sen Mitoj [Esperanto Without Myths], Flandra Esperanto-Ligo, 1999.

Vendler, Zeno. “Verbs and Times”, The Philosophical Review 66(2):143-160 (1957).

How to cite this post

Miner, Ken. 2015. Esperanto: some observations of a speaker-linguist. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. http://hiphilangsci.net/2015/08/05/esperanto-some-observations-of-a-speaker-linguist/

John Stoddart’s The Philosophy of Language: the “last truly universalist work”

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Joseph L. Subbiondo
California Institute of Integral Studies

Introduction

Sir John Stoddart (1773-1856) served as England’s advocate in Malta from 1803-1807, editor of The Times from 1814 to 1816, founder and editor of The New Times from 1816 to 1826, and Chief Justice and Justice of the Vice-Admiralty Court in Malta from 1826 to 1840. He was knighted in 1826. Stoddart’s formal education was as notable as his professional career: at Oxford, he earned Bachelor of Arts in 1794, Bachelor of Civil Law in 1798, and Doctor of Civil Law in 1801.

In addition to his career in public service and journalism, Stoddart studied and wrote about the history of universal grammar with remarkable breadth and depth. Moreover, he formulated his own theories regarding the philosophy of language and the historical development of ancient and contemporary languages. His lifetime of research is well represented in his Universal Grammar, or the Pure Science of Language published in 1849; Glossology, or the Historical Relations of Languages published posthumously in 1858, and The Philosophy of Language, a revised and enlarged 700 page edition of both books, published in 1861. My references in this paper are to the 1861 publication.

Peter H. Salus (1976) aptly described Stoddart’s The Philosophy of Language (1861) as “the last truly universalist work” (p. 99): he recognized that Stoddart’s publications conclude a significant period of universal grammar that spanned nearly nine centuries. Following Stoddart, universal grammar would not occupy center stage in linguistics until the emergence of transformational generative grammar nearly a century later. Yet despite Stoddart’s insightful and extensive study of universal grammar and its history from ancient origins to the mid-nineteenth century, his work has been overlooked by historians of linguistics.

William Hazlitt’s Preface

In his “Preface” to Stoddart’s Universal Grammar, William Hazlitt (1811-1873) provided a brief biography of Stoddart. Hazlitt was Stoddart’s nephew: his parents were Sarah Stoddart and William Hazlitt (1778-1830), the prominent art critic and literary essayist. Hazlitt noted that Stoddart was commissioned by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) to write The Philosophy of Language for the Encyclopædia Metropolitana, a collection of books intended to promote innovative ideas in the arts and sciences. Coleridge’s personal invitation attests to Stoddart’ reputation as a scholar as well the expansive and forward-thinking nature of his work.

According to Hazlitt, Stoddart attended Cathedral School at Salisbury; where he studied the grammar of William Lilly (1602-1681) as did most English students for over three centuries. During his school years, William Benson Earle (1740-1796), Stoddart’s godfather and ward of James Harris (1709-1780), introduced Stoddart to Harris’ Hermes: A Philosophical Inquiry Concerning Universal Grammar (1751) (see Subbiondo 1976). Harris’ theory of language inspired Stoddart to study universal grammar throughout his life.

Hazlitt correctly noted that Stoddart’s Philosophy of Language “amounts, in manner, to a new work, bringing up our knowledge on this most important subject to the present day” (p. x). He acknowledged the originality of Stoddart’s perspectives on the mental aspects of universal grammar theory as well as his wide-ranging history of language development documented by copious references to nearly every language known in 19th Century Europe.

Stoddart’s Introduction to The Philosophy of Language

In his “Introduction” to The Philosophy of Language, Stoddart provided an overview of his ambitious plan for both Universal Grammar and Glossology. He defined “language” with an understanding of its complex nature. He pointed out that language includes “all intentional modes of communicating the movements of the mind … the thoughts and feelings of man which belong to his mental and spiritual nature … [and] reason, the peculiar gift to man by his Creator, enables him to select, to combine, to arrange: and the result is language” (p.1). For Stoddart, language is far more than word selection as he argued that it is directed by “the Mind in seizing on the relation which [words] bear to each other, and on giving scope to the thoughts and feelings they are meant to excite” (p.2).

Stoddart’s encompassing view of consciousness and its relevance to the nature of language is very advanced not only for his time but for today as well. His many references to feelings throughout his writings suggested his appreciation of language as an act of the mind as well as of the body. He maintained that there was a set of universal logical principles in every articulated expression, and he made a compelling case that language has an intellectual and physical impact on a listener. Stoddart’s references to the spiritual nature of the human being moved his view of language beyond mind and body into a realm of what today constitutes consciousness studies.

Stoddart distinguished between the science and the history of language. He stated that the science of language is its grammar; and in Part I, Universal Grammar, or The Pure Science of Language, he proposed general principles that he believed framed a universal grammar. In Part II, Glossology, or The Historical Relations of Language, Stoddart outlined specific rules of particular languages that were, in his words, the result of “accidental and temporary circumstances, the investigation of which belongs rather to the history than to the science of Language” (pp.3-4). He pointed out that scholars often confused the science with the history of language; and in The Philosophy of Language, he convincingly detailed his rationale for differences as well as similarities between the science and history of language.

Universal Grammar

Stoddart opened Universal Grammar by introducing “Preliminary View of those Faculties of the Intellect and Will on which the Science of Language depends.” In the first chapter, he treated sentences; in the second, words, and in the remaining chapters, various parts of speech. He concluded Universal Grammar with a chapter entitled “Mechanism of Speech” in which he examined articulatory and acoustic phonetics with extensive references to John Wilkins (1614-1672) (see Subbiondo 1987).

In the “Introduction,” Stoddart engaged in an intriguing discussion of the relationship between consciousness and language: “In the mind of man” he wrote “the consciousness of simple existence is the source and necessary condition of all other powers; as in language, the expression of that consciousness by the verb to be, is at the root of all connected expression” (p.5). Stoddart argued that the mind is the force driving language, not the reverse. He maintained that feeling represented the passive state of mind and will the active, and he concluded that will “may be called the life of the human mind (p.6)…It is the forming and shaping power within us” (p. 7). He sharply disagreed with Étienne de Condillac (1714-1780) who advanced John Locke’s (1632-1704) theory of tabula rasa. Stoddart asserted the singularity principle initially posed by Rene Descartes (1596-1650) by contending that each human should be defined as “a substance called self, to which each man gives the name of I; and thus I feel and I know that I am the cause of all the active states of my being” (p. 11).

As a proponent of universal grammar, Stoddart insisted on universal truth. Citing the straight line as an example, he insisted that all people, regardless of culture, share an identical concept of the straight line. He attacked what he considered the fallacy of John Horne Tooke (1736–1812), his perennial target in the history of linguistics, who insisted that there were no universal truths – only differing opinions. Stoddart refered to the experiments of Isaac Newton (1643-1727) to support what he regarded as universal truths. Stoddart concluded that

it is this active energy, the mind or the spirit of man, which gives to speech its forms; that is to say the characteristics of noun, of verb, and of those constituent parts of speech, which I have noticed as essential to a combined signification of any thought or feeling (p.23).

Stoddart divided the parts of speech into two categories: the principal parts and the accessories. The principal parts form the concept and are (in his nomenclature) nouns, nouns substantives, nouns adjectives, participles, pronouns, and verbs. The accessories modify concepts and consist of articles, prepositions, conjunctions, adverbs, interjections, and particles. Stoddart concluded that accessories were probably derived from parts of speech that were, at one time, principal in the history of a language. As a result, “The mind dwells on them more slightly; they express a more transient operation of the intellect” (p.137).

Throughout Universal Grammar, Stoddart exhibited remarkable erudition in primary grammars and secondary sources starting with those of the Greeks and Romans as well as those written in his own time. His references to many languages – major and minor, living and dead – reflect an almost boundless knowledge of universal grammar, He located language in the mind; and he considered the interrelationship of language, thought, and culture making his work relevant to those currently examining language and consciousness.

Glossology

For Stoddart, Glossology was “the applied science which investigates the various languages spoken or written …with reference, on the one hand, to the pure science of Universal Grammar, as the source of principles in which [languages] necessarily agree and, on the other hand, to the historical facts which constitute or cause their differences” (p. 1). He added: “Every pure science emanates from an Idea in the human mind, … permanently and universally true; and every applied science combines with that idea the effect of circumstances, which, being partial and subject to change, necessarily fall within the domain of history” (p. 1). He recognized that “the applied science of Language, if confined to the speech of a single country or district, forms the particular Grammar (p.1).

Stoddart explained that Universal Grammar should be approached by “deduction from a universal law” (p.2.) while Glossology should be studied by “induction from particular facts” (p. 2.). He stated: “the Classification of Languages, Dialects, or Idioms, with a view to their scientific arrangement in Glossology, may be said to be as yet in its infancy” (p. 5). Opposing the dialect work of Robert Gordon Latham (1812 – 1888), Stoddart favored a systematic classification as exemplified by Carl Linnaeus (1707-1778) in which progressions are calculated to track what each part contributes to the whole. In Glossology, Stoddart provided chapters on the following: languages; dialects; idioms; voice; articulation; vowel sounds; consonantal sounds; accent, quantity and emphasis; interjections; onomatopoeia or imitative words; roots; particles; words; and parts of speech.

In his chapter “Languages,” Stoddart showed an uncommon grasp of Indo-European languages as presented by William Jones (1746-1794). He also displayed broad knowledge of non-Indo-European languages including Chinese and the languages of the Americas. Uncharacteristically free of a bias of language superiority, he considered languages equal because speakers have equal capacities of mind. Because he viewed scholarship as “a work in progress,” he revised his principles whenever he found contradictions – be they in New Mexico or Mongolia. Besides the predominant work of Jones, Stoddart drew on that of James Burnett, Lord Monboddo (1714-1799), Jacob Grimm (1785-1863), Rasmus Rask (1787-1832), and Johann Vater (1771-1826) among many others. Stoddart was as well read in historical linguistics as anyone of his generation.

Before moving to phonetics, Stoddart devoted chapters to dialects and idioms. While he considered dialects and idioms significantly different, he realized that many people experience them as easily blending. His understanding of language change is extraordinary for his day. He suggested that language be considered a whole, a dialect a fraction of the whole, and an idiom a fraction of the dialect. Referring to Scottish, he noted that some, including himself, believed it to be a separate language – not simply a dialect of English. He drew examples from French, Latin, and Greek among others to illustrate the differences between dialects and languages. Stoddart conceded that while it is challenging to distinguish dialects from languages, it is even more difficult to distinguish idioms from dialects.

At the end of his chapter on idioms, he wrote “Lastly, I would observe that the comparative study of the idioms of different languages closely connects Glossology with the Philosophy of the Human Mind” (p. 68). Foreshadowing the work of Benjamin Lee Whorf (1897-1941), Stoddart attacked a prevailing view of his time that speakers of Native American languages “have few ideas, and their languages are consequently poor” (p.69). Rather, he emphasized that “The grammatical character of the Cree, as an inflected language on an extended plane, leads to the inference of a higher origin than the mere casual, irregular, invention of man: and an attentive analysis of its structure confirms this view” (p. 69). His conclusion is profound: “I cannot but recognize … a circumstantially conclusive proof that the whole is the emanation of One, and that a Divine mind” (p.69).

Stoddart provided an extraordinarily broad overview of the state of 19th Century phonetics in his chapters “Of the Voice,” “Of Articulation,” “Of Vowel Sounds,” and “Of Consonantal Sounds.” His approach to grammatical traditions was comparative (e.g., Sanskrit and Greek) and his references included John Wallis (1616-1703) and Lindley Murray (1745-1826). Also, he offered his own view regarding the articulation of vowels and consonants; and he acknowledged the impossibility of identifying all possible sounds in the world’s languages, past and present. Here as throughout The Philosophy of Language, Stoddart cited an extraordinary range of languages: Indo-European and non-Indo-European alike.

In his chapters “Of Accent, Quantity, and Emphasis” and “Of Interjections,” Stoddart noted: “Articulation … is by no means sufficient alone to communicate the operations of the human mind” (p. 150). He included the suprasegmentals by referring to the oratorical traditions initiated by the Greeks and Romans and continuing to his own day. Stoddart advances the notion of “whole mind” – embodied mind compared to disembodied mind. He stated: “If we adopt the narrower view of mind [disembodied mind] as the basis of grammar, … we must consider language as a signifying or showing forth, not of our whole internal consciousness, but of a certain limited part only” (p. 181). He insisted that narrow mind was unrealistic because “it is practically impossible to separate the faculties of perceiving, distinguishing, and knowing, from those of loving, desiring, and enjoying…” (p. 181).

He concluded Glossology with comprehensive and comparative analyses in chapters “On Onomatopei, or Imitative words,” Of Roots,” “Of Particles,” “Of Words,” and “Of Parts of Speech.” In extraordinary detail, he documented language universals in varying ways through many languages – past and present, familiar and unfamiliar.

Conclusion

Despite Stoddart’s contribution to the history of linguistics, historians of linguistics except for Salus have ignored his work. I hope that my paper will prompt an overdue study of Stoddart’s work because it has much to contribute to our understanding of the history of universal grammar as well as issues in contemporary linguistics, especially regarding the increasingly emerging and enigmatic relationship between language and consciousness.

References

Salus, Peter. 1976. “Universal Grammar 1000-1850” in History of Linguistic Thought and Contemporary Linguistics, edited by Herman Parret, 85-100. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter & Co.

Stoddart, John. 1861. (3rd edition, revised and enlarged). The Philosophy of Language; Comprising Universal Grammar, or the Pure Science of Language: and Glossology, or the Historical Relations of Language. London and Glasgow: Richard Griffin and Company. Reprinted in 2012 by Forgotten Books (www.forgottenbooks.com).

Subbiondo, Joseph. 1976. “The Semantic Theory of James Harris: A study of Hermes (1751).” Historiographia Linguistica 3:275‑291.

Subbiondo, Joseph. 1987. “John Wilkins’ Theory of Articulatory Phonetics.” Proceedings of the Third International Conference on the History of Language Sciences, edited by  Hans Aarsleff, L.G. Kelly and Hans-Josef Niederehe, 263-270. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.

How to cite this post

Subbiondo, Joseph. 2015. John Stoddart’s The Philosophy of Language: the “last truly universalist work”. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences.http://hiphilangsci.net/2015/08/19/john-stoddarts-the-philosophy-of-language-the-last-truly-universalist-work

Las disciplinas lingüísticas en la España decimonónica: Julián González de Soto y el Colegio de Figueras (1839-1845)

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María José García Folgado
Universitat de València – Grupo GIEL

La historia de la enseñanza de la gramática es un campo que, en el marco hispánico, solo recientemente está siendo objeto de investigación. Aunque desde la Historiografía Lingüística se han abordado muchas obras que, stricto sensu, son textos escolares (producidos por enseñantes y para la enseñanza), no se ha tenido en cuenta este hecho en su análisis, lo que supone, en última instancia, una interpretación sesgada de la historia gramatical. Un principio determinante en la investigación de la gramática escolar y su historia es la necesaria imbricación en el análisis de factores externos e internos que aporten datos empíricos que permitan abordar desde sus diferentes esferas el fenómeno: no solo el texto, sino el contexto; no solo la teoría gramatical, sino los supuestos didácticos que la acompañan; no solo el autor, sino los receptores (maestros y alumnos), etc. (vid. Swiggers 2012). En este trabajo, ofrecemos una muy breve muestra de investigación de tres manuales escolares de gramática producidos para un centro concreto (el Instituto de Figueras), en un momento histórico de desarrollo y cambio de las enseñanzas medias en España.

A mediados del siglo XIX, los cambios sociales, económicos, políticos y científicos posibilitan una transformación de objeto y de perspectiva de las enseñanzas medias que pasan a ocupar un lugar privilegiado en los planes de estudio (Ruiz Berrio 2008): la consolidación definitiva de la enseñanza secundaria se lleva a cabo entre 1836 y 1845; en 1836, el llamado Plan Rivas ya adopta la estructura y enfoque que marcaría este nivel educativo hasta el siglo XX. En él se indica que “la instrucción secundaria comprende aquellos estudios […] que son necesarios para completar la educación general de las clases acomodadas, y seguir con fruto las facultades mayores y escuelas especiales” (MEC 1979 [1836]: 124), además, se denomina a los establecimientos públicos destinados a impartir estas enseñanzas, Institutos. Pese a que apenas tuvo validez legislativa unos 10 días, como indica Ruiz Berrio (2008: 31) “sirvió de guía para la realidad de la política educativa durante los diez años siguientes, además de constituirse en punto de partida para los sucesivos proyectos de Ley o de Plan de estudios que se intentaron aprobar en 1838, 1841 y 1844”. Las enseñanzas lingüísticas que comprende el plan son gramática española y latina, lenguas vivas “más usuales”, elementos de literatura y elementos de ideología, así como griego, árabe y hebreo “según fuese más conveniente” (MEC 1979 [1836]: 125). Pese a lo efímero de su aplicación, en la práctica, el Plan Rivas impulsó la creación de diversos establecimientos destinados específicamente a la instrucción secundaria: desde 1836 hasta 1845 algunas capitales de provincia y ciudades de cierto tamaño que carecían de Universidad recibieron autorización para la instauración de este tipo de centros. Una de esas ciudades fue Figueras, donde en 1839 el Ayuntamiento encargó al padre Julián González de Soto la creación del Colegio de Humanidades de la Villa que se transformaría poco años después en Instituto de Segunda Enseñanza (vid. Marqués y Sureda 1985; Ferrerós 2010).

Julián González de Soto (wikipedia https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Juli%C3%A1n_Gonz%C3%A1lez_de_Soto.JPG)

Julián González de Soto

Julián González de Soto (1803-1864), presbítero de la Congregación de San Vicente de Paúl, fue un importante pedagogo que dirigió centros educativos en Madrid, Barcelona y Vitoria. Ejerció como docente en el Instituto de Girona y escribió diversos libros de texto. Asimismo, estuvo vinculado al desarrollo de la frenología (vid. (Marqués i Sureda 1985, Subirats et al. 1998).

El Colegio se inauguró el 1 de octubre de 1839 y, tal y como reza su Prospecto (González de Soto 1839), un breve opúsculo informativo sobre el futuro centro, el objetivo del Ayuntamiento, como el del propio González de Soto, era dotar a la ciudad de un Colegio propio que abrazara “todos los ramos de la enseñanza general que profesan los mejores colegios de Europa” para, entre otras cosas, evitar que los jóvenes hubieran de ir a estudiar a Francia. Las asignaturas que se impartían inicialmente aparecen recogidas en ese prospecto fundacional, dentro del marco de la denominada “Educación literaria”. Allí, repartidas en dos “series” o agrupaciones distintas, se encuentran las diversas materias lingüísticas: la primera serie –que incluye también el estudio de la Geografía y la Historia– se destina a los “Estudios de la lengua castellana”, mientras que la tercera serie se destina a “Lenguas” (principalmente, latín y francés, aunque el Prospecto también contempla la posibilidad de impartir griego clásico, inglés y alemán). La primera integra conocimientos básicos (alfabeto, silabario y lectura de prosa y verso), así como cursos de “Gramática castellana y su análisis. Tropos, ideología y gramática general. Lógica y su análisis. Retórica, pasiones y urbanidad. Elocuencia poética y declamación. Filosofía superior”.

Pese a esta disposición en cursos, parece que la introducción lingüística incluía la gramática castellana, nociones de gramática general, destinadas a que “los niños no hayan de aprender distintas definiciones en las gramáticas particulares” (1840a: portada) y análisis lógico, que constituían el paso previo al estudio filosófico. De hecho, González de Soto compuso tres tratados para esta primera serie: una gramática general (1840a), un tratado de análisis (1840b) y una gramática castellana (1842); los tres textos son, como vamos a ver, complementarios en diversas formas. Así, su Compendio de Gramática General se destina a servir de introducción “á las Gramáticas castellana, latina, francesa, italiana, é inglesa que se publicarán en breve” (1840a: 6).

González de Soto 1840a: Portada

González de Soto 1840a: Portada

El autor otorga a la gramática general un fin absolutamente propedéutico, alejado de la lógica y el análisis del pensamiento. De hecho, para el autor la gramática general es “la ciencia de las palabras sueltas y enlazadas” frente a la gramática de una lengua que es “el arte de hablar bien”. La habitual distinción entre gramática-ciencia (= gramática general) y gramática-arte (= gramática particular) (vid. Gómez Asencio 1981) no es operativa en el sistema de González de Soto, dado que su gramática general se aleja de las obras descriptivo-especulativas de raigambre filosófica (i.e. Hermosilla 1835); esto se aprecia perfectamente en la teoría que sustenta la obra que se mueve entre la adopción de términos y nociones procedentes de la gramática filosófica pero dislocados y simplificados.

En el Compendio de Gramática General el autor huye conscientemente de todos los aspectos que considera “farragosos” y admite haber suprimido de su tratado “cuantas cuestiones no ha podido entender”; de hecho, el prólogo es una clara crítica “a los que hablan jerigonza” e indica “porque jerigonza creo que son sus ideas” (1840a: 6). Entre esos hablantes de jerigonza cita un buen número de autores franceses, ingleses y alemanes:

Desde los enciclopedistas hasta acá se han llenado muchísimos volúmenes de Metafísica, Lógica, Gramática general, etc. Melabranche, Locke, Condillac, Tracy, Degerando, Reid, Stewart, Kant, Cousin, La Romiguiere, Tichte, Tennemann, Maistre, Bonald, Eckstein y que se yo cuantos otros, se han hilado los sesos en garlar; y después de haberlos leído con atención, me he quedado á corta diferencia como me estaba antes (1840a: 4-5).

No es la única crítica que hará; en una carta fechada en 1844 (publicada en Cubí y Soler 1848), habla de las “preciosas necedades” y de las “indigestas y aisladas doctrinas” de autores como Condillac, Destutt, Kant, Cousin, etc. (Cubí y Soler 1848: 523). El autor está en la línea de adaptación de la gramática general a las aulas de muchos otros autores posteriores (vid. Lépinette 2008 y García Folgado e. p.), quienes siguen las directrices que marca la ley en cuanto a contenidos, pero ven en las obras de referencia (principalmente, los tratados de Hermosilla y Destutt) un exceso de carga filosófica que puede ser compleja para los alumnos de segunda enseñanza. Asimismo, el grueso de estos autores, al igual que ocurre en el Colegio de Figueras, reinterpretan la gramática general como una introducción general al conocimiento gramatical (vid. García Folgado 2014 y e. p.).

Frente a la gramática general, el tratado de análisis se vincula de forma más clara con la lógica y la filosofía y, de hecho, tal y como estaba pensada la progresión de los estudios, primero los alumnos debían iniciarse en el estudio de la gramática general, luego el análisis y la síntesis y de ahí se pasaría a la Filosofía y la Elocuencia, por lo que se comprende que haya una progresión.

González de Soto 1840b: Portada

González de Soto 1840b: Portada

Por último cronológicamente, el manual de gramática castellana se destina al perfeccionamiento de esta lengua, a “hablar bien” (1842: 3) y, desde esa perspectiva, se entiende como contenido indispensable: los alumnos se iniciaban en su totalidad en los estudios de gramática castellana para, posteriormente, en función de sus aspiraciones profesionales, profundizar en mayor o menor medida en los diferentes contenidos de cada serie. En este sentido, las enseñanzas impartidas en el Colegio se caracterizaban por su practicidad “la educación” afirma González de Soto “ha de acomodarse á las ecsigencias [sic] legítimas del siglo en que vivimos” y “el sufrirse en hombres sólidamente formados, que no sepan espresarse con propiedad y gracia en castellano, y ni acaso estender una carta, no son cosas de nuestro siglo” (1839: 4 y 5). No hay ninguna referencia en el Prospecto ni en la Gramática castellana a la lengua catalana propia de la zona más allá de esa vaga indicación.

González de Soto 1842: Portada

González de Soto 1842: Portada

Los tres tratados, desde sus diferentes objetivos particulares, conforman un conjunto de conocimientos necesarios para los alumnos y suponen una entrada al resto de los estudios. Desde esa perspectiva, y se conciben como textos complementarios: si en el Compendio de Gramática General se ofrecen definiciones acompañadas de breves ejemplos, en la Gramática Castellana se desarrolla de manera amplia la información, con cuadros sinópticos para cada categoría, ejemplos amplios y ejercicios diversos y, por último, en el Tratado se focaliza la atención en los aspectos analíticos. La gradación se da desde las explicaciones más vinculadas a lo lingüístico-gramatical, hacia definiciones que se aproximan a la filosofía gramatical.

Vamos a abordar, únicamente, la noción de ‘proposición’ y sus componentes para ejemplificar cómo se articulan los contenidos en cada tratado y cómo se gradúan en un camino que conduce desde la gramática hacia la filosofía.

En el Compendio de gramática general el autor no aborda el análisis de la unidad proposición entendida como juicio: se habla de discurso, proposición y cláusula, pero siempre desde una perspectiva gramatical, esto es qué elementos forman cada una y cómo se organizan jerárquicamente. Desde esta perspectiva, la proposición, entendida como “proposición gramatical” se define como “la concordancia de un sustantivo ó sustantivado con un verbo adjetivo ó adjetivado” (1840a: 42). En cambio, en la Gramática castellana, si bien se habla también de “proposición u oración gramatical” la definición se aproxima a la lógica al indicar que “es el conjunto de palabras, con que se espresa un pensamiento” (1842: 148). Por último, en el tratado de análisis sí considera la proposición en tanto que manifestación del juicio: “Proposición es el juicio que hacemos de una cosa, manifestado con palabras” (1840b: 1). La línea de menor a mayor logicismo entre la gramática general, la gramática castellana y el tratado de análisis se aprecia perfectamente al contrastar las definiciones ofrecidas por el autor en cada uno de estos manuales de los componentes de la proposición; así, en el Compendio de gramática general el sujeto se define como “La persona o cosa de quien se dice algo”, mientras que en la gramática castellana y el tratado de análisis se añade la referencia al juicio: “La persona o cosa de quien se juzga y dice algo” (1840b: 4 y 1842: 148) y de idéntica manera, para el atributo: en la gramática general es “lo que se dice del sujeto” (1840a: 42) y en las otras dos obras se define como “lo que se juzga o dice del sujeto” (1840b: 4 y 1842: 148).

En general, en el tratado de análisis y en la gramática castellana se abordan con mayor amplitud todos los aspectos relacionados con la proposición, mientras que en la Gramática general apenas se le destinan tres páginas dentro de la construcción. Así, por ejemplo, el autor se detiene en explicar los diferentes tipos de sujetos y atributos, así como las categorías que pueden realizar cada función. La diferencia fundamental entre el tratado de análisis y la gramática castellana se encuentra en la clasificación de las proposiciones, dado que la gramática incorpora una taxonomía basada en criterios puramente gramaticales como el tipo de verbo (proposiciones de verbo ser/de activa/de pasiva/impersonales…), o el tipo de conector que las antecede (de relativo/causales/finales…). De hecho, desde esa misma perspectiva, un aspecto a destacar, y que aleja a González de los autores inmediatamente posteriores es que no introduce en el tratado de análisis entre los elementos oracionales, ni siquiera como parte del atributo, los tipos de complementos. Esto es, para el autor, el atributo se compone de dos partes: “la primera la afirmación ó negación, y la segunda la cosa afirmada o negada” y añade “(la afirmación está siempre implícita en el verbo: y la negación se expresa con la partícula no antepuesta al verbo)” (1840b: 4). La clasificación posterior está en consonancia con la división que establece en la gramática general entre verbo sustantivo o simple “el que solo encierra la afirmación y la unión entre el actor y la cosa hecha” (1840a: 24) y verbo adjetivo o compuesto: “el que encierra al simple, y una parte de la cosa afirmada” (id.). González de Soto no habla de verbo en el tratado de análisis sino de afirmación porque elude de manera consciente las nociones gramaticales y por la misma razón no se detiene a examinar los diferentes tipos de complementos, ya que eso, en su programa, pertenece propiamente a la gramática, donde, de hecho, uno de los apartados de la sintaxis se destina, precisamente, a ellos. Desde esta perspectiva se evidencia la complementariedad de los manuales.

Para finalizar esta breve exposición, nos gustaría destacar que el Colegio de Figueras puede servir como ejemplo de la articulación de las disciplinas lingüísticas en los inicios de los Institutos de Segunda Enseñanza en el XIX en España: la gramática particular (significativamente, la castellana), la gramática general y el análisis lógico se disponen en un marco que va de la gramática a la filosofía y que persigue, en última instancia, preparar al individuo para ejercer conscientemente sus funciones en la sociedad.

Referencias bibliográficas:

Cubí y Soler, Mariano. 1848. Polémica religioso-frenolójico-magnética: sostenida ante el tribunal eclesiástico de Santiago… Barcelona: Imprenta de José Tauló.

Ferrerós, Joan. 2010. “L’Institut Ramon Muntaner”. Disponible en red: www.iesrm.net/historia/ [Consultada 10 de julio de 2015].

García Folgado, María José. 2014. “La gramática general y las enseñanzas lingüísticas (1812-1823)”. Boletín de la Sociedad Española de Historiografía Lingüística, 9, 91-109. Disponible en red: http://www.sehl.es/uploads/1/2/0/4/12045009/014_garciafolgado.pdf

García Folgado, María José. E. p. “Del saber sabio al saber escolar: la gramática general en las aulas”.

Gómez Asencio, José J. 1981 . Gramática y categorías verbales en la tradición española (1771-1847). Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca.

González de Soto, Julián. 1839. Prospecto del Colegio de Figueras fundado y dirigido por el Presbítero Don Julián González de Soto, Figueras: Gregorio Matas y de Bodallés.

González de Soto, Julián. 1840a. Compendio de gramática general: o sea introducción a las lenguas: para que los niños no hayan de aprender distintas definiciones en las gramáticas particulares / por D. Julián González de Soto, Figueras: Gregorio Matas.

González de Soto, Julián. 1840b. Tratado de la descomposición y composición de los periodos considerados por parte de los pensamientos que encierras: o sea del análisis y síntesis lógica, Figueras: Gregorio Matas y de Bodallés.

González de Soto, Julián. 1842. Gramática de la lengua castellana: con ejercicios graduados para alivio de maestros y discípulos y con todos los verbos regulares e irregulares / puestos por estenso por Julián Gonzalez de Soto, Figueras: Gregorio Matas y de Bodallés.

Gómez Hermosilla, José. 1835. Principios de gramática general, Madrid: Imprenta Real.

Lépinette, Brigitte. 2008. “La penetración del modelo gramatical ‘general’ de tipo escolar en España. Sus orígenes franceses (final del siglo XVIII y principio del XIX)”. Historiographia Lingüística, 35:3, 305-341.

Marqués i Sureda; salomó. 1985. “El col·legi d’Humanitats de Figueres (1839-45)”. Annals de l’Institut d’Estudis Gironins, 28, 381-410. Diponible en red : http://www.raco.cat/index.php/AnnalsGironins/article/view/53997/64419 [Consultada 15 de julio de 2015].

MEC (1979). Historia de la Educación en España: textos y documentos, vol. II. (De las Cortes de Cádiz a la Revolución de 1868), Madrid: Ministerio de Educación.

Berrio, Julio. 2008. “El Plan Pidal de 1845: Los institutos públicos, dinamizadores de las capitales de provincia”. CEE Participación Educativa, 7, marzo 2008, 28-38.

Subirats, Mercé; Corts, Ramón & Galtés, Joan. 1998. Diccionari d’història eclesiàstica de Catalunya, vol. 2. Barcelona: Generalitat de Catalunya.

Swiggers, Pierre. 2012. “Historiografía de la gramaticografía didáctica: apuntes metodológicos con referencia a la (historia de la) gramática española y francesa”. En Vila Rubio, Neus (ed.). Lengua, literatura y educación en la España del siglo XX. Bern: Peter Lang/Lleida: Universitat de Lleida, 15-38.

How to cite this post

García Folgado, María José. 2015. Las disciplinas lingüísticas en la España decimonónica: Julián González de Soto y el Colegio de Figueras (1839-1845). History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. http://hiphilangsci.net/2015/09/02/las-disciplinas-linguisticas-en-la-espana-decimononica-julian-gonzalez-de-soto-y-el-colegio-de-figueras-1839-1845

Vivien Law Essay Prize 2015

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Vivien Law

The Vivien Law Prize is offered annually by the Henry Sweet Society for the best essay in the history of linguistic ideas. The competition is open to all currently registered students, and to scholars who have received their PhD or equivalent qualification within the last five years. Essays can be up to 8000 words in length. Closing date is 31 October 2015 (extended from 30 September 2015).

Further information is available here: http://www.henrysweet.org/grants-and-prizes/vivien-law-prize/

Translator proditor. The affirmation of the authorial voice in Matías Ruiz Blanco.

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Roxana Sarion
University of Tromsø, Norway

Matías Ruíz Blanco (1643-1705/1708?) was a Franciscan friar who served as a missionary, historian and linguist in colonial Venezuela. Born in the village of Estepa in the Spanish region of Andalusia, he was devoted from early youth to religious practice. He was most probably educated in the Convent of Grace. By the age of 23 he was already recognized as a teacher of philosophy at the Monastery of the Valley in the Province of Seville. In 1672, during the third Franciscan expedition to America, he was sent as new lector of philosophy and theology. He continued teaching until early 1675 when, together with other fourteen missionaries, he was sent to evangelize the indigenous people in the province of New Andalusia, Cumana, on the banks of the Orinoco river and in other parts of Southern Venezuela.

Johanes de Laet - Map

Johanes de Laet (Leiden, 1625) – Engraved map representing present-day North Eastern Venezuela territory with some Caribbean islands, which includes the mouth of the Orinoco river (courtesy of John Carter Brown online library)


He was therefore engaged in converting the Cumanagot, Chaima and Palenque indigenous peoples to Catholicism. He was elected superior of the missions of Piritu three times and in 1683 (as indicated in his works) he was made synodical examiner of the diocese of Puerto Rico and provincial commissioner of the San Francisco Order.

He most probably died at the end of his third and final prelacy, around 1708. In Antonio Caulín’s Historia corográfica, natal y evangélica de la Nueva Andalucia (1779) there is a different death year indicated. According to Caulín, he must have died in 1705, after having composed significant works related to the history of the indigenous peoples in the Province of Cumana: Manual para catequizar y administrar los santos sacramentos a los indios que habitan en las provincias de la Nueva Andalucía (Burgos, Juan de Viar, 1683) and Conversión de Píritu de indios cumanagotos, palenques y otros (Madrid, Juan Gracia Infançon, 1690).

Living amongst the Cumanagot and the Palenque peoples, Ruíz Blanco became a determined missionary, walking miles to take care of the spiritual and physical needs of his charges. He returned to Spain several times, where he acted as a representative of the missionaries in their attempts to ensure government support for the protection of indigenous people against the abuses of the Spanish colonists. He also took the risk of creating subversive discourses against the evangelization policies that ruled in the Americas, such as the canonical Third Provincial Council of Lima from 1582-83.

The main purpose of his missionary text Conversión de Píritu (1690) was both to engage and to guide prospective missionaries in the Province of Piritu, though he was very clear in respect to the dangers and struggles to be overcome. The final result was a hybrid text composed of five different sections, among which we can identify a historical introduction, the principles followed in the translation of Christian texts into indigenous languages, the precepts of the Decalogue and of the holy Church, a grammar of the Cumanagot language and a Spanish-Cumanagot vocabulary.

Blanco - title page

Matías Ruiz Blanco (Madrid, Juan García Infanzón, 1690) – Conversión en Píritu de indios cumanagotos y palenques, y otros (courtesy of John Carter Brown online library)

Translator proditor[1]

Although the initial goal was not to create linguistic artefacts, Spanish missionaries who arrived in America began to explore various linguistic adaptation strategies to find ways of overcoming the difficulties of translating religious terms that did not exist in the indigenous languages and to begin the evangelization process. To avoid confusions and misunderstandings regarding the religious concepts, some missionaries decided to introduce loans from Castilian (hispanismos), others employed as linguistic strategies literal translations (ad literam), while others opted for the use of neologisms or semantic use of substitutions and additions (ad sensum) and linguistic adaptation strategies.

Matías Ruíz Blanco’s philological awareness allowed him to translate the main prayers and the principles of Christian life into the indigenous languages in the Province of Cumana. He openly showed his disagreements with the translation guidelines imposed on the “New World” at that time by the 3rd Council of Lima (1582-83) in the methodological handbook Epístola sobre la traducción, published in Doctrina cristiana y catecismo para instrucción de los indios y demás personas que han de ser enseñadas en nuestra fe (Anonimus, 1584).

He pleaded constantly for a different method of translating religious doctrine, in spite of the official guidelines. He stated his own approach to the indigenous languages and described his technique by arguing the advantages of his linguistic decisions, given the peculiarities of the language context in which he was working. Although at the beginning these comments were made in the prologues of his works or were inserted in between the lines of the catechetic texts, in Conversión de Píritu (1690) he dedicates a full chapter to evangelization practices and his translation principles, Práctica que hay en la enseñanza de los indios, con directivo para que los religiosos puedan cómodamente instruirse en las cosas esenciales de la religión cristiana.

In this theoretical study, Ruiz Blanco reviews his working methods and emphasizes his decision to translate Christian doctrine ad sensum by following San Jerome’s (347–420) principles expressed in De óptimo genere interpretandi, Carta 57, Ad Pammachium, and not by following the standard rules, word-by-word (ad literam). Ruíz Blanco explains that he tries to interpret the voices of the Castilian language with equivalent terms in the indigenous languages, starting from the meaning of the whole sentence (“phrasis”) and not only of isolated words:

[…] in one of the Councils of Lima there is a guideline for the translation of Christian doctrine, which [recommends that] when some terms in the languages of the Indians are missing, they must be replaced with others of the Spanish language; then it does not prevent from filling Castilian voices with those of any other language of the Indians […].

(Ruíz Blanco, 1690 – Práctica, Capítulo II, pag.171)[2]

In fact, Ruíz Blanco replies here to one of the precepts of the 3rd Council of Lima. According to him, it is not sustainable to combine Castilian words with indigenous terms, knowing that none of the indigenous languages is formally equivalent to Spanish. He argues that in this way, it will never help the indigenous people to really understand the Christian doctrine:

[…] if the meaning of the word God is never offered in terms of their language, they may never become aware of its meaning, and consequently they cannot have faith in the first article which admits there is a Lord who is the Creator of all things. The same happens with the word Jesus Christ, which means to be Son of the Creator, together with Virgin Mary […]

(Ruíz Blanco, 1690 – Práctica, Capítulo III, pag.171)[3]

The affirmation of the authorial voice

Ruíz Blanco’s critical spirit led him to complain about the deviations of meaning in previous translations, the lack of precision in their terminology, which finally has led to a deviation in Christian doctrine itself. In his opinion, the translations of religious texts must adapt to the methodological needs of the audience for which they are designed, either friars or indigenous people:

[…] hence are the teachers whose doctrine is composed of artifice looking for applause and esteem rather than for the winning of souls; they work and disclose in vain and they belong to winds of vanity of the world, being swept away easily, and thus they spoil their studies and they do not take advantage of them, nor other people born in ignorance or experienced in Christian doctrine, and so little amend their vices, yet for this cause they grow more and more.[4]

The translation practice undertaken by this missionary is characterized by a commitment to the role of mediator that he played during the evangelization process. He is fully aware of his responsibility as translator-author of the religious works to be used within the Christianization activities.

Ruíz Blanco reveals a conception of the missionary translation project which, seen from a modern perspective, reveals itself as an epistemic (not only teaching) project, a discursive plan adapted to the characteristics of the indigenous community to which it was addressed. As it can be read in his works, he was involved in a relentless pursuit of a discursive identity through linguistic adaptation strategies within the idiosyncratic framework of the indigenous languages in the Province of Cumana.

Notes

[1] From Latin (translātor, ōris, m. transfero > one who carries or hands over, a translator; prōdĭtor, ōris, m. prodo > a betrayer, traitor) this expression means translator traitor and it refers to the “untranslatability” or the difficulty to reconstruct the “complete” meaning of the Christian doctrine into the indigenous languages.

[2] All the translations in the text are mine.

“[…] en uno de los concilios limenses hay precepto para que en la traducción de la doctrina cristiana, cuando falten términos de los lenguajes de los indios, se suplan con otros de la lengua castellana; luego no obsta la interposición de voces castellanas con las de cualquiera otro idioma de los indios […]”. (Ruíz Blanco, 1690 – Práctica, Capítulo II, pag.171)

[3] “[…] si lo que significa esta palabra Dios, nunca se les propone en términos de su lengua, tampoco podrán tener conocimiento de su significado, y consiguientemente no podrán tener Fe del primer articulo, que confiesa hay un Señor que es Criador de todas las cosas. Lo mismo digo de la palabra Jesucristo, cuyo significado es ser Hijo de este Criador, y juntamente de una Mujer Virgen […]”. (Ruíz Blanco, 1690 – Práctica, Capítulo III, pag.171)

[4] […] así son los maestros que su doctrina la componen de artificio mirando al aplauso y estimación más que al aprovechamiento de las almas; trabajan y se desvelan en vano y son del viento de la vanidad del mundo arrastrados con facilidad y así malogran sus estudios y con ellos no aprovechan á sí ni á los pueblos, de que nace tanta ignorancia como experimentamos de la doctrina cristiana y tan poca enmienda en los vicios, que van creciendo cada día más por esta causa. (Ruíz Blanco, 1690 – Práctica, pag.189)

References

Arellano, Fernando (1986) Una introducción a la Venezuela prehispánica: culturas de las naciones indígenas venezolanas. Caracas: UCAB

Bastín, G. L. and Pérez Arreaza, L. (2004) Las traducciones franciscanas en Venezuela: entre la práctica y la teoría. Histal: Université de Montréal. Canada.

Vega Cernuda, Miguel Ángel (2014) La Conversión de Piritú de Matías Ruiz Blanco, OFM, un texto híbrido de lingüística, traducción y etnografía. In-Traduções, Florianópolis, v. 6, n. p. 155-170.

How to cite this post

Sarion, Roxana. 2015. Translator proditor. The affirmation of the authorial voice in Matías Ruiz Blanco. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. http://hiphilangsci.net/2015/09/30/translator-proditor-the-affirmation-of-the-authorial-voice-in-matias-ruiz-blanco

Family resemblance and semantics: the vagaries of a not so new concept

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Jean-Michel Fortis
Université Paris Diderot

The motivation for writing this post is twofold: first, there is still something to be said about the origins of the notion of family resemblance and its application to semantics, most notably in the version of prototype theory which has gained currency in cognitive linguistics; second, exploring this genealogy puts us in a position to dispel an illusion. This is the illusion that cognitive semantics is an innovative approach, especially because it does away with the so-called “classical” conception of concepts as definable in terms of necessary and sufficient properties. My point is that a notion of prototype and family resemblance can be and was found in Aristotle’s thought, that is, in the tradition which is also the source of the classical conception; further, analyses similar in spirit to those of cognitive semantics have been put forward long before family resemblance was mobilized to justify them.

To start, let us go back to the sources of Rosch and the context in which family resemblance was exported to prototype theory (for more details, Fortis 2010).

Thanks to James McElvenny and Nick Riemer for their review and very useful remarks.

The sources of Rosch

As pointed out in Baker’s and Hacker’s commentary (2005), family resemblance was intended as an antidote to Wittgenstein’s first attempts at defining the essence of terms like ‘proposition’, or ‘language’ (see also Krüger 1994).

§§66-67 of Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations are the locus classicus. Here is an abridged reminder of them:

66. Consider for example the proceedings that we call “games”. I mean board-games, card-games, ball-games, Olympic games, and so on. What is common to them all? Don’t say: “There must be something common, or they would not be called ‘games’ ” — but look and see whether there is anything common to them all. (…) And the result of this examination is: we see a complicated network of similarities overlapping and criss-crossing: sometimes overall similarities, sometimes similarities of detail.

67. I can think of no better expression to characterize these similarities than “family resemblances” [Familienähnlichkeiten]; for the various resemblances between members of a family: build, features, colour of eyes, gait, temperament, etc., etc. overlap and criss-cross in the same way. — And I shall say: ‘games’ form a family.
(2006 [1953]: 27-28)

Games being heterogeneous, language games are too; on this account, there is nothing common to all language games in virtue of which we call them so. The consequence, says Wittgenstein, is that “what we call “sentence” and “language” has not the formal unity that I imagined [i.e. in the Tractatus], but is the family of structures more or less related to one another” (2006 [1953], §108: 40).

Let us now turn to the role which was given by Rosch to the notion of family resemblance.

In the 1970s, Rosch was extending her prototype theory from “natural categories” (colors and shapes) to “semantic categories” (= lexical “concepts”), but, unlike natural categories, semantic categories could not be structured along a continuum of variations with peaks of typicality corresponding to prototypes. In other words, she needed for “semantic categories” a counterpart of this Gestalt-like “internal structure” of natural categories. This is where family resemblance entered the scene; it was introduced by Rosch in the following terms:

This principle was first suggested in philosophy; Wittgenstein (1953) argued that the referents of a word need not have common elements in order for the word to be understood and used in the normal functioning | of language. He suggested that, rather, a family resemblance might be what linked the various referents of a word. A family resemblance relationship consists of a set of items of the form AB, BC, CD, DE. That is, each item has at least one, and probably several, elements in common with one or more items, but no, or few, elements are common to all items.
(Rosch & Mervis 1975: 574-5)

Once it was established that semantic categories had a family resemblance structure, Rosch felt she needed an explanation for the formation of these categories, since their structure could not be due to perceptual principles. More precisely, three aspects of this structure had to be accounted for: 1) Why are semantic categories formed at all? 2) How can they be cohesive given that their members need not have features common to all? 3) How can the taxonomical organization of semantic categories be explained?

The answer to the first question was both probabilist and, in spirit, pragmatist: categories are formed because they are useful, and they are useful because they correspond to bundles of interpredictable attributes (e.g. what looks like an apple is also edible); interpredictability was measured by a probabilist index (cue validity, first proposed by the Viennese psychologist Egon Brunswik, 1903-1955). As for the second aspect, cohesiveness, it was “shown” that the degree to which members of a category resemble each other was higher than the degree to which they resemble members of contrastive categories (in fact, the demonstration was based on artificial categories of meaningless items, because it had turned out to be impossible to conduct the experiment with “semantic categories”); in this respect, of all members, a prototype could be defined as the one with the highest cue validity (Rosch & Mervis 1975: 602). Finally, the very existence of degrees of genericity (taxonomy) was not thoroughly justified, except for a level called “basic level”, which, explained Rosch, among other properties, was the level with the highest number of interpredictable attributes.

In short, family resemblance was incorporated into a probabilist theory which, unlike Wittgenstein, posited the existence of prototypical members and focused on taxonomical organization (a very “Aristotelian”, or Porphyrian concern, by the way, though Rosch’s inspiration was principally Berlin’s work on folk taxonomies).

The first cognitive linguists, who sought to enter fields left open by generative linguistics, from which they were disaffiliated, were, to a certain extent, cut off from the tradition of lexical semantics. They found that prototype theory was a handy tool for engaging in this line of research and especially for dealing with polysemy (on this transition, see Kleiber 1990); it should be noted, however, that they failed to take into account cue validity, and consequently tended to neglect the contrastive dimension of categories. As a consequence, prototype theory was essentially reduced to two tenets: there are central meanings, and meanings of polysemous words are linked by family resemblance. Note that by identifying prototypes with attested meanings (e.g. certain spatial relations in the case of prepositional meanings), cognitive linguists interpreted Roschian prototypes as members of a category. They were justified to do so insofar as Rosch & Mervis (1975) explicitly invited this interpretation. However, in other places, Rosch warned against this construal, speaking of prototypes as “grammatical fictions” resulting from the reification of judgments of typicality (Rosch 1978: 40).

To sum up, a simplified and reifying version of prototype theory served to reopen the field of lexical semantics, in an environment (American post-Bloomfieldian linguistics and generative linguistics) which showed little concern for it (but see Katz & Fodor 1963), or was to a large extent oblivious of the modern European tradition, still well alive for example in Ullmann’s book, The Principles of Semantics (1951), that is, shortly before the advent of generative linguistics.

 

Complexive groupings

The reference to Wittgenstein’s family resemblance should not eclipse another line of inquiry, which Rosch mentions in passing, and whose influence, therefore, is difficult to assess. I shall dwell on it a little, since this work does not seem to be very well known. I am alluding here to the following passage (Rosch & Mervis 1975: 602): “The principle of family resemblances in adult categories casts a new perspective on children’s classifications. Young children have been shown to classify objects or pictures by means of complexive classes, that is, classes in which items are related to each other by attributes not shared by all members of the class (Bruner, Olver, & Greenfield, 1966; Vygotsky, 1962).” It is probable that Rosch, a former student at Harvard, where she wrote a dissertation on child psychology, had first-hand acquaintance with complexive classes through the work of Bruner, who was an authority on child development and was working in the same university. Now, Bruner himself had borrowed the notion from Vygotsky, which is duly acknowledged in Rosch’s references above. Note that Bruner may have influenced Rosch in other ways, for example in his pragmatist views on categorization (Fortis 2010).

A few words need be said on complexive classes. Their closest origin is the developmental theory of Heinz Werner, whom Vygotsky quotes on several occasions (1962; 1988 [1934]). For Werner (1933), complex states are undifferentiated psychological contents or acts which are grasped as total units. The most primitive complex states are intuitive groupings which give rise to collections organized according to Gestalt-like principles. Further, connections between objects are initially context-dependent, so that features linking objects can hardly be abstracted from the situation hic et nunc. Being subject to circumstances and merged into complex psychological units, these linking features cannot stabilize a word’s meaning, with the consequence that the child’s verbal concepts do not have the character of generic concepts subsuming clearly defined instances. Conceptual development requires that holistic and situation-dependent states be progressively differentiated into recurring features. Importantly, complex thinking is an inferior form of cognitive functioning, which is the hallmark of so-called Naturvölker, children and subjects suffering from mental disorders (esp. schizophrenia, agnosia and aphasia). Werner’s insistence on the feeble capacity of “primitive” people for abstraction, and his willingness to confirm his own prejudices with a perfunctory use of the literature are a most unpleasant aspect of the book.

As in Werner’s theory, in Vygotsky’s account complexive classes are characteristic of a stage in the cognitive development of the child. During this stage, objects are grouped together through attributes that may vary from one pair of associated items to the next. Classes thus formed may have various structures: they may be built around a nucleus, i.e. a central instance sharing at least one attribute with every member; they may comprise objects that are functionally related (like ‘fork’ and ‘plate’), or made up of elements chained together like the links of an associative chain, or even be unified by features that are themselves somewhat vague or diffuse. Since complexive classes are not based on consistently applied features, they are not yet “concepts”. Features criterial of a concept must be consistently singled out and, as it were, stabilized for concept formation to take off. But such stabilization is made possible, says Vygotsky, through language; and it is thanks to this verbal instrumentation (as Bruner was later to put it), in interaction with adults, that the child raises itself above this stage of erratic categorization.

Remarkably, of words as they are used by children when referring to complexive classes, Vygotsky says they are akin to family names, insofar as they connect objects by similarity without there being consistency in the features establishing this similarity. A last point deserves mention. Vygotsky notes that lexical semantic change is typically complexive, since it is generally the case that new meanings link up with older ones through features of a contingent and unpredictable nature.

In pursuing Vygotsky’s ideas on complexive classes and the role of language, Bruner, or so it seems to me, is faithful to his Russian precursor. His typology of complexive classes is close to that of Vygotsky (Bruner 1964; Bruner et al. 1966).

Obviously, for Rosch, complexive classes do not characterize an inferior stage of cognitive development. The family resemblance structure of semantic categories and their very cohesiveness ensure that Rosch’s complexive classes are not collections of straggling members contingently brought together under a name. In short, though they have a comparable structure, they are more tightly organized than Vygotsky’s complexive classes. And Rosch’s concern is not to explain how we get from complexive classes to bona fide concepts with clearcut boundaries.

 

Sketch of a partial genealogy

There is an abundant literature on the origins and interpretation of Wittgenstein’s family resemblance. To the best of my knowledge, the most comprehensive review can be found in Goeres (2000). As far as we know, the term first appeared in a remark on Spengler’s Decline of the West, in a passage where Wittgenstein compares the network of similiarities between Kulturperioden to those which exist between members of the same family and across different families (Wittgenstein 1977: 48; cf. Ferber 1991 on the relation to Spengler).

Roughly, we may say that the possible sources for the term (i.e. Familienähnlichkeit), that is, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche and Mauthner, do not have the best claim to having inspired the idea itself. The matter of the intellectual sources is further complicated by the fact that some authors, like Kries, consider that recollecting by resemblance is a property of a type of concept formation (i.e. synchytische Begriffsbildung) which can be considered independently of the use of language, while others, like Bühler, define such concepts with respect to their linguistic expression.

In what follows, I will focus on views which are related both to the Wittgensteinian idea of Familienähnlichkeit and to what became of it in cognitive semantics.

 

“Analogy”

At the beginning of Women, fire and dangerous things (1987: 18), we see Lakoff praising Austin (1961 [1940]) for having “prefigured much of contemporary cognitive semantics”, especially on account of Austin’s discussion of the polysemy of healthy. Let me reproduce Austin’s text as quoted by Lakoff:

The adjective ‘healthy’: when I talk of a healthy body, and again of a healthy complexion, of healthy exercise: the word is not just being used equivocally… there is what we may call a primary nuclear sense of ‘healthy’: the sense in which ‘healthy’ is used of a healthy body: I call this nuclear because it is ‘contained as a part’ in the other two senses which may be set out as ‘productive of healthy bodies’ and ‘resulting from a healthy body’… Now are we content to say that the exercise, the complexion, and the body are all called ‘healthy’ because they are similar? Such a remark cannot fail to be misleading. Why make it?

On Lakoff’s view, Austin’s primary nuclear sense would be a precursor of the notion of prototypical meaning. Readers acquainted with the philosophical tradition will have recognized in healthy the example Aristotle cites when he introduces a form of polysemy which he calls pros hen (i.e. said with respect to one ). The example occurs in a famous passage of the Metaphysics (Γ 2, 1003a33), in the context of a discussion of the polysemy of ‘be’, which, were it to be a case of genuine equivocality, would undermine the very enterprise of metaphysics. Now, Austin does acknowledge his debt in the above passage but Lakoff took care to suppress the mention of Aristotle in Austin’s text, perhaps because it would not have squared well with trumpeting the novelty of his own views.

For reasons that need not detain us here, in the case of ‘be’ and ‘healthy’, tradition has often spoken of analogy pros hen, or even of homonymy pros hen (see e.g. Porphyry in Sorabji 2005: 234-5) although Aristotle just speaks of pros hen kai mian phusin legesthai (‘be said relatively to one thing and one nature’), and certainly not of analogy nor homonymy. It is interesting to note that when Brentano (1862: 96) discusses this form of “analogy” (his word), he finds it apt to say that terms like healthy behave, with respect to what they refer to, like family names (Familiennamen) with respect to their referents; in other words, languages are often unspecific and designate with one and the same “name” things whose family resemblance stems from the fact that they are all related to a fundamental meaning.

The recognition of the phenomenon of polysemy by Aristotle is especially clear in his treatment of the Greek preposition en ‘in’, in Physics (209a15sqq). The passage enumerates the various meanings of en, of which the spatial meaning is singled out as “primary”:

  1. a finger is in a hand (a part is in a whole)
  2. a whole consists in parts
  3. man is in animal (eidos en genei ‘species in genus’)
  4. animal is in man (meros tou eidous en tôi tou eidous logôi ‘part of the form in the definition of the form’)
  5. health in warm and cold things (to eidos en tèi hulèi ‘form in matter’)
  6. the affairs of Greece lie in the King’s hands (en tôi prôtôi kinètikôi ‘in the first mover’ i.e. in the efficient cause)
  7. [the motive to action is found] in the [expected] good (en tôi telei ‘in the goal’, i.e. in the final cause)
  8. primary sense (kuriôtaton): ‘in a vessel’ and generally ‘in a place’.

Although Aristotle’s description is localist, since he regards the relation of spatial containment as primary, his localism is not justified on cognitive grounds. Rather, space is primary because, says Aristotle, “that without which nothing else can exist but which can exist without anything else is primary” (Physics 209a1-2). With this restriction in mind, the style of his analysis is reminiscent of the localist descriptions of prepositions of which cognitive semantics has given us so many illustrations.

To sum up, if Austin is a precursor of the notions of prototype and family resemblance, and even of cognitive semantics at large, then Aristotle is a precursor too. The claim that cognitive semantics goes against the philosophical tradition “from Aristotle to the later work of Wittgenstein” (Lakoff 1987: 6) should therefore be taken with a grain of salt.

 

Semantic analysis and semantic change

Baker and Hacker (2005) note that Wittgenstein was not the first philosopher to fight against this “craving for generality” (Wittgenstein 1958: 17) which manifests itself in the temptation to define concepts in terms of common properties shared by their instances. By way of illustration they cite Dugald Stewart’s essay On the Beautiful, in which Stewart condemns the prejudice “that when a word admits of a variety of significations, these different significations must all be species of the same genus; and must consequently include some essential idea common to every individual to which the generic term can be applied” (1816: 260). Instead, Stewart’s suggestion is to analyze the meaning of ‘beautiful’ as a chain of meanings linked together by successive generalizing steps.

Stewart, referring back to D’Alembert and his discussion of figurative meaning / meaning par extension, points to a line of thought which is connected with philosophy but has let its influence be felt also in lexicography and rhetoric. The connection which links up reflections about primary and derived meanings with philosophy is especially clear for texts which betray, I think, an influence of empiricist ideas. We see, for example, a number of authors (not necessarily proponents of empiricism), from Leibniz to Condillac, Harris and some linguists of the 19th century defend localist analyses of prepositions and cases, i.e. analyses in which the primary function of prepositions and cases is that of expressing concrete, spatial relations (Fortis 2014). A quite common claim is that primary meanings are extended to more abstract meanings by metonymy, metaphor or some sorts of synesthesia or syncretic perception. In this respect, cognitive semantics is a continuation of this philosophically impregnated strand.

In several studies (esp. 1988, 2010), Geeraerts has drawn attention to similarities between modern cognitive semantics and the historical-philological tradition. This is not the place to expatiate on this subject, let it just be emphasized that in this tradition, somewhat artificially segregated from the one just mentioned, analyses by semantic chains have been practiced for a long time. The parallel with cognitive semantics goes even further. In La Vie des Mots, Darmesteter (e.g. 1887: 82-3) proposes diagrammatic representations of semantic change that may be taken as diachronic counterparts of the semantic networks which Lakoff, Brugmann and others made fashionable from the 1980s on. When nearly a hundred years after Darmesteter, Nunberg (1978) rummaged through these antiquated studies, he thought that something could be gleaned from them for synchronic analysis, or, to borrow his words “that the meaning-relations that held between new and old uses of words were very like the meaning-relations that hold synchronically among the psenses [= particular uses of words] of polysemous words…” This was not to say that the ghostly presence of the etymon still made itself felt, as had been sometimes speculated. Rather the notion that central and derived meanings are linked by associations, analogies, metaphors etc. could be applied to synchronic analysis. Note, however, that Nunberg had qualms about the possibility of identifying a central meaning in every instance (Nunberg 1979). At any rate, since Lakoff read Nunberg, an influence of Darmesteter cannot be ruled out.

What is the conclusion, or perhaps the lesson, to be drawn from this discussion? We should not speak purely and simply of “rediscovery” nor lament the amnesia of linguists. First, the reintroduction of ideas of yore fulfilled a strategic goal, that of finding a niche for practitioners who had broken up with generative linguistics. Old and venerable ideas are especially well-suited to pursuing this aim: their distant but unmistakable familiarity lends them credence and makes them easier to adopt. Second, ideas of the philosophical, rhetorical and philological tradition did get transmitted after all, although the depth of their roots was probably underestimated and distant sources were sometimes forgotten or downplayed, or dissimulated. However, for the next generation, trained after the emergence of cognitive semantics, there is a risk that the reinvention of the wheel be taken as a breakthrough.

References

Aristotle. 1933. Metaphysics (tr. by H. Tredennick). Cambridge (Mass.) / London, Harvard University Press / William Heinemann Ltd.

Aristotle. 1957. The Physics (tr. by P.M. Wicksteed & F.M. Cornford). Cambridge (Mass.) / London, Harvard University Press / William Heinemann Ltd.

Austin, John L. 1961 [1940]. The meaning of a word. The Moral Sciences Club of the University of Cambridge and the Jowett Society of the University of Oxford. In Philosophical Papers, 1961, James O. Urmson and Geoffrey J. Warnock (eds.). Oxford: Clarendon Press: 55-75.

Baker, Gordon P. & Hacker, Peter M. S. 2005. Wittgenstein: Understanding and Meaning. Part I: Essays (vol. 1 of An Analytical Commentary on the Philosophical Investigations). Oxford, Blackwell Publishing.

Brentano, Franz. 1816. Von der Mannigfachen Bedeutung des Seienden nach Aristoteles. Freiburg im Breisgau, Herdersche Verlagshandlung.

Bruner, Jerome S. 1964. The course of cognitive growth. American Psychologist 19(1): 1-15.

Bruner, Jerome S., Olver, Rose, Greenfield, Patricia et al. 1966. Sudies in Cognitive Growth. New York, Wiley.

Darmesteter, Arsène. 1887. La Vie des Mots Etudiée dans leurs Significations. Paris, Librairie Charles Delagrave.

Ferber, Rafael. 1991. Wittgenstein und Spengler. Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 73: 188-207.

Fortis, Jean-Michel. 2010. De l’hypothèse de Sapir-Whorf au prototype: sources et genèse de la théorie d’Eleanor Rosch, Corela: http://corela.revues.org/1243

Fortis, Jean-Michel. 2014. Localisme et théorie des cas. In S. Archaimbault, J.-M. Fournier & V. Raby (ed.), Penser l’Histoire des Savoirs Linguistiques. Etudes Epistémologiques, Historiques et Linguistiques en Hommage à Sylvain Auroux, Lyon, ENS Editions: 75-85.

Geeraerts, Dirk, 1988. Cognitive grammar and the history of lexical semantics, in B. Rudzka-Ostyn (ed.), Topics in Cognitive Linguistics, Amsterdam-Philadelphia, John Benjamins, 647-677.

Geeraerts, Dirk. 2010. Theories of Lexical Semantics, Oxford, Oxford University Press.

Goeres, Ralf. 2000. Die Entwicklung der Philosophie Ludwig Wittgensteins unter besonderer Berücksichtigung seiner Logikkonzeptionen. Würzburg, Königshausen & Neumann.

Katz, Jerrold J. & Fodor, Jerry A. 1963. The structure of a semantic theory. Language, 39(2): 170-210.

Kleiber, Georges. 1990. La Sémantique du Prototype. Catégories et Sens Lexical. Paris, Presses Universitaires de France.

Krüger, Wilhelm. 1994. Ähnlichkeiten und Analogien – Diachronische Bemerkungen zur Entstehung des Wittgensteinschen Begriffs der Familienähnlichkeit. Wittgenstein Studien, 1 (2).

Lakoff, George, 1987. Women, Fire and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal about the Mind, Chicago, University of Chicago Press.

Nunberg, Geoffrey D. 1978. The Pragmatics of Reference. Bloomington, The Indiana University Linguistics Club.

Nunberg, Geoffrey. 1979. The non-uniqueness of semantic solutions: polysemy. Linguistics and Philosophy 3: 143-184.

Rosch, Eleanor & Mervis, Carolyn B. 1975. Family resemblances: studies in the internal structure of categories. Cognitive Psychology 7: 573-605.

Rosch, Eleanor. 1978. Principles of categorization. In Rosch, Eleanor & Lloyd, Barbara B. (ed.), Cognition and Categorization. Hillsdale, NJ, Lawrence Erlbaum Associates: 27-48.

Sorabji, Richard. 2005. The Philosophy of the Commentators, 200-600 AD. Ithaca, Cornell University Press.

Stewart, Dugald. 1816. Philosophical Essays (2nd edition). Edinburgh, Archibald Constable.

Ullmann, Stephen. 1951. The Principles of Semantics. Glasgow, Jackson, Son & Company.

Vygotsky, Lev S. 1962. Thought and Language. Cambridge (Mass.), M.I.T. Press.

Vygotsky, Lev S.. 1988 [1934]. An experimental study of concept development. In Vygotsky, Lev S., The Collected Works. Volume 1: Problems of General Psychology, including the volume Thinking and Speech, Rieber, Robert W. & Carton, Aaron S. (ed.), New York, Plenum Press.

Werner, Heinz. 1933. Einführung in die Entwicklungspsychologie. Leipzig, Johann Ambrosius Barth.

Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 1958. The Blue and Brown Books. Oxford, Blackwell Publishing.

Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 1977. Vermischte Bemerkungen. Eine Auswahl aus dem Nachlaß. Frankfurt am Main, Suhrkamp.

Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 2006 [1953]. Philosophical Investigations. Oxford, Blackwell Publishing.

How to cite this post

Fortis, Jean-Michel. 2015. Family resemblance and semantics: the vagaries of a not so new concept. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. http://hiphilangsci.net/2015/10/13/family-resemblance-and-semantics-the-vagaries-of-a-not-so-new-concept

Phonetische studien — applied linguistics gets its first journal

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Andrew Linn
University of Sheffield

Several new journals of the late 1870s (Englische studien, Anglia: Zeitschrift für englische Philologie and the Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie) gave the linguistics of the modern languages the means for their proponents to talk to each other in a scholarly forum as the modern languages established themselves as university disciplines. One of the key outlets for this ‘new philology’ was the slightly later arrival on the scene, Phonetische studien [Phonetic studies]. This was very much the preferred organ of the Reform Movement in language teaching (for more on the Reform Movement, see Howatt and Smith 2002). It also rapidly became the principal discourse forum for the wider community of predominantly younger scholars, working both within and outside universities, inspired by the opportunities for new forms of applied language work offered by the new science of phonetics (for more on this ‘discourse community’, see Linn 2008).

Phonetische studien (it did not adopt upper-case letters word-initially in nouns) first appeared in 1888 with the subtitle Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche und praktische phonetik mit besonderer rücksicht auf den unterricht in der aussprache [Journal of scientific and practical phonetics with particular emphasis on the teaching of pronunciation]. The title was a work in progress, as we shall see in due course, and its fluidity tells us much about the journal and the community it served. The style of the title was clearly calqued on that of the earlier journals, and it served to position the newcomer amongst them as a serious contribution to the philological literature. By the 1880s journals had come to “represent the most important single source of information for the scientific research community” (Meadows 1979: 1) and any self-respecting scholarly endeavour needed one to give it credibility as well as serving “to create and solidify a bonding sense of community for scholars who might otherwise have remained isolated individuals or small cadres” (Christie 1990: 17). The 1886 meeting of Scandinavian philologists in Stockholm, attended by Paul Passy (1859-1940) in the year in which he founded the Phonetic Teachers Association, had resulted in the establishment of the four key principles of language teaching reform (see Linn 2002). This, and the other philologists’ conferences which were by now a regular fixture in the annual calendar, must have been an invigorating and empowering experience for the phonetically minded language teaching reformers, and the new journal was a way of keeping the community together and focused. Regular reports on efforts to put reform measures into practice provided a source of encouragement to those who felt themselves to be lone voices in a chorus of traditional methods. However, those lone voices were joining forces rapidly to form a new chorus of reforming zeal. Writing in 1893, and looking back over the previous years, the German reform pioneer Wilhelm Viëtor (1850-1918) charts the dramatic development of this community of scholars and teachers dedicated to applying the insights of phonetics to language teaching reform. He notes that “this rather insignificant germ of reform literature has meanwhile grown to very considerable dimensions” (1893: 353) and that the community is coming together in significant numbers:

The … Verband der Neuphilologen Deutschlands now numbers about one thousand members, and may be said to be thoroughly representative…Between five and six hundred modern language teachers of different countries have joined [the Phonetic Teachers’ Association] (354)

The editor of Phonetische studien was Wilhelm Viëtor himself, “the main initiator of the late 19th century Reform Movement” (Smith 2007), its primus motor via his famous reform pamphlet (Quousque Tandem 1882), but the involvement of the whole community is clear from the title page on which the members of the editorial board are listed. Volume 1 was published ‘unter mitwirkung von’ [with the collaboration of] fifty-one leading names in the interlinked fields of phonetics and language teaching, although the fifty one were evidently only the most noteworthy, as the list concludes “u.a.” [amongst others]. The group numbers 77 “u.a.” in volume 2 and this is an ever-growing army of supporters such that the list is replaced from volume 3 by the statement “unter mitwirkung zahlreicher fachgenossen” [with the collaboration of numerous colleagues]. Amongst the list of names are those of Henry Sweet (1845-1912), Johan Storm (1836-1920), Otto Jespersen (1860-1943), the Swedish Slavist Johan August Lundell (1851-1940) and the Norwegian teacher and grammarian, August Western (1856-1940), as well as eminences grises of the older generation of phonetics such as Alexander Melville Bell (1819-1905) and A. J. Ellis (1814-1890). The new journal is by the community for the community and crucially shows itself to have the authority to take on this role.

It was not unusual for new journals to open with a ‘manifesto’, setting out the agenda for the new publication, siting it within the market and clarifying what readers could expect. Phonetische studien doesn’t open with a statement by the editor but with an article from the pen of one of the first to hold a university position in phonetics and the architect of the teaching reform principles elaborated at the 1886 Stockholm meeting, J. A. Lundell. It is, however, a rhetorically daring manifesto for the new journal and the ambitions of the community it served.

Lundell’s enthusiasm and his sense of being involved in a paradigm shift are palpable. His manifesto, with the seemingly innocuous tile ‘Die phonetik als universitätsfach’ [Phonetics as a university subject] opens with a clear statement of that shift. The article starts with quotations from William Dwight Whitney (1827-1894) and from Sweet, predicting a bright phonetic future and immediately marshalling two of the leading linguists on either side of the Atlantic to the cause:

[Phonetics] will also become by itself a definite science, or department of study, having its close and important relations to physiology and acoustics, as well as to philology. Whitney 1875.

I have little doubt that before many years there will be professors of phonetics and elocution at many of the Continental universities. Sweet 1882. (Lundell 1888: 1)

With these giants looking forward, Lundell immediately looks back to the previous generations, to Bopp, Grimm and Schleicher, as ‘yesterday’s men’. His enthusiasm for what phonetics can achieve is almost unbounded. He makes the case for the role of phonetic insights in historical-comparative language study, but he also maintains that phonetics will revolutionize orthographies, the teaching of reading, the education of the deaf and dumb [die taubstummenbildung], speech pathology, the study of metrics, rhetoric and the art of singing. As if this list of beneficiaries from the science of phonetics isn’t long enough, he finally erupts: “Also auch hier mehr phonetik!” (p. 6).

While Lundell’s manifesto is a clarion call for the increased study of phonetics, as might well be expected at the start of a publication entitled Phonetische studien, reform in language teaching is the focus of many of the articles and reports which fill the pages of the early volumes. In fact it feels as though the journal can’t quite make up its mind what its role is, as witnessed by the constantly changing title in those first volumes. The constantly changing title is indicative of a community in a hurry, acting first and then thinking later, wanting to get on with what they believed to be important reforms. The first volume of 1888 was entitled Phonetische studien. Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche und praktische phonetik mit besonderer rücksicht auf den unterricht in der aussprache. So, to begin with phonetics was in the foreground with the teaching of pronunciation listed as a particular focus. The titles of subsequent volumes are as follows. Volume 2 is Phonetische studien. Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche und praktische phonetik mit besonderer rücksicht auf die phonetische reform des sprachunterrichts, such that it is not only the teaching of pronunciation that is in the spotlight now but reform in language teaching more broadly. Volume 3 is Phonetische studien. Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche und praktische phonetik mit besonderer rücksicht auf die REFORM des sprachunterrichts, the phonetic element of the reform being no longer specified but with reform upgraded via the use of upper case letters; reform has now become more overtly visible. Volume 7 is effectively Volume 1 of Die neueren sprachen. Zeitschrift für den neusprachlichen unterricht mit dem beiblatt Phonetische Studien, so by 1893 phonetics has drifted into the background, with the former journal described as a “beiblatt” [an insert]. Volume 6 of Die neueren sprachen (1899) simply describes itself as a “fortsetzung [continuation] der phonetischen studien” and by the new century the rhetorical shift is complete, from a journal of phonetic studies to a journal of modern language teaching, appearing in 10 annual instalments. On the front of volume 10 for 1902/1903 phonetic studies are no longer mentioned at all.

Another manifestation of the immediacy of the work is the fact that reviews and replies to those reviews could appear in the same volume. The discourse is ongoing. In volume 1 Willem Sijbrand Logeman of Newton School, Rock Ferry, Birkenhead, and subsequently professor of modern languages at the South African College (later the University of Cape Town), published a series of “remarks” on Passy’s views on the phonetics of French in June 1887, and these were immediately followed by Passy’s response of August 1887. This exchange was good-natured, although Logeman did take the opportunity to have a swipe at the “enthusiasm for dealing with ‘living realities’” (Logeman 1888: 170) and the opinion of Western and others that teachers should teach their own dialect:

Would Mr Western like a Lancashire or Dorsetshire man to teach the dialect of his county as “English”? or that of Alsace or say dep. Puy de Dôme as French? (Logeman 1888: 170)

Logeman was a future professor and a textbook author, so it would be wrong to characterize this sort of disagreement as one between scholars and practitioners, but the roster of contributors is one which doesn’t discriminate between academic linguists and those dealing with language matters from a practical point of view. One of the strengths of the Reform Movement, I maintain (see Linn 2011), was precisely that practice and theory were undifferentiated; there was just the ‘living language’. This was a journal of “wissenschaftliche und praktische phonetik” [scientific and practical phonetics].

However, given the immediacy of response in this discourse community, real arguments could blow up, as when R. M‘Lintock of Liverpool published a review of Sweet’s Elementarbuch des gesprochenen englisch in volume 2 of Phonetische studien in which he objected in the strongest possible terms to Sweet’s version of London English, “wie er in gebildeten kreisen gesprochen wird” [as it is spoken in educated milieus] (Sweet 1885: iii). For M‘Lintock this was a variety which “the cultured—and even the half-cultured—of three fourths of the kingdom can scarcely hear without a feeling of somewhat scornful displeasure tempered with amusement at the curious combination of (apparent) mincing affectation and (real) slovenliness displayed by it” (M‘Lintock 1889: 212). Sweet’s ‘Reply to Mr Maclintock’s Review’ [note the misspelling of his surname] was characteristically explosive:

Mr M‘Lintock’s review … shows such utter and complacent ignorance of the elements of phonetics and philology, and involves so many gross misunderstandings of plain statements in my book that I shall not stop to discuss details, but content myself with a few general remarks. (Sweet 1890: 114).

M‘Lintock’s mournful response, published straight afterwards, notes that, regarding the “prejudices” of which Sweet accuses him, he has “no interest in them whatsoever” (M‘Lintock 1890: 115). (R. J. Lloyd (1846-1906) would later (Lloyd 1895: 52) recommend that the student of English should “choose a sound via media, and speak an English which will be recognised as pure and good everywhere”!) Academic fights make for amusing reading, but there are some serious points here about the nature of the discourse community as it talks to itself in the journal: it brought all those committed to the ‘living language’ together, regardless of their status or views; it was one of immediacy, of ‘speak now and worry about the consequences later’; it was made up of passionate people for whom language was something important.

Phonetische studien was more than just a signal that an applied lnguistics had come of age. It had a title which placed it alongside the other serious philological journals and it had an extensive international editorial board to give its contents the necessary imprimatur. From the historiographical point of view it allows us to see the Reform Movement in operation, to hear its voice. That voice is one of urgency and enthusiasm, exemplified above all in the ever-changing title but also in the way in which debate is actively taking place in its pages. This is no dry academic publication, but rather a hot-house of impassioned views about the importance of phonetics and the need for a revolution in language teaching based on the study and application of phonetics. Given this, it is noteworthy how quickly phonetics slips into the background in terms of how the journal presents itself. Scientific journals had become specialized fora, and another journal for phonetics was established at the same time. In May 1886 the first issue of Dhi Fonètik Tîtcer was published by Dhi Fonètik Tîtcerz’ Asóciécon as the brainchild of Passy (MacMahon 1986). This journal also underwent a name change, becoming le maître phonétique in 1889 before later morphing in 1970 into the Journal of the International Phonetic Association. The 1880s were heady times, and the air of excitement, infecting those within and beyond academia, the sense that language learning is important, is one that we would do well to try to recapture today.

This post is adapted from:

Linn, Andrew. forthcoming 2016. Modern foreign language teachers get a voice. The role of the journals. In: Nicola McLelland and Richard Smith (eds.), The History of Language Learning and Teaching II: 19th-20th Century Europe. Oxford: Legenda.

References

Christie, John R. R. 1990. The Development of the Historiography of Science. In: R. C. Olby, G. N. Cantor, J. R. R. Christie and M. J. S. Hodge, eds. Companion to the History of Modern Science. London and New York: Routledge, 5-22.

Howatt, A. P. R. & Smith, Richard C., eds. 2002. Modern Language Teaching: The Reform Movement. 5 vols. London: Routledge.

Linn, Andrew R. 2002. Quousque Tandem. Language-Teaching Reform in 19th-Century Scandinavia. The Henry Sweet Society Bulletin 38: 34-42.

Linn, Andrew R. 2008. The Birth of Applied Linguistics: The Anglo-Scandinavian School as ‘Discourse Community’. Historiographia Linguistica 35(3): 342-384.

Linn, Andrew R. 2011. Impact: Linguistics in the Real World. Histoire Epistémologie Langage 33(1): 15-27.

Lloyd, R. J. 1895. Standard English. Die neueren sprachen 2: 52-53.
Logeman, Willem S. 1888. Remarks on Paul Passy’s French Phonetics. Phonetische studien 1: 170-171.

Lundell, J. A. 1888. Die phonetik als universitätsfach. Phonetische studien 1: 1-17.
MacMahon, M. K. C. 1986. The International Phonetic Association: The First 100 Years. Journal of the International Phonetic Association 16: 30-38.

M‘Lintock, R. 1889. Review of Henry Sweet, Elementarbuch des gesprochenen englisch. Phonetische studien 2: 212-216.

M‘Lintock, R. 1890. On Mr Sweet’s Reply. Phonetische studien 3: 115.

Meadows, A. J.1979. Introduction. In: A. J. Meadows, ed. The Scientific Journal. London: Aslib, 1.

Quousque Tandem. 1882. Der Sprachunterricht muss umkehren! Ein Beitrag zur Überbürdungsfrage. Heilbronn: Gebr. Henninger.

Smith, Richard C. 2007. Wilhelm Viëtor’s Life and Career. [online] [Accessed 16 October 2015]. Available at: .
Sweet, Henry. 1885. Elementarbuch des gesprochenen englisch (grammatik, texte und glossar). Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Sweet, Henry. 1890. Reply to Mr Maclintock’s Review. Phonetische studien 3: 114-115.
Viëtor, W. 1893. A New Method of Language Teaching. Educational Review 1893: 351-365

How to cite this post

Linn, Andrew. 2015. Phonetische studien — applied linguistics gets its first journal. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. http://hiphilangsci.net/2015/10/28/phonetische-studien-applied-linguistics-gets-its-first-journal


Antoine Meillet et les massacres d’Arménie de 1915

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Sébastien Moret
Université de Tartu / Université de Lausanne

L’année 2015 marque le centième anniversaire des tragiques événements que subirent les populations arméniennes de l’empire ottoman en 1915[1], événements auxquels la quasi-totalité de la communauté internationale attribue le terme de génocide. A cette occasion, l’année a vu se succéder toute une série de manifestations souvent symboliques. Ainsi, le 12 avril, lors d’une messe en l’honneur des Arméniens en la basilique Saint-Pierre de Rome, le pape François utilisa publiquement pour la première fois le terme génocide, donnant ainsi un cadre solennel et retentissant à la réitération de la reconnaissance par le Vatican du caractère génocidaire des massacres[2] ; quelques jours après, c’étaient les députés du Parlement européen qui avaient, à leur tour, réaffirmé la reconnaissance du génocide[3], lui adjoignant un hommage rendu aux victimes arméniennes et l’idée d’une journée internationale de commémoration des génocides « afin de réaffirmer le droit de tous les peuples et de toutes les nations du monde à la paix et à la dignité »[4].

A côté de ces manifestations « politiques », il faut mentionner aussi toute une série d’importantes manifestations scientifiques, publications ou colloques, souhaitant revenir sur ces événements[5]. Parmi ces dernières, nous en mentionnerons quelques-unes : l’ouvrage de Vincent Duclert (2015) sur La France face au génocide des Arméniens ; le colloque international « Le génocide des Arméniens de l’Empire ottoman dans la Grande Guerre 1915-2015 : cent ans de recherche » tenu à Paris en mars 2015 et dont les Actes ont déjà paru (Becker et al. 2015) ; enfin le livre du journaliste allemand Jürgen Gottschlich (2015) qui revient sur le rôle des Allemands dans les massacres.

Dans le cadre de ces quelques lignes, nous aimerions aussi revenir sur ces événements, mais en les appréhendant du point de vue de celui qui était à ce moment-là en Europe certainement « le meilleur connaisseur du domaine [arménien] parmi les linguistes occidentaux » (Lamberterie 2006, p. 161), celui qui avait à deux reprises déjà (en 1891 et en 1903) visité les territoires arméniens de Russie et de l’empire ottoman (Gandon 2014b, p. 27-33), celui enfin vers lequel, alors « maître incontesté » (Lamberterie 2006, p. 162) et spécialiste adoubé (ibid., p. 152), se tournaient non seulement ses collègues philologues et linguistes (ibid., p. 155), mais aussi les hommes politiques[6] quand il s’agissait de problèmes arméniens, à savoir Antoine Meillet (1866-1936).

Né à Moulins, spécialiste de presque toutes les langues du domaine indo-européen (mais, répétons-le, surtout de l’arménien[7]), professeur au Collège de France et à l’Ecole pratique des hautes études, couvert d’honneurs en France comme à l’étranger (Vendryes 1937, p. 12-13), Meillet avait aussi été un homme de son temps, pour qui « rien de ce qui [était] moderne [n’était] étranger » (Lefèvre 1925, p. 31). Plusieurs de ses publications témoignent de cet intérêt pour l’actualité, le plus célèbre exemple demeurant les deux éditions de ses Langues dans l’Europe nouvelle (Meillet 1918a et 1928), ouvrage qui, à l’en croire, n’aurait pas été écrit « sans les événements actuels » (Meillet 1918a, p. 7). Cette contribution fournira d’autres exemples de publications ancrées dans leur temps.

Les travaux arménologiques de Meillet, mais aussi ses voyages et ses activités « philarmène[s] » (Lamberterie 2006, p. 183) ont déjà attiré l’attention de quelques chercheurs (Fryba-Reber 2006 ; Gandon 2014a, ou Lamberterie 2006), mais aucune recherche ne s’est pour le moment intéressée en détail à ce que Meillet avait dit des événements d’Arménie de 1915 ; de plus, nous allons proposer une étude basée sur une bibliographie de Meillet fortement complétée, grâce notamment aux recherches de Jean Loicq (2006) qui ont permis de faire ressurgir des textes longtemps ignorés, et notamment des textes publiés pendant la guerre (souvent anonymement) dans le Bulletin de l’Alliance française (Meillet 1915a et 1916). Nous aurons l’occasion de voir comment ces massacres ont pu servir de révélateur à certaines idées de Meillet. Plus généralement, il sera aussi question de son rapport et de ses conceptions quant à l’avenir de l’Arménie après la Première guerre mondiale.


Très rapidement après les rafles, dès la nuit du 24 au 25 avril 1915, des intellectuels arméniens de Constantinople, rafles qui marquent le début de ce qui aboutira à une extermination systématique des populations arméniennes de l’empire ottoman, les chancelleries occidentales sont au courant des massacres. En témoigne, le 24 mai 1915, la déclaration commune de la France, de la Russie et de la Grande-Bretagne :

« Depuis un mois environ, la population kurde et turque de l’Arménie procède de connivence et souvent avec l’aide des autorités ottomanes à des massacres des Arméniens. […]

En présence de ces nouveaux crimes de la Turquie contre l’humanité et la civilisation, les gouvernements alliés font savoir publiquement à la Sublime-Porte qu’ils en tiendront personnellement responsables desdits crimes tous les membres du gouvernement ottoman ainsi que ceux de ses agents qui se trouveraient impliqués dans de pareils massacres. » (Texte reproduit dans Duclert 2015, p. 58)[8]

Les journaux européens et américains reprennent l’information (Duclert 2015, p. 630, n. 17), mais ce n’est que quelques mois plus tard que des articles rendent compte des exactions et des atrocités grâce, notamment, aux correspondants de guerre sur le front de l’Est de certains journaux français ou américains (ibid., p. 217-218). Des informations sont dont relativement rapidement disponibles, et Meillet en parlera dans deux articles parus anonymement dans le Bulletin de l’Alliance française. Le premier de ces articles, intitulé « L’extermination des Arméniens » (Meillet 1915a), paraît dans le numéro du 1er novembre 1915. Meillet n’y commente rien, il raconte « [l]a misère et le désespoir des Arméniens [qui] vont croissants [sic] », la « persécution » qui sévit « [d]ans toute l’Asie mineure » (ibid., p. 109). Il raconte les « arrestations en masse des hommes les plus en vue », les exécutions « sans jugement », les déportations avec des « femmes traînant leurs enfants après elles et les perdant en route ou les jetant dans des rivières », avec des « vieillards succombant à la fatigue, sans nourriture, poussés en avant à coups de bâton et de baïonnette », il raconte ce « marché aux esclaves » où les « Turcs [se] pourvoyaient de femmes et d’enfants » (ibid., p. 110). Puis ce sont des hommes précipités dans le fleuve, des Turcs qui partent « à cheval à la chasse des Arméniens qui s’étaient sauvés dans la montagne », des bateaux rentrant « à vide, la cargaison [ayant] été massacrée et jetée à la mer » (ibid.). Il y a aussi ces Arméniens qui avaient résisté aux conditions des déportations, « en haillons, sales, affamés, malades », ces « mères qui offraient leurs enfants à qui voulait les prendre », ces « jeunes filles que les Turcs voulaient garder chez eux », ou ceux qui « se jetèrent sur le foin qu’on leur donna comme à des bêtes » (ibid., p. 111). « Comme à des bêtes ». Avec le titre de l’article (« L’extermination des Arméniens ») et des expressions comme « terribles violences » ou « de la façon la plus effroyable » (ibid.), ce sont là les quelques traces de la présence de Meillet dans cet article essentiellement descriptif[9] qui se termine de façon abrupte :

« Tout essai de résistance, bientôt réprimé par des forces supérieures, ne sert qu’à provoquer un massacre plus général encore, ainsi que cela est arrivé par places, entre autres dans le Nord, à Schabin Karahissar, et dans le Sud, près de Marasch, au village de Foundajak, qui a été réduit en cendres. » (ibid.)

Quelques mois plus tard, dans le numéro du 1er mars 1916 de ce même Bulletin de l’Alliance française, Meillet fera paraître, là aussi anonymement, un second article sur « Les massacres d’Arménie » (Meillet 1916). Cette fois, le ton est beaucoup moins neutre, puisque l’article affirme que le « massacre en masse de l’été et de l’automne derniers […] s’est accompli sous les yeux et avec l’approbation de fonctionnaires allemands qui étaient sur les lieux, même, en certains cas, avec leur concours actif », alors que « la diplomatie allemande détournait les yeux et refusait de faire aucune représentation » (ibid., p. 47-48) :

« On ne peut pas prétendre sérieusement que les Allemands […] ignoraient les desseins des Turcs. Huit jours avant le massacre à Erzindjian, le directeur allemand de l’hôpital militaire informa les trois infirmières allemandes qui étaient sous ses ordres que le Gouvernement turc avait l’intention d’exterminer les Arméniens, et les pria de ne pas s’alarmer des scènes déchirantes dont elles allaient être témoins.

La part des Allemands dans le butin semble avoir été stipulée à l’avance. Après la déportation des Arméniens, le mobilier et les autres objets trouvés dans leurs maisons furent vendus aux enchères ; des pianos, dit-on, semblaient chers à 50 piastres (un peu plus de 10 francs). Mais tous les ustensiles de cuivre furent soigneusement recueillis, et envoyés à des adresses allemandes à Constantinople. » (ibid., p. 48)

Cet article de Meillet fait état de la présence dans l’empire ottoman d’un certain nombre d’Allemands ; rappelons ici à ce propos que dans le dernier quart du XIXe siècle un rapprochement avait eu lieu entre l’empire allemand et la Sublime Porte (notamment pour contrecarrer les ambitions russes et françaises dans les Balkans et au Levant), avec l’envoi de capitaux, mais aussi d’ingénieurs et de conseillers militaires (Duclert 2015, p. 141).

Cet article de Meillet doit aussi être remis dans son contexte, celui de la Première guerre mondiale. C’est le conflit avec l’ennemi de toujours, l’Allemagne, et durant ces années nombreux furent les écrits à vouloir mettre en avant la « barbarie intrinsèque » (Audoin-Rouzeau & Becker, 2000, p. 264) du peuple allemand, que l’on aimait à considérer « comme le produit naturel d’une culture qui n’avait au fond jamais dominé que par la force » (Prochasson & Rasmussen, 1996, p. 283). Signalons encore que Meillet, en 1918, toujours dans le Bulletin de l’Alliance française, pointera à nouveau son doigt sur les responsabilités allemandes. En plus du reproche moral répété que les Allemands savaient mais n’ont rien fait (« Les autorités allemandes ont connu ces massacres ; elles n’ont pas protesté. » [Meillet 1918b, p. 3]), Meillet y adjoint l’idée d’une sorte de responsabilité technique et opérationnelle : « Et depuis que le Gouvernement jeune-turc s’est allié aux empires du Centre et que les Allemands lui ont enseigné l’organisation, il a, en 1915, organisé, avec une science nouvelle, la destruction des Arméniens » (ibid.). Avec le recul de l’histoire, ces quelques lignes qui mettent ensemble « organisation » allemande, « science nouvelle » et « destruction » d’un groupe ne manquent pas d’interpeller : un peu plus de vingt ans avant, elles renvoient le lecteur contemporain au deuxième génocide du siècle, dont la réalisation apparaît, pour certains historiens, en lien plus ou moins direct avec celui des Arméniens[10].

Ce sont là, à notre connaissance, les deux seuls écrits de Meillet directement consacrés aux massacres d’Arménie de l’année 1915. Mais ces événements réapparaîtront dans d’autres textes, que nous allons maintenant analyser.


Si l’on peut considérer Meillet commet un homme de son temps parce qu’il se tenait au courant de l’évolution du monde dans lequel il vivait, il l’était aussi par son rapport à la colonisation, considérée à cette époque encore comme un phénomène licite et ne soulevant pas de contestations généralisées :

« Les nations européennes, au moins dans les circonstances actuelles, ont des colonies parce qu’elles sont les seules en mesure de porter les pays africains et une part des pays asiatiques au niveau de la civilisation moderne et d’en tirer parti. » (Meillet, 1919a, p. 14-15)

Meillet, en phase avec son époque, adjoint au processus colonial, la notion de « civilisation » : c’est la valeur de leur civilisation qui donne aux « populations européennes » le « droit […] de [la] répandre […] dans le monde » (Meillet 1919c, p. 7). Nous sommes donc en présence d’une représentation hiérarchisante des diversités humaines. C’est là un discours typique de ces années-là et nous n’avons aucune raison d’en tenir rigueur à Meillet. Si, comme nous l’avons déjà vu, les massacres de 1915 auront été l’occasion de démontrer la « barbarie » des Allemands, ils serviront aussi à pointer du doigt un autre ennemi du moment, les Turcs, et à opposer des groupes.

En 1918, dans un article intitulé « La nation arménienne » publié comme supplément au numéro de mars du Bulletin de l’Alliance française, Meillet, en ouverture, écrivait ceci :

« Sans souci de l’humanité ni du droit des gens, nos ennemis ont tenu pour bon et pour permis tout ce qui pouvait leur faciliter le succès.

Les chefs jeunes-turcs ont voulu faire mieux que leurs alliés allemands : décidés à unifier leur empire, et sachant qu’ils ne pourraient s’assimiler les Arméniens, plus civilisés, plus Européens qu’eux-mêmes, ils les ont exterminés. » (Meillet 1918b, p. 1)

Meillet y explique que les Turcs ont eu soin de vouloir dépasser « leurs alliés allemands », ce qu’il ne fait que sous-entendre, c’est que cette « course » eut lieu dans le domaine tout à fait particulier de la « barbarie ». Dans d’autres textes, la « politique barbare des Turcs » (Meillet 1919b, p. 15) ou leur « barbarie systématique » (Meillet 1918b, p. 3) sera clairement évoquée et opposée aux Arméniens « plus civilisés » (Ibid., p. 1) parce que représentant « dans l’Orient proche l’avant-garde de la civilisation occidentale. » (Meillet 1921, p. 90). L’effroyable réalité des massacres est donc là pour opposer Turcs et Arméniens, bien sûr, mais aussi, indirectement, la Turquie et l’Europe, un certain Orient « barbare » et un Occident « civilisé ». C’est ainsi, par exemple, l’opposition, selon un même système axiologique, de deux visions politiques :

« Je ne vais pas essayer de vous retracer l’histoire du problème au cours du XIXe siècle ; ce sont des tentatives toujours vaines pour concilier deux inconciliables : le pouvoir absolu des Turcs d’une part, et, de l’autre, la volonté inflexible d’une nation qui savait qu’elle a le droit de vivre […]. » (ibid.),

En 1915, Meillet avait déjà pointé un doigt accusateur sur le système de gouvernance des Turcs qui dominent « par la force » et « dont l’administration désordonnée tient en respect ses sujets par des massacres organisés » (Meillet 1915b, p. 192). Ou encore l’opposition de deux religions et de deux « potentiels » :

« Tant que les chrétiens ont été d’humbles sujets qui se laissaient exploiter sans résister, sans esquisser même une protestation, les Turcs ont paru ne guère se soucier des sentiments nationaux qui subsistaient. Mais du jour où ils ont éprouvé une résistance, les Turcs ont montré qu’ils n’admettaient pas le moindre changement dans la situation : le musulman devait rester le maître absolu, le chrétien n’être toléré qu’à condition de ne pas élever la voix. Dès que les chrétiens, qui étaient les principaux et souvent les seuls artisans de la prospérité du pays, prenaient conscience de leur force, un conflit devait se produire avec leurs maîtres musulmans.

L’empire ottoman est fondé sur la conquête par les armes. Les Turcs n’ont apporté aucune civilisation propre, et depuis qu’ils ont établi leur empire ils n’en ont inventé aucune ; ils ont accepté purement et simplement des Arabes et des Persans la civilisation islamique sans y rien ajouter ; ils ont donné à l’Islam des généraux, des administrateurs, jamais un savant ou un philosophe. Mais ils ne pouvaient sans ruiner leur domination laisser les nations chrétiennes sujettes profiter de leur supériorité intellectuelle et économique pour se poser à l’intérieur du pays en rivales de l’autorité turque. » (Meillet 1919b, p. 9-10)

« Cette volonté de vivre, cette activités, cette intelligence, ces succès, ce caractère européen ont rendu les Arméniens odieux à leurs maîtres turcs, moins industrieux qu’eux. » (Meillet 1918b, p. 2)

Si les massacres des Arméniens ont permis d’opposer un Orient « barbare » et un Occident « civilisé », comment ne pas s’interroger sur l’indifférence affichée après la guerre par les puissances occidentales à l’égard de l’Arménie (nous reviendrons sur cette indifférence) ? Ainsi, au début de l’année 1923, la Revue des études arméniennes reprenait dans ses pages un « Appel pour l’Arménie » (publié d’abord dans le Journal des débats du 17 décembre 1922 et signé, notamment par Anatole France ou Maurice Barrès) qui commençait ainsi : « La situation effroyable dans laquelle se trouve actuellement la population arménienne de Turquie est une honte pour le monde civilisé » (Appel 1923, p. 89). Initié par « M. A. Meillet », cet appel à la conférence de Lausanne (celle qui devait reprendre les négociations avec la Turquie suite, d’une part, au refus par le nouveau gouvernement jeune-turc d’Atatürk des conclusions du Traité de Sèvres accepté par le Sultan avant son renversement et, d’autre part, à la guerre arméno-turque de 1920) lui demandait d’agir au nom de l’ « humanité » et de la « justice », au nom de l’ « honneur des Alliés » (ibid., p. 90).

En 1918, Meillet terminait ainsi son article sur « La nation arménienne » :

« Au cours des persécutions qui ont duré des siècles et qui sont devenues plus sanglantes au fur et à mesure que la civilisation grandissait dans l’Orient, les Turcs ont prouvé qu’ils ne pouvaient dominer une nation comme la nation arménienne. Ce serait donner une prime à la barbarie que de laisser prescrire par des massacres le droit des Arméniens. Comme le retour de l’Alsace-Lorraine à la France, la libération de l’Arménie symbolisera le triomphe des principes au nom desquels combattent les Alliés et pour lesquels les Etats-Unis sont entrés dans la guerre. » (Meillet 1918b, p. 4)

Les notions de « civilisation » et de « barbarie » y sont toujours présentes, associées cette fois au « droit des Arméniens ». Dans l’esprit de Meillet, un lien est fait entre les massacres subis, entre les atrocités perpétrées et le futur de l’Arménie. Il l’avait écrit en 1919 dans son rapport pour le Quai d’Orsay :

« Les massacres de 1915 ont trop éloquemment montré ce que l’on peut attendre des Turcs pour qu’une solution de la question arménienne, respectant l’intégrité de l’ancienne Turquie, soit désormais envisagée. » (Meillet 1919b, p. 13)

Tournons-nous donc maintenant vers les considérations de Meillet relatives à l’avenir politique de l’Arménie, et vers la place qu’y occupent les massacres de 1915.


Dans un petit message daté du 7 décembre 1917, mais publié en 1918, Antoine Meillet avait eu ces mots :

« Les Alliés luttent pour que chaque nation ait le droit de disposer d’elle-même.

Le retour de l’Alsace-Lorraine à sa patrie d’élection sera le symbole de la victoire du droit sur la force en Occident.

Il faut que, en Orient, la nation arménienne échappe à la tyrannie des Turcs, à la sauvagerie des Kurdes. Aucune nation n’a subi un martyre aussi cruel. Une Arménie autonome est donc le symbole le plus net du triomphe du droit. » (Meillet 1918c, p. 9)

Nous y retrouvons la « tyrannie », la « sauvagerie » dont nous venons de parler. Mais nous retiendrons maintenant surtout l’idée défendue par Meillet, celle d’une indépendance de l’Arménie. Meillet écrit en 1917, la guerre n’est pas encore terminée, mais déjà s’ébauchent les projets pour l’Europe nouvelle, celle que dessineront les conférences de paix. A propos de l’Arménie, Meillet ne changea jamais d’avis, il fut un solide partisan d’une indépendance nationale et politique : « l’autonomie de la nation arménienne » est la seule « solution possible », écrira-t-il dans son rapport sur La nation arménienne rédigé à la demande du gouvernement français (Meillet 1919b, p. 13). Dans certains de ses textes consacrés à l’indépendance future de l’Arménie, les massacres furent parfois avancés pour fournir quelques arguments auxiliaires à côté de la justification prinicipale de l’époque, celle qui ouvre le petit message reproduit ci-dessus : « Les Alliés luttent pour que chaque nation ait le droit de disposer d’elle-même » (Meillet 1918c, p. 9). Voyons comment.

Un des rapprochements que Meillet fait entre les massacres et l’indépendance de l’Arménie lui semble si « évident » qu’il « [s]e reprocherai[t] d’y insister » (Meillet 1919c, p. 6) ; c’est celui qui verrait l’octroi d’une indépendance comme une sorte de réconfort, comme une sorte de devoir moral face à l’horreur : « Le massacre est un titre de plus pour la nation arménienne à reprendre le sol qu’on a essayé de lui enlever par une violence odieuse » (ibid.). A plusieurs reprises, il répétera aussi le postulat inverse : il ne faut pas que « le bénéfice de ces massacres [soit] accordé aux massacreurs » (ibid.), il ne faut pas que les massacres « constitue[nt] un titre de possession pour les Turcs » (Meillet 1921, p. 92).

Que ce fût dans son rapport sur La nation arménienne (Meillet 1919b), mais aussi dans une intervention non titrée qu’il donna en juillet 1920 lors d’une Conférence internationale philarménienne tenue à Paris (Meillet 1921), Antoine Meillet eut à quelques reprises l’occasion de revenir sur l’histoire de l’Arménie ; ce qu’il en retient, c’est un passage entre indépendance et soumission et une succession de malheurs :

« Depuis qu’elle s’est donné une culture autonome, la nation arménienne a subi tous les désastres politiques. Le pays a été souvent envahi par des hordes qui le dévastaient. Il a été souvent la proie de voisins plus puissants. […] Elle a retrouvé par deux fois une indépendance plus ou moins complète. D’abord, à l’ombre des royaumes arabes, il y a eu la royauté des Bagratides dont le centre était au Nord-Ouest du domaine arménien, à Ani. […] Puis les croisades ont permis aux Arméniens d’avoir une nouvelle période d’autonomie et de prospérité relative en Cilicie à partir de la fin du XIe siècle et durant les XIIe et XIIIe siècles […]. » (Meillet 1919b, p. 4-5)

Mais malgré ces malheurs dont certains « ont dépassé la mesure commune » (Meillet 1921, p. 85), malgré que soient venus « [i]nvasions, pillages, massacres » (Meillet 1919b, p. 5), « la nation [arménienne] n’a jamais perdu le sentiment d’être distincte de toute autre » (ibid.). Meillet insistera régulièrement sur cette vigueur particulière du sentiment national des Arméniens, dont les massacres ont pu servir de révélateur. Cette « puissante vitalité » (ibid., p. 8) a permis de conserver l’idée nationale arménienne lors des périodes de domination étrangère :

« Nulle part les Arméniens ne disposaient d’une force à eux, nulle part ils n’avaient un gouvernement à eux, mais il s’était constitué un esprit national qui vivait dans leurs monuments, leur Eglise qui ne ressemble à aucune autre Eglise, qui vivait dans leur littérature, une littérature qui a sa langue propre, ses caractères propres ; et l’absence de toute espèce d’Etat arménien, la perte de tout pouvoir propre n’a jamais pu entamer le sentiment national qui a subsisté à travers les siècles. » (Meillet 1921, p. 88-89),

mais aussi lors des terribles épreuves traversées par les Arméniens : « Tous les malheurs ont pu intervenir, toutes les persécutions ont pu se faire sentir, jamais la nation [arménienne] n’a oublié qu’elle existait par elle-même et qu’elle avait une âme à elle » (ibid., p. 89). Les massacres sont là comme pour témoigner de la vigueur de la nation arménienne. Cette résistance particulière est, pour Meillet, le signe que la nation arménienne fait preuve d’une « volonté de vivre » (Meillet 1918b, p. 2), qui se manifeste encore sous une autre forme, puisque, nous dit Meillet, les Arméniens sont restés vigoureux même en dehors de leur domaine propre :

« Les deux villes où il y a le plus d’Arméniens sont hors du domaine arménien ; le principal centre des Arméniens de Turquie est Constantinople, et le principal centre des Arméniens de Russie, Tiflis, capitale de la Géorgie. A Constantinople comme à Tiflis et à Bakou, les Arméniens ont pris une situation considérable. A Tiflis, ils jouent dans les affaires un rôle infiniment plus grand que la population géorgienne ; à Bakou, ils sont les premiers ; à Constantinople, ils rivalisent même avec les Grecs.

On jugera de l’activité des émigrés arméniens par le fait qu’ils ont fourni à Byzance des empereurs et que le plus grand ministre qu’ait eu l’Egypte au XIXe siècle, Nubar pacha[11], était un Arménien. » (Meillet, 1919b, p. 7)

De plus, cette émigration importante qui « aurait dû épuiser la race » (ibid.) n’a pas empêché les Arméniens « d’occuper fermement leur pays » (ibid., p. 8). Ainsi, Meillet fut un partisan acharné de l’indépendance nationale et politique de cette Arménie « qui n’[a] jamais perdu le sentiment profond de son existence » (Meillet 1921, p. 89) malgré les massacres et les atrocités subies, ce qu’elle peut mettre en avant comme un « titre politique » (Meillet 1920a, p. 9) :

« Tout le monde connaît les malheurs des Arméniens. Les malheurs des Arméniens ont passé la mesure commune, mais ce qui est l’honneur des Arméniens, ce n’est pas d’être malheureux. Etre malheureux, ce n’est pas un titre politique ; ce qui est un titre politique, c’est que, dans les malheurs qui ont passé la mesure commune, les Arméniens ont conservé leur force, c’est que les Arméniens ont montré qu’ils étaient une nation capable de durer ; leurs malheurs ont eu beau, je le répète, passer la mesure commune, ils ont prouvé que leur force aussi passait la mesure commune, et ils ont établi par là qu’ils étaient qualifiés pour durer, qualifiés pour relever un Etat abattu depuis tant de siècles. » (ibid., p. 9-10)

Dans le même discours prononcé en février 1919 lors d’une réunion intitulée « Pour la libération de l’Arménie » dont nous tirons l’extrait ci-dessus, Meillet avait parlé de la « douleur sans fond » (ibid., p. 12) du peuple arménien, mais il avait vite ajouté qu’au fond de cette douleur « perce la confiance » : « Ce n’est pas le désespoir ; c’est la douleur avec la conviction que, quelles que soient les tristesses du présent, il y aura un avenir meilleur » (ibid.) dont lui-même finissait par se porter garant :

« Il faut les avoir vus au Caucase où ils ont quelque liberté pour savoir de quoi ils sont capables. Je ne veux pas insister ; mon rôle ici, c’est d’écouter, c’est de donner la parole aux hommes éminents qui viendront vous parler de l’Arménie ; mais je tiens, avant de m’asseoir, avant de commencer à écouter ces paroles éloquentes que vous entendrez au sujet de l’Arménie, je tiens à vous dire : j’ai dans l’avenir de l’Arménie la confiance la plus entière, et je suis convaincu que, si on fait confiance à la nation arménienne, elle ne trahira pas l’espoir que nous mettons en elle. » (ibid., p. 13)

Malgré ces propos bienveillants et porteurs d’un certain espoir, Meillet est néanmoins conscient d’une chose importante : les massacres ont fortement affaibli les populations arméniennes et cela pourrait constituer comme une pierre sur le chemin vers l’indépendance : « [I]l n’en reste pas moins que la nation a souffert, que ses forces sont restreintes et que, par elle-même, elle est hors d’état de défendre, de mettre en valeur un pays immense et singulièrement difficile » (Meillet 1921, p. 92). Il fut ainsi amené à admettre, lors d’une conférence donnée en 1919 devant le Comité national d’études sociales et politiques[12], qu’ « il faudra aux Arméniens une aide » (Meillet 1919c, p. 9). C’est sur cela qu’il terminait son rapport de 1919 destiné au Comité d’études du Quai d’Orsay :

« Même autonome, un Etat arménien ne pourra de longtemps vivre par lui-même. Le pays est ruiné et dépeuplé. […] La situation politique sera grandement compliquée par les droits qui devront être assurés aux populations musulmanes. Il faudra donc à l’Arménie une protection pour établir la sécurité, et un large concours financier, des aides de toute sorte, pour mettre en valeur le pays, car ce qui reste de la population arménienne d’Arménie turque est en partie dispersé dans l’Arménie russe et en Syrie. Il faut rétablir les Arméniens sur leur terre où ceux qui subsistent ont hâte de rentrer, récupérer ce que les Kurdes se sont approprié, pourvoir les exploitations des ressources indispensables en vivres, en instruments, en bétail, en un mot remettre en état un pays dévasté, relever un peuple abattu. Depuis l’effondrement de l’empire russe, aucun Etat européen n’est particulièrement désigné pour remplir à lui seul cette mission qui sera d’ailleurs une lourde charge, et les Arméniens, qui sont fiers, supporteraient mal d’être protégés par une grande puissance dont ils seraient en quelque sorte les vassaux. Le cas de l’Arménie est de ceux où l’aide collective des puissances sera nécessaire. » (Meillet 1919b, p. 16-17)

Mais sur cette aide vue comme une des « [c]onditions d’existence d’un Etat arménien » (ibid., p. 16), il allait préciser une chose importante. Il ne s’agira « pas du tout » d’une aide « du type des colonies » (Meillet 1919c, p. 9) :

« Il y a des pays qu’il faut non seulement aider, mais administrer. Nous savons ce que les Arméniens valent, ils n’ont pas besoin d’être administrés, ils sauront s’administrer eux-mêmes. Ce qu’il leur faut, c’est une aide matérielle qui leur permette de se développer. […] Il y a le type d’assistance purement colonial ; il y a le type d’assistance à des populations que les circonstances rendent incapables de faire tout le nécessaire, mais qui sont appelées à bref délai à se suffire elles-mêmes. Les Arméniens appartiennent à ce second type ; nous pouvons compter qu’ils feront beaucoup par eux-mêmes dans un très bref délai. » (ibid.)

Ce sont donc bien les « circonstances » qui rendent nécessaire cette aide temporaire, et aucunement une quelconque faiblesse intrinsèque de la nation arménienne.

Nous aimerions enfin mentionner une autre raison qui pousse Meillet à militer en faveur de l’indépendance de l’Arménie ; cette raison a trait à la problématique civilisationnelle mentionnée plus haut. Les Arméniens sont, nous l’avons vu, des « porteurs de la civilisation européenne » (Meillet 1918b, p. 1), ce qui leur octroie, à lire Meillet, un droit supplémentaire à l’indépendance :

« Le droit que les Arméniens revendiquent de conserver le domaine historique qu’ils occupaient et que des populations turques, kurdes et autres ont envahi depuis le commencement de l’époque historique, ils le revendiquent, non pas au nom du droit historique qui ne compte pas, mais au nom du droit qu’ont les populations européennes de répandre la civilisation dans le monde. » (Meillet 1919c, p. 7)

Pour Meillet, favoriser l’indépendance des Arméniens qui sont, sur leurs territoires, sur cette « partie de l’Asie qui est par sa nature un lieu de passage entre l’Orient et l’Occident », une « force de la civilisation occidentale » (ibid.), c’est ouvrir la voie à une expansion plus à l’Est encore de « la civilisation » (ibid., p. 9) :

« Ce n’est pas une hypothèse que de dire que les Arméniens sont capables de répandre dans l’Asie antérieure la civilisation, qu’ils sont capables de porter la culture européenne en Perse où elle peut se développer très rapidement et très puissamment, de la porter en Asie centrale. C’est une affirmation qui repose sur une expérience toute récente et sur ce que nous savons de l’activité de la nation arménienne. » (ibid.)

Une expansion toute porteuse de promesses :

« On peut compter que ce jour-là [quand existera une Arménie indépendante sur les territoires arméniens – SM] l’Europe trouvera une population capable de porter en Asie la civilisation européenne et d’y développer un mouvement d’affaires dont on n’a aucune idée actuellement. Le problème arménien est de ceux qui, tout en paraissant secondaire parce qu’il porte sur un nombre d’hommes relativement restreint sur un territoire qui n’est pas immense, sont de première importance par l’avenir de l’Europe même, parce que l’Europe ne peut vivre qu’en colonisant le monde, en répandant sa civilisation sur les parties voisines et que créer une Arménie c’est le moyen de répandre au dehors la civilisation européenne. » (ibid., p. 10)


Antoine Meillet verra ses espoirs rapidement brisés. Même si la révolution bolchevique de 1917 et le principe de l’autodétermination des minorités de l’ex-empire des tsars prôné par Lénine avaient permis la proclamation, le 28 mai 1918, d’une République arménienne indépendante[13], même si la chute de la Porte face aux Alliés en octobre 1918 avait permis d’espérer voir les conférences de paix proclamer l’indépendance de l’Arménie sur toutes les terres arméniennes, les vents finirent par se faire moins favorables pour le futur de l’Arménie :

« Il fallait trouver une grande nation ou un ensemble de nations qui voudraient bien prendre l’Arménie pour ainsi dire par la main, pour l’aider à franchir les quelques dizaines d’années difficiles qui ne pouvaient pas manquer de lui rendre les commencements singulièrement pénibles ; il fallait trouver un mandataire pour l’Arménie. Mais vous savez aussi que s’il y a eu pendant les années de guerre un certain sentiment de désintéressement chez les nations et surtout chez les peuples, les gouvernements ont retrouvé depuis tout leur égoïsme, un égoïsme qu’ils ont volontiers qualifié de sacré, et cet égoïsme a suffi pour que l’Arménie, qui représente aujourd’hui une charge, ne trouve aucun défenseur, ne trouve personne qui veuille se charger de soutenir ses pas et de lui faire retrouver la situation que les massacres lui ont fait perdre. La difficulté actuelle, c’est qu’il n’y a personne […] qui soit prêt à lui donner les moyens de transport, les capitaux dont elle a besoin pour commencer à se développer. » (Meillet 1921, p. 92-93)

Il y eut bien le Traité de Sèvres signé le 10 août 1920 par les Alliés et l’empire ottoman et qui réunissait au sein d’une Arménie indépendante une grande partie des terres arméniennes qui avaient appartenu autrefois aussi bien à l’empire ottoman qu’à l’empire russe. Mais ce traité, signé par le sultan, ne fut pas reconnu par le gouvernement de Mustafa Kemal Atatürk et la situation politique qu’il avait officialisée ne survécut pas à la guerre arméno-turque de 1920. En signant avec la Turquie le Traité d’Alexandropol (2 décembre 1920), la République d’Arménie actera la perte de nombreux territoires octroyés par le Traité de Sèvres et sa soviétisation[14] progressive, avant de voir le Traité de Lausanne du 24 juillet 1923 mettre pour longtemps une croix sur les rêves d’indépendance de l’Arménie[15].

La signature du Traité de Lausanne officialise l’ « abandon » (Duclert 2015, p. 266-269, notamment) de l’Arménie par les Alliés, ceux-là mêmes qui avaient promu l’autodétermination des peuples comme base intangible de négociations et qui avaient promis à plusieurs reprises d’assurer à l’Arménie une indépendance nationale et politique, comme peut en témoigner cette lettre[16] d’Aristide Briant, alors Président du Conseil et Ministre des affaires étrangères, à Louis Martin, Sénateur du Var, datée du 7 novembre 1916 :

« Le Gouvernement de la République a déjà pris soin de faire notifier officiellement à la Sublime-Porte que les Puissances Alliées tiendront personnellement responsables des crimes commis tous les membres du Gouvernement Ottoman, ainsi que ceux de ses agents qui se trouveraient impliqués dans les massacres. Quand l’heure aura sonné des réparations légitimes, il ne mettra pas en oubli les douloureuses épreuves de la Nation Arménienne et, d’accord avec ses alliés, il prendra les mesures nécessaires pour lui assurer une vie de paix et de progrès. »

Meillet, contemporain de cet abandon, ne resta pas indifférent face à ce changement de politique des Alliés. En 1923, dans la Revue des études arméniennes – revue fondée en 1920, « en un temps où, après des souffrances inouïes, le peuple arménien reprend sa place dans le conseil des Nations » (Macler & Meillet 1920, p. 2)[17] – il signa un article consacré au « Traité de Lausanne » ; après avoir explicitement déclaré que la nation arménienne « y [était] abandonnée » (Meillet 1923a, p. 97), il poursuivait ainsi :

« C’est dire que l’Europe a tacitement reconnu pour acquise l’œuvre que le gouvernement turc a réalisée en massacrant, en exilant, en dépouillant de leurs biens les Arméniens d’Asie Mineure et en enlevant par la violence à la nation arménienne le territoire qui était le sien depuis plus de deux mille ans. » (ibid., p. 98)

Lui qui avait à plusieurs reprise affirmé qu’ « [o]n ne saurait, sans blesser la morale, faire bénéficier les Turcs et les Kurdes des pillages et des massacres qu’ils [avaient] organisés » (Meillet 1919b, p. 15) finit par faire face à une cruelle « désillusion » (Lamberterie 2006, p. 184). Quelque quatre ans après le Traité de Lausanne, dans un compte rendu que signale Charles de Lamberterie (2006, p. 185), il reviendra amèrement sur le retournement des Alliés :

« Si cette revue [= La Revue des études arméniennes] était le lieu qui convient pour exprimer des vues sur la politique contemporaine, je profiterais de l’occasion que m’offre le livre de M. Mandelstam pour montrer, dans le geste par lequel l’Europe a livré à ses persécuteurs la nation arménienne et a, dans des traités, consacré l’expulsion hors de l’Anatolie des populations chrétiennes qui y avaient leurs demeures de longs siècles avant l’arrivée des Turcs, un exemple illustre de la faiblesse des Etats occidentaux vis-à-vis des peuples orientaux depuis la guerre et de la manière dont, en abandonnant ceux qui espéraient en la justice de l’Europe, ils se sont abandonnés eux-mêmes. Ce n’est pas ici le lieu de le faire. » (Meillet 1927, p. 205)


Au terme de cette exploration de la façon dont les massacres d’Arménie de 1915 furent appréhendés et considérés par Antoine Meillet, nous pouvons mettre en avant plusieurs choses. Tout d’abord, l’attention que Meillet porta sur ces événements témoigne, une fois encore, de son intérêt pour le monde dans lequel il vivait ; il n’était pas « ce qu’un vain peuple pense » d’un linguiste, (Lefèvre 1925, p. 31), il n’était pas un « vieux monsieur tout habité d’étranges manies et de tics, protégeant, d’une antique calotte de velours, un chef dénudé et vivant au milieu de la poussière d’innombrables in-folio » (ibid.), mais quelqu’un de concerné par l’actualité. Par ailleurs, la façon dont les événements tragiques de 1915 furent traités par Meillet a servi de révélateur à certaines idées : d’une part la mise en avant de la force et de la vigueur de la nation arménienne (qui serviront d’argument auxiliaire pour justifier d’une Arménie indépendante) et, d’autre part, dans le contexte général (colonialiste) de l’époque mais aussi dans celui, particulier, instauré par la guerre, la mise en opposition de groupes ou de concepts : les Allemands « barbares » vs. les Alliés « civilisés »  ; les Turcs « barbares » vs. les Alliés « civilisés » ; un certain Orient vs. un certain Occident ; la chrétienté vs. le monde musulman ; la « civilisation » vs. la « barbarie ». Dans sa « Présentation générale » qu’il donne à la publication des journaux et correspondance de Meillet, Francis Gandon avait déjà relevé sa propension à « impose[r] au genre humain » des « catégories » généralisantes (Gandon 2014b, p. 49). C’est peut-être là un trait propre à Meillet, mais peut-être aussi une tendance générale d’une époque, comme le fait de « se satisfaire des seules explications traditionnelles sur la “barbarie orientale” ou la “sauvagerie turque” véhiculées jusqu’à la fin du siècle, par exemple par Victor Hugo dénonçant le massacre des Grecs sur l’île de Chios en 1822 » (Duclert 2015, p. 44) en ces mots : « Les Turcs ont passé là. Tout est ruine et deuil. »[18].

Cette conclusion sera aussi pour nous l’occasion de revenir brièvement sur le « reproche » fait par Francis Gandon à Meillet. Dans sa présentation déjà citée, il s’était étonné de l’ « indifférence » (Gandon 2014b, p. 42) de Meillet, de sa « cécité aux pulsions génocidaires récurrentes dans la région » (ibid., p. 36), du fait qu’il n’ait, en 1903, « subodor[é] en rien la montée de l’épuration ethnique » (ibid., p. 35), tout cela alors qu’il séjourna par deux fois dans la région, d’abord en 1891 (donc peu avant les massacres de 1894-1896), puis en 1903 (donc, là aussi, peu avant les massacres de 1909). Certes, tant les massacres hamidiens que leurs suites effroyables ont été jugés prévisibles au vu de ce qu’il s’était déjà passé (Duclert 2015, p. 32 et 144), mais il nous semble pourtant exagéré de vouloir en tenir rigueur à Meillet. Il ne s’était pas rendu dans la région pour y faire une analyse politique, et l’absence de traces dans ses journaux ne permet pas, selon nous, d’affirmer « cécité » et « indifférence ». Meillet ne resta pas indifférent face aux tragiques événements d’Arménie de la fin du XIXe et du début du XXe siècles (d’ailleurs, F. Gandon [2014b, p. 37] lui-même mentionne le compte rendu Meillet 1927) : « [d]ès 1895, il figure dans les comités de Français arménophiles qui dénoncent les massacres perpétrés en Turquie sous le règne d’Abdul Hamid » (Lamberterie 2006, p. 183) ; quant à ses considérations des massacres de 1915, elles ont été au centre de ces propos.

Notes

[1] Rappelons ici quelques points. Les massacres de 1915 ne sont pas les premiers. Les exactions ottomanes à l’encontre des Arméniens débutent en 1894-1896 avec ce qu’on a coutume d’appeler les « grands massacres hamidiens » (Duclert 2015, p. 90), du nom du sultan Abdul Hamid II. Vinrent ensuite les massacres perpétrés à Adana en Cilicie en avril 1909. Quant aux massacres de 1915 dont il sera essentiellement question ici, ils se prolongent en fait jusqu’à l’été 1916.

[2] http://www.lefigaro.fr/actualite-france/2015/04/12/01016-20150412ARTFIG00048-le-pape-francois-evoque-le-genocide-des-armeniens.php

[3] http://www.rfi.fr/europe/20150415-turquie-armenie-genocide-vatican-erdogan-parlement-europeen-reconnait-

[4] http://www.europarl.europa.eu/news/fr/news-room/content/20150413IPR41671/html/Génocide-arménien-la Turquie-et-l’Arménie-invitées-à-normaliser-leurs-relations

[5] Signalons que Vincent Duclert consacre un chapitre aux événements scientifiques de l’année 2015 (Duclert 2015, p. 359-362).

[6] Nous faisons ici référence à la participation d’Antoine Meillet au Comité d’études mis sur pied dès 1917 par le Ministère français des affaires étrangères dans le but de préparer les futures négociations de paix à l’aide de rapports et d’études rédigés par un groupe de savants et d’universitaires. Meillet rédigea pour l’occasion deux rapports : l’un intitulé « Pologne et Lituanie » (Meillet 1919a) et l’autre sur « La nation arménienne » (Meillet 1919b) sur lequel nous aurons l’occasion de revenir. Sur la participation de Meillet à ce Comité d’études, on pourra consulter nos deux recherches Moret 2003 et 2011.

[7] Citons Charles de Lamberterie (2006, p. 149) : « [S]es travaux sur l’arménien sont, dans l’ensemble de son œuvre scientifique, ceux qui ont le mieux résisté à l’épreuve du temps, ce qui tient à leur caractère fondateur : dans le domaine des études arméniennes, il y a véritablement un abîme entre la situation qu’a trouvée Meillet et celle qu’il a laissée. »

[8] Les menaces sous-jacentes à ce texte resteront lettre morte, et jamais les puissances européennes, malgré leurs promesses, n’apporteront autre chose qu’un soutien moral aux populations arméniennes. Nous aurons l’occasion d’y revenir.

[9] On ne connaît pas les sources de Meillet pour écrire cet article, mais, comme nous l’avons déjà dit, les journaux de l’époque se faisaient l’écho des événements d’Arménie, et les relations des massacres ne manquaient pas. Meillet ayant été un lecteur assidu (« Il avait l’habitude de lire chaque jour un grand nombre de journaux, représentant les opinions les plus diverses, y compris les journaux financiers », nous rappelle Joseph Vendryes (1937, p. 8) dans sa nécrologie de Meillet), c’est certainenement dans la presse qu’il avait trouvé les situations concrètes qui composent son texte. Par ailleurs, dans un autre article, Meillet (1918b, p. 4) renverra ses lecteurs vers le livre du vicomte Bryce, The treatment of Armenians in the Ottoman empire (Londres, 1916) et à sa traduction française Le traitement des Arméniens (Laval : Kavanagh) pour tous les prinicpaux documents relatifs aux massacres.

[10] Cf., par exemple, Ternon 1999 ou ces propos de Vincent Duclert (2015, p. 22-23) que nous reproduisons sans les notes de bas de page originales : « L’oubli du premier génocide, l’abandon des survivants, l’absence de reconnaissance, de justice et de réparation encouragent le déclenchement par l’Allemagne nazie d’un deuxième génocide. […] Le génocide des Arméniens n’a pas été un modèle pour la solution finale. Mais il en a renforcé la possibilité et l’opérationnalité, d’autant mieux qu’au sein du proche entourage d’Hitler agissent des officiers qui ont servi dans l’Empire ottoman. »

[11] Nubar Pacha (1825-1899) fut un homme politique égyptien d’origine arménienne. Il fut premier ministre de l’Egypte à trois reprises : 1878-1879, 1884-1888 et 1894-1895.

[12] Créé en 1916 par le banquier philanthrope Albert Kahn, le Comité national d’études sociales et politiques s’était donné pour but, selon ses statuts, de « grouper des Français représentatifs de toutes les opinions, de toutes les croyances et de tous les milieux, en vue de l’Etude positive des questions d’ordre social et politique d’un intérêt général ». Entre 1916 et 1931, le Comité national d’études sociales et politiques « explor[a] des voies, des solutions potentielles aux problèmes de son époque » lors de plus de quatre cent cinquante séances, tenues pour la plupart à la Cour de cassation de Paris. Pour plus de détails sur ce Comité, on consultera Baud-Berthier, 1995, et spécialement les pages 227-228 pour les citations ci-dessus.

[13] Dans le tout premier tome de la nouvellement créée Revue des études arméniennes, Meillet revint dans un article sur ce « grand fait dans l’histoire de l’Arménie » (Meillet 1920b, p. 139).

[14] En 1923, Meillet publie un petit article intitulé « Note sur la loi fondamentale de l’Union des Républiques Socialistes Soviétiques », dans lequel il cherche à « apprécier […] ce qui reste d’autonomie à la république arménienne d’Erivan » après son intégration à l’URSS (Meillet 1923b, p. 79).

[15] Sur tous ces événenements, de la proclamation de la République arménienne jusqu’au Traité de Sèvres et la guerre arméno-turque de 1920, on consultera Ter Minassian 2006.

[16] http://www.imprescriptible.fr/documents/briand/martin/index.php

[17] Jean-Pierre Mahé (2000) a replacé cette revue dans son contexte d’apparition : « Puisque le jeu des armes et de la diplomatie avait nié les droits et déçu les aspirations d’une nation trois fois millénaire, il ne restait plus qu’à la défendre par les œuvres de l’esprit en recueillant tous les témoignages de son existence, en élucidant tous les épisodes de son passé, en montrant son apport aux lettres et à la civilisation. »

[18] Il s’agit du premier vers du poème « L’enfant » paru dans le recueil Les Orientales de 1829.

Bibliographie

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[divers auteurs], « Un appel pour l’Arménie », Revue des études arméniennes, Tome III, 1923, p. 89-90

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Annette Becker et al., Le génocide des Arméniens. Un siècle de recherche 1915-2015, Paris : Armand Colin, 2015

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Anne-Marguerite Fryba-Reber, « Antoine Meillet, le chroniqueur et le voyageur à la lumière de deux manuscrits inédits », in G. Bergounioux & Ch. de Lamberterie (dir.), Meillet aujourd’hui, Leuven & Paris : Peeters, 2006, p. 3-19.

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Francis Gandon, « Présentation générale », in Gandon 2014a, p. 15-71

Gottschlich 2015
Jürgen Gottschlich, Beihilfe zum Völkermord. Deutschlands Rolle bei der Vernichtung der Armenier, Berlin : Ch. Links Verlag, 2015

Lamberterie 2006
Charles de Lamberterie, « La place de l’arménien dans la vie et l’œuvre d’Antoine Meillet », in G. Bergounioux & Ch. de Lamberterie (dir.), Meillet aujourd’hui, Leuven & Paris : Peeters, 2006, p. 147-189

Lefèvre 1925
Frédéric Lefèvre, « A. Meillet », in F. Lefèvre, Une heure avec…, Paris : Gallimard, 1925, p. 31-41

Loicq 2006
Jean Loicq, « Mémorial Antoine Meillet publié à l’occasion du centenaire de sa nomination au Collège de France (1906-2006) », Studia indo-europaea. Revue de mythologie et de linguistique comparée, Bucarest, III (2006), p. 5-169

Macler & Meillet 1920
Frédéric Macler & Antoine Meillet, [« Avertissement »], Revue des études arméniennes, Tome premier, 1920, p. 1-2

Mahé 2000
Jean-Pierre Mahé, « La Revue des études arméniennes », disponible en ligne : https://www.clio.fr/BIBLIOTHEQUE/pdf/pdf_la_revue_des_etudes_armeniennes.pdf

Meillet 1915a
[Antoine Meillet], « L’extermination des Arméniens », Bulletin de l’Alliance française, № 25 (1er novembre 1915), p. 109-111

Meillet 1915b
Antoine Meillet, « Les langues et les nationalités », Scientia, № 18, 1915, p. 192-201

Meillet 1916
[Antoine Meillet], « Les massacres d’Arménie », Bulletin de l’Alliance française, № 33 (1er mars 1916), p. 47-48

Meillet 1918a
Antoine Meillet, Les langues dans l’Europe nouvelle, Paris : Payot, 1918

Meillet 1918b
Antoine Meillet, « La nation arménienne », supplément au Bulletin de l’Alliance française, № 79 (mars 1918), p. 1-4

Meillet 1918c
Antoine Meillet, « Un symbole », in Les Alliés et l’Arménie, Paris : Ernest Leroux, 1918, p. 15

Meillet 1919a
Antoine Meillet, Pologne et Lituanie, Paris : Imprimerie nationale, 1919

Meillet 1919b
Antoine Meillet, La nation arménienne, Paris : Imprimerie nationale, 1919

Meillet 1919c
Antoine Meillet, La question arménienne et ses conséquences pour l’avenir international, Paris : Comité national d’études sociales et politiques, 1919

Meillet 1920a
Antoine Meillet, « Discours de M. A. Meillet », in Pour la libération de l’Arménie, Paris : Librairie Ernest Leroux, 1920, p. 9-13

Meillet 1920b
Antoine Meillet, « L’Etat arménien », Revue des études arméniennes, Tome premier, 1920, p. 139-140

Meillet 1921
Antoine Meillet, [Intervention sans titre], in Conférence internationale philarménienne réunie à Paris les 6 et 7 juillet 1920. Compte rendu sténographique, Paris : Lang, Blanchon & Cie, 1921, p. 85-94.

Meillet 1923a
Antoine Meillet, « Le Traité de Lausanne », Revue des études arméniennes, Tome III, 1923, p. 97-98

Meillet 1923b
Antoine Meillet, « Note sur la loi fondamentale de l’Union des Républiques Socialistes Soviétiques », Revue des études arméniennes, Tome III, 1923, p. 79-80.

Meillet 1927
Antoine Meillet « [Compte rendu de :] André N. Mandelstam. La Société des Nations et les puissances devant le problème arménien. Paris (Pédone), 1926, in-8o, viii-355 pages (édition spéciale de la Revue du droit international public) », Revue des études arméniennes, Tome VII, 1927, p. 205

Meillet 1928
Antoine Meillet, Les langues dans l’Europe nouvelle, 2e édition, Paris : Payot, 1928

Moret 2003
Sébastien Moret, « Antoine Meillet et l’indépendance nationale » in P. Sériot (éd.), Contributions suisses au XIIIe congrès mondial des slavistes à Ljubljana, août 2003, Berne [etc.] : Peter Lang, 2003 p. 183-198

Moret 2011
Sébastien Moret, « Antoine Meillet et le futur des empires après la Première guerre mondiale », Langages 182: Théories du langage et politique des linguistes, juin 2011, p. 11-24

Prochasson & Rasmussen 1996
Christophe Prochasson & Anne Rasmussen, Au nom de la patrie : les intellectuels et la Première Guerre mondiale (1910-1919), Paris : La Découverte, 1996

Ter Minassian 2006
Anahide Ter Minassian, 1918-1920 : la République d’Arménie, Bruxelles : Editions Complexe, 2006

Ternon 1999
Yves Ternon, « La qualité de la preuve. A propos des documents Andonian et de la petite phrase d’Hitler », in L’actualité du génocide arménien, Créteil : Edipol, 1999, p. 135-141

Vendryes 1937
Joseph Vendryes, « Antoine Meillet », Bulletin de la société de linguistique de Paris, XXXVIII, 1937, p. 1-42

How to cite this post

Moret, Sébastien. 2015. Antoine Meillet et les massacres d’Arménie de 1915. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. http://hiphilangsci.net/2015/11/30/antoine-meillet-et-les-massacres-darmenie-de-1915

Spanish language in Portuguese texts (16th to 19th centuries)

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Sónia Duarte
Centro de Linguística da Universidade do Porto

Despite the geographic and linguistic proximity between Spain and Portugal, the first Spanish grammar to be printed in Portugal and for Portuguese native speakers only dates back to 1848, as explored in a previous post on this blog (Duarte 2014). That is especially interesting if we keep in mind that bibliographical resources concerning other not so similar or more distantly related languages appear as early as the 16th century.

Nevertheless, as it is common knowledge to most people, Spanish was no stranger to Portuguese speakers prior to 1848. In fact, from the 16th up to the 18th century, it coexists with the native tongue in Portuguese territory, assuming the role of a prestige language favoured for political and editorial purposes – and this makes the whole situation even more bewildering. That period is commonly known as a period of bilingualism, although, in fact, it describes a diglossic situation.

We might ask ourselves, therefore, exactly what knowledge Portuguese people had of the Spanish language and what kind of information circulated in Portugal about such language and how. In this post I will attempt to address this issue by referring to the data that can be found in Portuguese grammars and orthographies from the beginning of the Portuguese metalinguistic tradition up to 1848 and concerning both the language itself as well as the linguistic representations or images and the purposes of that same information.

Bearing this in mind, I will now briefly approach the outcomes of the investigation on a corpus of texts from before 1848 that I’ve been studying for some time, which contains the 34 Portuguese grammatical and orthographical works listed bellow.

i) Grammars

1540. Cartinha y Dialogo em Louvor da Nossa Linguagem de João de Barros,
1721. Regras da lingua portugueza, espelho da lingua latina, ou disposição para facilitar o ensino da lingua latina pelas regras da portugueza de Caetano Maldonado da Gama.
1770. Arte da Grammatica da lingua portugueza de António José dos Reis Lobato
1783. Grammatica Philosophica, e Orthographia Racional da Lingua Portugueza de Bernardo de Lima e Melo Bacelar
1792. Methodo Grammatical Resumido da Lingua Portugueza de João Joaquim Casimiro
1799. Rudimentos da Grammatica Portugueza de Pedro José da Fonseca
1804. Grammatica Portugueza de Manuel Dias de Sousa
1806. Epitome da Grammatica da Lingua Portugueza de António de Morais Silva
1812. Memorias Curiosas para a Grammatica Philosophica da Lingua Portugueza de Manuel Pedro Tomás Pinheiro e Aragão
1818. Gramática Filosófica da Linguagem Portuguêza de João Crisóstomo do Couto e Melo
1820. Grammatica, Orthographia e Arithmetica Portugueza, ou Arte de Falar, escrever e contar de Manuel Borges Carneiro
1824. Resumo de Grammatica e Orthographia da Lingua Portugueza de Luís Gonçalves Coutinho
1822. Grammatica Philosophica da Lingua Portugueza Jerónimo Soares Barbosa
1827. Grammatica Portugueza em Analogia com as Linguas de que Toma Origem, principalmente Latina e Grega de Jaulino Lopes Arneiro
1841. Grammatica Elementar da Lingua Portugueza por systema philosophico de João Nunes de Andrade
18546 [1841]. Compendio elementar da Grammatica Portugueza de Carlos Augusto de Figueiredo Vieira
1844. Principios de Grammatica Portugueza de Francisco Andrade Júnior

ii) Orthographies

1576. Ortographia de Duarte Nunes de Leão
1631. Orthographia ou Arte para escrever certo na lingua Portuguesa de Álvaro Ferreira de Vera
1666. Regras Gerays, breves, & comprehensivas da melhor orthografia de Bento Pereira
1671. Ortografia da Língua Portugueza de João Franco Barreto
1734. Orthographia, ou Arte de Escrever e Pronunciar com Acerto a Língua Portugueza de João de Morais Madureira Feijó
1736. Orthographia da Lingua Portugueza de Luis Caetano de Lima
1767. Compendio de Orthografia de Luis do Monte Carmelo
1769. Breve Tratado da Orthographia de Domingos Dionísio Duarte Daniel
1783. Orthographia Portugueza, ou Regras para escrever certo, ordenadas para uso de quem se quizer applicar de Francisco Félix Carneiro Souto-Maior
1788. Arte ou Novo Methodo de ensinar a ler por meio da Estampa, a que se prepoim hum novo systema da sua orthografia de Francisco Nunes Cardoso
1790. Arte da Orthografia Portugueza conforme o novo systema de Francisco Nunes Cardoso
1807. Noções sobre a Ortografia da Lingua Portugueza de Joaquim José Caetano Pereira e Sousa
1809. Rudimentos da Orthographia Portugueza de Pedro José da Fonseca
1818. Tratado de Orthographia Portugueza deduzida das suas tres bases, a pronunciação, a etymologia e o uso dos doutos, e accomodados a inteligencia das pessoas que ignoram o grego e o Latim de Rodrigo Ferreira da Costa
1826. Breve Tractado da Orthographia de Joaquim Pereira Codesso
1834. Orthographia da Lingua Portugueza, reduzida a regras geraes e especiaes, etc. com um appendice, e um novo methodo de ensinar e aprender a ler o portuguez de Joaquim José Ventura da Silva
1844. Ensaio sobre a Ortographia Portugueza de Carlos Augusto de Figueiredo Vieira

In these works, Portuguese constitutes both the object of study and the language in which the text is written. However, the focus of my analysis lies not on Portuguese but on Spanish language: more precisely, on the objective information on the Spanish language, on the subjective images or perceptions of the Spanish language and on the purposes and strategies underlying the comments that convey that same information.

Furthermore, these texts are all published in Portugal and written by Portuguese authors. The stress on, so to say, a national criterion – i.e. based on what nowadays one conceives as nationality and which cannot be strictly applied to the whole chronological framework of this post – is related to an epistemological frame known as the language issue in Portugal (“a questão da língua em Portugal”). This concept, originally referring to the 16th century linguistic debate, was clearly depicted by Stegagno-Picchio (1959) and Buescu (1983) as a diglossic situation enhancing a conflictive relation between Portuguese and Spanish. In this situation Latin is held up as a role model used to help reaffirm the identity and status of Portuguese against Spanish. Here I will attempt to determine the extent, the development and the repercussions of that same theoretical framework concerning the whole of the chronology established for this study, which was organised according to an adaptation of Leite de Vasconcellos’ (1929) well known periodization proposal for the Portuguese and Latin philological tradition. Next, I will sum up the data, addressing separately grammar and orthography.

1. Grammars
Table 1
Subjects Works Remarks (total)
From 16th century to late 17th century From the beginning of 18th century up to 1779 From 1779 to 1848
Plural forms (ending in <-al>) Barros (1540) [1] 1+0+0=1
Past participle Barros (1540)[1] 1+0+0=1
Latin origin Gama (1721) [1]
Lobato (1770) [1]
Melo (1818) [1] 0+2+1=3
Diglossia Bacelar (1783)[1] 0+0+1=1
Plural forms (ending in nasal diphthongs) Bacelar (1783) [1]
Casimiro (1792) [1]
Coutinho (1824) [1]
Barbosa (1822)[1]
Arneiro (1827) [2]
Vieira (1854 [1841]) [1] Andrade Júnior (1844) [1]
0+0+8=8
Nasal diphthongs (phonetics and orthography) Bacelar (1783) [1]
Barbosa (1822) [1]
0+0+2=2
Latin etymology  Fonseca 1799 [1] 0+0+1=1
Hispanic loan words  Fonseca 1799 [1] 0+0+1=1
Definite article (“el”) Fonseca 1799 [1]
Sousa (1804) [1]
Carneiro (1820) [1]
Arneiro (1827) [2]
0+0+5=5
The <g> grapheme (spelling) Sousa (1804) [1] 0+0+1=1
Pronominal verbs Silva (1806) [1] 0+0+1=1
Phonetics (general comments) Melo (1818) [1] 0+0+1=1
Past perfect Melo (1818) [1] 0+0+1=1
Syntax (general comments) Carneiro (1820) [1] 0+0+1=1
Aspiration Barbosa (1822) [1] 0+0+1=1
Neutral demonstratives Barbosa (1822) [1] 0+0+1=1
Auxiliary verb “ter” Barbosa (1822) [1] 0+0+1=1
Imperfect subjunctive (double endings) Barbosa (1822) [1] 0+0+1=1
Prepositions and case Barbosa (1822) [1] 0+0+1=1
Definite article (“la”) Arneiro (1827) [1] 0+0+1=1
Figurative syntax Arneiro (1827) [1] 0+0+1=1
Historical phonetic processes Arneiro (1827) [2] 0+0+2=2

Table 1 focuses on the linguistic phenomena the grammatical texts deal with. To begin with, objectively there is very little data up to 1779, with a significant increase and growing diversity between 1779 and 1848. Nevertheless, such escalation does not so much correspond to a real change on the peripheral condition of the information on Spanish as to an increase of the publication rate of grammatical texts, which, in its turn, is to be explained by a change of circumstances regarding access to books and reading.

As to the topics focused on in such comments, the plural forms (mainly concerning the corresponding Portuguese endings in nasal diphthongs ([ãw̃]; [ɐ̃j̃]; [õj̃]) and the masculine definite article (mainly concerning the expression el-Rei) clearly stand out. As for the nasal diphthongs, which are the most prominent markers, their occurrence appears to be related to the great significance of the subject itself in the Portuguese metalinguistic tradition, and not so much to the intrinsic value of such matter in Spanish grammar. Just out of curiosity, the fact that, in the 17th century, Antonio de Mello da Fonseca dedicates his 426-page work Antidoto da Lingua Portugueza (Amsterdam [1710]) solely to this subject clearly illustrates the significance of the topic. Although these matters are quite relevant on the global results, they are not the main subjects throughout the chronology. While none of the phenomena crosses all the three periods, the question of the Latin origin of both tongues is the one which covers a longer timespan. Nevertheless, it amounts only to three mentions on the whole.

In terms of the accuracy of the information provided, though in most cases there’s historical evidence of such linguistic data, on some occasions the texts do seem to sustain misconceived notions of the Spanish language. It is relevant to notice here that the Portuguese grammarians don’t always base their comments on references to the Spanish metalinguistic tradition.

Table 2
Images Works Remarks (total)
From 16th century to late 17th century From the beginning of 18th century up to 1779 From 1779 to 1848
Structural images
Regularity Melo (1818) [2] 0+0+2=2
Genetic images
Affinity with Latin Gama (1721) [1]
Lobato (1770) [1]
Fonseca (1799) [1]
Melo (1818) [1] 0+3+1=4
Sensorial images
Harmony Melo (1818) [1]
Arneiro (1827) [1]
0+0+2=2
Harshness Barbosa (1822) [1] 0+0+1=1
Wearisomeness Barbosa (1822) [1] 0+0+1=1
Total 0 3 7 10

Table 2 offers a synthesis of the collected data concerning the perception of the Spanish language. This information is presented according to García Martín’s (2005) proposal, which differentiates four types of images: structural, genetic, sensorial and moral images, though not all apply to the current corpus. Here, the genetic and sensorial images outweigh the others, though it’s the first one (mainly regarding the (lesser) affinity with Latin) that prevails over time. The fact that this same representation cannot be found in 16th century texts should not puzzle us, since this absence seems to be limited to this specific type of texts (grammars) and does not apply to, for instance, orthographies, as will be demonstrated below.

From the point of view of what seem to be the purposes of the comments on the Spanish Language, the data support the notion sustained by Ponce de León (2005) that, up to the 18th century, as far as the Portuguese and Latin Portuguese tradition is concerned, those comments serve mainly an accessory function and Spanish itself is not so important or at least less important than Portuguese. A contrastive purpose clearly prevails throughout the corpus, associated mainly with a didactic strategy intended to reinforce the acquisition of the rules of Portuguese language.

Regarding the theoretical framework, the collected data do not acknowledge throughout the entire timeline what Buescu (1983) describes as a competitive linguistic relationship in a conflictive environment. From the 18th century onwards that picture no longer applies. However, there are visible traces of the apologetic rhetoric and argumentation that embodies the above-mentioned theoretical frame. An example of this is the role played by Latin on the remarks on the Spanish language: it still holds an extremely important and strategic part on the praise of the Portuguese language versus Spanish. Even in the period that goes from the late 17th century to 1779, the texts still provide evidences of a claim of more affinity and similarity between Portuguese and Latin than the one that exists between Latin and Spanish. In fact, as it has already been mentioned, the perception of that resemblance prevails amongst the imagery of Spanish in Portuguese texts.

2. Orthographies
Table 3
Subjects Works Remarks (total)
From 16th century to late 17th century From the beginning of 18th century up to 1779 From 1779 to 1848
Consonantal results (of <PL>) Leão (1576) [1] 1+0+0=1
<lh> vs. <ll> Leão (1576) [1]
Vera (1631) [1]
Pereira (1666] [1]
Barreto (1671) [1]
Lima (1736) [1] Costa (1818) [2] 4+1+2=7
Consonantal results (of <SP, ST…>) Leão (1576) [1]
Barreto (1671) [1]
2+0+0=2
<nh> vs. <ñ> Leão (1576) [1]
Pereira (1666) [1]
Barreto (1671) [1]
Lima (1736) [1] 3+1+0=4
<ch> Leão (1576) [1]
Barreto (1671) [3]
4+0+0=4
Nasal diphthong (orthographic debate <ão/am> ) Leão (1576) [4]
Pereira (1666) [1]
Barreto (1671) [1]
Feijó (1734) [1]
Lima (1736) [1]
6+2+0=8
Other vowel combinations (oral) Leão (1576) [2]
Barreto (1671) [6]
8+0+0=8
Plural forms (Nasal diphthong <ão/am>) Leão (1576) [1]
Vera (1631) [1]
Barreto (1671) [2]
Carmelo (1767) [1]
Cunha (1769) [1]
Sousa (1807) [1]
Silva (1834) [1]
4+2+2=8
Plural forms (other cases) Leão (1576) [2]
Barreto (1671) [2]
Cardoso (1788) [1] 4+0+1=5
Augmentatives Leão (1576) [1] 1+0+0=1
Contractions (preposition + article) Leão (1576) [1]
Vera (1631) [1]
Barreto (1671) [1]
Carmelo (1767) [1] 3+1+0=4
Betacism Vera (1631) [1];
Barreto (1671) [2]
Carmelo (1767) [3] 3+3+0=6
Consonantal endings (<-d>) Vera (1631) [1]
Barreto (1671) [1]
2+0+0=1
Aspiration Vera (1631) [1] 1+0+0=1
<m> + <p/b> Vera (1631) [1];
Barreto (1671) [1]
2+0+0=2
<y> Vera (1631) [2]
Barreto (1671) [4]
Carmelo (1767) [1] Cardoso (1790) [1] 6+1+1=8
Dieresis Vera (1631) [1] 1+0+0=1
Gender (feminine form of the nasal diphthong <ão/am>) Vera (1631) [1] 1+0+0=1
<h> vs. <f> Pereira (1666) [1]
Barreto (1671) [2]
Costa (1818) [1] 3+0+1=4
<lh> vs. <j> Pereira (1666) [1] 1+0+0=1
Latin substratum Barreto (1671) [2] 2+0+0=2
<o> vs. <u> Barreto (1671) [1] 1+0+0=1
Consonantal endings (<-n>) Barreto (1671) [1] 1+0+0=1
<c> vs. <q> Barreto (1671) [1] 1+0+0=1
<r> Barreto (1671) [1] 1+0+0=1
Lexicon (borrowings, calques, interferences) Barreto (1671) [2] Feijó (1734) [46]
Carmelo (1767) [4]
Cardoso (1788) [1]
Sousa (1807) [1]
Silva (1834) [2]
2+50+4=56
<h> Barreto (1671) [1] 1+0+0=1
Orthographic principles Feijó (1734) [1] Vieira (1844) [1] 0+1+1=2
Gender (variation) Carmelo (1767) [1] 0+1+0=1
Other vowel combinations (nasal) Carmelo (1767) [2] Codesso (1826) [1] 0+2+1=3
Lexicon: Latin etymology common to both languages Lima (1736) [1];
Carmelo (1767) [7]
Costa (1818) [1] 0+8+1=9
Definite article (“el”) Carmelo (1767) [1] Fonseca (1809) [1] 0+1+1=2
<ç> Souto-Maior (1783) [1] 0+0+1=1
<g> + <a,o,u> Souto-Maior (1783) [1] 0+0+1=1
Abbreviations Cardoso (1788) [1] 0+0+1=1
<-z> Cardoso (1788) [1] 0+0+1=1
Punctuation Silva (1834) [2] 0+0+2=2

Regarding the linguistic phenomena, table 3 shows that the comments on lexical and etymological issues and the ones addressing the combination of vowels stand out, especially regarding the equivalent Portuguese endings in nasal diphthongs, a significant part of which corresponds to plural forms. However, we must put the weight of lexicographic remarks into perspective, since the vast majority of those remarks belong to one work only. Instead, the contrastive mentions concerning the nasal diphthong [ãw̃] acquire a special significance, considering the relevance of this subject to the Portuguese tradition.

Table 4
Images Works Remarks (total)
From 16th century to late 17th century From the beginning of 18th century up to 1779 From 1779 to 1848
Structural images
Lesser conformity to orthographic widespread principles Leão (1576) [1]
Vera (1631) [3]
Barreto (1671) [1]
Costa (1818) [1] 5+0+1=6
Regularity Leão (1576) [1] 1+0+0=1
Lesser conformity between orthography and phonetics Vera (1631) [2]
Pereira (1666) [1]
Barreto (1671) [5]
8+0+0=8
Lesser singularity Lima (1736) [1] 0+1+0=1
Phonological orientation Vieira (1844) [1] 0+0+1=1
Genetic images
Corruption (in comparison to Portuguese) Leão (1576) [1]
Vera (1631) [1]
Pereira (1666) [2]
Barreto (1671) [2]
Barreto (1671) [3]
Feijó (1734) [2] 9+2+0=11
Affinity with Latin and other romance languages (in general) Leão (1576) [4]
Vera (1631) [1]
Barreto (1671) [2]
Lima (1736) [1]
Carmelo (1767) [1]:
7+2+0=9
Affinity with Portuguese Leão (1576) [5]
Vera (1631) [1]
Barreto (1671) [7]
Carmelo (1767) [3] Costa (1818) [1] 13+3+1=17
Corruption (in general) Cardoso (1788) [1]
Cardoso (1790) [1]
0+0+2=2
Sensorial images
Greater smoothness Pereira (1666) [1] Lima (1736) [1] 1+1+0=2
Lesser graveness Pereira (1666) [1] 1+0+0=1
Other kinds of images
Diffusion (amongst Portuguese speakers) Cunha (1769) [1] Silva (1834) [1] 0+1+1=2
Total 45 10 6 61

As far as the image of Spanish is concerned, table 4 highlights the information conveyed by the corpus. Most of it corresponds to genetic imagery related to the etymological role of Latin and the historical processes explaining the results on both languages. Whether they stress similarities or point out differences, in both cases the implications of the language issue framework are inferred. A special mention is due to the comments on the correspondence and affinity between Portuguese and Spanish. The remarks on such perception suggest awareness of a distinctive relation between both languages, no matter the positive or negative connotations underlying them, as well as the implicit or explicit intentions of proximity or detachment from the Spanish. The latter are obviously more evident during the language issue period but also come into view during the 17th century. As we might expect, the main purpose of those comments seems to be a contrastive one. They usually play a supplementary part in a didactic strategy concerning Portuguese orthography.

3. Final considerations

To sum up, it is only fair to say that, throughout the established time frame, there is a shortage of references to the Spanish language, both on grammaticographic and on orthographic texts. Still, the collected data are neither insufficient nor insignificant. In fact, they provide relevant and meaningful information to understand the evolution of the theoretical framework. It is true that from the 18th century onwards, Spanish no longer holds the role of the prestigious language in Portugal and the diglossic setting is no longer effective. Nevertheless, the corpus demonstrates that both the essential perceptions and the rhetorical strategies associated to the language issue in the 16th century have not been fully overcome up to at least 1848.

References

Buescu, Maria Leonor Carvalhão. 1983. Babel ou a ruptura do signo. A gramática e os gramáticos portugueses do Século XVI. Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional – Casa da Moeda.

Duarte, Sónia. 2014. La aportación de Nicolau Peixoto para el estudio del español en Portugal. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. http://hiphilangsci.net/2014/12/10/la-aportacion-de-nicolau-peixoto-para-el-estudio-del-espanol-en-portugal (last accessed 04/12/2015).

García Martín, Ana M.ª 2005a. “Estereótipos linguísticos e apologia do português: apontamentos sobre um subgénero da historiografia linguística”. Estudios Portugueses: revista de filología portuguesa 5. 25-43.

Ponce de León Romeo, Rogelio. 2005. “Textos para la enseñanza-aprendizaje del español en Portugal durante el siglo XIX: una breve historia”. In: Castillo, M. A. et al. (coord.). Actas del XV Congreso Internacional de ASELE. 675-682. Sevilha: Facultad de Filología de la Universidad de Sevilla.

Stegagno-Picchio Luciana (ed.). 1959. “La questione della lengua in Portogallo”. In João de Barros, Diálogo em louvor da nossa Linguagem, 57-68. Modena, Soc. Tipográfica Modonese.

Vasconcellos, José Leite de. 1929. “A Filologia Portuguesa Esboço Histórico”. In Opúsculos. IV. Filologia. Parte II. Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade. 839-919.

How to cite this post

Duarte, Sónia. 2015. Spanish language in Portuguese texts (16th to 19th centuries). History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. http://hiphilangsci.net/2015/12/09/spanish-language-in-portuguese-texts-16th-to-19th-centuries

Society for the History of Linguistics in the Pacific SHLP5

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Call for Papers
5-7 September 2016, Universität Potsdam

The fifth biennial conference of the Society for the History of Linguistics in the Pacific will be held in Potsdam, Germany, 5-7 September 2016. With a strong contingent of participants from Australia and the Pacific region expected, the conference should provide an excellent opportunity for intercontinental contact and exchange.

Papers will be 20 minutes in length followed by 10 minutes of discussion. The theme of the conference is “Philological fieldwork”, although papers on any relevant topic are welcome.

Please submit abstracts by 30 April 2016 to James McElvenny, james.mcelvenny@gmail.com

Program February-June 2016

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17
February
Networking and obstacles to the development of the language sciences as reflected in the correspondence of Rodolfo Lenz and Hugo Schuchardt.
Silvio Moreira de Sousa and Johannes Mücke
Hugo Schuchardt Archive, University of Graz
2
March
Aree, volumi e spazi: la geometria linguistica di Hjelmslev.
Lorenzo Cigana
Université de Liège
16
March
How Galilean is the ‘Galilean Method’?
Christina Behme
Mount St Vincent University
30
March
break
13
April
Christian Karl Reisig (1792-1829), a rather poor semanticist in his Vorlesungen but a clever follower of Kant for linguistic categorization.
Jacques François
Université de Caen & CNRS
27
April
Die Suche nach einer Wissenschaftssprache in Frankreich am Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts.
Kerstin Ohligschlaeger
Universität Potsdam
11
May
Linguistics and the politics of knowledge: beyond the Lingua resignation.
Nick Riemer
University of Sydney & Laboratoire d’histoire des théories linguistiques, Université Paris-Diderot
25
May
The secret history of grammaticalization.
James McElvenny
Universität Potsdam
8
June
The utility of constructed languages.
A.W. Carus
MCMP, LMU, Munich

Networking and obstacles to the development of the language sciences as reflected in the correspondence of Rodolfo Lenz and Hugo Schuchardt

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Silvio Moreira de Sousa & Johannes Mücke
Hugo Schuchardt Archive, University of Graz

Rodolfo Lenz

Rodolfo Lenz (1863-1938). Source: Filosofía U. De Chile, via Wikimedia Commons

As the call for papers for the upcoming Coloquio Rodolfo Lenz 2016 is open until February 22nd (the conference will be held on May 5th 2016, at the Universidad de Chile), a second look at the correspondence between Rodolfo Lenz and Hugo Schuchardt would seem to be timely and fortuitous.[1] The goal of this article, however, relates to Bachmann (2004), where a survey of the works of Rodolfo Lenz provides a sketch of his theoretical positions on linguistics – Lenz had a strong background in linguistics as practised in Germany – and an explanation of his range of works on Amerindian languages, which were influenced by his life in Chile (Bachmann 2004: 380).

While the letters from Lenz to Schuchardt were easily accessible – the Hugo Schuchardt Nachlass is preserved at the Sondersammlung of the university library in Graz – the letters from Schuchardt required a fair bit of networking: the Archivo Lenz is maintained by the Universidad Metropolitana de las Ciencias de Educación in Santiago de Chile and we had no contacts whatsoever to Chile. Luckily, through our participation in the 13th International Conference on the History of the Language Sciences, we met Darío Rojas, who kindly provided us with pictures of the letters.

With a good amount of biographical information on both linguists already available online (cf. Dannemann 2000-2001, Hurch 2007, 2007-, Maas 2010, Mücke & Sousa 2015a), we will not repeat too many details here. Rodolfo (or Rudolf) Lenz, who studied in Bonn and Berlin, was hired by the Chilean government to teach at the Instituto Pedagógico and insofar took part in the German emigration movement to Chile in the 19th century.

schuchardt

Hugo Schuchardt (1842-1927). Source: Hugo Schuchardt Archiv.

Soon after his arrival in Chile in 1890, Lenz began research on the language and culture of the Mapuche people. While enjoying his holidays in 1921, Lenz came into contact with Papiamentu, an Iberian-based Creole language spoken in Aruba, Bonaire and Curaçao. This happened due to a stopover in Curaçao on his way from Santiago to Hamburg. Even though Lenz (1926-1927, 1928) is less well known when compared to his other works (Escudero 1963: 464), Kramer (2004: 38) lists four reviews and one book about his monography on Papiamentu: Gillet (1930), Wagner (1931), Hesseling (1933), Seifert (1933) and Maduro (1967). Labarías & Cárdenas (1998: 38-39) mention two other reviews (Álvarez 1928, Nykl 1928) and there are others still to be found (for example, Wallensköld 1929). As for Hugo Schuchardt, “the father of creolistics” (Markey 1982: 204) studied in Jena and Bonn. From 1873 to 1876, he was Professor for Romance Philology at Halle and in 1876 he assumed the chair of Romance Philology at the University of Graz.[2]

Our work on editing the correspondence allows us to make some remarks concerning the amount of material preserved today. The 9 pieces of correspondence kept in Santiago de Chile and in Graz were exchanged between 1892 and 1926. From these available pieces, we could deduce that some went missing. Right from the start, we could not find in the letters one passage mentioned in Lenz (1926-1927, 1928):

“Respecto del Papiamento me escribió Schuchardt: ‘Yo mismo he mencionado el papiamento sólo ocasionalmente. Creía sempre, que, siendo suficientemente conocido, mereceria algún día un tratamento serio de alguna outra persona. Nunca lo he perdido de vista’.” (Lenz 1926: 703, 1928: 11)

Lenz’s first letter to Schuchardt is a reaction to Schuchardt’s review of Wulff (1889, 1891), where Lenz’s work Zur physiologie und geschichte der palatalen (Lenz 1888) is mentioned very positively (cf. Schuchardt 1892). Lenz’s reply gives an insight into his controversial future studies (Lenz 1891, 1892, 1893a, 1893b) on the influence of the Native languages of South American on the Chilean Spanish and the connection to his earlier work:

“Mit dem Chilenischen habe ich, glaube ich, Glück gehabt. Bisher habe ich noch keine Ahnung, ob sich eine ähnlich starke ethnologische Beeinflussung in Amerika noch einmal findet. Aber auch dieses eine Beispiel wird für die Sprachgeschichte von Wichtigkeit sein. Bei den Palatalen habe ich das ‘Wie’ der Entwickelung zeigen wollen, hier erkennen wir einmal klar das ‘Warum’.” (Lenz to Schuchardt, July 1892; No. 06397)[3]

It also becomes quite clear that Lenz saw himself as isolated and far away from the scientific centre of Europe, leading him to emphasize the importance of epistolary networking:

“Glauben Sie, verehrter Herr Professor, es tut einem hier doppelt wohl, zu erfahren, daß man noch nicht von allen Fachgenossen in Europa vergessen ist und ein solcher kleiner Ansporn ist hier nötig um nicht den Mut zum wissenschaftlichen Arbeiten zu verlieren, das bei dem Mangel von Bibliotheken und der Entfernung von den Druckorten nur eine halbe Freunde ist.” (Lenz to Schuchardt, July 1892; No. 06397)

Atlantiklinien1900

Transatlantic steamship lines around 1900. Source: Brockhaus’ Konversations-Lexikon. Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus (14th ed.)

Their contact, apparently sporadic until 1921, intensifies only after Lenz became acquainted with Papiamentu. Still in 1921, long after his last original publication on a Creole language (cf. Schuchardt 1914), Schuchardt was seen as the academic authority on this particular matter (cf. Lenz 1926: 702). So, it should not come as a surprise that Lenz took the initiative of contacting Schuchardt soon after his arrival in Germany. In his letter from June 14th 1921, Lenz explains how he came into contact with Papiamentu.[4] During the three-weeks journey from Curaçao to Europe, Lenz gathered 50 manuscript pages with language samples, while explaining to Schuchardt the methodology he applied.[5] Natividad Sillie, the cook on board of the freighter, supplied Lenz with folk tales, folk songs and his own literary pieces in verse and prose. Moreover, Sillie also read out loud, allowing Lenz to take notes on phonetics and other topics. Strongly believing that his notes were worthy of publishing, Lenz searched for Schuchardt’s help in obtaining bibliographical references. Here begins the networking.

Natividad_Sillie

Natividad Sillie. Picture taken from Lenz (1926-1927: 696)

On June 25th 1921, replying to a piece of correspondence that was not maintained, Lenz thanked Schuchardt for the references, inquired about a possible offer of Schuchardt’s duplicates and states his opinion on Schuchardt (1914). In the postscriptum, he briefly evaluated Gatschet (1885) and stated his hope to obtain more material from Curaçao.[6] A few days later, Lenz expressed his gratitude for offer of the duplicates, stating that he will start working on Papiamentu in 1922, when he is back again in Chile.[7] From the extensive bibliography provided in his grammatical description of Papiamentu (Lenz 1928: 18-29), one can identify the list provided by Schuchardt and which books were sent to Lenz as duplicates. Also, Lenz (1928: 21-23) sets out a list of publications that he had acquired in Curaçao. These lists are of particular interest, because we were not able to locate any of Schuchardt’s collected materials on Papiamentu in the Schuchardt Nachlass in Graz. We only found two of the 25 mentioned works; the rest is neither catalogued in Weiss (31986), nor in Wolf (1993).

But why did it take Lenz so long to elaborate and publish his ground-breaking work on Papiamentu (Lenz 1928)? In the next letter one finds some hints on the obstacles. The letter dates from 1925 and came as a reply to the shipment of Schuchardt (1925). In addition to the coincidence of opinion on several topics related to language evolution and language affinity, Lenz comments that European scientific journals had been unavailable in Chile since the beginning of World War I. This means that Lenz depended on his personal library and from whatever publications he received through networking:

“Leider fühlte ich auch wieder das Unglück meiner Vereinsamung ‘im letzten Winkel der Welt’, wo ich ausser meiner eignen Bibli[o]thek kaum ein einziges wissenschaftliches Buch zu sehen bekomme. Seit dem Kriege habe ich keine wissenschaftlichen Zeitschriften aus Europa bekommen und im Instituto Pedagógico gieb[t] es solche überflüssigen Dinge wie Gröber’s Zeitschrift und Romania schon seit 1909 nicht mehr.” (Lenz to Schuchardt, April 1925; No. 06401)[8]

Labarias_Cardenas_Lenz

Catalogue of the Lenz Archive (Labarías & Cárdenas 1998)

However, war was not the only socio-historical event influencing the development of science. Lenz reports that, upon his arrival in Chile in 1921, he was appointed head of the Instituto Pedagógico and, a couple of months later, during student strikes his secretary stole 10 000 pesos. This left him almost ruined and unfit to work. Even after Lenz was able to occupy himself with Papiamentu from 1923 onwards, he encountered further obstacles to the development of his research: his house underwent some sort of construction and his classes stacked up to 18 hours per week. Nonetheless, the grammar part of the monograph was almost finished. By March 1926, Lenz communicated to Schuchardt that he was hoping to publish his studies on Papiamentu in that same year, which happened after overcoming another obstacle: according to the letter of November 17th 1926, the journal Anales de la Universidad could only publish every three months due to lack of funding. This led to the partial publication of the study in seven separate articles in 1926 and 1927 in the Anales.[9] Because of that, Lenz could only send Schuchardt the first part of the grammatical description together with that letter. At this moment, Lenz expresses his alignment with Schuchardt’s theoretical stance on Creole languages, notwithstanding the fact that Schuchardt never professed in any of his articles the notion that creole languages were basically minimalist and did not exhibit traces of the substrate languages (cf. Lenz 1928: 14):

“Wie Sie sehen werden, bin ich ganz ihrer Ansicht über das Kreolische: es ist ‘gramática mínima’ aber nicht ‘africana’.” (Lenz to Schuchardt, November 1926; No. 06403)[10]

Two theoretical stances have been identified in Schuchardt’s work on creole languages – a substratist approach in the 1880s and a more universalist approach in the 1910s (cf. Gilbert 1980: 8) – but none of them really matches Lenz’s assertion. If we go back to the letter sent on April 26th 1925, we observe that Lenz confesses that his work relies on the majority of articles published by Schuchardt on the Creoles.[11] More, one could think of passages which could have led Lenz to assume that he and Schuchardt were in agreement:

“Es ist richtig, wir haben keine Divergenz, sondern Parallelismus; sie [the Atlantic Creole languages, SMdS & JM] sind aus verschiedenem Stoff nach dem gleichen Plan, in gleichem Stil gebildet.” (Schuchardt 1914: vii).

One could argue that from this position a direct link can be established to Lenz’s view on Papiamentu as having a “grámatica más sencilla” (cf. Bachmann 2004: 386); a link which was made possible through – sometimes obstructed – networking.

Notes

[1] For more information on the Coloquio Rodolfo Lenz 2016, please contact Darío Rojas [darioroj@u.uchile.cl] or consult https://sites.google.com/a/u.uchile.cl/coloquio-rodolfo-lenz-2016/home.

[2] For a general introduction to the FWF funded project „Network of Knowledge“ cf. Mücke & Sousa (2015b) here on this blog at http://hiphilangsci.net/2015/05/20/hugo-schuchardt-netknowl/.

[3] See http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at/korrespondenz/briefe/korrespondenzpartner/bearbeitete/599/briefe/01-06397.

[4] See http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at/korrespondenz/briefe/korrespondenzpartner/bearbeitete/599/briefe/04-06398.

[5] According to Labarías & Cárdenas (1998: 38), one can total 80 manuscript pages in the Archivo Rodolfo Lenz.

[6] See http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at/korrespondenz/briefe/korrespondenzpartner/bearbeitete/599/briefe/05-06399.

[7] See http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at/korrespondenz/briefe/korrespondenzpartner/bearbeitete/599/briefe/06-06400.

[8] See http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at/korrespondenz/briefe/korrespondenzpartner/bearbeitete/599/briefe/07-06401.

[9] Neither the articles, nor the monography could be found in the University Library of Graz.

[10] See http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at/korrespondenz/briefe/korrespondenzpartner/bearbeitete/599/briefe/09-06403.

[11] See http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at/korrespondenz/briefe/korrespondenzpartner/bearbeitete/599/briefe/08-06402.

Bibliography

Álvarez, A. C. 1928. ‘Una curiosidad linguistica: el papiamento’. In La Prensa. August 20th.

Bachmann, I. 2004. ‘Wie einfach es kompliziert werden kann – Lenz’ La gramática más sencilla im Schnittpunkt verschiedener sprachwissenschaftlicher Diskurse’. In G. Haßler / G. Volkmann (ed.). History of Linguistics in Texts and Concepts. Münster: Nodus.

Dannemann, M. 2000-2001. ‘Vida y obra de Rodolfo Lenz’. In Boletín de Filología de la Universidad de Chile XXXVIII: 331-339. Online: http://www.boletinfilologia.uchile.cl/index.php/BDF/article/viewFile/19501/20662 (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Ennis, J. A. 2012. ‘Rudolf Lenz en la encrucijada criolla’. In Signo y Seña 22: 181-214.

Escudero, A. M. 1963. ‘Rodolfo Lenz’. In Thesaurus. Boletín del Instituto Caro y Cuervo XVIII, 2: 445-484. Online: http://cvc.cervantes.es/lengua/thesaurus/pdf/18/TH_18_002_197_0.pdf (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Gatschet, A. S. 1885. ‘The Aruba Language and the Papiamento Jargon’. In Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 22/20, pt. IV: 299-305. Online: http://www.jstor.org/stable/982990 (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Gilbert, G. G. 1980. ‘Introduction’. In G. Gilbert (ed.). Pidgin and Creole Languages: Selected Essays by Hugo Schuchardt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Gillet, J. E. 1930. ‘[Rev. of:] El Papiamento. La lengua criolla de Curazao. La gramática más sencilla. Por el Dr. Rodolfo Lenz. Santiago de Chile: Balcells & Co., 1928.’ In Modern Language Notes 45, 6: 413-415. Online: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2913157 (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Hesseling, D. C. 1933. ‘Een Spaans boek over het Papiaments’. In Tijdschrift voor Nederlandsche Taal- en Letterkunde 52: 40-69. Online: http://www.dbnl.org/tekst/_tij003193301_01/_tij003193301_01_0004.php (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Hurch, B. 2007. ‘Schuchardt, Hugo Ernst Mario’. In Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften Historische Kommission (ed.) Neue Deutsche Biographie (Band 23). Berlin: Duncker & Humblot , 623-624. Online: http://www.deutsche-biographie.de/pnd118611046.html (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Hurch, B. 2007-. Hugo Schuchardt Archiv. Online: http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Hurch, B. 2009. ‘Von der Peripherie ins Zentrum: Hugo Schuchardt und die Neuerungen der Sprachwissenschaft’. In Karl Acham (ed.) Kunst und Wissenschaft aus Graz. Bd. 2.1. Kunst und Geisteswissenschaft aus Graz. Wien,Köln,Weimar: Böhlau , 493-510. Online: http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at/files/Schuchardt_-_Acham.pdf (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Kramer, J. 2004. Die iberoromanische Kreolsprache Papiamento: eine romanistische Darstellung. Hamburg: Buske.

Labarías, M. T. / Cárdenas, J. H. 1998. Documentos auténticos de Rodolfo Lenz: catálogo crítico. Santiago de Chile: Universidad Metropolitana de Ciencias de la Educación. Online: http://www.memoriachilena.cl/602/w3-article-124415.html (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Lenz, R. 1888. ‘Zur physiologie und geschichte der palatalen’. In Zeitschrift für vergleichende Sprachforschung 29: 1-59. Online: https://archive.org/stream/zeitschriftfrve35kuhngoog#page/n15/mode/2up (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Lenz, R. 1891. ‘Zur spanisch-amerikanischen Formenlehre’. In Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie 15: 518-522. Online: http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k158655/f522.image, (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Lenz, R. 1892. ‘Chilenische Studien. I.’ In Phonetische Studien 5: 272-292. Online: https://archive.org/stream/phonetischestud01victgoog#page/n280/mode/2up (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Lenz, R. 1893a.’Beiträge zur Kenntnis des Amerikospanischen’. In Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie 17: 188-214. Online: http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k15867v/f198.image (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Lenz, R. 1893b. ‘Chilenische Studien. II. III.’ In Phonetische Studien 6: 18-34. Online: https://archive.org/stream/phonetischestud00vigoog#page/n27/mode/2up (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Lenz, R. 1926-1927. ‘El papiamento. La lengua criolla de Curazao. La gramática más sencilla’. In Anales de la Universidad de Chile 4, 2: 694-768, 1021-1090 (1926); 5, 2: 288-327, 366-412, 888-989 (1927). Online: http://www.anales.uchile.cl/index.php/ANUC/article/viewFile/26693/28266, http://www.anales.uchile.cl/index.php/ANUC/article/viewFile/26703/28273, http://www.anales.uchile.cl/index.php/ANUC/article/viewFile/25444/26772, http://www.anales.uchile.cl/index.php/ANUC/article/viewFile/25449/26776, http://www.anales.uchile.cl/index.php/ANUC/article/viewFile/25493/26821 (all consulted on 20.01.2016).

Lenz, R. 1928. El papiamento. La lengua criolla de Curazao. La gramática más sencilla, Santiago de Chile: Imprenta Litografia Balcells & Co.

Maas, U. 2010. ‘Lenz, Rodolfo (Rudolf)’. In U. Maas. Verfolgung und Auswanderung deutschsprachiger Sprachforscher 1933-1945. 2 vol. Tübingen: Stauffenburg, 450-452. Online: http://www.esf.uni-osnabrueck.de/biographien-sicherung/l/188-lenz-rodolfo-rudolf- (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Maduro, A. J. 1967. Observacion i apuntenan tocante ‚El Papiamento. La lengua criolla de Curazao’, Santiago de Chile -1928 di Dr. Rodolfo Lenz. Curaçao: Antoine Maduro.

Markey, T. L. 1982. ‘[Rev. of:] Lichem Klaus & Hans-Joachim Simon, Hg., Hugo Schuchardt’. In Language 58: 683-686.

Mücke, J. / Sousa, S. M. de. 2015a. ‘Die Korrespondenz zwischen Rodolfo Lenz und Hugo Schuchardt’. In Bernhard Hurch (Hg.) (2007-). Hugo Schuchardt Archiv. Online: http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at/korrespondenz/briefe/korrespondenzpartner/599 (consulted on 20.01.2016)

Mücke, J. / Sousa, S. M. de. 2015b. ‘Hugo Schuchardt and his Network of Knowledge’. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. http://hiphilangsci.net/2015/05/20/hugo-schuchardt-netknowl. (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Nykl, A. R. 1928. ‘[Rev. of:] R. Lenz, El Papiamento, la lengua criolla de Curazao: la gramatica mas sencilla’. In The American Journal of Philology 49, 4: 399-401. Online: http://www.jstor.org/stable/290060 (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Schuchardt, H. 1892. ‘[Rev. of:] Wulff, Fredrik, Un chapitre de phonétique avec transcription d’un texte andalou; Von der Rolle des Akzentes in der Versbildung’. In Literaturblatt für germanische und romanische Philologie 13: 235-246 (HSA 261). Online: http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at/werk/online/10/ (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Schuchardt, H. 1914. Die Sprache der Saramakkaneger in Surinam. Amsterdam : Johannes Müller. (Verhandelingen der Koninklijke Akademie van Wetenschappen te Amsterdam. Afdeeling Letterkunde. Nieuwe Reeks. Deel XIV/No. 6) (HSA 656). Online: http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at/werk/online/634 (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Schuchardt, H. 1925. ‘Der Individualismus in der Sprachforschung’. In Sitzungsberichte der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Wien. Philosophisch-historische Klasse 204/2: 1-21 (HSA 767). Online: http://schuchardt.uni-graz.at/werk/online/667 (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Seifert, E. 1933. ‘[Rev. of:] Rodolfo Lenz, El Papiamento, la lengua criolla de Curazao, Anales de la Universidad de Chile, 2a serie, año IV, 1926 y V, 1927, Establecimientos gráficos “Balcells & Co.”, Santiago de Chile, 1928’. In Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie 53: 413-414. Online: http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k15903w/f417.image (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Wagner, M. L. 1931. ‘[Rev. of:] Lenz, Rodolfo – El Papiamento. La lengua criolla de Curazao. La gramática más sencilla’. In Revista de Filología Española 18, 3: 284-286.

Wallensköld, A. 1929. ‘[Rev. of:] El Papiamento, la lengua criolla de Curazao by Rodolfo Lenz’. In Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 30, 1/2: 86-87. Online: http://www.jstor.org/stable/43345639 (consulted on 20.01.2016).

Weiss, B. 31986. Katalog der Schuchardt-Bibliothek. Graz (= Universitätsbibliothek Graz, Bibliographische Informationen 6).

Wolf, M. 1993. Der Hugo Schuchardt Nachlaß. Schlüssel zum Nachlaß des Linguisten und Romanisten Hugo Schuchardt (1842-1927). Graz: Leykam.

Wulff, F. A. 1889. Un chapitre de phonétique avec transcription d’un texte andalou. Stockholm: L’imprimerie centrale.

Wulff, F. A. 1891. ‘Von der Rolle des Akzentes in der Versbildung’. In Skandinavisches Archiv 1/1: 59-90.

How to cite this post

Sousa, Silvio Moreira de and Johannes Mücke. 2016. Networking and the obstacles to the development of the Language Sciences through the correspondence between Rodolfo Lenz and Hugo Schuchardt. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. http://hiphilangsci.net/2016/02/17/networking-and-the-obstacles-to-the-development-of-the-language-sciences

Aree, volumi e spazi: la geometria linguistica di Hjelmslev

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Lorenzo Cigana
Université de Liège

Questo nostro intervento si concentra su alcuni aspetti del pensiero hjelmsleviano e della teoria glossematica in cui è più forte il respiro interdisciplinare che intreccia tra loro almeno i seguenti problemi: a) il ruolo gnoseologico della lingua, b) la modalità in cui la teoria linguistica rappresenta il suo oggetto, c) la questione di stabilire se tale modalità sia iconica, metaforica o costitutiva. Il filo rosso che intendiamo seguire, e che collega i problemi appena menzionati, è l’idea di spazio nella lingua e nella teoria glossematica del linguaggio. Si tratta di un aspetto già studiato approfonditamente da Picciarelli (1999), cui rimandiamo senz’altro. D’altra parte, il motivo per cui intendiamo tornare su tali questioni non è solo per dare continuità a una prospettiva di ricerca sovente trascurata, ma anche perché alcune considerazioni, forse di dettaglio ma proprio per questo importanti, restano in qualche modo pendenti: su di esse vale la pena tornare.

1. Lo spazio del linguaggio

A tutta prima, che l’idea di spazio – la si voglia qualificare come rappresentazione mentale o, kantianamente, come intuizione pura – possa riguardare in qualche misura la lingua è piuttosto controintuitivo, dal momento che essa sembra anticipare il linguaggio, collocarsi al di qua di esso, qualificarsi come prelinguistica: in che senso la lingua ha a che fare in modo specifico con lo spazio? Lo stesso vale, sebbene forse in misura minore, per la linguistica: in fondo, possiamo sfruttare un modello geometrico dal punto di vista metalinguistico, ovvero ricorrere all’idea di spazio come espediente descrittivo. Ma è poi così netta questa distinzione? Non c’è il rischio che qualcosa filtri surrettiziamente dallo strumento di descrizione all’oggetto descritto? E ancora: si tratta di un rischio o piuttosto dell’inevitabile prezzo da pagare della teoresi? E in ogni caso, in che modo la teoria della lingua dovrebbe utilizzare l’idea di spazio?

Ebbene, proprio a partire dalla linguistica degli Anni Trenta si registra il fiorire di un lessico più o meno tecnico, o forse di una vera e propria mitologia, che cerca di tradurre le forze all’opera nel linguaggio nei termini di dinamiche tra campi, di linee di frattura, di spazi di tensione, di pressioni tra categorie, di domini sfumati, di transizioni di frontiere, di intersezioni di dimensioni, piani e assi, e così via. In alcuni casi, gli strutturalisti di prima generazione arrivano a discutere, spesso indipendentemente gli uni dagli altri, proprio dell’appropriatezza di metafore spaziali o matematico-geometriche e della natura stessa di queste – com’è stato riconosciuto in alcuni lavori (Petitot 1990, Skrebtsova 2014, Picciarelli 1999, Diodato 2005, 2006, Vachek 1966). Si può pensare che ciò derivasse dalla forte esigenza, fortemente avvertita dalla linguistica strutturalista degli Anni Trenta, di una solida terminologia scientifica e di modelli teorici condivisi. Ma possiamo anche pensare che sotto sotto agisse l’intento, consapevole o meno, di voler sottrarre i fatti del linguaggio e più in generale i fenomeni di senso al dominio del “soggettivo” e del “fattore umano”, cercando di oggettivizzarli, traducendoli nei termini di una vera e propria fisica delle forze. Come rileva Skrebtsova, un marcato ricorso alle metafore geometrico-spaziali caratterizza il pensiero di Karcevskij, Mathesius, Martinet, ma è in nuce già presente in Saussure (cf. Ducrot 1968: 47, cit. qui in nota 7); in ambito tedesco lo si riscontra in Trier, Weisgerber, Porzig, e più recentemente nel concetto di dominio nozionale nella teoria delle operazioni enunciative di Culioli (1982, cf. La Mantia 2014) o per la semantica dei prototipi di Rosch (Rosch 1973, Lakoff 1987), sebbene la portata della metafora si sia estesa ben oltre la linguistica e abbia raggiunto il dominio delle scienze sociali (si veda, uno per tutti, la nozione di “campo” in Bourdieu 1985).

Skrebtsova non rileva, tuttavia, che tra i linguisti strutturalisti che hanno adottato e sviluppato alcune nozioni o metafore “geometriche”, Louis Hjelmslev occupa una posizione di rilevo. Nella glossematica, infatti, l’idea di spazio viene declinata in almeno tre direzioni: una direzione teorica, una empirica ed una che potremmo chiamare “parateorico”.

La direzione teorica (§ 2) riguarda la concezione spaziale o “posizionale” implicata dal modello stesso di lingua come struttura e come sistema: un teoria è strutturalista se concepisce[1] il proprio oggetto come una struttura, ovvero come totalità in cui le parti non hanno senso se non per la posizione che occupano, per la funzione che svolgono tra loro e rispetto al tutto. Descrivere una qualsiasi unità della lingua significherà descrivere le coordinate che la individuano all’interno del sistema di cui fa parte, il nodo sulla rete, il punto nello spazio; quali definizioni permettono di descrivere la lingua in questi termini?

La direzione empirica (§ 3) riguarda il significato fondamentale che secondo la cosiddetta “ipotesi localista” (cf. Picciarelli 1999: 32 sgg.) di cui la glossematica si fa portavoce, soggiace alla categoria grammaticale dei casi, ovvero l’idea di “relazione”. Ma cosa significa dire che il significato dei casi grammaticali si lascia spiegare in termini direzionali? E che implicazioni ha ciò sul piano della teoria della conoscenza?

Infine, la direzione “parateorica” (§ 4) riguarda il problema della raffigurazione grafica specifica della glossematica, ovvero quel corredo di soluzioni grafiche, schemi, diagrammi, modelli che affiancano le definizioni verbali date nella teoria (su questo cf. Badir 2005, 2008, 2009) come trasposizioni visuali di queste. In più, esse dovrebbero permettere un colpo d’occhio sintetico dell’ossatura dell’oggetto, proprio come le corrispettive raffigurazioni dei rapporti di parentela dell’antropologia (cf. Bertin 1967 in Benveniste 2001) o le strutture ad albero proposte dalla teoria generativo-trasformazionale.

Questi tre aspetti sono certamente legati tra loro, ma il loro rapporto va articolato attentamente, onde evitare alcuni rischi interpretativi che abbiamo sottolineati altrove[2]. Vediamo come.

2. Struttura, funzione e posizione

Il primo aspetto non è specifico della teoria hjelmsleviana, anzi si può dire che la connotazione spaziale supportata dall’idea di “posizione” sia propria di tutto lo strutturalismo linguistico. Dire che la lingua è un sistema costituito da rapporti, in cui le grandezze che vi entrano non sono definite tanto dalle loro qualità concrete, positive (o dalla cosiddetta “sostanza”) quanto soprattutto dal loro reciproco opporsi (cioè dalla loro “forma”), significa concepire la lingua come un intreccio di luoghi vuoti fondato su una vera e propria differenza di potenziale. Essendo la lingua una “struttura”, ovvero una totalità il cui valore supera la somma delle parti, le unità della lingua assumono senso solo in virtù della posizione che esse rivestono all’interno del sistema, le une rispetto alle altre. Il principium individuationis delle unità linguistiche è dunque, almeno idealmente, cartesiano: descrivere un’unità linguistica (un morfema, un fonema, una sillaba, e così via) in una data lingua significa localizzarla, ovvero stabilire il reticolo di coordinate che la individua all’interno della totalità in cui rientra (la categoria grammaticale di caso, la categoria delle vocali, la classe delle sillabe che possono occorrere in posizione iniziale di parola, e così via), e di questo rispetto alle altre totalità (le altre categorie nominali, la categoria delle consonanti, l’insieme delle posizioni sillabiche, ecc.). Per spiegare meglio questo stato di cose, Hjelmslev sceglie un’unità linguistica particolare, come la r francese: si può dapprima definire la r francese come una “vibrante sonora rotata alveolare” o come “fricativa sonora uvulare” (Hjelmslev 1988: 146), cercando di esaurire tutti i tratti positivi che si riscontrano nella sua pronuncia standard. Ma un tale punto di vista, se spiega come essa sia pronunciata, non spiega perché essa lo sia; in più, qualsiasi pronuncia particolare che variasse qualche tratto di questa specifica r porterebbe alla strana conclusione per cui in realtà ci troviamo all’interno di un’altra lingua: “qualunque cambiamento della definizione data porterebbe a un cambiamento di lingua, e il francese pronunciato con una r differente, ad esempio retroflessa, faringale, fricativo-palatale, sarebbe una lingua diversa dal francese che conosciamo” (Hjelmslev 1988: 146). Immaginiamo lo stesso problema moltiplicato per tutte le vocali di una lingua: avremmo tante lingue quante sono le pronunce – il che, se da un lato potrebbe avallare il misticismo di alcune interpretazioni, dall’altro vanificherebbe 1) l’idea di lingua come istituzione collettiva biplanare e 2) la possibilità stessa di una scienza della lingua. D’altra parte, possiamo concepire la r francese come una “vibrante che ammette come variante libera la pronuncia di fricativa posteriore” (Hjelmslev 1988: 145). Così definita, essa include già un momento formale – per esempio una classe di varianti; inoltre, la sua definizione positiva è ridotta per così dire al minimo: “l’r francese si definisce adesso come un’entità oppositiva e relativa sì, ma munita di una qualità positiva: per le sue vibrazioni si oppone alle non-vibranti; per la sua articolazione posteriore si oppone alle altre fricative; per la sua pronuncia fricativa si oppone alle occlusive […]. D’altra parte, le qualità positive che la definizione attribuisce alla r francese sono ridotte al minimo differenziale: per questo essa non comporta alcuna precisazione riguardo al luogo di articolazione” (Hjelmslev 1988: 146). Ci siamo mossi di un passo in direzione dell’essenza linguistica dell’unità considerata, ma ancora essa ci sfugge. Per raggiungerla, secondo Hjelmslev è necessario abbandonare i criteri di pronuncia e adottare criteri formali, di posizione: l’r francese è tale perché (1) è una consonante, (2) può occorrere indifferentemente in posizione sillabica iniziale o finale, (3) è prossima alle vocali e può occorrere in prima posizione in un gruppo finale, (4) contrae commutazione con altri elementi delle stesse categorie (come l). Rispetto a tale definizione, la r rimane tale anche se pronunciata in modi differenti: “ciò che la distingue dagli altri elementi non è la sua qualità propria e positiva, ma semplicemente il fatto che non si confonde con essi” (Hjelmslev 1988: 144-145). Ciò significa che il sistema profondo della lingua, ovvero ciò che fa di una lingua quella lingua, rimane tale a prescindere da fatto che essa si realizzi in una materia fonica o grafica, in un linguaggio di gesti, in un sistema di segnali con bandiere, nell’alfabeto morse, e così via. Il problema dell’identità delle grandezze linguistiche coincide dunque con il problema di stabilire il ruolo di tali grandezze nel sistema, cioè la loro funzione o, in termini spaziali, la loro posizione.

La suggestione spaziale implicata in questa idea traspare fin dalla metafora saussuriana della lingua come gioco di scacchi, il cui principio fondamentale è il rapporto di distribuzione dei pezzi sulla scacchiera. Oswald Ducrot[3] giustamente ricorda, inoltre, che Saussure stesso aveva adottato l’idea di lingua come sistema di segni intesi come spazi fonetici e semantici tra loro concorrenti: all’interno della lingua, ogni segno si ritaglia un dominio la cui limitazione è data solo ab externo, cioè dalla presenza degli altri segni. D’altra parte, si sarebbe in errore nel ritenere che le frontiere tra i segni siano assolutamente sclerotiche, rigide: al contrario, nella lingua vige uno stato di sincronica[4] fluidità e i limiti che marcano il dominio di ciascun segno sono generalmente permeabili. La metafora delle zone segniche implica che tra queste zone vi sia sempre una certa sovrapponibilità che viene assunta per principio in quanto diretta espressione dei fenomeni tipici della struttura della lingua (si pensi ai casi di sinonimia, omonimia, neutralizzazioni, fusioni, implicazioni ecc.), ma che risulta difficilmente traducibili in termini grafici.

Ora, all’interno di questa grande metafora geometrico-spaziale, la glossematica apporta una sua propria, specifica “mitologia”. Già nel 1934, durante il ciclo di conferenze che sarebbero state pubblicate postume con il titolo di Sprogsystem og Sprogforandring (SoS), Hjelmslev descrive la lingua come una serie di settori concentrici, dal più interno (il sistema grammaticale) al più esterno (i sistemi fonetico e semantico), a loro volta organizzati in zone nucleari o centrali, linguisticamente più profonde (e antropologicamente o cognitivamente più pregnanti), astratte e per questo frequentemente irregolari, e zone periferiche, più superficiali, concrete e regolarizzate, stabilizzate dall’uso cosciente dei soggetti parlanti[5]. Inoltre, se scorriamo il testo che dovrebbe rappresentare la versione formalizzata della teoria del linguaggio proposta da Hjelmslev, ovvero il Résumé di una teoria del linguaggio (TLR), vedremo che le definizioni ivi contenute sono in larga parte termini carichi di connotazioni topologiche, come per esempio: “ampiezza” (def 184), “area” (def 87), “campo” (def 72), “centrale” (def 254), “centrifugo” (def 331), “centripeto” (def 332), “configurazione” (def 77), “dimensione” (def 88), “direzione” (def 220), “esterno” (def 166), “interno” (def 165), “lato” (def 270), “linea” (189), “mappatura” (151), “marginale” (def 246), “periferico” (def 242), “piano” (def 25), “sezione” (def 124), “sovrapposizione” (def 105). Ora, la questione è di stabilire se la metafora spaziale suggerita da questi termini sia costitutiva, ovvero iconica, oppure solamente accessoria. Innanzitutto, l’intenso lavoro di riformulazione dei termini che Hjelmslev intraprende fin dal 1936, lavorando fianco a fianco con Uldall, e che giunge alla sistemazione relativamente stabile (seppur non conclusiva) del Résumé ci sembra possa dimostrare che una tale terminologia non è scelta a caso: la metafora spaziale è ritenuta particolarmente adatta all’oggetto che si tratta di costituire (la struttura generale delle semiotiche). D’altra parte, i termini non sono stati scelti in base al significato spaziale che normalmente si accorda a questi termini: una loro ridefinizione tecnica sarebbe stata, forse, inutile. L’interpretazione spaziale supportata da queste definizioni sarebbe appunto un elemento connotativo, una sfumatura che, per quanto legittima e dunque presente nella teoria, non dovrebbe essere considerata costitutiva, essenziale, per quest’ultima. Prova ne sia che nessuno dei termini citati più sopra riceve una definizione geometrica: nessuno dei definientes di tali termini è collegato esplicitamente al dominio comunemente chiamato “geometria”, ovvero al sistema di definizioni che costituisce tale disciplina. Così, per esempio, per “lato” non s’intende un segmento di un poligono, ma un “membro di una paradigmatica”; il “piano”, che in geometria è un concetto primitivo, cessa di esserlo nella glossematica, in cui assume il significato tutt’altro che intuitivo di “componente di una semiotica”; per non parlare dell’“area”, che da misura dell’estensione della superficie diviene grosso modo la zona concettuale a partire da cui le opposizioni semplici, contrarie e contraddittorie assumono senso. Si tratta allora di etichette. Queste nozioni parlano alla nostra immaginazione, fanno parte del bagaglio di informazioni con cui ci apprestiamo a entrare nel dominio della teoria glossematica del linguaggio, ma, una volta penetrativici, dobbiamo per forza spogliarcene, o meglio trasformarle, accettando che il loro significato sia completamente differente dalla comune accezione che riserviamo loro nella nostra esperienza, derivi essa dal quotidiano o dalla nostra competenza di matematici o geometri. Semplicemente, si tratta di microlingue differenti. Eppure, ancora una volta, questa spiegazione non convince: perché scegliere proprio questi termini? Una domanda legittima, tanto più che la glossematica dà prova di un’inventiva notevole quando si tratta di escogitare nozioni e definizioni che evitino eventuali ambiguità o conflitti con termini tecnici di altre teorie[6], arrivando talvolta a neologismi del tutto criptici[7]? Non ci sono soluzioni facili: un termine tecnico sarà necessariamente accompagnato da una serie di connotazioni, alcune delle quali derivano dalla nostra esperienza di tutti i giorni, dai nostri studi pregressi, dalla cultura in cui siamo inseriti, e così via. Queste associazioni non sono eliminabili, possiamo solamente farne una temporanea “epoché”, sospendendo la loro validità a livello di significati primari.

Allora, a essere interessante non è più la questione di stabilire se l’idea di spazio veicolata da questi termini sia metaforica o costitutiva, ma è l’alternativa stessa, il modo in cui questo problema si pone e che vale anche per altre “fluttuazioni interdisciplinari” come ad esempio il conflitto tra punto di vista linguistico e punto di vista logico nella definizione di “funzione” (cf. Cigana 2016). Ciò significa che quando operiamo all’interno della teoria del linguaggio chiamata “glossematica”, operiamo con una batteria di categorie o di concetti specifici che, proprio per via della loro specificità, si pongono su un livello fortemente astratto. Gestirli senza tentare di ricondurli ai termini primitivi da cui dipendono è difficile: una padronanza di tale lessico richiederebbe almeno che questo entrasse lentamente nell’uso scientifico diffuso, cioè che vi fosse accordo nella comunità scientifica e che si sviluppasse una vera e propria tradizione basata sull’uso continuo e condiviso di tali termini[8]. L’intuizione, allora, accorre in nostro aiuto: di fronte alla necessità di utilizzare nozioni così astratte e lontane dal senso comune, adottiamo implicitamente le connotazioni suggerite dalle stesse nozioni come supporto concreto per la mente, come spazio analogico di rappresentazione. Questo ci aiuta a ricondurre il discorso a una dimensione in cui possiamo “visualizzare” e “manipolare” i termini attraverso le rappresentazioni collaterali che essi ci forniscono. Così siamo legittimati a raffigurarci i piani della semiotica grosso modo come due superfici in cui si essa si divide, da un lato l’espressione e dall’altro il contenuto. Allo stesso modo, siamo legittimati a concepire intuitivamente il lato come una parte, o un “aspetto”, del poligono costituito dalla semiotica stessa. E siamo legittimati a concepire l’“area” come una zona all’interno della superficie (sublogica) su cui s’innestano le opposizioni che governano i rapporti tra le unità della lingua stessa. E così via per tutti i termini menzionati. E non solo: per via dell’ambiguità costitutiva della nozione di “funzione”, essa va intesa a partire da un significato intermedio che includa sia il significato di “rapporto” che quello di “ruolo” e che partecipi dell’uno e dell’altro – come Hjelmslev del resto esplicitamente suggerisce (cf. FTL: 37-38). In definitiva, ci è sempre possibile concepire implicitamente la lingua come un’entità spazializzata, gestendo i termini tecnici come componenti di questa, al fine di farci un’idea generale di come la lingua venga articolata dalla teoria stessa. Questo ha naturalmente un rischio: raffigurandoci mentalmente la lingua come un’entità spazializzata, e manipolando idealmente i suoi componenti (i “piani”, “lati”, “aree”) come se davvero le grandezze che ne fanno parte fossero le entità geometriche suggerite, facciamo appello alla nostra esperienza implicita in fatto di operazioni di manipolazione possibili (suddivisioni, partizioni, mappature, distribuzioni, scambi commutativi, ecc.). Questo può generare interpretazioni fallaci, che in realtà non sono supportate dal significato logico-concettuale specifico dei termini: un esempio classico di tale “precomprensione” riguarda il carattere lineare del significante evocato dal concetto di “sintagma” o “processo”. In entrambi i casi, si ha a che fare con la struttura profonda del testo, ravvisata tanto da Saussure che da Hjelmslev nei rapporti sintagmatici o in praesentia che uniscono le parti (parole, sillabe, vocali e consonanti, e così via). L’esecuzione dell’atto di parole, dice Saussure, si sviluppa naturalmente nel tempo: si tratta infatti di pronunciare, articolandoli uno dopo l’altro, i componenti del sintagma in questione. Eppure, sostiene Hjelmslev, quando si tratta di arrivare alla forma, notiamo che questo principio non regge. Esso si fonda su un intreccio intuitivo, e surrettizio, tra tre distinzioni eterogenee: 1) tra struttura virtuale e sua realizzazione concreta, 2) tra sistema e processo, 3) tra significato e significante. Ora, prosegue Hjelmslev, se si analizza la sola idea di “sintagma” o di “processo”, fondata sul solo rapporto logico espresso dalla funzione “e…e”, si noterà che nulla in essa implica una spazializzazione o una distribuzione lineare tra i termini che contraggono questa funzione. Siamo legittimati a ricorrere alla rappresentazione lineare solo quando si tratta di analizzare il modo in cui la struttura virtuale della langue si realizza concretamente, nella sostanza. Donde la critica, da parte di Hjelmslev, alla nozione di “asse delle successività” con cui Jakobson riformula la teoria saussuriana[9]. La rappresentazione spaziale della linea è dunque solo un appiglio per visualizzare i rapporti sintagmatici, ma può essere sviante quando si considera che il fondamento logico non riguarda la distribuzione delle grandezze sintagmatiche, ma solo la loro coesistenza: la nostra mente, facendo leva sulle rappresentazioni spaziali suggerite dalle definizioni (o da una certa vulgata interpretativa), costruisce un modello visivo dell’oggetto della teoria che tuttavia può obbedire a regole differenti da quelle prescritte dalla teoria stessa.

Ancora una volta, tuttavia, questo rischio interpretativo non basta per liquidare la questione della spazializzazione delle grandezze linguistiche come una mera visualizzazione: non si tratta semplicemente di un pericolo del pensiero analogico che suggerisce di trattare grandezze logico-concettuali come grandezze spazializzate. Il rischio mostra solo la necessità di costruire modelli adeguati alle indicazioni che riceviamo dalla teoria, senza lasciare che il sottile equilibrio tra la dimensione logica e quella geometrico-spaziale cessi di essere tale. In fondo, abbiamo visto più sopra quel reticolo di funzioni, che secondo l’impostazione strutturalista costituisce la natura dell’oggetto “lingua”, supporti un’interpretazione spaziale, topologica, e una fenomenologica, coesistenti: al senso logico di “funzione” come rapporto si affianca un senso fenomenologico di “ruolo” ed un senso topologico di “posizione”. Ciò significa che una grandezza linguistica è definita dal fatto di “contrarre una funzione”, di “svolgere un ruolo”, di “occupare una posizione”. Allo stesso modo, si può parlare della “consonante” come “costituente marginale” intendendo, da un lato, che le consonanti si collocano posizionalmente ai margini delle vocali, che costituiscono invece il nucleo centrale della sillaba, e dall’altro che nella sillaba le consonanti presuppongono logicamente le vocali come condizione costante. Un’interpretazione fenomenologica possibile della funzione di commutazione sarà quella di “confronto tra scambi” – perché queste sono le operazioni intenzionali che esprimono in concreto, sul piano pratico (e grazie a cui possiamo riconoscere) la funzione di relazione tra due correlazioni sui due piani della lingua definita appunto commutazione. Sempre giocando tra questi punti di vista potremo dire che le funzioni si lasciano interpretare spazialmente come vettori (Rajnović 2003), e le posizioni si lasciano interpretare logicamente come intersezione di funzioni. E così via.

Ora, se queste differenti classi d’interpretazioni coesistono, non sono tuttavia perfettamente equivalenti: tra queste possibilità, Hjelmslev da priorità al senso logico, che viene assunto nella teoria in quanto si basa su un minor numero di premesse che non le altre definizioni (FTL: 38). Ciò tuttavia non significa che queste ultime vengano escluse dalla teoria: esse passano solo in secondo piano, sullo sfondo, pronte ad emergere in corrispondenza di opportune sollecitazioni. E le sollecitazioni non sono costituite solo da questo intervento (come speriamo che esso sia), ma proprio dagli altri due aspetti dell’idea di spazio cui conviene ora avvicinarci.

3. La grammaticalizzazione dello spazio

Abbiamo visto che la spazializzazione (che è una sorta di ipostatizzazione) dell’oggetto che la teoria veicola non è accessoria, metaforica, non è un mero espediente di visualizzazione legato ad un bisogno cognitivo; essa riflette uno sforzo concreto di modellizzazione da parte della teoria stessa: quello che la teoria del linguaggio intende proporre è un metodo di analisi della semiotica insieme ad una rappresentazione di questa come intreccio di rapporti qualitativi tra termini. Non è un caso che il termine primitivo di “descrizione” sintetizzi proprio questo doppio aspetto: la descrizione è allo stesso tempo una predicazione di qualità relative ad un oggetto già presente alla coscienza, e dall’altro è la restituzione di tale oggetto alla coscienza, la “presentificazione” di esso alla coscienza stessa. In quest’ ultima accezione, si può dire che essa “faccia”, “costruisca”, l’oggetto, dal momento che la descrizione è tale solo a partire da alcuni criteri fondamentali (il “punto di vista”) che essa stessa fissa come pertinenti. Fin qui, tuttavia, la questione si è mantenuta sul solo livello epistemologico, riguardante cioè la teoria. Vi è però un punto, nel modello di lingua proposto dalla teoria glossematica, in cui l’idea di spazio sembra provenire non più dalla teoria ma dall’oggetto stesso, in cui cioè la spazializzazione sia imposta alla teoria dalla lingua stessa: si tratta dell’analisi del contenuto delle categorie morfologiche generali di caso, di persona e di diatesi, discussa nell’opera La categoria dei casi (CdC) e il saggio Per una teoria dei morfemi (Hjelmslev 1991: 97 sgg.).

È bene chiarire subito la posta in gioco. Per Hjelmslev la “morfologia” ha un ruolo più ampio della sua tradizionale definizione per opposizione alla sintassi (FTL: 91), che è inclusa in essa. Intesa in termini tecnici, si tratta di quel livello della lingua che ha a che fare con le categorie dei cosiddetti “esponenti” chiamati a modificare la base tematica (l’insieme costituito dalle radici e dagli affissi, l’altra grande parte della grammatica) e a plasmare il piano del contenuto linguistico secondo un’articolazione finita di unità. Nella prospettiva di Hjelmslev, la morfologia rappresenta il dominio più interno della lingua, il cuore del sistema in cui essa mette in gioco i propri strumenti per dare forma alla molteplice varietà dei nostri vissuti, alle nostre rappresentazioni, rendendoli condivisibili e comunicabili – un aspetto fenomenologico (per non dire cognitivo) della teoria glossematica su cui abbiamo già richiamato più volte l’attenzione (Cigana 2014a, 2014b).

È bene chiarire subito la posta in gioco. Per Hjelmslev la “morfologia” ha un ruolo più ampio della sua tradizionale definizione per opposizione alla sintassi (FTL: 91), che è inclusa in essa. Intesa in termini tecnici, si tratta di quel livello della lingua che ha a che fare con le categorie dei cosiddetti “esponenti” chiamati a modificare la base tematica (l’insieme costituito dalle radici e dagli affissi, l’altra grande parte della grammatica) e a plasmare il piano del contenuto linguistico secondo un’articolazione finita di unità. Nella prospettiva di Hjelmslev, la morfologia rappresenta il dominio più interno della lingua, il cuore del sistema in cui essa mette in gioco i propri strumenti per dare forma alla molteplice varietà dei nostri vissuti, alle nostre rappresentazioni, rendendoli condivisibili e comunicabili – un aspetto fenomenologico (per non dire cognitivo) della teoria glossematica su cui abbiamo già richiamato più volte l’attenzione (Cigana 2014a, 2014b).

Le categorie morfologiche in effetti costituiscono la “rete” che, stesa sulla nostra esperienza, filtra e plasma quest’ultima secondo la propria forma: ogni lingua organizza in modo diverso un set profondo di categorie generali (nominali e verbali, ovvero rispettivamente caso, articolo, comparazione, numero-genere da un lato, e modo, tempo, aspetto, diatesi, persona, enfasi dall’altro) condivise da tutte[10]. Ogni categoria è definita in un doppio momento: formalmente, dai fatti di funzione che permettono a ciascuna categoria di ritagliarsi un dominio nella struttura della lingua; e semanticamente, dai diversi significati che è possibile associare alla categoria generale e alle diverse articolazioni che si realizzano nelle singole lingue – ovvero dalla natura di quello stesso ritaglio[11]. Così, ad esempio, la categoria morfologica generale di comparazione è riconoscibile per il fatto di costituirsi per “direzione nessica eteronessuale”[12], e per il fatto di supportare una sostanza del contenuto specifica (un’idea latente del linguaggio, nel senso di Bréal) – l’idea platonica di “intensità”. Di conseguenza, ogni volta che facciamo ricorso alla categoria di comparazione nella nostra lingua, stiamo plasmando il nostro atto di parole secondo quelle regole che, dal punto di vista discorsivo, formano e presentano (a prescindere dal fatto che ne siamo coscienti) all’interlocutore un universo di senso in cui si istituisce un confronto tra gradienti di intensità tra due o più realtà legate funzionalmente rispetto ad una data qualità. Ma non solo: il fatto stesso che per esprimere una data relazione semantica noi dobbiamo adottare una convenzione sintagmatica (morfosintattica) precisa, rientra nel modo in cui le categorie grammaticali organizzano il pensiero e le sue operazioni. In effetti, secondo Hjelmslev il potere formativo delle categorie morfologiche si estende su un doppio livello: (1) quello “cognitivo”, relativo alla discorsivizzazione delle strutture linguistiche e all’organizzazione dei dati e dei vissuti esperienziali, (2) e quello “metacognitivo”, relativo al modo in cui pensiamo il pensiero – esempio principe di questo tipo d’influenza è proprio la categoria di caso.

(1) Il primo livello corrisponde in parte a quella che Bühler chiamava la funzione di rappresentazione della lingua, salvo che in questo caso la scommessa è più profonda: le categorie morfologiche orientano, modificano e plasmano la nostra esperienza, avvicinandosi molto ad una sorta di archetipi collettivi. E dal momento che esse sono pensate non come riflesso verbale delle rappresentazioni mentali, ma come vero e proprio principio di formazione di queste, ad esse spetta il compito di coordinare in modo sovraindividuale dati provenienti da qualsiasi aspetto del vissuto fenomenologico dell’uomo: il linguaggio esprime e dà forma “al contenuto della coscienza in generale, non solamente della coscienza intellettuale, ma anche della coscienza affettiva, dell’emozione e della volizione” (PGG: 20, n. 46), ivi inclusa la coscienza percettivo-corporea. Dal momento che dal punto di vista linguistico prima delle differenze introdotte dalla lingua il vissuto va considerato come un continuum amorfo, a rigore la distinzione che abbiamo appena proposto non è pertinente. L’idea di relazione andrà dunque presa in senso steinthaliano come una rappresentazione di rappresentazioni (PGG: 22, n. 51): essa agisce come un catalizzatore capace di articolare subconsciamente i contenuti di coscienza a prescindere dalla loro natura. Tanto più che, proseguendo lungo questa direzione, la stessa barriera tra fisico e mentale viene meno: secondo Hjelmslev, nella lingua non esiste alcuna separazione ontologica prestabilita e insuperabile tra oggetti astratti e oggetti concreti, dunque nella scienza del linguaggio è opportuno rifiutare siffatta distinzione insieme all’impostazione riduttivista che ne deriva[13]. Come dirà esplicitamente, “il contenuto del linguaggio è il mondo stesso che ci circonda […] la lampada che è sul mio tavolo è un significato particolare della parola lampada; io stesso sono un significato particolare della parola uomo[14] (cf. Hjelmslev 1970: 138). Ciò significa, in ultima analisi, porre la modalità di conoscenza come costitutiva dell’oggetto di conoscenza stesso, qualunque esso sia[15].

2) Ora, tra le idee linguistiche fondamentali (o “sematemi”) associate alle categorie morfologiche, quella associata alla categoria di caso è proprio l’idea di relazione: “Il fenomeno soggettivo[16] designato da tale categoria è la concezione spaziale; tale concezione è applicata dal soggetto parlante ai diversi ordini del fenomeno oggettivo, che si tratti dello spazio, del tempo, della causalità logica o della rection sintagmatica” (CdC: 120). In base alla già citata ipotesi del localismo, “si sostiene che il principio di direzione si manifesta su due piani differenti, su un piano astratto e su un piano concreto” (CdC: 109), ovvero relativamente ai rapporti logico-grammaticali e a quelli spaziali – due aspetti che, così, cessano di opporsi in base alla loro presunta consistenza ontologica: “tutti i casi sono in una certa misura applicabili nello stesso tempo a relazioni concrete o locali e a relazioni più astratta di ordine grammaticale o ‘logico’, e che in ciò non vi è alcuna differenza essenziale” (CdC: 150). Il significato di relazione proprio della categoria di caso non viene ristretto solamente alle rappresentazioni veicolate nel messaggio, ma anche alle (meta)rappresentazioni che vi facciamo delle strutture grammaticali stesse in termini di “funzioni”, cioè di rapporti spazializzati. Come a dire che, poiché la categoria di caso si estrinseca attraverso relazioni morfosintattiche specifiche, queste non sono che un altro aspetto della categoria. Le stesse funzioni che realizzano la dipendenza casuale e che a noi sembrano pure forme prive di contenuto, rapporti convenzionali puramente meccaniche, norme sintattiche che in sé non dicono nulla (come i rapporti di accordo o di reggenza), in realtà rientrano nel valore stesso della categoria, realizzandone la forma del contenuto:

“In tutte le lingue vi è una rection casuale la cui ragione è la parentela semantica esistente tra il termine reggente e il morfema casuale del termine retto, e che, dall’altra, il morfema casuale implica un significato proprio indipendente dai fatti di rection […]. La rection casuale non è un fatto meccanico; essa si spiega attraverso il valore dei casi in questione. […] Tutto quello che resta del principio invocato da questa teoria è il fatto che la prima dimensione casuale, quella di direzione, agisce in maniera sintomatica sulle rection sintagmatiche” (CdC).

In altre parole, per Hjelmslev anche il modo in cui si esplicita la funzione della reggenza dipende dalla categoria di caso stessa, o, per dirla in termini tecnici, i fatti sintagmatici risultano plasmati dai fatti paradigmatici (morfologici):

Prendiamo un sintagma che per la sua estensione ricopre una frase nel senso classico, come
rosaestpulchra
Abbiamo riportato le rections in cui sono implicati fatti di caso. Le frecce al di sopra della linea indicano le relazioni puramente casuali. Le frecce al di sotto indicano le relazioni in cui i casi sono implicati in connessione con altre categorie morfematiche (persona, numero e genere). È possibile qui osservare un gioco evidente di allontanamento e di avvicinamento (CdC: 135).

Riassumiamo. L’idea di relazione, intrinseca della categoria di caso, emerge anche nell’apparato sintagmatico, ovvero nel gioco tra termine reggente e termine retto: ciò significa che il sintagma e le sue regole di costruzione spazializzano il contenuto astratto della categoria di caso. Nell’intera teoria di Hjelmslev, questo è il luogo in cui emerge con più chiarezza una suggestione hegeliana: ovvero l’idea che un elemento astratto si fa concreto in virtù della sua stessa natura. Ora, se l’idea di relazione della categoria di caso si declina in termini spaziali, coglibili concretamente, ciò significa che alla teoria spetta il compito di fornirne una rappresentazione quanto più adeguata possibile, e questo è possibile sfruttando metalinguisticamente un’idea fornita dalla lingua stessa. Ecco che, di colpo, l’impianto nominalista della glossematica diviene improvvisamente realista: la rappresentazione grafica delle funzioni è il modo in cui la teoria può cogliere la più vera natura delle funzioni stesse della lingua. In questo senso, la schematizzazione (grafica) delle funzioni linguistiche non è più uno stratagemma esterno, arbitrario del linguista, attraverso cui la teoria si impone sull’oggetto, ma diviene il modo in cui l’oggetto stesso si lascia cogliere, e chiede alla teoria di essere colto: come afferma giustamente Picciarelli, “il localismo non pertiene solamente alla struttura linguistica, ma anche al modello che pretende di rappresentarla” (Picciarelli 1999: 33). Noi possiamo rappresentarci metalinguisticamente la lingua come spazializzata perché la lingua stessa supporta, almeno entro certi limiti, questa possibilità. Una tale prospettiva abbandona decisamente l’idea per cui la lingua esprime uno stato di cose, per abbracciare l’idea per cui la lingua forma uno stato di cose o la sua rappresentazione.

Questa concezione, d’altra parte, pone dei problemi piuttosto gravi. Innanzitutto, è ovvio che l’apparato funzionale della glossematica (ovvero le diverse funzioni di interdipendenza, determinazione, costellazione moltiplicate per i due diversi punti di vista, sintagmatico e paradigmatico) è costruito dalla teoria: tali funzioni rappresentano una mossa epistemologica, propria del metalinguaggio, mentre la categoria di caso è una categoria morfologica generale a fianco di altre. Se la categoria dei casi orienta la nostra stessa concettualizzazione (anche puramente epistemologica) delle relazioni, come alcuni punti nell’argomentazione di Hjelmslev fanno effettivamente credere, questo significherebbe

a) che vi sarebbe un’asimmetria nel sistema delle categorie morfologiche, dal momento che la categoria di caso dovrebbe influenzare il metalinguaggio utilizzato per descrivere le altre categorie morfologiche;

b) che la categoria di caso dovrebbe essere universale;

c) che ogniqualvolta ci collochiamo sul piano metalinguistico, epistemologico, e ci rappresentiamo mentalmente le funzioni in termini di rapporti spaziali, in questo processo interviene in qualche modo all’idea di caso, ad una forma casuale. Qualunque forma di modellizzazione spaziale, dovrebbe cioè far leva sul linguaggio e più precisamente sulla categoria morfologica di caso;

d) più in generale, che qualsiasi forma di concettualizzazione dipende in qualche misura dalla struttura della semiotica onniformativa per eccellenza, la lingua storico-naturale.

Difficile riuscire a dimostrare queste ipotesi, che riposano in parte su una scommessa teorica, in parte su assunzioni di metodo, in parte su evidenze empiriche. Di seguito le discutiamo brevemente, prima di passare all’ultima questione.

(a) In realtà, non solo il significato generale (sematema) di caso ma tutti i significati profondi delle categorie morfologiche, ovvero le quattro idee platoniche discusse in Hjelmslev (1991: 102), sono concepiti come talmente astratti da poter rappresentare delle operazioni cognitive fondamentali, di carattere logico-psicologico, dunque certo, anche metalinguistiche: le idee di relazione, intensità, consistenza e realtà, insieme alle loro specifiche articolazioni, forniscono delle coordinate dotate di un valore totemico che organizzano vissuti differenti, su livelli diversi, dalle proporzioni spaziali (caso) e relazionali (diatesi), alle rappresentazioni ontologiche (le sostanze metafisiche distinte in base alle opposizioni concentrato vs. diffuso, massivo vs. puntuale della categoria di numero-genere; la reificazione dell’azione e del tempo secondo i criteri di limitato vs. illimitato supportati della categoria di aspetto), ai rapporti qualitativi (comparazione), l’attribuzione di un senso di realtà o irrealtà (articolo e modo), e così via[17]. La griglia delle categorie linguistiche costituisce dunque un punto d’indagine centrale per osservare le istituzioni del pensiero, semplicemente perché la lingua stessa è – nell’ipotesi hjelmsleviana – quella “istituzione zero” che permette di rappresentarsi le altre stesse istituzioni. In più, dal punto di vista gnoseologico, se volessimo tentare un confronto con la teoria kantiana della conoscenza, dovremmo dire che le categorie linguistiche sono più vicine allo schematismo che non alle categorie dell’intelletto: esse costituiscono il momento di articolazione tra le intuizioni pure e le classi conoscitive del pensiero che risulta, a questo punto, intimamente linguisticizzato. Questo è quanto sembrano suggerirci le parole del linguista danese: “qualunque operazione poggia in ultima analisi sulle concezioni di spazio e di tempo. L’operazione intellettuale consiste nel ricondurre i fatti osservati nel mondo oggettivo a formule spaziali e temporali” (CdC: 120; c.vo ns.).

(b) Questo punto riguarda in realtà il problema della differenza tra “generale” e “universale” nella glossematica. Basti dire che le categorie sono dette “generali” proprio perché si ritrovano in tutte le lingue, sebbene ciascuna lingua possa configurarle in modo differente, non solo dal punto di vista interno (il greco suddivide la categoria di caso in modo diverso dal latino) ma anche in relazione alle altre categorie, sopprimendone alcune ma in realtà “convertendole”, per esempio “lessicalizzandole” (come per il sistema delle preposizioni che tipicamente rappresentano la categoria dei casi allo stato convertito)[18].

(c-d) Queste due ipotesi riposano, come ricordato, sul principio dell’onniformatività della lingua. È in effetti la teoria stessa a costruire la lingua come tale, nel momento in cui si definisce “lingua” quella “paradigmatica di una semiotica denotativa i cui paradigmi sono manifestati da tutte le materie” (TLR, Def 38), ovvero, detto in parole povere, il sistema più versatile di tutti:

“Chiunque studi il contenuto significativo delle categorie della lingua non può fare a meno di rendersi conto che tali categorie costituiscono in qualche modo delle categorie epistemologiche. Tra le categorie della lingua e quelle del pensiero c’è un’intima relazione. Il che non vuol dire che vi sia identità. Tutto quello che si può pretendere anticipatamente è che la lingua costituisce in ultima analisi un sistema epistemologico, e che di conseguenza i concetti più profondi della lingua sono in linea di principio della stessa natura degli ultimi concetti dell’analisi logica” (CdC: 111).

Certo, un sistema epistemologico a fianco di altri, ma comunque il più estensivamente utilizzato, di cui possiamo forse narcotizzare la pertinenza a vantaggio di codici, criteri e scopi differenti, ma mai eluderlo completamente o prescinderne del tutto.

“La forma del linguaggio è una forma categoriale […]. Ciò non significa ancora che la forma categoriale di cui si tratta preesista al linguaggio. Al contrario, significa che c’è una forma specifica di ordine categoriale che viene rivelata attraverso il linguaggio, e solo attraverso questo. Sarebbe azzardato ed inutile pretendere a priori che le categorie rivelate attraverso il linguaggio differiscano per definizione da qualsiasi categoria epistemologica individuata attraverso speculazioni non-linguistiche. È almeno già molto verosimile che le speculazioni epistemologiche e le tavole categoriali individuate attraverso queste siano in parte costituite sui fatti linguistici” (CdC: 132).

Queste considerazioni complessive ci portano a credere che per la glossematica sia centrale proprio quello che Petitot-Cocorda le critica come debolezza (Petitot 1990: 222): una semiotizzazione dello spazio, laddove per il programma di morfogenesi del senso inaugurato da R. Thom (a cui appunto Petitot si richiama) sarebbe al contrario necessaria una spazializzazione della semiotica (cf. Picciarelli 1999: 44). Il punto è che non potrebbe essere diversamente: nella prospettiva glossematica, lo abbiamo visto, la semiotica può essere spazializzata solo perché lo spazio stesso è stato semiotizzato. Il paralogismo rilevato da Petitot, per cui la glossematica “afferma […] che l’intuizione spaziale deve saper dar forma alla sintassi, ma immediatamente dopo, per non perdere di vista il significato della categoria globale dei casi, essa deve negare quest’affermazione” (Petitot 1990: 221, cit. in Picciarelli 1999: 44), si scioglie notando che:

1) non è affatto l’intuizione spaziale a dover formare la sintassi, ma la rappresentazione linguistica dello spazio stessa, che si fa sintassi;

2) a rigore, la prospettiva di Petitot si mantiene ancora all’interno dell’opposizione sintassi (forma) vs. semantica (contenuto), laddove la nozione glossematica di forma del contenuto, di fatto, la rifonda completamente (cf. FTL: 57 sgg.; Hjelmslev 1988: 213 sgg.);

3) tutto dipende dalla scelta di quale linguaggio sfruttare come strumento di costruzione (e da quale ontologia intendiamo adottare): se il linguaggio matematico-topologico o il linguaggio naturale. Occupato a reperire il fondamento che dalla sostanza conduce alla forma (in conformità alla direzione del programma morfogenetico), Petitot si fonda esplicitamente su un punto esterno alla forma linguistica stessa, ovvero sullo spazio considerato come supporto astratto e regolato da criteri topologici. L’ipotesi è che lo spazio sia l’intuizione alla base dell’emersione delle forme, dunque anche di quelle linguistiche, e che la linguistica in quanto teoria rientri dunque nella topologia (lo studio dell’emersione delle forme). Il fatto è che, da un punto di vista semiotico, la teoria è un linguaggio (cf. Hjelmslev 1988: 128), e la teoria linguistica è dunque un linguaggio che si fa metalinguaggio. Dunque, anche la topologia sarebbe un linguaggio che semiotizza a suo modo lo spazio stesso. Ecco perché la scelta diviene se scegliere tra due semiotizzazioni diverse dello spazio: a partire da un linguaggio esterno alla lingua o a partire dal metalinguaggio interno, immanente[19], che nell’ipotesi glossematica è appunto la lingua stessa. L’obiettivo primario, in fondo, non è costituire un modello geometrico-spaziale della lingua, ma viceversa di cogliere il modo specifico in cui la lingua geometrizza le rappresentazioni, orientando la percezione, la comprensione e la comunicazione della realtà (ivi incluso il linguaggio).

4. Trasposizione grafica

È proprio la semiotizzazione dello spazio che garantisce la possibilità di passare dal dominio verbale a quello della rappresentazione grafica. Naturalmente, la traduzione da un ordine all’altro non è uniforme: la modellizzazione grafica obbedisce a criteri propri (in casu: geometrici) che si sovrappongono alle indicazioni verbali senza che vi sia coincidenza: alcune lacune vengono colmate, altre indicazioni vengono eluse e, in generale, tra l’organizzazione della sostanza verbale e l’organizzazione della sostanza grafica atte a manifestare una stessa forma linguistica sembra vi sia sempre uno stato di tensione, sebbene tra le due classi di sostanze Hjelmslev postuli una affinità: “Una teoria che si basa sul significato di una categoria grammaticale è sempre schematizzabile” (CdC: 93-94).

Per farci un’idea della questione possiamo concentrarci sugli schemi che in CdC dovrebbero restituire la struttura complessiva di una categoria morfologica:

  • il sistema dei 48 casi della lingua lak (esempio A)
    Esempio A
  • il sistema dei 36 casi della lingua avara (esempio B)
    Esempio B
  • il sistema dei 52 casi del tabassarano (esempio C)
    Esempio C

Tali soluzioni grafiche sintetizzano sinotticamente l’articolazione interna della categoria secondo i principi costitutivi della sua descrizione, generando un effetto “retorico” d’iconismo: nonostante l’aspetto particolarmente artificioso di tali schemi, se essi riescono effettivamente a riprodurre la sistematicità che supponiamo sia propria delle categorie reali, è legittimo supporre che siamo riusciti a coglierne visualmente la natura, secondo la proporzione [sistematicità logica = sistematicità grafica].

Conviene comunque ricordare che lo stato di cose riflesso graficamente è in realtà il prodotto di una serie di operazioni dinamiche, il precipitato di una complessa procedura di scomposizione che viene appunto ricomposta e cristallizzata. Ci pare che le opposizioni “statico vs. dinamico” e “sinottico vs. graduale” si prestino bene a connotare il rapporto tra ordine verbale e ordine grafico: quest’ultimo tipo di soluzione cristallizza staticamente il risultato delle operazioni di analisi e riduzione che, supportate dal corpus di definizioni e regole, intervengono una dopo l’altra come tappe progressive di un algoritmo descrittivo. Quello che queste rappresentazioni non permettono di cogliere è dunque la “generazione”, per via gerarchica, dei “glossemi” (le unità minime che costituiscono i casi e che sono rappresentati dalle lettere greche) a partire dai “tassemi” (i casi incasellati) e dalle “dimensioni” (le classi di tassemi rappresentate dagli assi verticali, orizzontali o trasversali).

Per cogliere questo percorso che porta fino alle unità fondamentali, possiamo scegliere un altro tipo di rappresentazione. Per esempio, potremmo rappresentarci il sistema dei casi della lingua avara (esempio B) in questo modo:

glossemes_combination

Questa rappresentazione permette di cogliere[20] il procedimento di suddivisione della categoria nei suoi costituenti, stabilita dalla successione delle operazioni di scomposizione descritte dalla teoria. Visivamente, si coglie il principio per cui è la categoria, e non i tassemi (casi), ad essere divisa in costituenti; si coglie il fatto che questi sorgono per così dire per combinazione (moltiplicazione) dei glossemi. Si perde, in cambio, il colpo d’occhio sulla distribuzione interna della stessa, l’idea della lingua come un oggetto complesso, globale, sintetico (come class as one), piuttosto che come oggetto analizzato, “dispiegato” secondo la linea imposta dalla procedura (come class as many).

In generale, dunque, la rappresentazione grafica impone certe scelte che di per sé sarebbero esterne alle caratteristiche puramente astratte del modello: per esempio, la distribuzione delle dimensioni come assi verticale, orizzontale e trasversale non è certo implicata nella rispettiva definizione verbale, così come l’aspetto regolare delle caselle della griglia non è richiesto dalla loro analisi. Questi aspetti derivano dalle convenzioni implicite del codice adottato, in questo caso lo spazio geometrizzato, rispetto a cui il modello logico è indifferente: che i casi vengano rappresentati come poligoni regolari, invece che come figure irregolari, può certo facilitare la comprensione da parte di chi osserva lo schema, ma di per sé non influenza il loro statuto logico. Semmai, proprio in virtù di questa indifferenza tra statuto logico e statuto geometrico degli elementi, è possibile ipotizzare che la suddivisione regolare delle caselle rifletta la suddivisione uniforme della zona della categoria, secondo i principi del protocollo glossematico, e così via. Ancora una volta, queste equivalenze ci risultano significative ma 1) esse sono suggerite, e non sempre stabilite esplicitamente dalla teoria stessa, che può fissare un rapporto di trasposizione solo per alcuni elementi (per esempio: le dimensioni come assi, i casi come caselle, i glossemi come coordinate) mentre tutto il resto (l’orientamento degli assi, lunghezza e spessore delle linee, regolarità della griglia, ecc.) viene demandato alle convenzioni e alle necessità intrinseche del codice geometrico utilizzato; 2) inoltre, queste equivalenze si possono stabilire proprio a partire da questa non conformità tra codici; esse cioè assumono senso proprio a partire da una differenza intersemiotica (Badir 2009: 525). Ancora una volta, si può dare trasposizione biunivoca solo tra alcuni settori della sostanza verbale e della sostanza grafica, opportunamente pertinentizzati.

5. Considerazioni conclusive

L’affermazione di Hjelmslev sopra menzionata, relativa alla schematizzabilità di una teoria del significato grammaticale, va dunque interpretata con cautela: innanzitutto ci viene detto che ad essere schematizzabile, ovvero rappresentabile spazialmente secondo un codice geometrico, è la teoria del significato grammaticale, e non direttamente il significato. Ma in realtà, la scommessa implicita è che la teoria sia schematizzabile proprio perché si appoggia sull’intrinseca sistematicità del contenuto grammaticale stesso, a sua volta derivante dalla forma categoriale della lingua: la capacità modellizzante della lingua nei confronti dello spazio deriva dal fatto che la forma della lingua è un principio universale di formazione (FTL: 82) dotato di una sua ontologia “empirica” (Hjelmslev 1991: 129). È dunque la teoria a essere innanzitutto raffigurativa, ma se essa può raffigurare il proprio oggetto, il linguaggio, ciò dipende dal fatto che essa si comporta come un linguaggio: tramite la selezione di tratti pertinenti, essa fornisce una forma all’oggetto trasponendola in una sostanza o in un’altra. Dal punto di vista tecnico, per avvalorare ulteriormente questa interpretazione, si dovrebbe stabilire che il codice grafico-geometrico sia effettivamente una semiotica oppure un sistema simbolico; si potrebbe poi stabilire se i funtivi dei due codici (codice geometrico da una parte e codice verbale dall’altra) siano conversi, ovvero se possano contrarre sostituzione reciproca una volta estratti i connotatori “codice grafico” o “codice verbale”. In effetti, se fosse possibile stabilire che due funtivi (poniamo il concetto di “dimensione” appartenente al codice verbale e l’“asse” nel codice grafico) contraggano sostituzione una volta soppresso il rispettivo connotatore, si potrebbe legittimamente dire che i due funtivi sono “trasposti” (TLR, Def 197), e che realizzano due varianti (verbale e grafica) del medesimo funtivo “dimensione”. Questo rimane però un problema aperto che non possiamo risolvere qui, e di cui ci limitiamo a tracciare una possibile, ipotetica, direzione di ricerca.

In ogni caso, distinguendo e riallacciando tra loro i tre livelli dell’idea di “spazio” identificati sopra, ci sembra che la soluzione proposta da Hjelmslev vada nella stessa direzione di quella di Trier, oltrepassandola. In effetti, dovendo qualificare dal punto di vista epistemologico il ricorso alla categoria di “campo”, Trier optò per la seguente mossa: il “campo lessicale”, disse, è sì una metafora, ma la metafora è essenziale alla natura del linguaggio – essa presiede al suo stesso funzionamento (cf. Trier 1973, cit. in Skrebtsova 2014: 146). A ben vedere, è dunque il funzionamento metaforico del linguaggio, e non propriamente la metafora spaziale, a garantire continuità tra oggetto e descrizione.

Il caso di Hjelmslev è interessante perché “rilancia” la mossa di Trier: introducendo la categoria di spazio all’interno del linguaggio, a livello di significato morfologico, essa legittima vieppiù il cortocircuito, o se vogliamo il rapporto analogico, tra rappresentazione spaziale, rappresentazione linguistica (cognitivo-gnoseologica, propria del linguaggio) e rappresentazione metalinguistica (epistemologica, propria della teoria del linguaggio). In breve, adottando una formula sintetica, potremmo dire che la teoria linguistica spazializza la lingua perché già la lingua spazializza il mondo, inclusa se stessa.

Come si vede, il cortocircuito dello “spazio” deriva dai suoi omologhi: il cortocircuito della “struttura” e il cortocircuito della “lingua” – un circolo virtuoso che caratterizza in profondità l’approccio strutturalista stesso.

Bibliografia

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Badir, S. (2008), “Sémiotique des graphiques / Graphiques de sémiotique”, Visible, 4: 13-62.

Badir, S. (2009), “Les graphiques chez Hjelmslev”, Cahiers Parisiens, 5: 523-535.

Barthes, R. (2006), “L’attività strutturalista”, in S. Moravia (a cura di), Lo strutturalismo francese, Firenze, Le Lettere: 49-55.

Benjamin, W. (1995a), “Sulla lingua in generale e sulla lingua dell’uomo”, in Benjamin 1995b: 53-70.

Benjamin, W. (1995b), Angelus Novus. Saggi e frammenti, Torino, Einaudi.

Benveniste, É. (2001), Il vocabolario delle istituzioni indoeuropee. Volume primo: Economia, parentela, società, Torino, Einaudi.

Bertin, J. (1967), Sémiologie graphique, Paris, Mouton-Gauthier-Villars.

Bourdieu, P. (1985), “The Genesis of the Concepts of Habitus and Field”, Sociocriticism 2(2): 11-24.

Cigana, L. (2014a), La nozione di “partecipazone” nella Glossematica di L. Hjelmslev (La notion de “participation” dans la glossématique de L. Hjelmslev), tesi di dottorato in cotutela (Università della Calabria, Université de Liège).

Cigana, L. (2014b), “Langage et cognition entre Saussure et Hjelmslev”, Cahiers Ferdinand de Saussure, 67: 21-46.

Cigana, L. (2014c), “Sprogsystem og Sprogforandring: il dinamismo del sistema”, in Strutturalismo, Strutturalismi e loro forme. Janus. Quaderni del Circolo glossematico, 13: 45-63.

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Culioli, A. (1982). Rôle des représentations métalinguistiques en syntaxe: Communication présentée à la session plénière du XIIIème Congrès international des linguistes, Tokyo, 29 août-4 septembre 1982, Paris, Université Paris 7.

Diodato, F. (2005), “La teoria del campo lessicale di Jost Trier. Una lettura ‘cognitiva’”, Significare e comprendere. La semantica del linguaggio verbale. Atti dell’ XI convegno nazionale della Società di Filosofia del Linguaggio, Milano 16-18 Settembre 2004, Roma, Aracne: 347-362.

Diodato, F. (2006), “Campi semantici e traduzione: il problema della determinazione del contenuto”, Tradurre e comprendere. Pluralità dei linguaggi e delle culture. Atti del XII convegno nazionale della Società di Filosofia del Linguaggio, Piano di Sorrento, 29-30 Settembre – 1 ottobre 2005, Roma, Aracne: 65-79.

Ducrot, O. (1968), Le structuralisme en linguistique, in Ducrot, O., Todorov, Tzv. (a cura di), Qu’est-ce que le structuralisme, Paris, Seuil: 15-96.

Hjelmslev, L. (1968), I fondamenti della teoria del linguaggio, Torino, Einaudi = FTL.

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Hjelmslev, L. (1991), Saggi linguistici, vol. 2, Unicopli, Milano.

Hjelmslev, L. (1995), “Le caractère linéaire du signifiant” publié in Zinna, A., “Linéarité et devenir”, in Fontanille, J. (a cura di), Le Devenir. Actes du colloque “Linguistique et Sémiotique III”, Limoges, Pulim: 243-264.

Hjelmslev, L. (1998), Principi di grammatica generale, Bari, Levante.

Hjelmslev, L. (1999), La categoria dei casi, Argo, Lecce = CdC.

Hjelmslev, L. (2009), Teoria del linguaggio. Résumé, Terra Ferma, Vicenza = TLR.

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Lakoff, G. (1987), Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things. Chicago, The University of Chicago Press.

Petitot-Cocorda, J. (1990), Morfogenesi del senso. Per uno schematismo della cultura, Milano, Bompiani.

Picciarelli, M. (1999), “Topologia, sistema sublogico e rappresentazione schematica nella teoria hjelmsleviana dei casi”, in Hjelmslev 1999: 31-56.

Rajnović, O. (2003), “Appunti sulle funzioni in glossematica”, Glossematica e semiotica. Janus. Quaderni del Circolo Glossematico, 3: 49-66.

Rosch, E.H. (1973), “Natural categories”, Cognitive Psychology, 4(3): 328–350.

Saussure, F. de (2005), Scritti inediti di linguistica generale, Roma-Bari, Laterza.

Skrebtsova, T. (2014), “The concepts centre and periphery in the history of linguistics: from field theory to modern cognitivism”, Respectus philologicus, 26(31): 144-151.

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Reichmann (a cura di), Aufsätze und Vorträge zur Wortfeldtheorie, The Hague & Paris, Mouton: 188-199.

Vachek, J. (1966), “On the interation of the peripheral elements into the system of language”, Travaux linguistique de Prague, 2: 23-37.

Note

[1] O costruisce, dotandosi dell’apparato concettuale necessario a descriverlo come tale.

[2] Uno su tutti, cui abbiamo accennato in Cigana 2016, è quello di considerare lo studio della Categoria dei Casi come un’opera in cui pars (est) pro toto, per cui cioè l’idea di spazio associata alla grammatica vale per la teoria del linguaggio nel suo complesso. Ciò deriva dal fatto che Hjelmslev “sfrutta” per così dire uno studio specifico (dedicato a una delle categorie morfologiche) per trattare di principi la cui portata va ben oltre la morfologia I due ambiti restano distinti: per esempio, il concetto di “dimensione” che viene discusso in CdC non è specifico della categoria casuale ma ha una portata generale, poiché dipende dal modo in cui un sistema si “complessifica”. L’idea di spazio implicata in tale nozione non coincide dunque con il significato spaziale associato alla categoria casuale.

[3] “Le zones phoniques et sémantiques attribuées à un signe ne se terminent donc […] que là où commence le domaine d’un autre. Bien que cette condition ne soit pas suffisante, puisque les chevauchements de signes, homonymies et synonymies partielles, sont chose courante, elle est en tout cas nécessaire. L’unité linguistique est expansionniste […] : seul la résistance des autres la contient. Saussure parle pour cette raison de la « limitation négative » que les signes exercent les uns sur les autres : la « plus exacte caractéristique » d’un élément linguistique « est d’être ce que les autres ne sont pas »” (Ducrot 1968: 47).

[4] Specifichiamo questo per evitare che si riproduca la proporzione sviante “statico : sincronico = dinamico : diacronico”.

[5] Questa interessante considerazione, piuttosto controintuitiva, si coglie bene in SoS: 142 (cf. anche Cigana 2014c).

[6] Per un esempio di discussione terminologica cf. FTL: 41-42.

[7] Uno su tutti si veda la nozione di “parola”, termine che rientra nell’esperienza epilinguistica di ciascun parlante, definita “segno di potenza minima, definita dalla permutazione delle glossematie che entrano in essa” (TLR def 401).

[8] Questo non vale per le scienze umane e per le scienze del linguaggio in particolare – in parte per il loro stesso statuto, in parte per “colpa” collettiva – figurarsi per una teoria particolare.

[9] Per l’argomentazione completa di Hjelmslev, si veda Hjelmslev 1995.

[10] Si registrano cioè fenomeni interni di conversione, sincretismi, difettività, semplificazioni e così via (cf. Hjelmslev 1991: 108).

[11] Non si creda che il primo momento sia puramente sintattico e il secondo puramente semantico: per Hjelmslev si tratta di due aspetti di una stessa medaglia, la forma del contenuto.

[12] Scomponiamo la definizione: “direzione” = funzione di presupposizione fra elementi di sintagmi diversi come tra i morfemi di caso, genere e numero nei due sintagmi di liberi mei; “nessica” = detta di funzione che regge una nessia o enunciato, per esempio quella tra soggetto e predicato; “eteronessuale” = detta di funzione che si stabilisce tra due enunciati differenti, ovvero che oltrepassa sempre i confini di un solo nesso (cf. Hjelmslev 1991: 99 sgg.).

[13] Cf. “Questa specificazione dal fisico all’ontologico risulta sostanzialmente esterna […] e non trova posto nell’oggetto sotto indagine […]” (TLR, N 54).

[14] In questo frammento riecheggia il noto passo di Walter Benjamin sull’essere linguistico della lampada, la “lampada-del-linguaggio” (Benjamin 1995a: 55), anche se, in realtà, l’impostazione a cui i due passaggi si richiamano è piuttosto differente.

[15] Le stesse idee di “forma”, “sistema” o “struttura” funzionano esattamente così: esse vengono concepite dall’atto conoscitivo come costitutive dell’oggetto e, proprio per questo, garantiscono un appiglio “interno all’oggetto su cui la descrizione possa basarsi. Barthes lo spiega molto chiaramente: “La struttura è dunque in realtà un simulacro dell’oggetto, ma un simulacro orientato, interessato, poiché l’oggetto imitato fa apparire qualcosa che restava invisibile o, se si preferisce, inintelligibile nell’oggetto naturale […] il simulacro è l’intelletto aggiunto all’oggetto” (Barthes 2006: 50).

[16] Soggettivo non significa sottoposto all’arbitrio del soggetto, ma dotato di un valore trascendentale: “Il soggetto parlante non sceglie le forme grammaticali secondo le esigenze dello stato di cose oggettivo o reale, a secondo un principio imposto dalla concezione o dall’idea […] attraverso cui egli considera il fatto oggettivo” (CdC: 120). Ora, le idee o concezioni depositate nella lingua sono “oggettive” per il soggetto stesso.

[17] Sul semantismo delle categorie morfologiche, si veda soprattutto SoS: 90 sgg.

[18] Su questo cf. Cigana 2016.

[19] Non è un caso se Petitot, giusto al contrario, è indotto ad auspicarsi un approccio trascendente.

[20] Ci si scuserà il disordine che risulta dalle linee di combinazione. In effetti, uno schema “ordinato” facilita le operazioni mentali di riconoscimento: la mente cioè può “scommettere” in anticipo sulla distribuzione degli elementi anche se non verificata dall’occhio. Questa viene dunque valutata come vero e proprio elemento informativo. Il “colpo d’occhio” è dunque un’operazione interpretativa che risulta da una promessa di senso.

How to cite this post

Cigana, Lorenzo. 2016. Aree, volumi e spazi: la geometria linguistica di Hjelmslev. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. http://hiphilangsci.net/2016/03/10/aree-volumi-e-spazi-la-geometria-linguistica-di-hjelmslev

How Galilean is the ‘Galilean Method’?

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Christina Behme
Mount St Vincent University

In many recent (and some not so recent) publications Noam Chomsky makes an appeal to Galilean science and claims the Galilean framework justifies his own approach to scientific inquiry (e.g., Chomsky, 2002, 2009, 2010, 2012). Allegedly, this approach has a distinguished scientific and philosophical tradition. “Chomsky’s science of language is a science in the Cartesian-Galilean tradition. It is a branch of the study of biology” (McGilvray 2005: 4). In this blog post I argue that this approach should be rejected because it rests on a superficial and incorrect interpretation of Galileo’s work, has been rejected already by Rene Descartes, and is contrary to established scientific practice.

Without a doubt, Noam Chomsky is the best known linguist and his success has been linked to his persuasive debating style and his emphasis on rigorous scientific methodology for linguistic research. Yet, over the years Chomsky’s attitude towards the scientific method has changed, and he acts now as if no data can challenge his own proposals. For example when asked what kind of empirical discovery would lead to the rejection of the strong minimalist thesis, Chomsky replied: “All the phenomena of language appear to refute it” (Chomsky, 2002, 124, emphasis added). Yet, he is not willing to abandon the minimalist thesis. Instead he suggests dismissing the data that seem to challenge it. Chomsky claims that such a large-scale dismissal of data that are inconvenient for his view is based on a “Galilean style… [which] is the recognition that…the array of phenomena is some distortion of the truth … [and] it often makes good sense to disregard phenomena and search for principles” (Chomsky, 2002, 99). Chomsky calls this attitude the “Galilean move towards discarding recalcitrant phenomena” (Chomsky, 2002, 102). He claims that massive data dismissal was advocated by Galileo: “[Galileo] dismissed a lot of data; he was willing to say: ‘Look, if the data refute the theory, the data are probably wrong.’ And the data that he threw out were not minor” (Chomsky, 2002, 98). He then proposes that is was accepted by other famous scientists (e.g., Copernicus, Newton, Einstein, Monod) and that it “is pretty much the way science often seems to work …You just see that some ideas simply look right, and then you sort of put aside the data that refute them” (Chomsky, 2009, 36). Data-dismissal has been advocated numerous times in Chomsky’s publications, culminating in the argument from the Norman Conquest: “… if you want to study distinctive properties of language – what really makes it different from the digestive system … you’re going to abstract away from the Norman Conquest. But that means abstracting away from the whole mass of data that interests the linguist who wants to work on a particular language” (Chomsky, 2012, 84, emphasis added). Arguably the most bizarre invocation of the Galilean style occurs when Chomsky suggests: “…if we want a productive theory-constructive [effort], we’re going to have to relax our stringent criteria and accept things that we know don’t make any sense, and hope that some day somebody will make some sense out of them” (Chomsky, 2012, 169).

Chomsky is not the only defender of the Galilean style. It has been suggested that “[a] significant feature of the Generative Revolution in linguistics has been the development of a Galilean style in that field” (Freidin & Vergnaud, 2001, 647). Attaching the label Galilean to a style of inquiry suggests two things. First, it implies that Galileo worked using the same or a very similar style. Second, given the massive success of the Galilean scientific revolution, it suggests that work adopting a Galilean style is superior to (all) other work. While the second suggestion seems uncontroversial, the first needs support from the actual work of Galileo. Below I argue that the success of Galileo as a scientist was not based on a massive dismal of data that were inconvenient to his theories and that he would have rejected proposals that required him “to accept things that make no sense”.

1. The Feyerabendian/Chomskyan interpretation of the Galilean Style

Interpretation of the Galilean method is notoriously controversial. One historian of science remarks: “Hardly any other icon of modern science has become as much a victim of his interpreters as Galileo” (Fischer, 1992, 165). Many interpretations were not based on impartial evaluation of the original work but on fashionable historicism or on the desire to bolster one’s own methodology by appeal to Galilean authority. Interpreters attribute to Galileo views from inductionism (Mach) to rationalism (Cassirer, Lewin) and methodological anarchism (Feyerabend).

Feyerabend alleges that Galileo replaced a well-established philosophical/scientific system and violated rationally grounded methodology to justify a worldview (heliocentrism) that clashed with observable data. He attributes the success of the Galilean model to the invention of auxiliary hypotheses and fraudulent tricks that compensated for lack of explanatory power of the Copernican theory (the centerpiece of Galileo’s world view).

Dogmatic insistence on a falsified central hypothesis, the development of a scaffolding of auxiliary hypotheses from related sciences, and reinterpretation of problematic evidence allowed the emergence of a new system of natural science that replaced the old… Galileo’s success became possible because he proceeded pragmatically, without feeling bound by any rules of rationality or methodology.
(Fischer, 1992, 168)

Chomsky seems to share Feyerabend’s conviction that Galileo discarded results that did not fit his theories and that he insisted confidently on the correctness of his hypothesis. Possibly he even agrees with Feyerabend that Galileo employed fraudulent tricks to bolster his hypotheses. For Feyerabend one such trick is the use of the telescope. He claims that the use of this new instrument was problematic for several reasons. First, Galileo never ruled out that the images seen had been based on optical illusions. Second, it was not clear at the time that the instrument would work as reliably for astronomical observation as it did for terrestrial observation. Third, the rather primitive first telescopes produced images that were unfocused, contained distortions, coloured edges, halos, and other impurities. Therefore, it was difficult to determine which part of the image was caused by celestial bodies and which by imperfections of the telescope.

Feyerabend claimed that because of these problems Galileo could not base his theory on empirical observation but instead inferred the telescopic images from his theory. The picture that emerges is intended to suggest that Galileo violated not only the rules of the existing paradigm but all rules of rational inquiry. He is depicted not as brilliant scientist but as self-serving opportunistic propagandist: “Galileo was – simply said – the better charlatan and evangelist … He used rules in an opportunistic way to promote his ideas” (Fischer, 1992, 168). Feyerabend was deeply skeptical of the value of scientific inquiry and used Galileo’s success, based exclusively on methodological anarchism as one important case to support his anti-scientism. He claimed that, ultimately, science is just another form of religion and that theories attempting to establish the objective superiority of scientific methodology are a “previously not described form of insanity ” (Feyerabend, 1978, 7).

Chomsky seems to accept claims about the methodological anarchism of Galileo. But, unlike Feyerabend, he consider this anarchism a virtue, an essential component of rational scientific inquiry. He claims it is precisely the willingness to adjust the data to his hypothesis that allows him to make significant scientific progress and cite the far reaching success of the Galilean revolution as supporting evidence for this claim (e.g., Chomsky, 2002, 2009, 2012). This raises the question of whether Galileo’s success was indeed based on an anarchistic methodology. The next section answers this question.

2. Galileo, the (non-anarchistic) scientist

Chomsky seems to hold that the Galilean style is superior because it constituted a radical break from the accepted practices of the day and that this break allowed scientists to gain novel insights. The claim that Galileo’s science was a complete break from the then dominant Aristotelian science has been widely popularized by Thomas Kuhn. He holds Galileo’s new method exemplified a paradigm shift in science, making it incommensurable with the previous methodology: “Normal research, guided by [Aristotelian conceptual categories] could not have produced the laws Galileo discovered” (Kuhn, 1996, 123). Yet, it has also been suggested that the break was not as complete and dramatic but resulted from a gradual process of changes to scientific paradigms. Below I defend this second position.

Fischer suggests that Galileo was not overthrowing a well functioning system of natural philosophy but responding to developments beginning in the 14th century that had failed to address “endemic problems of the late scholastic syntheses” (Fischer, 1992, 168). The system of natural philosophy at Galileo’s time was an “eclectic and somewhat pluralistic conglomerate… proponents of different factions chose different approaches in response to new challenges” (Fischer, 1992, 169). In astronomy the new Copernican/Galilean system (developing a theory based exclusively on uniform circular motion) was in fact closer to Aristotelian ideals than the more complex, dominant Ptolemean system. Further, the Copernican theory was not in opposition to all existing approaches but had important predecessors in the work of some ancient thinkers (Aristarch, Seleucus, Philolaus, Plutarch), and some medieval scholastics (Buridan, Oresme). Presumably, there was also some influence from some Muslim Theologians (Fakhr al-Din al-Razi, Al-Zamakhshari, Ebussuud Efendi). Their proposals and hypotheses arose from within the Aristotelian framework, not in complete opposition to it. Thus, Copernicus and Galileo did not reject a single rational alternative to their own hypotheses.

Similarly, one can evaluate the validity of Galileo’s telescope-observations from a different perspective. The Galilean telescope may appear flawed and primitive from our perspective, but it was an important advance in technology in the 16th century. And it was continually improved, extending gradually the original (1609) 3-fold magnification (Drake, 1990, 133-4). Like any new technology there were certain risks in its use and uncertainties about its reliability. But the use of the telescope does not seem to be an instance of reckless methodological anarchism. Nor was Galileo the only one relying on the telescope. The new invention quickly gained popularity and was used by others who confirmed Galileo’s observations (Scheiner, Clavius). This is not to say that there were no problems with some of the observations and/or interpretations. Observations in 1610 led Galileo to the hypothesis that Saturn was accompanied by two small moons: “It is clear that Galileo assumes here wrongly that the blurred image is caused by a merging of the bright images of the members of a hypothesized three bodied system ” (Fischer, 1992, 170). Observations in 1612, when Saturn’s rings were edge-on from Earth’s perspective (seemingly disappearing), made him question this hypothesis: ‘I do not know what to say in a case so surprising, so unlooked for and so novel’. Further observations in 1616 and 1626 added evidence that challenged the three-body system hypothesis, and in 1655 Christian Huygens proposed after further careful observation that Saturn was surrounded by a solid ring. Thus, continued observation of the phenomenon resulted eventually in the correct hypothesis. Conflicting evidence was not ‘set aside’ but prompted further investigation which resulted eventually in the rejection of a hypothesis that had seemed reasonable based on the initially available evidence. It would be unreasonable to expect that every observation made leads straight away to the correct hypothesis. On the other hand, formulating hypotheses based on insufficient evidence can become a problem if scientists refuse to give up this hypothesis in light of new evidence.

Did Galileo use tricks and propaganda to support a hypothesis that had no solid theoretical grounding and conflicted with empirical evidence? In some cases this might have happened but in the context of Galileo’s entire body of work the defence of the Copernican world view is hardly an act of dogmatism in the face of empirical counter-evidence. Galileo’s physics had been developed prior to and independently of any Copernican commitments. They were based on existing knowledge and careful systematic experimentation. Galileo used Archimedean principles to solve problems in mechanics (hydraulics, movement of bodies, inertia etc.) and extended this approach gradually to new applications. At the same time he began his search for unifying mathematical principles. It is true that Galileo had great confidence in his method but this confidence was based on a systematic approach to well defined problems:

Where others speculate based on vague premises or arbitrarily changing suppositions Galileo makes deductions from evident and explicitly stated premises. Where others search for compromises Galileo strives for precise propositions and definite decisions. Where others appeal to authority Galileo demands evident axioms or conclusive empirical results.
(Fischer, 1992, 176)

Further, Galileo’s focus on mathematical analysis required conceptual precision. He understood that there is a difference between calculations based on ideal conditions and the observable movements of physical bodies. Galileo believed that this difference needs to be accounted for. However, it does not interfere with the ability to calculate based on general principles as long as it can be shown that it is accidental and insignificant. For Galileo it was important to separate accidental from essential properties. Finding essential properties allowed him to formulate hypotheses that make testable predictions. It took Galileo years of experimentation and theory refinement to arrive at proofs for some of the laws he had discovered.

While Galileo’s debating style might share self-confidence and assertiveness with Chomsky’s there are also considerable differences. When arguing with opponents Galileo first demonstrated that their assumption either led to logical contradictions or can be rejected on empirical grounds. Then, he introduced his own solutions and explained the mathematical and physical assumption that supported his premises. Next, he deduced consequences and showed how his conclusions could be supported empirically. Hypotheses that had been subjected to this testing procedure were assumed to be confirmed (demonstrated) but they were not irrefutable. It remained possible that further experiments provided refuting evidence. Many of the commendable aspects of the Galilean method are absent in the recent (post-2000) work of Chomsky. And, it is rather unlikely that Galileo would have advocated to ‘set aside’ recalcitrant evidence or to accept things that do not make any sense.

3. Descartes on the Galilean style

Given that Chomsky likes to call his method not only Galilean but also Cartesian (e.g., Chomsky 1966a, 2002, 2009, 2012), it seems relevant to consider Descartes’ opinion of the Galilean method. Descartes followed Galileo’s work with great interest. Especially Galileo’s trial and condemnation in 1633 had a profound impact on Descartes and he commented numerous times on Galileo’s work. However, Descartes’ critical evaluation of Galileo’s work has received only scant attention. Roger Ariew suggests this is the case because those who have commented on Descartes’ criticism “are generally in agreement that Descartes’ assertions lack value” (Ariew, 1986, 79). Ariew makes a convincing case rejecting the claims that Descartes arguments were defective, not meant for anyone but Mersenne’s attention, based on a desire to demean what did not conform to his own philosophy, or a reaction to unjustified plagiarism charges. Like Ariew I believe that Descartes gives an overall fair evaluation of Galileo’s work and raises some valid points of concern regarding the Galilean method. For example, Descartes deals with Galileo’s work in a letter to Mersenne (14/8/1634), providing his first reaction to The World: “I find that [Galileo] philosophizes well enough on motion, though there is very little he has to say about it that I find entirely true. As far as I could see, he goes wrong more often when following received opinion than when going beyond it” (CSMK III, 44). This comment indicates that Descartes values the original part of Galileo’s work as superior to that following the traditional method. Further, Descartes observes some flaws in the presentation of Galileo’s results: “The arguments which he uses to demonstrate the movement of the earth are very good; but it seems to me that he does not set them out in the way that is required if they are to be convincing, for the digressions which he introduces make you forget the earlier arguments when you are in the process of reading the later ones” (Ibid.). The concerns about methodological issues are more detailed in the following discussion (letter to Mersenne, 11/10/1638).

Generally speaking, I find [Galileo] philosophizes much more ably than is usual, in that, so far as he can, he abandons the errors of the Schools and tries to use mathematical methods in the investigation of physical questions. On that score, I am completely at one with him, for I hold that there is no other way to discover the truth. But he continually digresses, and he does not take time to explain matters fully. This, in my view, is a mistake: it shows that he has not investigated matters in an orderly way, and has merely sought explanations for some particular effects, without going into the primary causes in nature; hence his building lacks a foundation. Now the closer his style of philosophizing gets to the truth, the easier it is to recognize its faults, just as it is easier to tell when those who sometimes take the right road go astray than it is to point out aberrations in the case of those who never begin to follow it.
(CSMK III, 124)

This passage is important for two reasons. First, Descartes compliments Galileo on “philosophizing more ably than usual” and on using mathematical methods when investigating physical problems. This constitutes an improvement over the dominating scholastic approach. Second, the problems Descartes noticed earlier remain and lead to the accusation that Galileo’s building of reasoning lacks a foundation. In spite of some visible admiration for Galileo’s work, the criticism Descartes levels against his method is serious. Galileo has violated two “basic Cartesian methodological prescriptions ‘to consider a subject in an orderly fashion’ and ‘to explain a subject fully’” (Ariew, 1986, 83). That means Descartes is critical precisely of the aspects of Galileo’s work that Chomsky considers to be the foundations of the Galilean style.

4. Epilogue

Of course, Chomsky himself does not apply the Galilean style consistently. Many of his own ideas that “simply looked right” turned out to be wrong, including the following. In his early work Chomsky proposed that the base of a transformational grammar involves phrase structure (rewriting) rules (e.g. Chomsky 1957, 13-17; 1962, 127; 1975, 80); in later work these rules were abandoned (e.g. Chomsky 1986a, 82-83; 1986b, 3; 1995, 25). Chomsky first proposed that transformational rules are either optional or obligatory (Chomsky, 1957, 45; 1962, 136), then abandoned this proposal (Chomsky and Lasnik, 1977, 41), and claimed that transformational rules are all optional (Chomsky and Lasnik, 1977, 41). This proposal was subsequently abandoned (Chomsky 2000c, 130). In his early work, Chomsky proposed that a notion of well-formed (sentence) is fundamental to linguistics (Chomsky, 1957, 13-14; 1966b, 32; 1972, 64), but decades later he abandoned that proposal (Chomsky, 1995, 194, 213). In early work Chomsky insisted that the notion of deep structure is fundamental to NL syntax (Chomsky, 1966b, 91). Later he announced that language has no D-structure (Chomsky, 1995, 186-189). These are only a few of many instances in which Chomsky changed his mind about ideas that “just seemed right”. And he did this based on new data, which suggests that even in his own case the Galilean style has only very limited applicability. Finally, Chomsky does not accept the Galilean style for the work of others but rather strongly objects to massive dismissal of data: “Quine and those influenced by his paradigm are enjoining the ‘field linguist’ to depart radically from the procedures of the sciences, limiting themselves to a small part of the relevant evidence, selected in accordance with behaviorist dogma; and also reject the standard procedures used in theory construction in the sciences” (Chomsky, 2000, 54). According to this remark it is not justified to limit the evidence to suit one’s theory. I conclude that the Galilean style should be rejected.

References

Ariew, Roger. (1986). Descartes as Critic of Galileo’s Scientific Methodology, Synthese 67, 77–90.

Chomsky, Noam. (1957). Syntactic Structures. The Hague: Mouton.

Chomsky, Noam (1962) A Transformational Approach to Syntax. Third Texas Conference on Problems of Linguistic Analysis in English, Austin, Texas, The University of Texas.

Chomsky, Noam. (1966a). Cartesian Linguistics. New York: Haper&Row.

Chomsky, Noam (1966b) Topics in the Theory of Generative Grammar, The Hague, Mouton and Company.

Chomsky, Noam (1971) The Chomsky-Foucault Debate: On Human Nature.
Video on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3wfNl2L0Gf8
Transcript on official Chomsky website: https://chomsky.info/1971xxxx/

Chomsky, Noam. (1972). Some empirical issues in the theory of transformational grammar. In: S. Peters (Ed.) Goals of linguistic theory. (pp. 63-130). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall.

Chomsky, Noam (1975) Reflections on Language, New York, Pantheon Books.

Chomsky, Noam (1986a) Knowledge of Language, New York, Praeger Scientific.

Chomsky, Noam (1986b) Barriers, Cambridge, Massachusetts, The MIT Press.

Chomsky, Noam. (1995). The minimalist program. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Chomsky, Noam. (2000). New Horizons in the Study of Language and Mind. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Chomsky, Noam. (2002). On Nature and Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Chomsky, Noam (2009). Opening Remarks. In: Piattelli-Palmarini, Massimo Uriagereka, Juan & Pello Salaburu (Eds.). Of minds and language: a dialogue with Noam Chomsky in the Basque Country. (pp. 13-43). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Chomsky, Noam. (2012). The Science of Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

CSM I, II (1984/1986) The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, v. I, II, transl. John. Cottingham, Robert Stoothoff, & Dugald Murdoch. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

CSMK III. (1991). The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, v. III, transl. John Cottingham, Robert Stoothoff, Dugald Murdoch, & Anthony Kenny (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Drake, Stillman. (1990). Galileo: Pioneer Scientist. Toronto: The University of Toronto Press.

Feyerabend, Paul. (1978). Redet nicht, organisiert Euch! In: Duerr, H. P. (Ed.) Unter dem Pflaster liegt der Strand, Bd. 10, (pp. 1-16). Frankfurt: Karin Kramer Verlag.

Fischer, Klaus. (1992). Die Wissenschaftstheorie Galileis – oder: Contra Feyerabend, Journal for General Philosophy of Science / Zeitschrift für allgemeine Wissenschaftstheorie, 23, 165-197.

Freidin, Robert. & Vergnaud, Roger. (2001). Exquisite connections: some remarks on the evolution of linguistic theory. Lingua 111, 639-666.

Kuhn, Thomas. (1996). The Structure of Scientific Revolutions: 50th Anniversary Edition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

McGilvray, James (2005.) The Cambridge Companion to Chomsky. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

How to cite this post

Behme, Christina. 2016. How Galilean is the ‘Galilean Method’?. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. http://hiphilangsci.net/2016/04/02/how-galilean-is-the-galilean-method


Christian Karl Reisig as an upholder of philosophical linguistics in 19th century Germany

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Jacques François
Université de Caen & CNRS

In his introduction (p.6-18) to the Vorlesungen über lateinische Sprachwissenschaft (Lectures on Latin Linguistics, 1839), Christian Karl Reisig offered a philosophically grounded account of the epistemology of language as a Prinzipienwissenschaft (“Science of Principles”, in Hermann Paul’s wording, 1880). There is a crucial difference however between these two endeavours, namely : Reisig – who gave his lectures in 1817, i.e. twelve years before their publication – was a successor both to Wilhelm von Humboldt (and indirectly to Johann Gottfried Herder) in terms of conflating language, people and nation (in his principles 2 and 5, see below) and to Immanuel Kant in terms of his application to language of the latter’s table of the categories of understanding (see principles 6-7). In constrast to Paul, the impact of comparative grammar is hardly perceptible (see principles 12-13), although Reisig was certainly aware of the works of Friedrich Schlegel (1808) and Franz Bopp (1816).[1]

General principles of Language research

  1. (Natural) Language fundamentally exists as grammar rather than through grammar.
  2. Languages are products of peoples, not of a single individual or of a small group.
  3. Enthusiasm is the primary source of language. Imagination has an earlier effect than understanding, and the impressions of the senses are the first concern of speech. Onomatopoeia is particularly notable.

[“Allgemeine Grundsätze der Sprachforschung1. Sprache ist eher als Grammatik und nicht durch die Grammatik. – 2. Sprachen sind Völkererzeugnisse, nicht einzelner Menschen oder eines Einzigen. – 3. Begeisterung ist der Urquell der Sprache; Phantasie wirkt früher als Verstand, und sinnliche Anschauungen sind der erste Gegenstand des Sprechens. Man bemerke besonders die Onomatopöie.” (1839 :6)]

Principle 1 asserts the descriptive purpose of linguistics when compared to the prescriptive grammar of academies: linguists’ grammars describe languages, they are not designed to contextualise them. Principles 2 and 3 deal with the modus operandi of language development resulting from the exchange of designations for concepts and feelings: “What the other likes, he takes and spreads around” [“was dem Andern gefällt, nimmt er auf und breitet es aus” (ibid :7)]. Amongst the enthusiasm factors likely to generate neologisms, Reisig mentions major events, such as “the fight of the forces of the German people in the war of liberation from the French yoke” [“der Kampf der Kräfte des deutschen Volks in dem französischen Freiheitskriege”] in the recent past.

  1. Analyzing what mankind has experienced and thought of throughout its development is the task of philology, inasmuch as language is its expression.
  2. Every natural language is shaped by the history and the character of the nation speaking it, which is the source of its use.

[“4. Ergründung und Entwickelung dessen, was unter der Menschheit gefühlt und gedacht worden, insofern es in und durch die Sprache dargestellt ist, ist Aufgabe der Philologie. – 5. Jede Sprache wird durch die Geschichte und den Charakter ihrer Nation gestaltet und erhält dadurch ihren Sprachgebrauch.” (ibid:6)]

Principles 4-5 define the task and the foundations of philology as Humboldt conceived of them in his development of Herder’s ideas.

  1. Language usage is the motion inherent to every natural language within the framework of the general laws of language.
  2. The general laws of human languages are space and time as primary forms of intuition, the categories of understanding and sensory experience.

[“6. Sprachgebrauch ist die freie und eigenthümliche Bewegung der einzelnen Sprache innerhalb der allgemeinen Sprachgesetze. – 7. Allgemeine Gesetze menschlicher Sprachen sind Raum und Zeit als Grundformen der Anschauung, die Verstandeskategorien und die Empfindungen” (ibid.:6)]

The modern reader who looks at principle 6 in isolation may imagine that the “general laws of language” are those of historical comparative grammar, but this is not the case, as principle 7 shows; it is rather a matter of the conditions of intuition (“transcendental aesthetics”) and understanding (“transcendental analytics”) according to the Kritik der reinen Vernunft. Here we encounter the most appealing feature of Reisig’s linguistic epistemology: Reisig draws his inspiration not only from Kant’s four categories of understanding (quantity ; quality ; relation ; modality) – as Paul Grice was to later in the 20th century, but also from three selected values of each category. Table 1 summarizes the original organisation of the categories of understanding in Kritik der reinen Vernunft and Reisig’s (indicated by ‘R’) reworking.

Quantität
(R: Größe)
quantity
Qualität
(R: Beschaffenheit)
quality
Relation
(R: Beziehung / Verhäaltnis)
relation
Modalität
(R: Modification des Seins)
modality
Einheit
unity
Realität
(R: Position)
position / reality
substantia & accidens
(R: Substantialität)
substance and accident
Möglichkeit ~ Unmöglichkeit
possibility
Vielheit
plurality
Negation
negation
Ursache & Wirkung
(R: Causalität)
cause and effect
Dasein ~ Nichtsein
(R: Wirklichkeit)
existence
Allheit
totality
Limitation / limitation Gemeinschaft
(R: Communio)
interaction
Nothwendigkeit ~ Zufälligkeit
necessity

Table 1: Kant and Reisig’s categories of understanding

The first category, Quantity, is carried out by the “nomen substantivum”: the “nomen proprium” expresses unity by expelling the determiner, the “nomen appelativum” expresses plurality using grammatical categories (singular, plural and occasionally dual), and the “nomen collectivum” – or the “nomen appellativum” associated with the quantifier omnis – expresses totality.

With regard to the second category, Quality, Reisig replaces the “Reality” value with “Position”, which is designed to “assign a property to an object”, the two other values remaining unchanged. The “adjectivum” expresses the two values of Reality and Negation in a specific way (i.e. applied to an entity, e.g. doctus ~ indoctus), and the “adverbium” fulfils the same function in a generic way (i.e. related to a state-of-affairs, e.g. docte ~ indocte). Finally, the Limitation value is conveyed by the grammatical category of Degree in its two varieties, “comparativus” and “superlativus”[2]. The Pronomina substituted for adjectives fulfil the same functions as these adjectives.

Reisig’s argument with regard to prepositions is rather opaque, but the Negative value of Latin sine is obvious, as well as the Limitative value of prepositions specifying the relation to a place expressed by a substantive in the dative or accusative case. However, one could also argue the opposite regarding prepositions with varying complementation (which govern the dative case with a stative meaning and the accusative with a dynamic meaning, e.g. in horto vs. in hortum): here the accusative vs. dative case is responsible for restricting the locative value of the preposition, either ‘inessive’ or ‘illative’.

Finally, the Position value is conveyed by the cases endowed with an autonomous relational meaning (direction : accusative, membership : genitive, recipient : dative, source : ablative), involving a bijective relationship between case and function, which excessively idealises actual use in classical Latin.

Regarding the Relation category, the three values of Substantiality, Causality and Interaction (“Communio”) are illustrated by the morphological cases labelled as “oblique” (with the exception of the nominative and vocative cases):

Genitive is related to substantiality in so far as it conveys the relationship between essence and property; Dative and Ablative convey causality, and Accusative Communio. Nominative is inopportune, because it does not convey any designation of relationship.
[Der Genitiv entspricht der Substantialität, indem er das Verhältniß von Wesen und Eigenschaft ausdrückt; der Dativ und Ablativ entsprechen der Causalität, und der Accusativ der Communio. Der Nominativ gehört nicht hierher; denn er enthält gar keine Bezeichunung eines Verhältnisses.]

Finally, Reisig draws a parallel between the three values of the Modality category, i.e. Possibility, Reality (Reisig’s equivalent to Kant’s Existence) and Necessity, and three types of grammatical categories. This impressive rhetorical exercise deserves to be detailed. Reisig, in a predictable manner, identifies verb modes as the grammatical counterpart to Modality but, on a more original note, also associates Modality with tenses and persons. Table 2 summarizes the logico-grammatical correlations identified by Reisig.

Logico-grammatical
category of
modality
Verb modes Tenses Persons
Possibility modus potentialis future second
Reality indicative present third
Necessity imperative past first

Table 2: Logico-grammatical correlations in the domain of Modality according to Reisig (1839:11)

The reason why the imperative is used to convey the Necessity value is obviously the underlying speech act: “I declare that you have to carry out action A”. Future conveys the Possibility value because the content of the state-of-affairs predicated is only possible at the time of utterance, and conversely Past conveys the Necessity value because at the same time the content of the state-of-affairs predicated can no longer be called into question. Lastly:

He, she, that is Reality, everything we may observe. I is Necessity, for, when we are to become aware of the objects outside of ourselves, our thinking self has to dissociate itself from them (…) You is obviously only something possible, for it lies only in the will of the speaker or in circumstances enabling me to call out to him.
[er, sie, es ist die Wirklichkeit, Alles, was uns nur zur Betrachtung gegeben ist; ich ist die Nothwendigkeit ; denn wenn wir uns der Objecte, die außer uns sind, sollen bewußt werden, so ist es nothwendig, daß wir unser Ich, unser denkendes Subject, von ihnen absondern (…) Du ist offenbar nur etwas Mögliches; denn es beruht nur in dem Willen des Sprechenden oder in Verhältnissen, daß ich mich mit jemand auf den Fuß setzen will, ihn anzureden (ibid.:11)]

If Reisig is to be viewed as the inventor of a branch of linguistics, then, on the evidence of the views expressed above, it would not be “semasiology”[3] as Brigitte Nerlich (2001) claims, but rather pragmatics. To the best of my knowledge, no other linguist before his time came to the idea of assembling the categories of Person, Verb mode and Tense in the same logical frame. The “reality” of the third person referent prefigures the “non-person” category suggested by E. Benveniste (1966:225-236); the “necessity” of the first person referent, as negation of the third person is most probably a grammatical expansion of Descartes’ cogito ergo sum, but the “possibility” of the second person referent is likely to be the most original idea of Reisig since the speech act of addressing (Bühler’s appeal function in 1934, Jakobson’s conative function in 1960) changes the status of the referent from being a represented object (third person) to being an addressee. All in all, every alter ego is an object of the world that may acquire a new status by simply using one of the two personal pronouns I or you, thus generating a whole pragmatic programme.

  1. In its function of thought representation, language is itself only one form of these thoughts.
  2. The representation form is either that of objectivity or that of subjectivity, either that of reality or that of ideality.
  3. The diversity of the representation form lies in this, either only per se, or related to its content; formal and essential diversity.

[“8. Sprache als Darstellerin der Gedanken ist selbst nur eine Form dieser Gedanken – 9. Die Darstellungsform ist entweder die der Objektivität oder die der Subjektivität; entweder die der Realität oder die der Idealität – 10. Die Verschiedenheit der Darstellungsform beruht entweder nur in dieser als solcher, oder zugleich in ihrem Inhalte; formelle und wesentliche Verschiedenheit.” (ibid : 6-7)]

These three principles are related to the classical distinction made by Latin grammarians between “oratio recta” and “oratio obliqua”. The first relates to direct speech, which Reisig refers to as “objective” and which describes a “reality”, the second (named “allocutio obliqua” by Quintilian) relates to reported speech in Reisig’s view. However he does not confine himself to these two types of speech: his distinction is about the expression of judgements and it encompasses three modes of expression. The first one is objective in the sense that the thinking subject is absent, e.g. It is right. The second is subjective in so far as it is conveyed by an explicit statement (cf. Bally 1965: 38-48), e.g. I suppose it is right (a formulation pertaining to oratio obliqua). The third breaks down into an asserted clause (oratio recta) and an interpolated clause (also pertaining to oratio recta), e.g. That is right, I suppose. Assessing to what extent Reisig prefigures the view of ‘functional equivalences’ amongst the more or less obvious expressions of Modus next to or within the Dictum (according to Charles Bally), is difficult, because no similar formulation is to be found in that excerpt. Admittedly Reisig displays a theory of paraphrase in §14:

Many expressions convey the same content, but in various ways, in various turns of phrase, thus in different logical forms; that is formal variation. But many expressions convey not only a variety of logical forms, but at the same time a difference related to the thing, to the entity itself, and that gives us essential variation.
[Vieles bezeichnet denselben Inhalt, aber auf verschiedenen Wegen, in verschiedenen Wendungen, also in verschiedenen logischen Formen; dies ist der formale Unterschied. Vieles bezeichnet aber bei dem Unterschiede der logischen Form zugleich auch eine Verschiedenheit des Dinges, des Wesens selbst, und dies giebt den wesentlichen Unterschied. (ibid.:14).]

Nevertheless, he does not seem to apply this theory (see §13) to the two expressions I suppose that P and P, I suppose.

Indeed, This is true, because I believe it is a subjective judgement but what designates it as such is not the form of the clauses for every clause exists for itself. [‘Dies ist, wie ich glaube, wahr’ ist zwar ein Subjectsurtheil, aber nicht die Form der Sätze bezeichnet es als solches; denn jeder Satz besteht für sich (ibid:13)].[4]

  1. Euphony, firmness and clarity are the major qualities of language and the main reasons for its use among cultured peoples.
  2. The grammatical way for discovering language use is analogy.
  3. Comparing several languages in their similarities is a useful contribution to studying one of them when their relatedness is historically established.

[“11. Wohllaut, Nachdrücklichkeit und Deutlichkeit sind die größten Vorzüge der Sprache und die hauptsächlichsten Bewegungsgründe des Sprachgebrauchs bei gebildeten Völkern – 12. Der grammatische Weg zur Auffindung des Sprachgebrauchs ist die analogie – 13. Vergleichung mehreren Sprachen in ihren Aehnlichkeiten ist ein brauchbares Hülfsmittel zur Erforschung der einen, wenn die Verwandtschaft derselben historisch nachgewiesen ist.” (ibid : 7).]

Culture prompts speakers to favour an utterance whose musicality resonates with the conceptual form (Begriffsform). Here Humboldt’s ideal shows through, as well as his claim – addressed to François Abel Rémusat (1827) – that the genius of flectional Indo-European languages and specifically of classical Greek prevails over that of Chinese, because building periodic sentences is impossible in Chinese. Reisig’s argument about the ‘firmness’ (Nachdrücklichkeit) of classical Greek, based on its ability to build words which may reach some eight or nine syllables, is rather disturbing. Friedrich Schlegel (1808) argued namely that the perfection of ‘Sanskritic’ and related ancient languages lay, on the contrary, in the prominent place assigned to apophony (Ablaut), the pinnacle of the organic growing of natural languages. By contrast, Reisig’s defence of tropes is fully understandable, see. e.g. “Tropes excite sensitivity; what delights sensitivity makes the language pleasant” [“Tropen reizen die Sinnlichkeit; was die Sinnlichkeit erfreut, macht die Sprache angenehm” (ibid. :15)], prompting him (see principle 12) to assign a core role to analogy, Quintilian’s proportio.

The last point (see principle 13) appears self-evident, but one must keep in mind that Reisig died in 1829, before two of the three definitive books in the establishment of the comparative grammar of the so-called ‘Indo-Germanic’ languages were published; namely Franz Bopp’s Vergleichende Grammatik (from 1833 on) and August Wilhelm Pott’s Etymologische Forschungen (at the same time)[5]. It is therefore quite natural that in his Vorlesungen (Lectures) in 1827 attacked those “who link isolated sounds from one language to another though these languages are historically far from each other” [“Das hier gesagte ist sehr wichtig und gegen diejenigen gerichtet, welche einzelne Klänge in verschiedenen Sprachen, die in der Geschichte einander fern liegen, von einander ableiten” (ibid.:16)] and that the two works of James Harris (1751) and Bernhardi (1801) which he recommends his readers to read are then very much outdated.

Finally, these thirteen principles of linguistics listed by Reisig were original and pioneering for a Latinist who passed away at the age of thirty-seven, before the emergence of comparative grammar. However, in the remaining parts of his introduction to the Vorlesungen, he maintained a conservative attitude: after describing the three stages of “the spirit and history of the Latin language” (§34: 40-41), from the “harshness” of the beginnings to the blooming of the specific qualities of that language due to lawmakers, poets and orators, and lastly to the corrupted medieval Latin, he came to one of the core purposes of his Lectures, namely the seven “general principles and ideas for acquiring a high quality Latin” (§38 : 45 [“allgemeine Grundsätze und Ideen zur Erwerbung einer guten Latinität” (ibid:45)]), where he stated:

3. It [the Latin language] is represented by linguistics as an organic whole. However, the idea that grammar alone can depict may grow into a profound feeling during the studious reading of writers from the most appropriate period, that in which the healthiest taste blooms
[3. Als ein organisches Ganze wird sie zwar durch die Sprachwissenschaft dargestellt, doch wird die Idee, welche die Grammatik nur schildern kann, zum tiefen Gefühl gebracht erst durch fleißige Lectüre der Schriftsteller des besten Zeitalters, worin der gesundeste Geschmack herrscht (ibid.:45)].

Reisig’s students had an obligation that may explain their interest in his Lectures: they had to write up their theses in the most classical and distinguished Latin. The assignment Reisig gave himself as an academic was therefore double: on the one hand to assert the descriptive character of linguistic approach, and on the other hand to pass on the prescriptions of elegant classical style in such a way that classical Latin would remain the favourite mode of academic communication over the following few decades.[6]

Notes

[1] This paper is an adaptation of §2.5.2 of Le siècle d’or de la linguistique en Allemagne : de Humboldt à Meyer-Lübke (The golden century of linguistics in Germany – from Humboldt to Meyer-Lübke), forthcoming [Limoges : Lambert-Lucas].

[2] Reisig specifies (p.10) that the superlative actually fulfils a limitative function. Indeed, the devil, who is unique, is defined as “the evil one” and not “the most evil one” but a centaur, belonging to a class of individuals, may be referred to as “the best one” to indicate its superlative quality.

[3] Its actual founders were two followers of Reisig’s in the second part of the 19th century; see Haase (1874) and Heerdegen (1875-1881).

[4] Here Reisig‘s argument is dubious: he does not explain how we may recognize if it is a subjective judgment in the absence of a subordination relationship between the judgement clause and the content clause. Theoretical grammar was probably still too primitive to recognise the equative conjunction wie as the logical converse of the object conjunction daß and to conclude that the two expressions are functionally equivalent, as Charles Bally and Lucien Tesnière (see 1959) were to a century later, in the 1930s.

[5] Only Grimm’s Deutsche Grammatik was already published in the 1820s (1st ed. 1819, 2nd ed. with “Grimms’ law” 1822-1826).

[6] As an illustration, in 1864, i.e. 36 years after Reisig’s Lectures, Hugo Schuchardt still wrote his PhD, De sermonis Romani plebei vocalibus, in Latin, before publishing it in German in 1866-1868.

References

Bally, Charles (1965), Linguistique française et linguistique générale, Berne 1965 (4th ed.)
Benveniste Emile (1966), Problèmes de linguistique générale. Paris : Gallimard

Bernhardi, August Ferdinand (1801), Sprachlehre. Berlin.

Bopp, Franz (1816), Über das Conjugations-System der Sanskritsprache in Vergleichung mit jenem der griechischen, lateinischen, persischen und germanischen Sprache. Frankfurt/Main

Bopp, Franz (1833-1849), Vergleichende Grammatik des Sanskrit, Zend, Griechischen, Lateinischen, Lithauischen, Altslawischen, Gotischen und Deutschen, Berlin

Bühler, Karl (1934), Sprachtheorie : Die Darstellungsfunktion der Sprache . 2d ed. 1999, Stuttgart : UTB

Grimm, Jacob (1822-1826), Deutsche Grammatik [2nd ed., 1st. ed. 1819]

Haase, Friedrich (1874), Vorlesungen über lateinische Sprachwissenschaft, gehalten ab 1840, 2 vols., Leipzig : Simmel.

Harris, James (1751), Hermes, a philosophical inquity concerning universal grammar. London. Translated into German in 1788

Heerdegen, Ferdinand (1875-1881), Untersuchungen zur lateinischen Semasiologie, 3 vols. Erlangen : Deichert.

Humboldt, W. von (1827), Lettre à M. Abel-Rémusat sur la nature des formes grammaticales en général et le génie de la langue chinoise en particulier. Paris.

Jakobson, Roman (1960), “Linguistics and Poetics: Closing Statement”, in Th. Sebeok (ed.) Style in Language. Cambridge (mass.) : MIT Press.

Kant, Immanuel (1781, 21787), Kritik der reinen Vernunft. Riga

Nerlich, Brigitte (2001), “The study of meaning change from Reisig to Bréal”, in Auroux Sylvain / Koerner E.F.K. / Niederehe Hans-Joseph / Versteegh Kees (eds.), History Of The Language Sciences / Geschichte der Srachwissenschaften / Histoire des Sciences du Langage: An International Handbook (…). vol.2. Berlin : De Gruyter, 1617-1628.

Paul, Hermann (1880, 21886), Principien der Sprachgeschichte. Halle

Pott, August Friedrich (1833-1836). Etymologische Forschungen auf dem Gebiete der indogermanischen Sprachen, mit besonderem Bezug auf die Lautumwandlung in Sanskrit, Griechischen, Lateinischen, Litauischen und Gotischen, Lemgo.

Quintilian (ca. 95 CE), Institutio oratoria: http://eserver.org/rhetoric/quintilian/ http://eserver.org/rhetoric/quintilian/

Schlegel, Friedrich [von] (1808), Über die Sprache und Weisheit der Indier – Ein Beitrag zur Begründung der Althertusmkunde. Heidelberg : Mohr & Zimmer

Schuchardt, Hugo (1866-1868), Der Vokalismus des Vulgärlateins, 3 vol. Leipzig [original dissertation : De sermonis Romani plebei vocalibus (“About the vocals of vulgar Latin discourses”).

Tesnière Lucien (1959), Éléments de syntaxe structurale.Paris : Klincksieck.

How to cite this post

François, Jacques. 2016. Christian Karl Reisig as an upholder of philosophical linguistics in 19th century Germany. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. https://hiphilangsci.net/2016/04/13/christian-karl-reisig-as-an-upholder-of-philosophical-linguistics-in-19th-century-germany

The secret history of grammaticalization

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James McElvenny
Universität Potsdam

Research into grammaticalization has an established pedigree, first certified by Lehmann (2015[1982]: 1-9) and confirmed, with various additions, by Heine et al (1991: 5-23) and Hopper & Traugott (2003[1993]: 19-38).[1] The standard genealogy records the birth of the term “grammaticalization” in more or less its present-day sense with Antoine Meillet (1866–1936), but recognises an intellectual lineage extending back at least to the Enlightenment. Among the immediate predecessors of Meillet, Georg von der Gabelentz (1840–1893) is accorded a significant place for proposing an account of the emergence of grammatical forms that prefigures Meillet’s in several key respects. The standard narrative is without doubt correct, but at the same time excessively sketchy, omitting important details. The place of Gabelentz, in particular, deserves greater attention.

The locus classicus of grammaticalization is Meillet’s (1921[1912]) paper “L’évolution des formes grammaticales”. There grammaticalisation is described as the “attribution du caractère grammatical à un mot jadis autonome” (“attribution of a grammatical character to a word that was once independent”; Meillet 1921[1912]: 131). In Meillet’s account, which builds on 19th-century agglutination theory, there is a continuum of forms in every language ranging from fully independent content-bearing words to affixes that have a purely grammatical meaning. Grammaticalization is the ever-acting and inevitable process by which these linguistic elements are “weakened” in their meaning and form, with the result that they move along this continuum from full words to affixes:

L’affaiblissement du sens et l’affaiblissement de la forme des mots accessoires vont de pair; quand l’un et l’autre sont assez avancés, le mot accessoire peut finir par ne plus être qu’un élément privé de sens propre, joint à un mot principal pour en marquer le rôle grammatical. Le changement d’un mot en élément grammatical est accompli.

The weakening of meaning and the weakening of form of accessory words go together; when they are both sufficiently advanced, the accessory word can end up as an element that no longer has its own meaning, but which is joined to a principal word in order to mark its grammatical role. The transition from a word into a grammatical element is accomplished.
(Meillet 1921[1912]: 139)

Additionally, he sees all languages as developing in a “sort of spiral”: “Les langues suivent ainsi une sorte de développement en spirale” (Meillet 1921[1912]: 140). As linguistic elements are weakened and worn away, they are replaced by new ones, which are in turn subject to the same process. This weakening in meaning and form results from simple repetition in normal usage. The introduction of new elements is driven by a desire on the part of speakers to be more “expressive” (Meillet 1921[1912]: 135-136, 146 et passim).

As is highlighted by Lehmann (2015[1982]: 3-4), Hopper & Traugott (2003[1993]: 20-21) and Heine et al (1991: 9), these key elements of Meillet’s account — the “weakening”, the spiral, and the complementary tendencies that lead to the spiral — were already present in much the same configuration in Gabelentz’ own summary of agglutination theory. In the following passage from Gabelentz’ magnum opus, Die Sprachwissenschaft (2016[1891]; quoted by Lehmann op. cit. and in part by Heine et al 1991: 8), a spiral conception of linguistic history is invoked, resulting from the opposing Bequemlichkeitstrieb (“drive to comfort”) and Deutlichkeitstrieb (“drive to distinctness”):

Nun bewegt sich die Geschichte der Sprachen in der Diagonale zweier Kräfte: des Bequemlichkeitstriebes, der zur Abnutzung der Laute führt, und des Deutlichkeitstriebes, der jene Abnutzung nicht zur Zerstörung der Sprache ausarten läßt. Die Affixe verschleifen sich, verschwinden am Ende spurlos; ihre Funktionen aber oder ähnliche drängen wieder nach Ausdruck. Diesen Ausdruck erhalten sie, nach der Methode der isolierenden Sprachen, durch Wortstellung oder verdeutlichende Wörter. Letztere unterliegen wiederum mit der Zeit dem Agglutinationsprozesse, dem Verschliffe und Schwunde, und derweile bereitet sich für das Verderbende neuer Ersatz vor: periphrastische Ausdrücke werden bevorzugt; mögen sie syntaktische Gefüge oder wahre Komposita sein (englisch: I shall see, — lateinisch videbo = vide-fuo); immer gilt das Gleiche: die Entwicklungslinie krümmt sich zurück nach der Seite der Isolation, nicht in die alte Bahn, sondern in eine annähernd parallele. Darum vergleiche ich sie der Spirale.

The history of languages moves across the diagonal of two forces: the drive to comfort, which leads to the wearing down of sounds, and the drive to distinctness, which prevents this wearing down from ending up in the destruction of the language. The affixes are slurred, and in the end disappear without a trace; but their functions or similar functions push again for expression. They receive this expression according to the method of the isolating languages, through word order or clarifying words. These words are in turn subject to the processes of agglutination over time, to slurring and disappearance, and meanwhile new replacements are are prepared for that which is decaying: periphrastic expressions are preferred, whether they are syntactic structures or true compounds (English “I shall see” – Latin videbo = vide-fuo). The same principle is always true: the line of development bends back to the side of isolation, not in the old path, but in a closely parallel one. For this reason I compare it to a spiral.
(Gabelentz 2016[1891]: 269)

Lehmann (2015[1982]: 4) and, presumably following him, Hopper & Traugott (2003[1993]: 21) and Heine et al (1991: 8) seem to credit Gabelentz as the originator of these notions. There are, however, clear antecedents in earlier linguistic scholarship, and indeed Gabelentz himself claims no originality. Of the spiral conception of history, he explicitly says, “Zu dieser Theorie sind gewiss schon viele Andere vor mir gelangt, — ich weiss nicht, wer zuerst” (“Many have definitely come to this theory before me — I do not know who was first”; Gabelentz 2016[1891]: 269; cf. Plank 1992).

The specific opposition that Gabelentz sets up between the drives to Bequemlichkeit and Deutlichkeit may be original, but considerations of this sort were not unknown in previous work. Georg Curtius (1820–1885), for one, had by mid-century already proposed Bequemlichkeit in articulation as the driving force behind sound change. Slowing the progress of the phonetic Verwitterung (“weathering”) brought about by the tendency to greater comfort in articulation was the need to preserve the distinctness of meaning-bearing elements in words. Curtius’ formulation was widely received by his contemporaries and is signposted by Berthold Delbrück (1842–1922; 1919: 172-173) as one of the waypoints in his history of Indo-European linguistics.

Similar notions appear in the work of William Dwight Whitney (1827–1894), with specific reference to the development of new grammatical forms through the process of agglutination. Whitney’s (1875: 49-74) “tendency to ease or economy”, much like Curtius’ Bequemlichkeit, operates on a phonetic level both to shorten individual words and to render the overall phonological system of languages easier to pronounce. But the tendency to economy does not simply wear away at words; it also serves to create new forms by compacting collocations and compounds:

Thus the tendency to economy, in the very midst of its destructive action, is at the same time constructive. It begins with producing those very forms which it is afterward to mutilate and wear out. Without it, compound words and aggregated phrases would remain ever such. Its influence is always cast in favor of subordinating in substance what is subordinate in meaning, of integrating and unifying what would otherwise be of loose structure — in short, of disguising the derivation of linguistic signs, making them signs merely, and signs easy to manage.
(Whitney 1875: 53)

What Whitney had in mind here has as much affinity to modern grammaticalization theory as anything Gabelentz had to say. Whitney’s illustrations of this process include such classic examples of present-day grammaticalization as the English suffix -ly and its Romance counterpart -ment(e), and the Romance future as represented by French donner-ai (Whitney 1875: 122-124).[2]

The historical background to grammaticalization is not only broader than the standard history suggests, but also much richer. Lehmann (2015[1982]: 4), Hopper & Traugott (2003[1993]: 21) and Heine et al (1991: 8) seem to confine Gabelentz’ drives to the phonetic plane. Hopper & Traugott, in particular, describe them as operating to effect only “renewal”; that is, the development of new means to express existing grammatical categories, whose forms have been worn away.

But Gabelentz’ drives went beyond renewal and could be considered to touch on what in present-day grammaticalization theory is referred to as “innovation”, or the creation of wholly new grammatical categories. This is of particular importance, since innovation is frequently cited — e.g. by Meillet (1921[1912]: 133) and Lehmann (2004: 184-186) — as the key property that sets grammaticalization apart as a unique process in human language.[3]

Gabelentz held that all of grammar is merely solidified style (see McElvenny 2016). In language there is a progression along the continuum Möglichkeit — Regel — Gesetz (“possibility — rule — law”; Gabelentz 2016[1891]: 406-408). What begins as just one among many possible means of expression chosen by a speaker becomes, through repeated use, the rule or standard form of expression, and then finally a law stipulating the required and only permissible form. This restriction can then be broken, leading to innovation in the grammar, but at this point the novel expression is no longer a free choice from among numerous possibilities, but rather an act of liberation from the law.

Grammar is a Luxus (“luxury”) that we grant ourselves; it emerges from yet another drive, the Formungstrieb (“drive to formation”). This is the desire to shape our speech as we please, according to our whims and fancies, rather than just providing a flat, objective description of the world. The Formungstrieb, argues Gabelentz, is simply part of the more general Spieltrieb (“play-drive”), using Friedrich Schiller’s (1759–1805; 1960[1795]) term for the general aesthetic drive that motivates all artistic efforts:

Es ist doch nur eine höhere Stufe des Spieltriebes, jenes Gefallen an freier, künstlerischer Formung, das in frischer Laune jeder Schöpfung den Stempel der eigenen Individualität und Stimmung aufdrücken muss. Es sei die künstlerische Leistung noch so gering: schon jener Überschuss von Arbeit, die ich meinem Werke über den blossen Nützlichkeitsbedarf hinaus zugewendet habe, ist ein Stück Liebe gewesen und hat dem todten Stoffe für alle Zeiten einen Hauch des Persönlichen gegeben. Und ebenso geschah es mit der Sprache. Die Seele verlangte ein Mehreres als jenen Geschäftsstil, der in objectiver Klarheit alles Nothwendige sagt und weiter nichts. Sie will in der Sache sich selbst wiederfinden, wie sie sich ihrer Welt gegenüber gemüthvoll, phantastisch, launenhaft verhält, will, – dass ich den Ausdruck wiederhole, – nicht nur etwas, sondern auch sich selbst aussprechen, und wird um so sicherer den Hörer nicht nur zum Mitdenken, sondern auch zum Mitfühlen zwingen. Da wirthschaftet sie aus dem Vollen, – sie ist ja so reich; da wird auch dem Kleinsten etwas von eigener Zuthat angeheftet, erst nach der Eingebung des Augenblickes, scheinbar regellos und doch immer bedeutsam; dann je länger je mehr unter dem Zwange gewohnheitsmässiger Normen.

It is just a higher level of the play-drive, that joy at free, artistic formation, that in fresh fancy puts the stamp of its own individuality and mood on every creation. Even when the artistic achievement was still slight, that little surplus of effort that I made on my work over and above bare utility was already a piece of love, and gave the dead material a breath of the personal for all time. And precisely the same thing happened with language. The soul demands something more than that simple business-like style that says in objective clarity all that is necessary and nothing more. It wants to identify itself with the thing, how it relates to its world, temperamentally, fancifully, moodily. I repeat the expression from earlier: it wants not only to express something but also itself, and wants not only to more securely compel the listener to share a thought, but also share a feeling. Here it conducts its business to the full – it is indeed so rich that it adds some of its own ingredient even to the smallest bit, at first according to the inspiration of the moment, apparently without rule but always meaningfully; then as time progresses ever more under the force of habitual norms.
(Gabelentz 2016[1891]: 381)

Deutlichkeit or “distinctness”, in an extended sense, lies behind the Formungstrieb. On this level, distinctness is a temperamental and aesthetic category. It is not simply a matter of amplifying a faded phonetic signal; it is also about branding the linguistic expression with the speaker’s own individual, subjective feeling:

Nicht immer jedoch ist das Deutlichkeitsbedürfniss seinem Grunde und Zwecke nach geschäftlich: es kann auch gemüthlich und ästhetisch sein, und dann redet man wohl lieber von ausdrucksvoller, anschaulicher, eindringlicher Sprache, als von deutlicher. Und doch ist es im Grunde immer die Deutlichkeit, auf die es dabei ankommt. Es fragt sich nur: Was soll angedeutet werden, was wird bedeutet? Auch jene Formen und Wendungen in der Rede dienen der Deutlichkeit, in denen der Redende und Phrasen, die der Rede das Gepräge breiter Gemüthlichkeit, bedächtiger Überlegung oder heftiger Erregung verleihen, die Äusserungen der Bescheidenheit und Höflichkeit, Umschreibungen aller Art, Euphemismen und ihr Gegentheil, die der Sache besondere Merkmale abgwennen, – man denke an die vielerlei Ausdrücke für sterben, betrunken sein u.s.w. Deutlich in diesem Sinne ist das Persönliche und Zarte nicht minder, als das Sachliche und Derbe.

However, the reason and purpose of the need for distinctness is not always related to business: it can also be temperamental and aesthetic, and in this case we prefer to speak more of expressive, vivid, striking language than distinct language. But it is still related to essentially the same distinctness. The question is only: what is supposed to be indicated, what is meant? Distinctness is served even by those forms and turns of speech in which the speaker manifests his subjectivity or wants to influence the mood of the hearer, those particles and phrases that give speech the character of broad temperament, considered thought or hefty excitement, the manifestations of modesty and politeness, circumlocutions of all kinds, euphemisms and their opposites, which emphasise particular properties of things. We might think of the many expressions for “to die”, “to be drunk”, etc. What is clear in this sense is no less the personal and tender than the objective and rough.
(Gabelentz 2016[1891]: 194)

Meillet’s use of “expressive” would seem to involve similar subjective and aesthetic considerations. Expressivité was a central concept in the contemporary stylistic work of such figures as Charles Bally (1865–1947), which drives speakers to shun old and hackneyed linguistic expressions and promotes the creation of new, more vivid forms (see Hellmann 1988: 65-70). Bally (1965[1913]: 41-43) also illustrated one of his discussions of expressivité with those now familiar examples of grammaticalization in the Romance languages, the cyclical development of the periphrastic future and the emergence of the -ment(e) suffix. While Meillet was not uncritical of Bally’s work in stylistics and other related efforts of the time (see, e.g., Meillet 1910; 1913; 1926), he cites, in a footnote later added to his classic grammaticalization paper (Meillet 1921[1912]: 148), Bally and Leo Spitzer (1887–1960) for the light they cast on the “rôle du sentiment dans la création des formes grammaticales” (“role of sentiment in the creation of grammatical forms”).

There is much more to be said about the place of Gabelentz in the history of grammaticalization than the standard narrative might suggest. In one respect, he was not necessarily the great innovator he is often portrayed to be: his competing forces of comfort and distinctness and the spiral they produce were all very much present in contemporary linguistic discourse. In another respect, his conceptions of the nature of grammar and of what consituted comfort and distinctness are more multi-faceted than generally assumed.

I would like to thank Arwen Cross and Johannes Mücke for their comments on draft versions of this post.

Notes

[1] Lehmann (2015[1982]) and Gabelentz (2016[1891]) have both recently appeared in new editions from the open access publisher Language Science Press. These books can be downloaded for free or bought from print on demand for the price of printing and postage alone.

[2] In their summary history of grammaticalization, Heine et al (1991: 7-8) mention Whitney (1875) for principles of semantic change he proposed that involve the movement of linguistic elements towards grammatical meanings. They do not discuss his “tendency to ease or economy”, however.

[3] While Meillet (1921[1912]) clearly discussed the notion of innovation as a key property of grammaticalization, he only introduced an explicit distinction between “renewal” and “innovation” later, in Meillet (1921[1915]; cf. Lehmann 2015[1982]: 5).

References

Bally, Charles. 1965[1913]. Le langage et la vie. Genève: Droz.

Delbrück, Berthold. 61919. Einleitung in das Studium der Indogermanischen Sprachen. Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel.

Gabelentz, Georg von der. 2016[1891]. Die Sprachwissenschaft: ihre Aufgaben, Methoden und bisherigen Ergebnisse. Herausgegeben von Manfred Ringmacher and James McElvenny. Berlin: Language Science Press. http://langsci-press.org/catalog/book/97

Heine, Bernd, Ulrike Claudi and Frederike Hünnemeyer. 1991. Grammaticalization: a conceptual framework. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Hellmann, Wilhelm. 1988. Charles Bally: Frühwerk — Rezeption — Bibliographie. Bonn: Romanist Verlag.

Hopper, Paul & Elizabeth Traugott. 2003[1993]. Grammaticalization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Lehmann, Christian. 2004. Theory and method in grammaticalization. Zeitschrift für germanistische Linguistik 32.2: 152-187. Pre-print: http://www.christianlehmann.eu/publ/theory_method_in_grammaticalization.pdf

Lehmann, Christian. 2015[1982]. Thoughts on Grammaticalization. Berlin: Language Science Press. http://langsci-press.org/catalog/book/88

McElvenny, James. 2016. The fate of form in the Humboldtian tradition: the Formungstrieb of Georg von der Gabelentz. Language and Communciation 47: 30-42. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.langcom.2015.12.004

Meillet, Antoine. 1910. Compte-rendu: Ch. Bally — Traité de stylistique française. Bulletin de la Société de linguistique de Paris 16: cxviii-cxxii. http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k321579/f125.image

Meillet, Antoine. 1913. Compte-rendu: Ch. Bally — Le langage et la vie. Bulletin de la Société de linguistique de Paris 18: clxxix-clxxxii. http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k321590/f184.image

Meillet, Antoine. 1921[1912]. L’évolution des formes grammaticales. In: Meillet (1921), 130-148. (Original in Scientia [Rivista di Scienza] 12.26. Available at: http://amshistorica.unibo.it/7 )

Meillet, Antoine. 1921[1915]. Le renouvellement des conjonctions. In: Meillet (1921), 159-174. (Original in Annuaire de l’École Pratique des Hautes Études, section historique et philologique 48.1: 9-28)

Meillet, Antoine, ed. 1921. Linguistique historique et linguistique générale. Paris: Champion. https://archive.org/details/linguistiquehist00meil

Meillet, Antoine. 1926. Compte-rendu: Ch. Bally — Le langage et la vie, seconde édition. Bulletin de la Société de linguistique de Paris 27.82: 14-16. http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k32168z/f255.image

Plank, Frans. 1992. Language and Earth as Recycling Machines. In: Naumann, Bernd, Frans Plank, Gottfried Hofbauer, eds., Language and Earth: effective affinities between the emerging sciences of linguistics and geology, 221-269. Amsterdam: Benjamins.

Schiller, Friedrich. 1960[1795]. Briefe über die ästhetische Erziehung des Menschen. Edited by Albert Reble. Bad Heilbrunn: Klinkhardt.

Whitney, William Dwight. 1875. The Life and Growth of Language. London: King & Co. https://archive.org/details/lifeandgrowthla01whitgoog

How to cite this post

McElvenny, James. 2016. The secret history of grammaticalization. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. https://hiphilangsci.net/2016/04/28/the-secret-history-of-grammaticalization

Diversity, linguistics and domination: how linguistic theory can feed a kind of politics most linguists would oppose

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Nick Riemer
University of Sydney & HTL, Université Paris-Diderot

Riemer illustration 1

Antonio Gramsci, a co-founder of the Italian Communist Party and one of the twentieth century’s most prominent intellectuals. Gramsci studied linguistics and wrote about linguistic topics throughout his life. ‘Study, because we’ll need all your intelligence’.

What connections might linguists’ professional activities have to politics? Most recently, the question has been posed by the collective self-dismissal of the Lingua board and the journal’s metamorphosis into the open-access Glossa – a welcome attempt to break the monopoly of profiteering multinationals over the dissemination of research. Initiatives like Glossa or Language Science Press are much-needed, and all too rare, instances of scholarly activism against the widespread ‘enclosure’ of knowledge characteristic of our age (Riemer forthcoming). As such, they are compatible with the ‘vague form of liberal progressiveness’ that Hutton (2001: 295) has identified as the ethos of contemporary linguistics. But how might other aspects of linguistics as an institution fit, or not, into this frame? What can we say about how linguistics might relate to characteristic progressive priorities like support for diversity, opposition to discrimination and domination, commitment to democracy, and to the overall political contexts in which efforts to advance those priorities are situated?

There’s been little shortage of critical discussion of linguistics’ ideological and political valencies, though it has often come from sources other than linguists themselves.[1] Linguists have, in fact, on the whole been strikingly reluctant to direct against their own discipline the kinds of critique that swept over the rest of the humanities in the final third of the last century. Linguistics’ scientistic pretensions act as a strong brake on any attempt even to think in critical terms about the epistemic status of the discipline’s results, let alone to explore the field’s wider political effects or determinants.[2]

Reflection on both, however, is important, in the interests of disciplinary self-awareness at least. Not just that, though: linguists who identify with the ‘vague form of liberal progressiveness’ mentioned by Hutton, or whose political sympathies lie further to the left, have an interest in thinking not just about how social and political factors influence linguistics, but also about how what they do as linguists might feed back into the societies to which they belong. Like other academic corporations, linguists probably mostly have a strong sense of their own distinctness. But we are nevertheless a part of the body politic, and our professional activities influence it in various ways.

Formatting human nature for the market

Ideological critique of linguistics, especially of ‘core’ domains like grammar, phonology, semantics and pragmatics, has often focussed on what we might call the discipline’s overwhelming individualistic rational universalism. This emerges clearly in the assumptions that students are encouraged to assimilate when they are instructed in the discipline’s basic concepts and procedures. If we had to detail these assumptions, we might come up with a list like this:

Assumptions about people

  • individualism: as a cognitive or psychological faculty, language is understood to be, at base, an individual phenomenon;
  • rationalism: speakers and hearers are to be understood as essentially rational agents (the emotional dimension of personhood, by contrast, unambiguously playing second fiddle);
  • uniformity: the biological identity of the human species is reflected in the fundamental identity (commensurability) of human languages.

Assumptions about linguistics’ relation to language

  • objectivity: there is a fact of the matter about the structure of language: a unique and unambiguous level of semantic content; a unique representation of syntactic and phonological structure; a unique information structure, and so on;
  • reducibility: the diversity of observed utterances in any domain of linguistic phenomena are realizations of a much more restricted template (grammar, underlying forms, phonological structure, etc.), capturable in a unique analytical metalanguage, where cultural and cognitive diversity bottom out;
  • formalizability: language can be described through formal (or quasi-formal) rule systems;
  • transparency: this formalization is intuitive and shallow, since the theorist’s L1 can be used to express the rules assumed to underlie language without being enriched with an extensive apparatus of technical concepts. For example, the definitions of thematic roles and the protocols for subject-assignment that they participate in make reference to ordinary language terms like ‘move’, ‘action’, ‘place’, or ‘possession’; the definition of lexical aspectual classes are about commonsensical notions like ‘bounded’, ‘instantaneous’ and so on. Wierzbicka and Goddard’s Natural Semantic Metalanguage approach is a particularly obvious instance of this phenomenon. Not all theories are as averse as NSM to technicality – think Minimalism, or phonological theory. But the generalization holds for those domains of linguistics most prominent in standard undergraduate syllabuses – which, as I’ll explain in a moment, is the part that counts. As a wise linguist once commented to me, ‘Linguistics ain’t rocket science’.

Assumptions about the epistemic status of linguistics

  • scientific authority of the discipline: as a result, linguistics is ‘scientific’ and linguists detain an intellectual authority that allows us to say what people are like insofar as their linguistic practices are concerned, without mastering technical competencies of anything like the degree of complexity necessary to the ‘hard sciences’.

Probably none of these principles would be accepted without qualification by all linguists – in particular, any linguists for whom language is an abstract object or system strictly independent of its psychological manifestations will reject the whole first category. Nevertheless, it seems to me the list as a whole fairly captures the essential mindset that the vast majority of students are encouraged to adopt in their early encounter with the discipline. (It’s this early encounter which is most relevant, since most students don’t hang around long enough to be exposed to the inevitable nuancing the ideas undergo later: if we want to explore the ideological effects of linguistics, we need to look at undergraduates, not PhD students.)

Why highlight these assumptions? Because many of them fulfil rather an obvious ideological function: they reinforce a model of personhood – a model of what people are like – particularly compatible with the requirements of contemporary ‘globalized’, capitalist economies. Just like the other ‘human sciences’ (see Riemer (2015) for more), linguistics contributes to one of universities’ most essential roles: ideologically ‘formatting’ students into the atomized, normalized, and rationalistic subjects that best match market norms.

Human nature as idealized by linguistic theory – individualized, intellectualist, rule-following and uniform – embodies the perfect participant in technocratic capitalist economies. If the predictable (i.e. rule-following), rational, conformist individuals presupposed in linguistic models of speaker-hearers really existed, they would be model consumers and employees:

Students who major in linguistics acquire valuable intellectual skills, such as analytical reasoning, critical thinking, argumentation, and clarity of expression. This means making insightful observations, formulating clear, testable hypotheses, generating predictions, making arguments and drawing conclusions, and communicating findings to a wider community. Linguistics majors are therefore well equipped for a variety of graduate-level and professional programs and careers.
(Linguistic Society of America, ‘Why major in Linguistics?’)

Given the attractiveness to graduates, if only for reasons of job-security, of careers in complex organizations (multinational and other businesses, government departments, media organizations, etc.), the similarity between the constrained, rule-based reasoning linguistics students are trained in and Weber’s principles of bureaucracy starts to look like not such an accident:

(1) All official actions are bound by rules with the official subject to strict and systematic control from above.
(2) Each functionary has a limited and defined sphere of competence.
(3) The organization of offices follows a principle of hierarchy with each lower one subordinate to each higher one.
(4) Candidates are selected only from the basis of technical qualification: ‘They are appointed, not elected’.
(5) Officials are salaried and have no right of ownership over their job: ‘The salary scale is graded according to rank in the hierarchy: but in addition to this criterion…the requirements’ of incumbents’ social status may be taken into account.’
(6) The office is the sole, or at least primary, occupation of the incumbent and it constitutes a career: ‘Promotion is dependent on the judgement of superiors’
(summary of Max Weber, Economic and Social Organization, quoted by Blackburn 1967: 177-8)

In advancing a procedural, rule-based approach to the complexity  of language use, Linguistics education normalizes a Taylorist conception of social organization. Through its psychologism (cognitivism), it suggests that language, a quintessentially social phenomenon, can be best understood as an individual one. This has a clear ideological utility, as Margaret Thatcher (‘there is no such thing as society’) would have understood. As Alex Callinicos observes, ‘it is at least arguable that social stability depends not on the subordinate classes’ belief in the legitimacy of the status quo but on a fragmentation of social consciousness which prevents them from developing a comprehensive perspective on society as a whole’ (1990: 116). By focussing attention inwards onto the linguistic ‘soul’, linguistics does just that. In impressing its ‘assumptions about people’ on students, it encourages them to internalize a model of personhood that fits the market economy like a glove.

Our language, our meanings: the only ones that exist

Title page of Porte Royale

Title page to the 1660 Port Royal Grammar: General and reasoned grammar, containing the foundations of the art of speech, explained in a natural and clear manner; the reasons for what is common to all languages and the principal differences that are encountered; and several new remarks on French.

Linguistics’ assumptions about its own relation to language (the second category in the list) play a different role. Ideas about ‘reducibility’, ‘objectivity’ and ‘transparency’ confine languages within a centralizing and universalizing dynamic, the aim of which is to boil the diversity of a speech community’s linguistic practices down to a single template called a ‘grammar’ – and, frequently, then to claim that all languages can be understood with reference to a unique master-set of categories (Universal Grammar, ‘the basic blueprint that all languages follow’, to adopt the terms of Fromkin et al. 2010: 18). Language structure, including meaning, is presented as a unique, determinate object open to empirical methods aspiring to the (imagined) epistemology of the natural sciences.

It is in my own field, semantics – crucial to understanding other domains of structure – that the effect of these assumptions are clearest. Semantics is predicated on the belief that the linguist’s own L1 – English, French, Chinese – can serve as an adequate representational medium for the meanings of all languages.[3] In other words, if my semantic theory is mentalist, as most are, I can use an only minimally enriched version of my own native tongue to show what you, regardless of what language you speak, have in your head – both what you mean, and the conceptual operations on which this lies. And I can do so ‘scientifically’ – in such a way, that is, that people have to believe me. The linguistic imperialism of a world in which English is everywhere is replicated in the domain of linguistic theory. I am the authority over what is happening in your head.

This brings some uncomfortable consequences: even though ‘exotic’ languages may be configured differently from English (or French, or Chinese), nevertheless, at base, they can all be enclosed within English (or French, or Chinese, or whatever the ‘substratum’ is for the linguist’s theoretical metalanguage). Linguists’ mainly first-world L1s are not, then, languages just like any other, into which other speakers’ L1s can be translated in rough and ready, contextually variable ways for a variety of purposes. They are, instead, hegemonic master-codes in which fixed, context-independent, explanatory representations of exotic meaning can be given once and for all.

It is one thing to affirm, undeniably, the translatability and intercomprehensibility of different languages for a wide range of purposes and interactions. But it is quite another to assume that this reflects an underlying psychological (as opposed to neurological) identity and that a single language – most often English – can provide the explanatory metalanguage in which anyone’s meaning can be theoretically represented. From ‘explain’ and ‘represent’, it is only a small symbolic step to ‘possess’, ‘control’ or ‘dominate’:

Enlightenment stands in the same relationship to things as the dictator to human beings. He knows them to the extent that he can manipulate them. The man of science knows things to the extent that he can make them. Their “in-itself” becomes “for him.” In their transformation the essence of things is revealed as always the same, a substrate of domination. This identity constitutes the unity of nature.
(Horkheimer and Adorno 2002: 6)

It is, for the worldview encouraged by linguistic assumptions, more or less impossible that other people’s concepts might escape the representational capacities of our own linguistic categories. We can theoretically explain everything. Difference is abolished: our intellectual sovereignty knows no frontier. Our language, our meanings, the student learns, are, in a sense, the only ones that exist. The formulae of linguistic theory conjure into being a homogeneous and uniform world. Is it a coincidence that this is the world that offers the ideal market for mass-produced consumer goods and the perfect terra nullius for the West’s economic and cultural expansion? As Augustine (City of God, 19.7) put it: ‘the imperial city has endeavoured to impose on subject nations not only her yoke, but her language’. If linguistic results are representative, one could be excused for thinking that ‘globalization’ – the relentless spread of multinational capitalist ascendancy – is no more than manifest destiny.

Linguists don’t make good racists

No sooner is this kind of suggestion raised than it risks being indignantly denounced for its ‘absurdity’, ‘lack of balance’, ‘irresponsibility’ or similar heinous crimes. And it’s certainly true that many linguists, as Hutton has noted, are explicitly opposed to the kind of politics I’m claiming our discipline can tacitly support. But this in no way disqualifies my analysis: there would be no such thing as ideology if political intentions and beliefs corresponded perfectly to actions.

Another consideration that goes against the analysis I’ve been offering comes from the fact that the totalizing, imperialist subtext of linguist theory that I’ve claimed to detect is certainly not the only one that students will retain from their linguistic studies. The intellectual climate associated with linguistics is, for the most part, broadly progressive and, in particular, anti-chauvinist: ‘Looking more closely at languages, and in particular at languages that might seem exotic to us, can make us more tolerant’, one introduction (Gasser 2012) claims. The opposition to prescriptivism drummed into students from an early stage is the most concrete manifestation of this attitude. The discipline also encourages such values as curiosity, logical rigour, and problem-solving. While all of these are clearly prized by the reigning economic order, they may also be enlisted for counter-cultural, critical purposes. It’s certainly not to linguistics graduates that one looks, for instance, for the most likely candidates for blinkered racists. Surely, then, it’s arbitrary to single out the discipline’s putative negative effects, as I’ve been doing?

Objections like these are reasonable – in part. They don’t show that the ideological effects I’ve identified don’t exist, but they do suggest that they’re not the only ones at work. To answer them, and to properly appreciate linguistics’ role in producing the kinds of graduates modern states need, we have to concentrate on the form in which the list’s assumptions are presented to students. Here, a less ambiguous picture emerges.

From domination in theory to domination in practice?

Syntax tree

A tree for the sentence ‘The beautiful girl from Brazil found syntax books in the library’. Source.

From the outset of their studies, students learn that language is to be approached in a highly systematizing and totalizing way. They are instructed in an essentially reductive and classificatory approach to human diversity that defines a single normative model of language (the ‘language faculty’, ‘linguistic universals’, ‘grammatical structure’ etc.) to which linguistic diversity is referred. The rules, generalizations, and categorizations that students learn to make throughout the discipline (and not just in its core subfields) all tend in a single direction: almost exclusively, intellectual effort is devoted to bringing complex facts under the scope of general rules, and to reducing the kaleidoscopic manifestations of language to the operations of a unique and singular structure.

Students in different parts of the discipline learn, for instance, that event predicates should universally be sorted into a handful of types (Vendler’s); that the basic unit of language is the sentence (utterance, turn, proposition – it doesn’t matter: the point is that there has to be a basic unit); that some sentences should be considered grammatical, others ungrammatical; that propositions are the base of meaning; that concise ‘conversational maxims’ or principles like them govern our social use of language; that ‘information’ observes a ‘topic-comment’ structure; that speech acts are constative or performative; that a limited palette of classifications can describe the interpersonal meanings conveyed by texts; that the multiplicity of words’ uses can be reduced to their unique ‘meaning’ or ‘meanings’ and that meaning itself is reducible to some set of ‘conceptual primitives’ – and so on.

Behind the diversity and complexity of human linguistic behaviour, there lies, students are encouraged to believe, a single underlying power – abstract linguistic ‘reason’, deriving from the constants of psychology, human nature, or the essential properties of the linguistic ‘system’ itself. Concepts like lexical aspectual categories and the others mentioned are not typically presented as partial, interpretative perspectives on linguistic facts, useful for some purposes and not for others. Instead, they are reified into the permanent essence of linguistic structure. Students are trained, and tested, in formal operations of reduction and analysis far more than in hermeneutic ones of interpretation or complexification. Linguistic diversity is presented as what is left over once winner-takes-all generalizations have swept up as many particulars as possible.[4] The diverse linguistic aspects of human life are presented as the rational products of underlying rule systems. To accomplish this, language is heavily idealized: except in a handful of domains, what is studied are ‘grammars’, ‘vocabularies’, ‘language families’ – imaginary, idealized constructs remote from the realities of situated linguistic ‘performance’.

Gelli

Gelli’s Dialogue on the difficulty of ordering the [Florentine] language, published in 1551 as an appendage to Giambullari’s Language spoken and written in Florence. Source.

It is only because they have been idealized that languages admit the generalizations about them that students are taught to draw. Generalization and idealization are, of course, central to intellectual activity and could not somehow be disappeared from linguistics (or, for that matter, from any other kind of rational enquiry). But they can be conducted and presented to students in a number of different forms, of which the totalizing, universalizing form present in linguistics is just one. This particular mode of idealization would be perfectly fine – if it actually worked. Really worked. But that’s exactly the problem: despite the high inherent interest and intellectual richness of the analytical posits and theoretical categories I’ve mentioned, the discipline hasn’t been able to agree that any of them does actually do what it’s meant to. They are all, precisely, preliminary hypotheses about underlying structure, yet to be accepted by the entire community of linguists, and the objects of sometimes furious disagreement among them. They are, in addition, heavily dependent on the way in which performance data is idealized in the first place. Are the Berlin and Kay colour generalizations really true? What about the thematic hierarchy? Are simple noun phrases really always monotonic? Can interpretation really be reduced to a Q-principle and an R-principle? Is information always to be conceived of as either old (topic) or new (focus)? The answers depend on a multitude of little decisions about how you idealize and normalize a chaos of variable performance data into the imaginary constructs of a ‘language’ or a ‘grammar’. These are creative decisions informed by a host of considerations over which opinions can legitimately differ.[5] Elevating any one of them into the fact of the matter about language is unwarranted.[6]

The theoretical ‘results’ taught to linguistics students in their opening years of study do not command anywhere near the level of disciplinary consensus as the results taught to undergraduate science students. Yet, more often than not, linguistic theories are presented to beginning students as ‘scientific’ and hence as enjoying an authority that’s similar in kind to those of the natural sciences – not as great, certainly, but in the same league. Some linguists may hesitate to make that claim directly, but it is nonetheless always there in the background (just look at a random sample of departments’ ‘why study linguistics’ pages if you want to confirm this).

Students quickly learn, then, that linguistic experts can claim a ‘scientific’ authority for their own favourite candidate theory even in the absence of any disciplinary consensus. A student taught by Chomskyans will be taught the correctness of generativism and the folly of cognitive grammar. Cognitive linguists trade on the authority of science for their own entirely subjective analyses. Systemic-functional linguists likewise claim a uniqueness, necessity and objectivity for their own proposals. For all the live-and-let-live civility of most linguistics departments, the discipline often resembles a slowly churning snake-pit of competing academic ‘lobbies’ (I owe the expression to Rastier 1993: 155), each presenting its own way of understanding language as correct and, more often than not, uniquely so.

This competition is not just over immaterial, intellectual stakes. Since theories are the instruments of careers, they crucially concern the acquisition and exercise of institutional power, embodied in good marks for students and successful careers for academics. Education in linguistics comes to prefigure the clash of interests in society: students learn that they have to fight for their corner, and that they can deploy the full ideological power of claims of scientificity, reason, empirical responsibility, etc., to do so.

Politics, linguistics, or both?

Politics, linguistics, or both?

Neither oversensitivity nor contrarianism

I’ve suggested that students are encouraged to generalize and theorize about the human world in a highly idealized way subject to only loose empirical controls, and strongly open to discretionary, preferential choices, while at the same time arrogating ‘scientific’ authority to this activity. The effect of this, it seems to me, is to accustom them, in the symbolic order, to the kinds of arbitrary domination that they will both perpetuate and endure through their position in society after graduation. Once ejected from university, students must be able to rationalize for themselves the varied forms of arbitrary domination and exploitation, along class, race, and ethnic lines, among others, that the economy entails. They will both enact and undergo the exploitation of the neoliberal economy, justified, in the face of all evidence, as the only possible horizon for the organization of human societies. Can we be sure that the ‘training’ they receive in linguistics, with all the properties I’ve described, dispensed at the very moment they are preparing to enter the labour market, does not play a role in normalizing this kind of unjustifiable domination? I think there’s a serious risk that the kinds of justification for the theorizing undertaken – or, rather, the licence to claim the authority of science for what are essentially discretionary and unoperationalized interpretations – prepare students for the arbitrary and unjustifiable experience of hegemony in society. I develop these ideas, with a focus on the humanities in general, in Riemer (forthcoming), cited earlier.

But, in the end, why worry about linguistics’ ideological feedback on society? Wouldn’t it be better for linguists who are concerned about politics to spend time doing direct political work (involvement with social movements, parties, campaign groups, etc.) rather than wasting it denouncing their discipline for effects like the ones discussed here – many of which, on my own admission, are highly contradictory, refracted and attenuated?

Quite aside from the fact that most linguists don’t have time to properly devote themselves to politics,[7] the answer, it seems to me, is no. If linguistics was a hard science – if, in other words, theorizing was governed by discipline-wide protocols that produced objectivity and consensus – then there would certainly be grounds for simply accepting whatever procedures enquiry demanded, regardless of their apparent ideological import. But that is not the case. For no linguistic subfield do we have a single best theory accepted across the discipline: we do not even have any agreement on how to define linguistics’ object of study. If I can be allowed some self-quotation, the conclusion I’ve reached elsewhere about semantics applies more generally:

As a human “science”, semantics concerns a sphere which is intrinsically bound up with the behaviour of autonomous creatures with their own pluralistic ways of being and understanding. In such a domain, it is not immediately clear that theoretical insight is best obtained by objectifying reduction, assimilating meaning to a unique object open to empirical methods deriving from the study of the objective world, instead of by pluralistic interpretation, assimilating the study of meaning to that of higher-level socio-cultural manifestations. Cultural anthropology, literary history and sociology – all three empirical disciplines which offer explanations, and not just descriptions, of their objects of study – do not aim to produce unique and reductive analyses of their explananda; it is no more obvious that semanticists should try to uniquely characterize the literal meaning of an expression, than it is that literary historians should try to uniquely pin down the single correct interpretation of a canonical text.
(Riemer 2016: 4)

We should resist the attempt to impose a single vision of language, meaning or human nature, when this vision is empirically contested, and, crucially, unoperationalized. We should also hesitate to accustom students to the instrumentalization of truth claims in the service of institutional power struggles. I’m not sure whether we should say that science is, all other things being equal, progressive – but it seems reasonably clear that scientism isn’t. Assuming, on very narrow grounds, that the diversity of human ‘languaging’ can be enclosed in the totalizing schemes of our models, and claiming the warrant of science for these schemes despite the absence of disciplinary consensus over them, don’t look to me like an intellectual trajectory likely to foster the ‘bond of peace’ that Augustine, immediately following the quotation given earlier, saw in linguistic uniformity.

These concerns have been growing on me over some years, as a result of the undergraduate teaching in semantics and pragmatics for which I am responsible. These are fields of enormous intellectual richness and interest – but I worry about the world-view that, in their traditional form, they can reinforce. Oversensitivity? Contrarianism? Inadequate trust in students’ discernment? I don’t think so. The world is not in a good way, either socially or environmentally. As people responsible for educationally preparing the next generation, we cannot think too deeply about what kind of societies we are helping, in our small way, to form.

Acknowledgements

I’m grateful to James McElvenny and Jacqueline Léon for having discussed these ideas with me, and to James McElvenny for his careful editorial suggestions. Neither should be assumed to agree with anything argued here.

Notes

[1] This is a blog-post, so I’m not going to document or reference any of these claims extensively or, often, at all. A more scholarly presentation of some of these ideas is currently in the works.

[2] Given this, it’s no surprise that many practising linguists really don’t like it when you try to call their models’ objectivity or scientificity into question. As attested by the scarcity of serious metatheoretical, foundational theorizing in linguistics, the discipline’s culture is strongly positivistic.

[3] It would take far more space than I have here to develop and justify this claim properly. Anyone interested should consult the first and last chapters of my (2005) for a general defence of the interpretative and therefore hermeneutic (non-objective) nature of semantics.

[4] It’s interesting to note from this angle how in typology ‘universals’ don’t have to be universal at all – they can be statistical. But linguistic diversity is still approached as a hunt for what is universal, and particulars are of interest only to the extent that they enrich more general schemes.

[5] For example, decisions about what counts as the ‘simplest’ theoretical model cannot be settled objectively – see Ludlow (1999).

[6] Compare the situation in the hard sciences. Here, the theoretical models taught to undergraduates can be deidealized in order to accomplish two key empirical goals: making accurate predictions about actual events, and producing machines that can effectively ‘work’ in the real world. The traditional theories of core linguistics allow them to do neither: since the utterances we produce bear only a tenuous resemblance to the normative structures which serve as the basis of linguistic theory, no one can yet deidealize linguistic models to show how they actually relate to observed linguistic behaviour. See Riemer (2009) for discussion relevant to syntax; in semantics, consider the simple fact that theories of meaning always depend at some point or another on a distinction between the literal and the metaphorical, but we have no idea of how such a distinction might properly be drawn. It’s true that, as James McElvenny comments, fields like speech recognition and synthesis, machine translation, and data mining represent applications of theoretical approaches to language. But these typically use empirical and often statistical models remote from the centre of either descriptive or theoretical work in the discipline. See for instance Jurafsky & Martin 2007 Speech and Language Processing: An introduction to natural language processing, computational linguistics, and speech recognition.

[7] I’d be keen to hear of exceptions beyond the obvious example of Chomsky. Geoffrey Sampson, for instance, has been a Conservative UK council member. And according to Ben Braithwaite, ‘Former Prime Minister of Trinidad and Tobago, Kamla Persad-Bissessar once worked as a lecturer in the Department of Linguistics and English at the UWI’s Mona campus in Jamaica, and President, Anthony Carmona was lecturer in the Department of Language and Linguistics in Trinidad and Tobago. Sir Colville Young, Governor-General of Belize, and Dame Pearlette Louisy, Governor-General of St Lucia, are trained linguists. Basically, if you want to be a world leader, do linguistics’ (https://languageblag.com/2016/03/06/why-study-linguistics/).

References

Blackburn, Robin. 1967. A brief guide to bourgeois ideology. In A. Cockburn and R. Blackburn (eds) Student Power. Harmondsworth: Penguin.

Callinicos, Alex. 1990. Against Postmodernism. New York: St Martin’s Press.

Fromkin, Victoria, R. Rodman, N. Hyams. 2010. An Introduction to Language. 9ed. Wadsworth: Cengage Learning.

Gasser, Michael. 2012. How Language Works. The Cognitive Science of Linguistics. 3ed. http://www.indiana.edu/~hlw/index.html

Horkheimer, Max and Adorno, Theodor W. 2002. Dialectic of Enlightenment. Philosophical fragments. (Edmund Jephcott, tr.). Stanford: Stanford University Press.

Hutton, Christopher. 2001. Cultural and conceptual relativism, universalism and the politics of linguistics: dilemmas of a would-be progressive linguistics. In René Dirven, Bruce Hawkins, and Esra Sandikcioglu (eds.) Language and Ideology: Cognitive Theoretical Approaches. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 277-296.

Ludlow, Peter. 1998. Simplicity and Generative Grammar, in Stainton, R. and Murasugi, K. (eds.) Philosophy and Linguistics. Boulder: Westview Press.

Rastier, François. 1993. La sémantique cognitive: éléments d’histoire et d’épistémologie. Histoire Épistémologie Langage 15: 153–187.

Riemer, Nick. 2005. The Semantics of Polysemy. Reading Meaning in English and Warlpiri. Berlin: Mouton.

Riemer, Nick. 2009. Grammaticality as evidence and prediction in a Galilean linguistics. Language Sciences 31: 612–633. https://www.academia.edu/15577226/Grammaticality_as_evidence_and_as_prediction_in_a_Galilean_linguistics

Riemer, Nick. 2015. How to justify a crisis. Jacobin Magazine, October 5. https://www.jacobinmag.com/2015/10/refugee-crisis-europe-zizek-habermas-singer-greece-syria-academia/

Riemer, Nick. 2016. Semantics – a theory in search of an object. In N. Riemer (ed.) The Routledge Handbook of Semantics. Abingdon: Routledge, 1–10. https://www.academia.edu/15576800/Introduction_Semantics_a_theory_in_search_of_an_object._In_Nick_Riemer_ed._The_Routledge_handbook_of_Semantics_Abingdon_Routledge_2015_

Riemer, Nick. Forthcoming. Academics, the humanities and the enclosure of knowledge: the worm in the fruit. Australian Universities’ Review 2016. https://www.academia.edu/17869935/Academics_the_humanities_and_the_enclosure_of_knowledge_the_worm_in_the_fruit

How to cite this post

Riemer, Nick. 2016. Diversity, linguistics and domination: how linguistic theory can feed a kind of politics most linguists would oppose. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. https://hiphilangsci.net/2016/05/11/diversity-linguistics-and-domination-how-linguistic-theory-can-feed-a-kind-of-politics-most-linguists-would-oppose

Anforderungen an eine serielle Untersuchung des Pariser Wettbewerbs von 1797/99 zum Einfluss der Zeichen auf das Denken

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Kerstin Ohligschlaeger-Lim
Universität Potsdam

Im folgenden soll die Untersuchung des Pariser Wettbewerbs zum Einfluss der Zeichen auf das Denken (1797/99) vorgestellt werden. Dieser Wettbewerb gliedert sich in epistemologische und semiotische Diskurse des ausgehenden 18. Jahrhunderts in Frankreich ein, in denen die Übertragbarkeit der wissenschaftlichen Terminologie nach dem Vorbild der Naturwissenschaften auf die nicht-exakten Wissenschaften diskutiert wurde.

Die Spezifik des Wettbewerbs von 1797/99 liegt nicht allein in der Fragestellung nach dem Einfluss der Zeichen auf das Denken, sondern vielmehr in ihrer sprachtheoretischen Begründung. Der enorme institutionelle Einfluss der Gruppe der Ideologen[1] und ihr Bestreben, ein auf dem Sensualismus beruhendes Wissenschaftsprogramm zu entwickeln, sowie die unmittelbar vorangegangene Erneuerung der wissenschaftlichen Terminologie in der Chemie durch Antoine-Laurent de Lavoisier (1743-1794), die auf Etienne Bonnot de Condillacs (1714-1780) Annahme von Sprache als analytischer Methode beruht, stellen die inhaltliche Grundlage für die Ausschreibung des Wettbewerbs dar. Ausgeschrieben wurde der Wettbewerb von der zweiten Klasse des 1795 in Nachfolge der alten Akademien gegründeten Institut de France.

Zunächst einige visuelle Eindrücke des archivalischen Fundus:

 

Archivalischer Fundus, Manuskript B2-5 (1799), Deckblatt

Archivalischer Fundus, Manuskript B2-5 (1799), Deckblatt

Archivalischer Fundus, Manuskript B2-5 (1799), Seite 1

Archivalischer Fundus, Manuskript B2-5 (1799), Seite 1

Die ausgeschriebene Frage ist in fünf Teilfragen untergliedert, die die zu behandelnden Schwerpunkte festlegen. Im Einzelnen sollte untersucht werden, ob sich die Sinneseindrücke nur mit Hilfe der Zeichen in Ideen umwandeln lassen, ob die Kunst des Denkens perfekt wäre, wenn es die Kunst der Zeichen wäre, ob die Genauigkeit bzw. Ungenauigkeit in den exakten bzw. nicht-exakten Wissenschaften ausschließlich an der Kunst der Zeichen liegt und ob es eine Möglichkeit gibt, in den nicht-exakten Wissenschaften Zeichen zu finden, die in ihrer Genauigkeit denen der exakten Wissenschaften entsprechen.

  1. Est-il bien vrai que les sensations ne puissent se transformer en idées que par le moyen des signes? Ou, ce qui revient au même, nos premières idées supposent-elles essentiellement le secours des signes?
  2. L’art de penser seroit-il parfait, si l’art des signes étoit porté à sa perfection?
  3. Dans les sciences où la vérité est reçue sans contestation, n’est-ce pas à la perfection des signes qu’on en est redevable?
  4. Dans celles qui fournissent un aliment éternel aux disputes, le partage des opinions n’est-il pas un effet nécessaire de l’inexactitude des signes?
  5. Y-a t’il quelque moyen de corriger les signes mal faits, et de rendre toutes les sciences également susceptibles de démonstration? (Lancelin 1801 – 1803: I, XII)

Der Wettbewerb wurde erstmals im Jahre 1796 ausgeschrieben; den potentiellen Teilnehmern blieb ein Jahr für ihre Antworten. Als im Jahr 1797 die 13 Einsendungen überprüft wurden, stellte die Jury fest, dass keine der gewünschten Komplexität entsprach und schrieb die Frage erneut aus, diesmal gingen zehn Einsendungen ein, darunter auch die des Gewinners und des Zweit- und Drittplatzierten. Aus diesem Grunde wird dieser Wettbewerb stets mit den beiden Jahreszahlen 1797 und 1799 angegeben.

Die folgende Übersicht stellt die wichtigsten Daten zum Wettbewerb dar. Die Bezeichnungen B1 bzw. B2 (mit fortlaufender Kennziffer) bezeichnen, in Übernahme der Signaturen aus dem Archiv des Institut de France, die Einsendungen der ersten bzw. der zweiten Runde.

  • Wettbewerbszeitraum:
    • 20.6.1796 – 22.3.1799
  • 23 Einsendungen (unter Angabe der Signatur)
    • B1-1 (1797) bis B1-13 (1797)
    • B2-1 (1799) bis B2-10 (1799)
  • Prämierungen und Publikationen:
    • 1. Platz:
      • B2-9 (1799) = Joseph-Marie Degérando (1772-1842)
      • Publikation: Joseph-Marie Degérando (1800): Des signes et de l’art de penser considérés dans leurs rapports mutuels. 4 Bände. Paris: Boujon, Fuchs, Henrichs.
    • 2. Platz (Accessit):
      • B2-2 (1799) = Pierre Prévost (1751-1839)
      • Publikation: Pierre Prévost (1800): Des signes envisagés relativement à leur influence sur la formation des idées. Paris: Baudouin.
    • 3. Platz (Mention honorable):
      • Publikation: Pierre Prévost (1800): Des signes envisagés relativement à leur influence sur la formation des idées. Paris: Baudouin.
      • ohne offizielle Publikation, deshalb in der Forschungsliteratur oftmals nicht den prämierten Einsendungen zugerechnet
      • Aufgrund inhaltlicher Überschneidungen kann allerdings davon ausgegangen werden, dass die Publikationen Abrégé d’un cours complet de lexicologie (1801) und Abrégé d’un cours complet de lexicographie (1801) auf seinem Wettbewerbsbeitrag basieren.
    • irrtümlich auf dem 3. Platz angenommen:
      • B1-9 (1797) = Pierre François Lancelin (1769?-1809).
      • Publiziert 1801-1803 unter dem Titel Introduction à l’analyse des sciences. Paris: Firmin Didot & Bleuet.

Besonders spannend für die Behandlung dieses Wettbewerbs ist die Tatsache, dass es sich um einen fast ausschließlich archivalischen Fundus handelt, und die handgeschriebenen Manuskripte größtenteils weder gedruckt noch online publiziert worden waren. Im Rahmen einer größeren Arbeit habe ich die erstmalige Erschließung der Gesamtheit der Quellen – aller Manuskripte des Wettbewerbs – als Textserie durchgeführt. Die Preisfrage von 1797/99 wurde in der Forschung bislang lediglich als Quelle für ausgewählte sprachtheoretische Texte, aber nicht in ihrer Gesamtheit als Textserie betrachtet. Besonderer Vorzug lag dabei stets auf den drei publizierten Einsendungen unter Hintanstellung der nicht prämierten und nicht publizierten Manuskripte. Diese Tatsache erfordert das Vorgehen der seriellen Methode nach Schlieben-Lange (1984) und Haßler / Neis (2009), die in der vorliegenden Arbeit eingesetzt wurde. Preisfragen eignen sich in besonderer Weise für die Betrachtung als Textserie, da die Einsendungen alle in einem klar beschränkten Zeitraum und zu demselben Thema erstellt wurden. Darüber hinaus wurde in der vorliegenden Arbeit ein Kanon an Referenztexten festgestellt, auf die sich die meisten der Autoren beziehen.

Leitfragen bei der Auswertung der Manuskripte waren die Frage nach dem Einfluss der Ideologen, nach divergierenden Stellungnahmen und Entwicklungen in der ausschreibenden Sektion, nach Unterschieden zwischen der ersten und zweiten Serie sowie die Frage, ob von Degérando, wie in der Sekundärliteratur angenommen, in der ersten Serie eine weitere, nicht prämierte, Einsendung vorhanden ist.

Die wichtigsten Ergebnisse lassen sich folgendermaßen zusammenfassen:

Auf archivalischer Ebene konnten teilweise fehlerhafte Ein- und Zuordnung von Manuskripten zu Autoren, die sich lange durch die Forschungsliteratur zogen, korrigiert werden. Somit kann die weit verbreitete Annahme, dass Pierre François Lancelin (1769-1809) das zweite Accessit erhalten hätte, als Irrtum erwiesen werden, ebenso wie die fehlerhafte Zuordnung des Manuskripts B2-6 zu einem Verfasser namens Canard. Am wichtigsten erscheint allerdings die Erkenntnis, dass, wie bisher nur vermutet, aber nicht nachgewiesen werden konnte, der Gewinner Joseph-Marie Degérando (1772-1842) bereits in der ersten Ausschreibung teilgenommen hat und Verfasser des Manuskripts B1-12 ist.

Ein Vergleich beider Einsendungen (B1-12 und B2-9) mit der Publikation seiner prämierten Einsendung Des signes et de l’art de penser considérés dans leurs rapports mutuels (1800) kann dazu dienen, die Entwicklung in Degérandos sprachtheoretischem Denken innerhalb sehr kurzer Zeit aufzuzeigen. Anfangs eher sensualistisch geprägt, betont er schließlich die kreative innere Kraft des Menschen und reduziert die Rolle der Zeichen auf ein Hilfsmittel zur Aufmerksamkeit. Damit erhält seine Einordnung als Vertreter der Entsemiotisierung noch mehr Gewicht. Degérandos Einsendungen zeichnen sich zusätzlich durch eine starke Fokussierung auf die Schriftsprache aus, der er hinsichtlich der Entwicklung der Wissenschaften eine große Rolle zugesteht.

Zwischen den Einsendungen der ersten und der zweiten Runde lassen sich qualitative Unterschiede in der Stringenz der Argumentationen und der sprachtheoretischen und philosophischen Tiefe finden. Viele der Autoren der ersten Einsendungsrunde reichen Manuskripte ein, die das Thema verfehlen oder sich in Grundsatzbetrachtungen und Begriffserklärungen erschöpfen. Hierbei finden sich Exkurse zu Handel und Verkehr, zu Viehzucht und Ackerbau, zum Klima oder zur Astronomie.

Unter den Topoi, die übergreifend in allen eingegangenen Einsendungen sind, müssen zunächst die der Semiotisierung und der Entsemiotisierung nach Haßler (1999) genannt werden. Eine absolute Bejahung des konstitutiven Einflusses der Zeichen lässt sich allerdings in den Preisbewerberschriften nicht finden. Die Tendenz der Semiotisierung gesteht dabei den Zeichen einen großen konstitutiven Einfluss zu, während bei der Entsemiotisierung die Rolle der Zeichen zugunsten der inneren Prozesse des Menschen abgeschwächt wird. So gehen die Autoren der Einsendungen B1-6 (1797), B1-7 (1797), B1-9 (1797) oder B2-1 (1799) zwar von einem grundsätzlich konstitutiven Einfluss der Zeichen aus, schwächen ihren semiotischen Standpunkt allerdings zugunsten der Unabhängigkeit des wissenschaftlichen Denkens von den sprachlichen Zeichen ab. Klare Stellungnahmen im Sinne der Entsemiotisierung finden sich bei den Autoren B1-2 (1797), B2-7 (1799) oder B2-4 (1799), die sich auf die kommunikative und die Ideen fixierende Funktion der Zeichen beschränken.
Weitere übergreifende Topoi stellen die Rolle der Analyse bzw. méthode analytique, die Hervorhebung der Schriftsprache gegenüber der Lautsprache, das Materialisieren des Denkens (matérialiser) und die Sprache der Mathematik als Vorbild für eine perfekte wissenschaftliche Sprache dar. Eine Vorbildfunktion, die übergreifend genannt wird, stellen auch die dem Wettbewerb vorangegangenen Versuche zur Pasigraphie und zur Universalsprache dar.

Die genannten Tendenzen der Semiotisierung und Entsemiotisierung nach Haßler (1999) sowie die Verweise auf die Mathematik als ideale Wissenschaftssprache sind nur die wichtigsten der vielen übergreifenden Argumente. Bezüge zu anderen Bereichen wie der Ingenieurskunst, der Genese der Menschheit oder der Astronomie stellen exotische Exkurse innerhalb einzelner Manuskripte dar, deren tiefere Erschließung lohnenswert erscheint.

Condillac ist für den Wettbewerb in zweifacher Hinsicht ein herausragender Referenzautor. Unter Betrachtung der im 18. Jahrhundert gängigen Zitierpraxis lässt sich die explizite Bezugnahme in allen 23 Einsendungen auf Condillac als überdurchschnittlich hoch bezeichnen. Dabei sind sowohl polemische Abgrenzungen als auch linientreue Übernahmen oder Weiterentwicklungen seiner Positionen zu finden. Als zweithäufigsten Autor wird auf John Locke (1632-1704) verwiesen, während Zitate anderer Autoren des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts (Francis Bacon, 1561-1626, Marie-Jean-Antoine-Nicolas Caritat de Condorcet, 1743-1794, Antoine Court de Gébelin, 1725-1784, Charles de Brosses, 1709-1777, René Descartes, 1596-1650, Claude Adrien Helvétius, 1715-1771, Nicolas de Malebranche, 1638-1715, oder Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 1712-1778) nur singulär explizit aufgeführt werden. Zum anderen stellte die posthume Veröffentlichung seiner Langue des calculs (1798), genau zwischen der ersten (1797) und der zweiten Ausschreibung (1799) einen starken Impuls für die Einsendungen der zweiten Serie dar. Die Auffassung von der Wissenschaft als einer perfekten Sprache lädt die Autoren der zweiten Serie zu weit spezifischeren Stellungnahmen ein als die der ersten Ausschreibungsrunde. Die Mathematik als perfekte Sprache erhält dadurch nochmals gesteigerte Aufmerksamkeit.

Zusammenfassend lässt sich festhalten, dass der Wettbewerb von 1797/99 in seiner Heterogenität einerseits von den Erwartungen einer rein ideologischen Ausrichtung abweicht, andererseits aber genau durch diese Diversität sich wiederum in die vorherrschenden Diskurse seiner Zeit einordnet. Auch die qualitativen Unterschiede in einem Zeitraum von nur zwei Jahren sprechen dafür, dass die Frage nach dem Einfluss der Zeichen auf das Denken am Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts in Frankreich von großer Aktualität war.

Mit der vorliegenden erstmaligen Erschließung des archivalischen Korpus und der extensiven Zitierpraxis, die ich in meiner Dissertation vorgenommen habe, stehen nun dem interessierten Leser die Einsendungen in einer ausführlichen Form zur Verfügung; es bleibt zu hoffen, dass sich Untersuchungen weiterer Aspekte, die dieser reichhaltige Fundus birgt, anschließen mögen.

Anmerkungen

[1] Diese Gruppe von Ärzten, Wissenschaftlern und Philosophen, die sich dem Sensualismus in der Nachfolge Condillacs verpflichtet hatten und dennoch höchst unterschiedliche Ansätze verfolgten, saßen an wichtigen Schaltstellen der neu gegründeten Republik, so auch in der ausschreibenden Sektion, der Section des sensations et des idées. Näheres zu den Ideologen siehe Acton (1966), Schlieben-Lange (Hg.) (1989-1993) und Haßler (1999). Zur Geschichte der Zweiten Klasse siehe Simon und Leterrier (1992), Simon (1885) und Staum (1980).

Literatur

Acton, Harry B. (1966): “The philosophy of language in revolutionary France.” Studies in Philosophy. Ed. by J. N. Findlay. Oxford. Oxford University Press: 143-167.

Haßler, Gerda (1999): “Die Sprachtheorie der idéologues.” Sprachtheorien der Neuzeit. Der epistemologische Kontext neuzeitlicher Sprach- und Grammatiktheorien (Geschichte der Sprachtheorie, 4). Hrsg. von Peter Schmitter. Tübingen. Narr: 201-229.

Haßler, Gerda & Cordula Neis (Hg.) (2009): Lexikon sprachtheoretischer Grundbegriffe des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts. Berlin: de Gruyter.

Lancelin, Pierre François. (1801-1803): Introduction à l’analyse des sciences, ou De la génération, des fondements, et des instruments de nos connoissances. 3 Bände. Paris: Bossange, Masson et Besson.Leterrier, Sophie-Anne. 1992. Les sciences morales et politiques à l’Institut de France. Dissertation. Paris 1, Lille. A.N.R.T.

Ohligschlaeger-Lim (2015): Erkenntnistheorie im ausgehenden 18. Jahrhundert in Frankreich. Eine Neubetrachtung des Pariser Wettbewerbs zur Frage nach dem Einfluss der Zeichen auf das Denken (1797/99). Dissertation. Potsdam.

Schlieben-Lange, Brigitte (1984): “Vom Vergessen in der Sprachwissenschaftsgeschichte. Zu den ‘Ideologen’ und ihrer Rezeption im 19. Jahrhundert.” Zeitschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Linguistik 14: 53: 18-38.

Schlieben-Lange, Brigitte (ed.) (1989-1994): Europäische Sprachwissenschaft um 1800. (4 Bände). Münster: Nodus.

Simon, Jules. (1885): Une académie sous le Directoire. Paris.

Staum, Martin S. (1980): “The Class of Moral and Political Sciences, 1795-1803”. French Historical Studies 11: 3: 371-397.

How to cite this post

Ohligschlaeger-Lim, Kerstin. 2016. Anforderungen an eine serielle Untersuchung des Pariser Wettbewerbs von 1797/99 zum Einfluss der Zeichen auf das Denken. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. https://hiphilangsci.net/2016/05/29/anforderungen-an-eine-serielle-untersuchung-des-pariser-wettbewerbs-von-179799-zum-einfluss-der-zeichen-auf-das-denken

The utility of constructed languages

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A.W. Carus
Munich Center for Mathematical Philosophy, LMU, Munich

The question how language, a sequence of events in spacetime, can have meaning — which seems not to be in spacetime — has puzzled philosophers since antiquity, though it only came to dominate philosophy explicitly over a century or so of wide-ranging developments that culminated, provisionally, in the work of the later Wittgenstein. Philosophers continue to discuss these questions, and to read Wittgenstein, but they also seem largely unaware that their central questions about the nature and possibility of meaning, which they approach in the abstract, as conceptual questions, have also become a thriving subject of empirical research. This post briefly explores some consequences of this new research for philosophical questions about meaning.

One relevant context for such questions has always been the puzzle of how to coordinate two aspects of language, its subjective or cultural aspect (“meaning” in the sense of what a sentence, or any other object or action, “means to me”) and its computational aspect (“meaning” in the sense of generative linguistics or in the sense of a computer program, in which a syntactic structure built up from atomic components is endowed – or not – with an analogously compositional semantics). The subjective aspect is inherently more salient with respect to natural languages, while the computational aspect is more in the foreground where constructed languages are concerned, especially axiomatically constructed (or otherwise clearly defined) languages of mathematics or computation. What they gain in precision, though, such languages sacrifice in rhetorical power and suggestiveness; there would appear to be a trade-off between the cultural and the computational aspects of language. However, while this Janus-faced property of language has been apparent to all major theorists of language from Locke to Frege and Saussure, their interest in language has usually focussed mainly on only one of the two aspects at the expense of the other, and theories of the coordination between these two aspects have remained quite superficial. The few attempts at bringing these aspects into some sort of relation to each other have usually tried to reduce one of them to the other. The later Wittgenstein (followed in this respect by ordinary language philosophers) tried to bring logic and constructed languages more generally within the scope of social practices and the natural languages mediating them, while Chomsky tried to bring ordinary language within the scope of the combinatorial.

The empirical research of recent decades on these subjects has mostly avoided this kind of reductionism. It does usually focus on only one of these aspects or kinds of language — naturally enough, because you have to start somewhere, and where you start generally influences which kinds or aspects of language you consider. But there is on the whole, in most of this research, a recognition that both aspects (and both kinds of language) exist, but there is little explicit discussion of the relation between them.

I will focus here on only one research project from each of the two sides, one concerned with ordinary language and one concerned with more artificial constructed languages: N.J. Enfield’s (2015) investigations about how meaning is arrived at in the ordinary languages spoken in Laos, and Edwin Hutchins’s (1995) well-known work on the context in which constructed languages are employed in the navigation of large ships. Neither of these approaches is reductionistic in the sense that it regards one or the other of the two kinds or aspects of language as fundamental, or that it regards one as parasitic on the other. But nor does either really pay attention to the aspect it is not mainly focussing on. Each of these two approaches sees the emergence of meaning in the kind of language it studies as traceable to the utility of the respective language system to the society in which that system is used. Each has an account of how the linguistic subsystem it studies is embedded in an overall social system that maintains it. Also, each has an account of the subjectivity of each participant individual’s perspective within the social network that nonetheless gives rise to objective meaning.

However, they focus on very different scales of linguistic activity, so there are some obvious surface differences between them. Enfield (2015) looks closely at how particular words function in specific practical situations. He shows how the minimization of effort (on the model of Gigerenzer’s “fast and frugal” heuristics) leads individuals to widely different hypotheses about word meaning, but as these are confronted with evidence of actual use in the course of language learning and everyday practical interaction, public word significations converge and become sufficiently precise for purposes of ordinary communication. Utility of a word for this interpersonal communicative purpose, he argues, not the utility of its referent for any other practical or social purpose, is what underpins a word’s meaning and keeps it in circulation. The utility that motivates meaning is that of the signifier, not of the signified.

Hutchins (1995), meanwhile, is more concerned to show that the practice of navigation is a widely distributed expertise, not localizeable in any particular individual brain but requiring the coordination of many individuals of different specific expertise, transmitted by apprenticeship, within the framework of various languages in which concepts directly relevant to navigation are encoded. The picture is a Vygotskian one, of a widely distributed social software being installed, via a learning process of active assimilation, in the individual hardware (with machine code) of those who participate in it. There is room in this picture for both of the kinds of language we’ve been discussing, ordinary natural languages and constructed languages, but the relation between them is not specifically probed. Natural languages serve as the social interface for everyday communication while the navigation-specific concepts employed by (or in the background of) navigational practice are encoded in constructed languages, but these are not specifically discussed in their relation to the natural language in which they are mediated to their practitioner-users, and in which the concepts are embedded in the social interactions surrounding their practical application.

So while there are certain analogies between Enfield’s and Hutchins’s empirically detailed pictures of language and the basis of meaning, there is still a gap between the characterization of meaning in ordinary languages and the characterization of meaning in constructed languages. Even in Hutchins himself there is more or less that same gap between his characterizations of natural language and constructed language. But in Hutchins there is also a level of explanation that is missing in Enfield, perhaps because Enfield’s attention is devoted almost exclusively to the basis of meaning in ordinary language. For Enfield, the emergence of meaning proceeds directly from individual utilities to social outcomes, as in economic or other rational-choice models, with no intermediate levels of explanation. For Hutchins’s Vygotskian account, in contrast, social practices play an essential role, at an explanatory level between that of individual rationality (e.g. effort minimization in the generation of hypotheses about meaning) and social outcomes (e.g. convergence of word meanings to a sufficient degree of precision for successful interpersonal communication).

I would suggest that, to bridge this gap, it could make sense to think of evolved natural languages and constructed natural languages as two different kinds of system, between which, however, one could recognize a continuum of intermediate gradations. Instead of considering evolved and constructed languages categorically, then, one could think in terms of degrees of constructedness.

This is perhaps easiest to discuss from Enfield’s perspective, which emphasizes utility more explicitly and systematically. One can concede everything he says about natural languages (the subjectivity of the individual perspective, and also the mechanism of convergence on relatively clear meanings when these are useful from a social actor’s viewpoint) — but still note that he leaves out an important class of utilities: those that involve the creation, i.e. rule-evolution, of a new artificial language for a particular common purpose among a subgroup. We don’t know much about the early beginnings of such more constructed languages. Perhaps the earliest tendencies toward such artificial language manifested themselves in the practice of the law, which evolved over millenia. Much more sudden and epoch-making (though not at the time of much worldly significance) was the invention of geometry and the discovery of mathematical proof (Netz 1999). Also known in antiquity were accounting systems and (in various antiquities around the world, as Hutchins explains at length) systems of navigation. If we put ordinary language at one endpoint, and geometry at the other, then on a scale of constructedness of languages available in western antiquity the languages of law, navigation, and accounting would be in between those two endpoints, perhaps in that order.

Enfield’s account of convergence, which works brilliantly for natural languages, is less convincing for more artificial systems. It seems (though this obviously would require a broad program of detailed empirical exploration to investigate) that such systems require actual enforcement of some kind. Enfield too invokes enforcement, but makes a persuasive case that in the convergence of natural-language meanings, the enforcement is almost entirely self-enforcement, guaranteed by a convergence of interests, since language users have a common interest in conforming to established word usage to make their participation in society possible. On a larger scale than particular words, there is an analogous convergence; however widely human phenotypes differ along countless dimensions (and however divergent their subjectivities), they also recognize a common interest in a framework of communication, and will therefore tend to defer to equilibria that maximize its communicative efficiency (Enfield does not explicitly invoke optimality theory, but is is clearly in the background of his account).

There is no such automatic or self-propelled convergence in the case of specialized minority preoccupations such as physics or accounting. In such cases, a highly technical and refined system of intermediation lies at the heart of the enterprise, and acculturation to that particular system is essential for anyone to make a contribution to the discussion that other subgroup-participants can recognize as such. Therefore, enforcement in such cases is much more explicit, and is not spontaneous; it is entrusted to organizations that specialize in the enforcement of subgroup norms on new recruits (Campbell 1979, 1986), and their ejection from their apprenticeship when these norms are not respected and the use of the discipline’s terms is not well internalized. (This is all plain from Hutchins’ account of navigation as well, but he doesn’t stress this enforcement dimension, which would actually reinforce his picture.)

It may be hypothesized that degree of constructedness corresponds directly to, and results from, the degree of enforcement. This would be an empirical hypothesis — and in fact one of the motivations for introducing the terminology of constructedness is to make it possible to ask and address such empirical questions.

We can now also, in these terms of constructedness, express the trade-off between the kinds of expressive power available to evolved and constructed languages a little more precisely. For the two endpoints of the scale of constructedness correspond also to two different modes of communicative behavior, between which there are many gradations. Borrowing a term from Malinowski (1923), we can label the behavior corresponding to the less constructed end “phatic” communication, while at the more constructed end we have “literal” communication. Phatic communication need not even use language as a vehicle, though it often does. When it does, the literal, computational aspect of the language is far in the background; the burden of the intended communication is carried by an affective dramatization of which the words are a subordinate, almost arbitrary, part. The speaker may be using words, but the purpose is not to convey literal semantic meaning; it is to threaten, for instance, or to ingratiate, or flirt. Language certainly has “meaning,” in phatic communication, but the meaning is not the literal, semantic content of the speech, it is the meaning conveyed by the overall performance of which speech is a subordinate part. The words hardly matter.

Most language use, most of the time, is undoubtedly phatic. Certainly this is true in ordinary language; more constructed languages would appear to leave less leeway for phatic employment; presumably the more constructed, the less phatic. In ordinary language, though, the phatic and the literal components of language are subjectively co-present, much of the time, and inherently difficult to distinguish. Phenomenologically, the literal and phatic dimensions, together with all the affective associations and other connotations of words and usages, blend seamlessly together into a familiar toolkit of das Zuhandene used to negotiate one’s physical and social surroundings. This is the “user interface” of language, this is how it comes across to its speakers and listeners. This cultural front end acts as a user interface for the (largely) self-enforcing syntactic and computational system of literal meaning-conveyance. How do these components interact? From an evolutionary viewpoint, the cultural, subjective component was there first (Donald 1991, Burling 2005, Tomasello 1999), but does that make the literal, computational part a “mere superstructure” of the cultural part? Or is the computational part autonomous to some degree? These are fundamental questions — not to be addressed here! — and again, one of the motivations of suggesting that we talk in terms of degrees of constructedness is to make it possible to ask them. Without such an apparatus, and the associated complications concerning enforcement, an answer is presupposed, and the question can’t be asked.

The reconsideration of these two perennial aspects of language in terms of constructedness also, finally, yields an empirical (or empirically tractable) restatement of a widely discussed philosophical problem — the question whether constructed languages are “parasitic” on evolved languages, which lay at the root of the differences between ordinary-language philosophers and more formally inclined analytic philosophers (Strawson 1963), and is also at the bottom of (part of) the notorious debate between Quine and Carnap about analyticity. In natural languages, there is (as Quine argued convincingly) no possible behavioral criterion of analyticity; definitions are attempts to give loose guidelines to current (or past) actual use. But in constructed languages (as Carnap responded), definitions can be strict, and more or less precise — think, for instance, of the defined terms in any legal contract, which in the rest of the contract simply mean what they are there defined to mean; no court would think of questioning such definitions unless they are unclear or contradictory.

One remaining question concerns the utility of constructed languages. In Enfield’s very appropriate starting point, the utility in question (that gives rise to converging sharpness of meaning) is the utility to all participants, i.e. all users of the language in question. There are individual differences in utility functions, but the convergences of word meanings are on core functions that are of use to the language-user population more or less as a whole, with no subgroup differences. But as societies get more complex, specialized subgroups crystallize out who perform functions needed or desired in (some or all parts of) the society outside the subgroup itself, and nothing in Enfield’s utility model would appear to prevent it being applied (modulo some attention to the different forms of enforcement involved) to these situations of increasing complexity.

In those cases, an equilibrium results (and can sometimes be sustained for long periods) in which the subgroup provides sufficient perceived benefits to (at least some members of) the wider society that the enforcement of its constructed language and other institutional components of its subculture (sub-form-of-life) are left to an organized elite of the subgroup. This creates a permanent tension pervasive in modern societies: the subgroup is privileged in certain ways (e.g. is compensated well) for tasks that are at best imperfectly understood by the wider society since a full understanding would require acculturation into the subgroup.

References

Burling, R. (2005) The Talking Ape: How Language Evolved (Oxford).

Campbell, D.T. (1979) “A Tribal Model of the Social System Vehicle Carrying Scientific Knowledge” Knowledge: Creation, Diffusion, Utilization 1, repr. in Campbell 1988.

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How to cite this post

Carus, A.W. 2016. The utility of constructed languages. History and Philosophy of the Language Sciences. https://hiphilangsci.net/2016/06/22/the-utility-of-constructed-languages/

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