A little while ago a link to this list of 23 maps and charts on language
went around on Twitter. It’s full of interesting stuff on linguistic
diversity and the genetic relationships among languages, but there was
one chart that bothered me: this one on the history of the English
language........................
The Origins of English
The first and largest problem is that the timeline makes it look as
though English began with the Celts and then received later
contributions from the Romans, Anglo-Saxons, Vikings, and so on. While
this is a decent account of the migrations and conquests that have
occurred in the last two thousand years, it’s not an accurate account of
the history of the English language. (To be fair, the bar on the bottom
gets it right, but it leaves out all the contributions from other
languages.)
English began with the Anglo-Saxons. They were a group of Germanic
tribes originating in the area of the Netherlands, northern Germany, and
Denmark, and they spoke dialects of what might be called common West
Germanic. There was no distinct English language at the time, just a
group of dialects that would later evolve into English, Dutch, German,
Low German, and Frisian. (Frisian, for the record, is English’s closest
relative on the continent, and it’s close enough that you can buy a cow in Friesland by speaking Old English.)
The inhabitants of Great Britain when the Anglo-Saxons arrived were
mostly romanized Celts who spoke Latin and a Celtic language that was
the ancestor of modern-day Welsh and Cornish. (In what is now Scotland,
the inhabitants spoke a different Celtic language, Gaelic, and perhaps
also Pictish, but not much is known about Pictish.) But while there were
Latin- and Celtic-speaking people in Great Britain before the
Anglo-Saxons arrived, those languages probably had very little influence
on Old English and should not be considered ancestors of English.
English began as a distinct language when the Anglo-Saxons split off
from their Germanic cousins and left mainland Europe beginning around
450 AD.
For years it was assumed that the Anglo-Saxons wiped out most of the
Celts and forced the survivors to the edges of the island—Cornwall,
Wales, and Scotland. But archaeological and genetic evidence has shown
that this isn’t exactly the case. The Anglo-Saxons more likely conquered
the Celts and intermarried with them. Old English became the language
of government and education, but Celtic languages may have survived in
Anglo-Saxon–occupied areas for quite some time.
From Old to Middle English
Old English continues until about 1066, when the Normans invaded and
conquered England. At that point, the language of government became Old
French—or at least the version of it spoken by the Normans—or Medieval
Latin. Though peasants still spoke English, nobody was writing much in
the language anymore. And when English made a comeback in the 1300s, it
had changed quite radically. The complex system of declensions and other
inflections from Old English were gone, and the language had borrowed
considerably from French and Latin. Though there isn’t a firm line, by
the end of the eleventh century Old English is considered to have ended
and Middle English to have begun.
The differences between Old English and Middle English are quite stark. Just compare the Lord’s Prayer in each language:
Old English:
Fæder ure þu þe eart on heofonum;
Si þin nama gehalgod
to becume þin rice
gewurþe ðin willa
on eorðan swa swa on heofonum.
urne gedæghwamlican hlaf syle us todæg
and forgyf us ure gyltas
swa swa we forgyfað urum gyltendum
and ne gelæd þu us on costnunge
ac alys us of yfele soþlice
(source)
(The character that looks like a
p with an ascender is called a
thorn, and it is pronounced like the modern
th. It could be either voiceless or voiced depending on its position in a word. The character that looks like an uncial
d
with a stroke through it is also pronounced just like a thorn, and the
two symbols were used interchangeably. Don’t ask me why.)
Middle English:
Oure fadir that art in heuenes,
halewid be thi name;
thi kyngdoom come to;
be thi wille don,
in erthe as in heuene.
Yyue to vs this dai oure breed ouer othir substaunce,
and foryyue to vs oure dettis,
as we foryyuen to oure dettouris;
and lede vs not in to temptacioun,
but delyuere vs fro yuel. Amen.
(source)
(Note that
u and
v could both represent either /u/ or /v/.
V was used at the beginnings of words and
u in the middle. Thus
vs is “us” and
yuel is “evil”.)
While you can probably muddle your way through some of the Lord’s
Prayer in Old English, there are a lot of words that are unfamiliar,
such as
gewurþe and
soþlice. And this is probably one of
the easiest short passages to read in Old English. Not only is it a
familiar text, but it dates to the late Old English period. Older Old
English text can be much more difficult. The Middle English, on the
other hand, is quite readable if you know a little bit about Middle
English spelling conventions.
And even where the Old English is readable, it shows grammatical
inflections that are stripped away in Middle English. For example,
ure,
urne, and
urum are all forms of “our” based on their grammatical case. In Middle English, though, they’re all
oure,
much like Modern English. As I said above, the change from Old English
to Middle English was quite radical, and it was also quite sudden. My
professor of Old English and Middle English said that there are cases
where town chronicles essentially change from Old to Middle English in a
generation.
But here’s where things get a little murky. Some have argued that the
vernacular language didn’t really change that quickly—it was only the
codified written form that did. That is, people were taught to write a
sort of standard Old English that didn’t match what they spoke, just as
people continued to write Latin even as they were speaking the evolving
Romance dialects such as Old French and Old Spanish.
So perhaps the complex inflectional system of Old English didn’t
disappear suddenly when the Normans invaded; perhaps it was disappearing
gradually throughout the Old English period, but those few who were
literate learned the old forms and retained them in writing. Then, when
the Normans invaded and people mostly stopped writing in English, they
also stopped learning how to write standard Old English. When they
started writing English again a couple of centuries later, they simply
wrote the language as it was spoken, free of the grammatical forms that
had been artificially retained in Old English for so long. This also
explains why there was so much dialectal variation in Middle English;
because there was no standard form, people wrote their own local
variety. It wasn’t until the end of the Middle English period that a new
standard started to coalesce and Early Modern English was born.
Supposed Celtic Syntax in English
And with that history established, I can finally get to my second
problem with that graphic above: the supposed Celtic remnants in
English. English may be a Germanic language, but it differs from its
Germanic cousins in several notable ways. In addition to the glut of
French, Latin, Greek, and other borrowings that occurred in the Middle
and Early Modern English periods, English has some striking syntactic
differences from other Germanic languages.
English has what is known as the continuous or progressive aspect, which is formed with a form of
be and a present participle. So we usually say
I’m going to the store rather than just
I go to the store.
It’s rather unusual to use a periphrastic—that is, wordy—construction
as the default when there’s a shorter option available. Many languages
do not have progressive forms at all, and if they do, they’re used to
specifically emphasize that an action is happening right now or is
ongoing. English, on the other hand, uses it as the default form for
many types of verbs. But in German, for example, you simply say
Ich gehe in den Laden (“I go to the store”), not
Ich bin gehende in den Laden (“I am going to the store”).
English also makes extensive use of a feature known as
do support, wherein we insert
do into certain kinds of constructions, mostly questions and negatives. So while German would have
Magst du Eis? (“Like you ice cream?”), English inserts a dummy
do:
Do you like ice cream? These constructions are rare cross-linguistically and are very un-Germanic.
And some people have come up with a very interesting explanation for
this unusual syntax: it comes from a Celtic substrate. That is, they
believe that the Celtic population of Britain adopted Old English from
their Anglo-Saxon conquerors but remained bilingual for some time. As
they learned Old English, they carried over some of their native syntax.
The Celtic languages have some rather unusual syntax themselves, highly
favoring periphrastic constructions over inflected ones. Some of these
constructions are roughly analogous to the English use of
do support and progressive forms. For instance, in Welsh you might say
Dwi yn mynd i’r siop
(“I am in going to the shop”). (Disclaimer: I took all of one semester
in Welsh, so I’m relying on what little I remember plus some help from
various websites on Welsh grammar and a smattering of Google Translate.)
While this isn’t exactly like the English equivalent, it looks close.
Welsh doesn’t have present participial forms but instead uses something
called a verbal noun, which is a sort of cross between an infinitive
and gerund. Welsh also uses the particle
yn (“in”) to connect the
verbal noun to the rest of the sentence, which is actually quite
similar to constructions from late Middle and Early Modern English such
as
He was a-going to the store, where
a- is just a worn-down version of the preposition
on.
But Welsh uses this construction in all kinds of places where English doesn’t. To say
I speak Welsh, for example, you say
Dw’i’n siarad Cymraeg, which literally translated means
I am in speaking Welsh.
In English the progressive stresses that you are doing something right
now, while the simple present is used for things that are done
habitually or that are generally true. In Welsh, though, it’s
unmarked—it’s simply a wordier way of stating something without any
special progressive meaning. Despite its superficial similarities to the
English progressive, it’s quite far from English in both use and
meaning. Additionally, the English construction may have much more
mundane origins in the conflation of gerunds and present participles in
late Middle English, but that’s a discussion for another time.
Welsh’s use of
do support—or, I should say,
gwneud support—even less closely parallels that of English. In English,
do is used in interrogatives (
Do you like ice cream?), negatives (
I don’t like ice cream), and emphatic statements (
I do like ice cream), and it also appears as a stand-in for whole verb phrases (
He thinks I don’t like ice cream, but I do). In Welsh, however, gwneud is not obligatory, and it can be used in simple affirmative statements without any emphasis.
Nor is it always used where it would be in English. Many questions and negatives are formed with a form of the
be verb,
bod, rather than
gwneud. For example,
Do you speak Welsh? is
Wyt ti’n siarad Cymraeg? (“Are you in speaking Welsh?”), and
I don’t understand is
Dw i ddim yn deall
(“I am not in understanding”). (This is probably simply because Welsh
uses the pseudo-progressive in the affirmative form, so it uses the same
construction in interrogatives and negatives, much like how English
would turn “He is going to the store” into “Is he going to the store?”
or “He isn’t going to the store.”
Do is only used when there isn’t another auxiliary verb that could be used.)
But there’s perhaps an even bigger problem with the theory that
English borrowed these constructions from Celtic: time. Both the
progressive and
do support start to appear in late Middle English
(the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries), but they don’t really take
off until the sixteenth century and beyond, over a thousand years after
the Anglo-Saxons began colonizing Great Britain. So if the Celtic
inhabitants of Britain adopted English but carried over some Celtic
syntax, and if the reason why that Celtic syntax never appeared in Old
English is that the written language was a standardized form that didn’t
match the vernacular, and if the reason why Middle English looks so
different from Old English is that people were now writing the way they
spoke, then why don’t we see these Celticisms until the end of the
Middle English period, and then only rarely?
Proponents of the Celtic substrate theory argue that these features
are so unusual that they could only have been borrowed into English from
Celtic languages. They ask why English is the only Germanic language to
develop them, but it’s easy to flip this sort of question around. Why
did English wait for more than a thousand years to borrow these
constructions? Why didn’t English borrow the verb-subject-object
sentence order from the Celtic languages? Why didn’t it borrow the
after-perfect, which uses
after plus a gerund instead of
have plus a past participle (
She is after coming rather than
She has come),
or any other number of Celtic constructions? And maybe most
importantly, why are there almost no lexical borrowings from Celtic
languages into English? Words are the first things to be borrowed, while
more structural grammatical features like syntax and morphology are
among the last. And just to beat a dead horse, just because something
developed in English doesn’t mean you should expect to see the same
thing develop in related languages.
The best thing that the Celtic substrate theory has going for it, I
think, is that it’s appealing. It neatly explains something that makes
English unique and celebrates the Celtic heritage of the island. But
there’s a danger whenever a theory is too attractive on an emotional
level. You tend to overlook its weaknesses and play up its strengths, as
John McWhorter does when he breathlessly explains the theory in
Our Magnificent Bastard Tongue. He stresses again and again how unique English is, how odd these constructions are, and how therefore they
must have come from the Celtic languages.
I’m not a historical linguist and certainly not an expert in Celtic
languages, but alarm bells started going off in my head when I read
McWhorter’s book. There were just too many things that didn’t add up,
too many pieces that didn’t quite fit. I
wanted to believe it
because it sounded so cool, but wanting to believe something doesn’t
make it so. Of course, none of this is to say that it
isn’t so. Maybe it’s all true but there just isn’t enough evidence to prove it yet. Maybe I’m being overly skeptical for nothing.
But in linguistics, as in other sciences, a good dose of skepticism
is healthy. A crazy theory requires some crazy-good proof, and right
now, all I see is a theory with enough holes in it to sink a fleet of
Viking longboats.
