“Ants were once men and made their living by tilling the soil. But, not content with the results of their own work, they were always casting longing eyes upon the crops and fruits of their neighbours, which they stole, whenever they got the chance, and added to their own store. At last their covetousness made Jupiter so angry that he changed them into Ants. But, though their forms were changed, their nature remained the same: and so, to this day, they go about among the cornfields and gather the fruits of others' labour, and store them up for their own use.”
-- Aesop, Fables
“Ants that live in smaller colonies directly 'tell' each other where the food is. One ant stumbles onto something to eat and then teaches her sisters where it is by slowly guiding them to the treat.”
– Beekman, Origin of Language
Aesop tells us of a time when animals like ants were once humans. Beekman, on the other hand, scientifically demonstrates how we humans derive our distinctive knack for language from our not so remote past as animals. Beekman tends to agree with the arguments of most evolutionary biologists that we, as H. sapiens, come from animals and so ARE animals. (What else could we be?) Anyway, that’s what her book about the birth of the human species appears to ‘tell’ us. Linguists might be left wondering how an ant, communicating entirely by scent, can master the use of a ditransitive verb like ‘tell’. And anthropologists will want to know how sisterly the ants’ social organization might turn out to be. Beekman tells us that essentially all ants in the colony are female. But does that really make them ‘sisters’?
There are many who have no problem with the idea that human language is above all else an elaborate form of animal communication. Sociobiologists and ethologists eagerly expound the idea that we are human on account of our selfish DNA, and that DNA furnishes the key to interpreting our various forms of behavior, even those which might be better understood as reflexes of cultural or linguistic systems.
But not all authorities of animal communication have been so cavalier about reducing the human person to a critter, beast, or bug. A number of researchers in the domain of semiotics, which analyzes language-like systems of signs, have contributed to our understanding of communication, including those aspects which seem to complicate Beekman’s perhaps overly simplified human/animal dichotomy. In his 1974 article “Zoosemiotic Components of Human Communication,” Thomas Sebeok shows how some parts of human communication are unique to humans (the so-called anthroposemiotic, including phonology, morphology, syntax, and semantics) while other parts of human communication comprise modules that we share with other animals (the zoosemiotic, which includes more animal-like communicative behaviors such as social distance(proxemics), body language(kinesics), and tone of voice(prosody)).
A somewhat different line between human and animal communication was drawn by Gregory Bateson in his 1955 “A Theory of Play and Fantasy.” There, Bateson posited the existence of psychological frames into which human or animal communicative behavior can be embedded. For example, after observing two monkeys play-fighting, Bateson realized that their nipping each other was framed by a metacommunicative concept: ‘this is play.’ Bateson: “A playful nip denotes a bite, but it does not denote what would be denoted by a bite.” Here we see one of the many “paradoxes of communication,” whereby a message means something different from its usual meaning when framed in a certain way. Framing sometimes takes place when language itself is questioned or interpreted (only humans do this metalinguistic framing). On the other hand, metacommunicative contexts like playing, or threatening, or for humans, undergoing therapy or competing in a sport, mark out certain rules so two communicative parties can relate to one another in an unusual, more metaphorical fashion.
So while there is a great deal of overlap between human language and animal communication, it would be folly to try to reduce the one to the other. And for most linguists, human language and whatever it is animals have to communicate with have little to do with one another. One of the greatest critics of animal talk is the linguist Stephen Anderson (“The Logical Structure of Linguistic Theory” (2008)). He rightly points out that animals have a really tough time referring, by which he means using the sign of a concept to stand for a referent. Moreover, animals can’t seem to refer at all to what is not present in the immediate context. According to Anderson, there is also nothing in the communicative abilities of animals which can match the typical human’s faculties of recursion and duality of patterning (the syntactic and phonological rule systems running in parallel). Whatever it is animals do when they strive to communicate, or when we impute to them a striving to communicate, it would be hard for a linguist to see anything truly grammatical going on there.
Just as Beekman ignores some important works of semiotics, she too has very little to say about culture. Her work is simply not focused there. Don’t get me wrong: compared to my recollection of the human evolution classes I took forty years ago, The Origin of Language is a richly textured and wonderfully current work that synthesizes a large body of archaeological, genetic, and ethological discoveries into a well worked-out narrative of human origins. Her highly readable discourses on both the structures and the functions of genes make the highly plausible argument that several specific mutations needed to emerge and propagate before humans could begin to learn to speak and understand one another with language. And even though we lack archaeological evidence for the genesis of our articulatory apparatus, and even though we have no archaeological record of the soft gray matter whose florescence made us human, Beekman rises to the challenge, incorporating dozens of studies in order to flesh out the skeleton of human origins. In so doing, she demonstrates how a comparison with other apes (and with our extinct cousins, the other hominids) can yield a plausible scenario for how language originated and disseminated along with H. sapiens around the globe.
But it should not be overlooked how questions about the origin of language were addressed many times before Beekman, especially by the progeny of the Enlightenment. Having never heard of genes or genomes, writers of the Enlightenment nevertheless displayed profound insight into the essential nature of language origins. Rousseau’s essay has been studied in depth by many, but I am more interested here in Herder’s 1772 “Essay on the Origin of Language.” First off, Herder makes a number of mistakes that a modern scientist like Beekman would be unlikely to make. As Sapir was quick to point out in his 1907 review of Herder’s essay, Herder was unfortunately convinced that the study of ‘original’ languages (such as Hebrew and Sanskrit, or Native American languages like Huron), provide the key to understanding language’s origin. We can perhaps pardon Herder for this Orientalism, by which he conflated modern ‘primitive’ languages with dead languages for which we have ancient texts. For in general, the ‘data set’ for Herder was impoverished when compared to the rich array of descriptive, grammatical work available to Humboldt fifty years later, not to mention what the modern linguist has to work with today.
And yet there is much for the modern linguist or anthropologist to find favor with in Herder’s essay. Consider Herder’s example of a spider’s web. Spiders can brilliantly engineer webs because their universe is so very small. Human knowledge is far less specialized than the spider’s narrow skill, but because our knowledge is less specialized, we can make use of the open-ended nature of languages to adapt to any new situation. A vastness of potential is unleashed by this flexibility and malleability of language. Since the dawn of human time, languages have been evolving as we adapt to our physical and psychological niches. And thanks to the plasticity of our brains, humans can thrive just about anywhere. Hence, RATIO and ORATIO, the abilities to think and to form a discourse, are for Herder as old as MANKIND itself. It was moreover clear to Herder that humans, rather than God, invented language, for the process of inventing language has never really stopped. Furthermore, the state of any grammar is too much of a mess to be of divine origin. Herder saw languages as perennially evolving through the struggle between grammatical forms for acceptance as part of a speaker's language. As Darwin was to write about many years later in his Descent of Man, Herder conceived of a dialectical struggle between grammatical forms which keeps languages in a state of continuous evolution. This lack of an invariant blueprint that all humans acquiring speech must follow licenses the use of distinctly human, poetic powers, such as metaphor or semantic parallelism. And as elaborated by Sapir, Herder also understood our innate powers of reflection and contemplation as essential components of language, separating humans from animals once and for all. Humans are both reasonable and creative, according to Herder. But it seems that the forms which our creativity and our powers of reason might take will vary with our circumstances.
Beekman discusses the slow neuroanatomical development of the human baby/child. As Herder long ago pointed out, the human infant is the “most orphaned child of nature,” meaning that infants start off entirely helpless and require a long, long period of learning and development before they have a chance at survival. So while there are a few universals in a baby’s development (such as a baby being greeted by its care-taker, or a baby fixating on human eyes, or a baby imitating faces of others to derive a nascent sense of self), most milestones for a child learning language are based in culturally specific routines for making a human.
The anthropologist’s ethnographic method of participant observation gives us a glimpse into how these language learning routines vary from culture to culture. In their seminal 1986 work “Language Socialization and Language Acquisition,” Ochs and Schieffelin interpreted how small children become competent speakers of a language while simultaneously learning the skills needed to become competent members of their society. Among white middle-class Americans, and perhaps more broadly in western culture, the baby is typically locked in an intense dyad of mother-child for much of its early life. The mother simplifies her talk into baby-talk and at the same time expands the babbling of the infant into adult language. Psychologists call such linguistic routines ‘motherese,’ and posit the universality of these practices as the natural way for children to acquire language. But as Ochs and Schieffelin observed, motherese is not universal. Among the Kaluli of New Guinea, the baby’s babble is not expanded into adult language. For the Kaluli are convinced that a baby has no understanding, and so there is no point in trying to guess what the kid is ‘trying to say.’ Instead, the mother faces the baby outward into the social space and vocalizes in a nasal high-pitched voice what the child should be saying in the given social context. The baby is in this way taught to understand and later to form complete adult utterances. Things are different in Samoa. There, young children are born into a social hierarchy where all must learn their place. Babies are looked after by older siblings or cousins who take their orders from the mother. Nobody expands on the babbling of the child, which Samoans regard as “Chinese” or else some form of animal talk (!). And yet the Samoan children learn to speak simply by listening and paying attention. By the age of three they are capable of repeating messages verbatim when addressing higher status adults, an important social skill.
What these ethnographic studies teach us is that language learning is a social affair, not limited to the private exchanges between baby and parent. In fact, the absence of walls in the Samoan home makes the focused dyad of mother-child unworkable. Instead, what Ochs and Schieffelin were able to determine from their understanding of child-caregiver interactions is that there is no “biologically derived choreography” between mother and infant. The authors show that it makes little sense to differentiate moments of language acquisition from moments of socialization by means of language. And regardless of how language is ‘taught’ to a child, the kid masters language in the same amount of time. Beekman, to her credit, does not aver the universality of motherese. But she also does not take into account the progress made by anthropologists in their understanding of the ‘origins of language’ in varied domestic spheres.
Beekman’s synthesis of human evolutionary biology is tremendous. I learned a lot of what I had been missing in the development of the field since I first studied these topics in the pre-genomic days of the 1980’s. And yet I feel her knowledge of grammar and culture is sometimes shallow. For example, by placing all linguistic diversity in the lexicon while treating syntax as universal, she follows some of Chomsky’s worst proposals while claiming not to. She also wastes time seeking a ‘language gene’ that would make us all human. There are myriad ways to make a human, with or without such a gene. She could have spent more time discussing how we have all evolved to be different, which is not to say that we have all evolved differently. I feel her one lapse of judgment is the positing of grammar’s origins at the point after H. sapiens diverged from H. neandertalensis. This stems from an unfortunate misunderstanding of grammars. Grammars are highly complex systems which contain far too much information to be incorporated in the human genome. Grammars must be learned; they are grown, not hatched.
Yet Beekman’s book is still worth 4 stars to me on account of her ability to digest and rephrase for the layman some incredibly complicated material. Her book is full of anecdotes which lend excitement and readability to a subject that is neither old nor new, the study of human language origins. I appreciate most of all Beekman’s discussion of phenotypic diversity (a bit of functional teleology in our genetic endowment) and her awareness of the dangers of AI and eugenics from those foolhardy enough to try and perfect humans by completing language. And above all, I appreciate how Beekman places women at the center of childhood language development without reducing everybody’s mother tongue to a universal template like motherese.