It is precisely the same with all words: reality, perspectival
as it is, brings certain facets of an individual to bear, bound within the
resulting name or word. Collect enough of
those words and interactions together, connected by a common geographic or
familial series of boundaries, and you have a language—the sum total of a
people’s interactions with the world capped within narrative confines. An identity.
A history. That is to say, to
speak Welsh is to draw forth the Welsh, Japanese the Japanese, etc. [1]
In light of this, I am of the opinion that using or speaking
another language is to pay an ultimate respect to its people and culture of
origin. One learns a language not simply
to engage with others but to immerse oneself in another identity. You revere the language, and once you know
it, the language’s culture is partially—permanently—subsumed into your own
identity.
We see this in the Lhammas:
the elves hold Valanin and Quenya [2] in great respect, and maintain it;
learned men hold Sindarin as a language to be respected aloft. Broadly speaking, the language held in high
reverence is closely associated with the people responsible for teaching the
revering people. The Valar taught the
elves their language, which the elves hold in regard and modified until it was
their own. Early mannish tongues were
influenced by the elvish language and culture, which was later modified and
developed so as to be considered unique.
This is sharply contrasted with disrespectful or mocking
uses of a language, which Tolkien illustrates through Melkor’s perversion of
Valanin as a gift of speech to the orcs and trolls. Using a language to insult draws with it an
insult to an entire people and history.
Overdramatic? I think not; it is
a conscious action to select a language, and draws with it the aforementioned
histories and cultural implications.
I would like, too, to revisit the idea of language as an
identity. We individuals hold a cradle
language that undergoes development as we live.
As we grow and learn, experience and think, our vocabularies and syntax develop
into a roadmap of where we’ve been in our lives. [3] In this way, a personal vocabulary and use
become reflective of, and ultimately is, an identity. Spend five minutes talking to someone; you’ll
find you can tell quite a bit about their history based on the way they speak.
We can take all of this to Tolkien’s outrage in his unsent
letter to Mr. Rang (297). To reiterate,
there are histories behind every language that are intrinsically tied to the
origins and development of the words that compose those languages. Looking far and wide for perceived “origins”
due to simple auditory similarity is a deep disrespect for the pedigree of any
language.
Something to consider in light of the histories that
underlie the development of language: what of the Dwarves and the Valar? The Valar “had speech” from the beginning (HME 5 183) as the first of Eru Ilúvatar,
and the language of the Dwarves was “derived…afresh” by their creator Aulë (ibid.).
Must one consider the histories and motivations of the creators? Can those attributes actually be divined in light of the divine nature of the creators?
Additionally, we see from human history as well as from the
Legendarium that languages are in constant development and flux. Using a certain language assists in the further
development and enrichment of the language itself. This is relatable to the interactions between
primary and secondary realities in that interacting with the secondary reality
enhances the primary reality in a feedback loop as the secondary reality is
further developed.
Do the names of individuals similarly influence their lines
of development? Consider, for example,
naming a child after a virtue (e.g.
Prudence), or nicknaming a friend in light of certain interactions. Also unanswered is the nature of languages
dying out; if languages are under constant development, at what point are
languages considered to be separate from their forebears such that the root
language is ‘discarded’?
- M. Maskeri
---
[1] This ties directly to Tolkien’s comments with respect to
Sjéra Tomas Saemundsson (qtd. English and
Welsh 166 as “No people in fact comes into being until it speaks a language
of its own”) that languages are maintained for the sake of their people, and
for the people’s identities.
[2] More so Ingwiquenya as the highest ‘Elvish tongue’ and
record of Valanin (HME 5 188)
[3] Simultaneously developing a personal taste for
language/aesthetic
I have no linguistic training, so I’m sorry if I’m
butchering terms!
1 comment:
You raise a lot of very interesting questions at the conclusion of your post, and I very much enjoyed the level of engagement throughout. I wonder if it might have been better to pursue one of them at greater length. I'm especially interested in your discussion of the dwarves and the Valar. The latter seems necessarily unavailable to us (at least in its fullness), earthbound as we are (although this does not stop theologians from musing on the language of the angels, so who knows). However, the former is maybe more within our grasp. We know what dwarvish looks like, what does it tell us about its creator?
Thinking about names, I think your own post answers the questions you bring up in the end. Names both shape us and reflect us. They, like our languages, are a fundamental expression of our identity.
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