His work, accordingly, should be read by all sincere students of the question of Language in connection with the statements of Professor Mueller, as he represents another and a typical aspect of the case.  He denies the existence of a “Turanian” family of tongues, such as Mueller sought to constitute in Bunsen’s “Outlines”; pronouncing with great decision, and on grounds both philosophical and linguistic, against that notion of monosyllabic origin which assumes the Chinese as truest of all tongues to the original form and genius of language, he is even more decided that not the faintest trace can be found of the derivation of all existing languages from a single primitive tongue.  From general principles, therefore, and equally from inspection of language, he infers with confidence that each great family of languages has come forth independently from the genius of man.

His results in Philology correspond, thus, with those of Mr. Agassiz in Natural History.  They suggest multiplicity of human origins.  From this result M. Renan does not recoil, and he takes care to state with great precision and vigor the entire independence of the spiritual upon the physical unity of man,—­as Mr. Agassiz also did in that jewel which he set in the head of Nott and Gliddon’s toad.

But here he pauses.  His results bear him no farther.  The philological and physiological classifications of mankind, he says, do not correspond; their lines cross; nothing can be concluded from one to the other.  The question of unity or diversity of physical origins he leaves to the naturalist; upon that he has no right to raise his voice.  Spiritual unity he asserts firmly; linguistic unity he firmly denies; on the question of physical unity he remains modestly and candidly silent, not finding in his peculiar studies data for a rational opinion.

M. Renan is not a Newton in his science.  He satisfies, and he disappoints.  The Newtonian depth, centrality, and poise,—­well, one may still be a superior scholar and writer without these.  And such he is.  His tendency to central principles is decided, but with this there is a wavering, an unsteadiness, and you get only agility and good writing, it may be, where you had begun to look for a final word.  Sometimes, too, in his desire of precision, he gives you precision indeed, but of a cheap kind, which is worse than any thoughtful vagueness.  Thus, he opens his sixth section by naming l’onomatopee, the imitation of natural sounds, as the law of primitive language.  He knew better; for he has hardly named this “law” before he slips away from it; and his whole work was pitched upon a much profounder key.  Why must he seize upon this ready-made word?  Why could he not have taken upon himself to say deliberately and truly, that the law of primitive language, and in the measure of its life of all language, is the symbolization of mental impression by sounds, just as man’s spirit is symbolized in his body, and absolute spirit in the universe?  But this is “vague,” and M. Renan writes in Paris.