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 LANGUAGE CONFLICT
AND LANGUAGE PLANNING
THE CASE OF MODERN NORWEGIAN
 Language Conflict
and Language Planning
THE CASE OF MODERN NORWEGIAN

EINAR HAUGEN

HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS

CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

1966
© Copyright 1966 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College
All rights reserved
Distributed in Great Britain by Oxford University Press, London
Publication of this book has been aided
by a grant from the Ford Foundation
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 66-14443
Printed in the United States of America
TO THE MEMORY OF
Alf Axelss0n Sommerfelt
1892-1965
 PREFACE

The inception of this book goes back to the year 1951-1952,

when the author was a Fulbright Research Scholar in Nor-
way and observed at first hand the exciting events sur-
rounding the establishment of the Norwegian Language
Commission. He decided then that the time was ripe for a
full-scale study of the unique development which has char-
acterized the Norwegian language in the twentieth century.
Norwegians themselves are too deeply involved to view the
situation without emotional bias, while most outsiders are
either uninterested or uninformed. Yet it is clear that there
are many lessons to be learned from the special kind of
bilingualism that plagues the Norwegians. The dramatic
and sweeping language reforms which have been instituted
in Norway deserve to be known and noticed on an interna-
tional scene.
A decade of watching and waiting passed before the au-
thor had a chance to work on the problem again, during
residences in Norway in 1960 and 1961, with support from
the Research Committee of the Graduate School of the Uni-
versity of Wisconsin. Most of the writing was done at this
time. The author completed the manuscript while enjoying
vii
 PREFACE
the perquisites of a fellowship at the Center for Advanced
Study in the Behavioral Sciences at Stanford, California, in
1963-1964. Some finishing touches were added at Indiana
University in the summer of 1964, and a few grace notes
even after the author's removal to Harvard University in
1964. Since the topic is one that is continually evolving, the
book cannot properly be completed: life is momentarily
writing its sequel.
The task was one that needed to be approached with
some fear and trembling, not only because of the emotional
impact of the topic, but also because of its enormous com-
plexity. The core of the problem was taken to be the official
language reforms, more drastic in their nature than those
instituted in any other country in a comparable period. The
main approach to these was to be the planning that preceded
them and the results that followed; but it proved impossible
to avoid some consideration of the social conflict which in-
cited them and was incited by them. Hence the dual title
of the book, in which conflict and planning are juxtaposed.
The writer can only hope that he has been able to maintain
a proper proportion between the two, and more important:
that he has not misrepresented the views of the combatants
or the intentions of the planners.
As an American by birth, the author has no personal axe
to grind or any responsibility for the Norwegian develop-
ment which might affect his judgment. As a speaker and
teacher of Norwegian through many years of his life, how-
ever, he inevitably has had personal experiences which color
his views of the situation. Thanks to a two-year childhood
residence in Norway he had a first-hand introduction to
both of Norway's languages from his earliest years. His
family background was sympathetic to Landsmâl, but his
professional involvement led him into the primary use of
Riksmâl as his own Norwegian medium. This dual attach-
viii
 PREFACE
ment was undoubtedly one of the primary sources of his
interest in the problem, which led him to write his Ph.D.
thesis on the early history of the Landsmâl movement. In
returning to a related topic after so many years he hopes
that questions may here have been raised and lines of re-
search suggested that will be of value to students of similar
problems in other countries.
In the following list of acknowledgments it is impossible
to do more than suggest some of the most valuable helpers
in the writer's enterprise. Many others have knowingly or
unknowingly contributed to the book, but whether named
or unnamed, they should not be held responsible for the
opinions expressed or the mistakes committed. The book
could not have been written without the childhood stimulus
of the writer's mother, who roused his interest in Norwe-
gian, or the forbearance of his wife, who sustained that in-
terest. Beside the support of the organizations mentioned
above, the author has benefited from a grant in 1951 from
the Social Science Research Council and one in 1963 from
the Vilas Fund of the University of Wisconsin. Ready as-
sistance was given him by the librarians of Universitets-
biblioteket in Oslo, the University of Wisconsin library in
Madison, and Widener Library at Harvard. Among the
official Norwegian institutions that furnished him informa-
tion were the secretariat of the Norwegian Storting, the
Norwegian Ministry of Church and Education, the Oslo
schoolboard, and the Norwegian Language Commission.
Uriel Weinreich at Columbia University provided an ex-
tensive bibliography on language planning. The late profes-
sors Didrik Arup Seip and Alf Sommerfelt of the University
of Oslo were indefatigable in their personal encouragement
and assistance. All translations in the text are by the author.
Grateful acknowledgment is hereby made to the following
persons and publishers for permission to use copyrighted
ix
 PREFACE

quotations, illustrations, and figures: H. Aschehoug 8c Co.

(W. Nygaard), Oslo; Chappell 8c Co., Inc., 609 Fifth Avenue,
New York; Dreyers Forlag, Oslo; Gyldendal Norsk Forlag,
Oslo; Kaare Haukaas, Oslo; Det norske Samlaget, Oslo; the
Norwegian Postal Service; Politiken (Bo Bojesen), Copen-
hagen; Riksmâlsforbundet, Norsk Lytterforening, Oslo;
Verdens Gang, Oslo; Willard M. Overgaard; Marie O.
Skramstad.
The editors of the Harvard University Press deserve spe-
cial thanks for their charming and zealous efforts to turn
the author's manuscript into a presentable book.

Einar Haugen

Cambridge, Massachusetts
November 1965

χ
 CONTENTS

1
THE PROBLEM OF LANGUAGE

Planning and the Grammarians, 3. Principles of Plan-

ning, 16.

2
THE LIBERATION OF NORWEGIAN

Danish and Norwegian, 28. The Progress of Landsmâl,

35. T h e Emergence of Riksmâl, 45. The Reform of
1907 and its Aftermath, 54.

3
PLANNING FOR UNITY
1907-1919
Arguments for Unity, 63. The Committee of 1909 and its
Report, 65. Reverberations of the Report, 71. The
Orthography of 1917, 84. Discussion and Decision, 96.
xi
 CONTENTS

4
LANGUAGE AND POLITICS
1920-1945
The Politics of Language, 104. Marxism and the Nor-
wegian Language, 113. The Committee of 1934, 117.
Proposal for a New Orthography, 120. Critique and
Controversy, 128. The Supplementary Proposal, 136.
The Orthography of 1938, 142. The Simplification of
Style, 148. The Quislings Try their Hand, 158.

5
RECONSTRUCTION AND REGULATION:
THE LANGUAGE COMMISSION

1946-1951
Reinstatement of the New Orthography, 164. Nynorsk
in the New Era, 167. The Riksmâl reaction, 170. An
Academy for Norway?, 176. The Language Commission,
181. The Numbers Game, 185. Qualms and Queries
(1949-1950), 189. Parents to the Rescue, 193. The
Beginning of The Word, 196. The Battle of the Lan-
guage Commission, 199.

6
DECADE OF DISCUSSION:
THE TEXTBOOK NORM
1952-1962
Controversies over Membership, 206. The Commission
Goes to Work, 210. Consolidation of the Riksmâl Move-
ment, 214. Nynorsk Rallies its Forces: "Action against
Reaction," 227. The Language Commission Prepares a
Norm, 237. The Nature of the New Norm, 244. Re-
ception and Introduction, 247. The Abominable Snow-
man and the Children's Hour, 256. Attack and Counter-
attack, 262. The Commission Works On, 267.
xii
 CONTENTS

7
CONCLUSION AND PERSPECTIVE 276

T h e Role of Nationalism, 277. T h e Three Cultures, 282.

T h e Resistance of Structure, 288. Linguistics and Lan-
guage Planning, 295. T h e Fruits of Planning, 303.

APPENDIX 1 309
STATISTICS ON LANGUAGE USE
AND PREFERENCE

Table 1: Language use in the public schools. Table 2:

Language use in public schools by counties (rural only).
Table 3: Language use in church services. Table 4: Lan-
guage preference in township boards. Table 5: Language
use in published books (1946-1955), by year. T a b l e 6:
Language use in published books (1946-1955), by topic.
Table 7: Language use in published books (1946-1955), by
original language. Table 8: Language preference of
army recruits, 19-22 years old. Table 9: Language pref-
erence in academic work, artium examination. Table
10: Language preference in academic work, students en-
tering the University of Oslo. Table 1 1 : Language pref-
erence in academic work, qualifying examinations.
Table 12: Language preference in academic work, lan-
guage form of diploma.

APPENDIX 2 316
ILLUSTRATIONS OF ORTHOGRAPHIC
CHANGES BETWEEN 19OO AND 1962

BIBLIOGRAPHY 325
1. General
2. Norwegian

NOTES 355
INDEX 383

xiii
 Illustrations

The Language Trolls Invade Christiania (Olaf Gulbransson) 42

Revolution? (Ragnvald Blix) 87
Away from Denmark (Ragnvald Blix) 109
India and Norway (Salo Grenning, "Pedro") 174
Map of Norway: Language Use in Rural Public Schools 229
Vowel Patriotism (Bo Bojesen) 261
Reconciliation of the Two Authors' Societies (Salo Grenning,
"Pedro") 275
The Norwegian Language Problem Reflected on Stamps 281

xiv
 LANGUAGE CONFLICT
AND LANGUAGE PLANNING
T H E CASE OF MODERN NORWEGIAN
 ABBREVIATIONS

Aftp Aftenposten (Oslo)

AL Anthropological Linguistics
APSR American Political Science Review
Arb.bl Arbeiderbladet (Oslo)
BJS British Journal of Sociology
Bm Bokmâl
Chra. Christiania (now Oslo)
Dagbl Dagbladet (Oslo)
EN East Norwegian
HR Human Relations
UAL International Journal of American Linguistics
KK Kirke og Kultur
Kra. Kristiania (now Oslo)
LC Language Commission (= Norsk Sprâknemnd)
Lm Landsmâl
Mgbl Morgenbladet (Oslo)
MLA Modern Language Association
MLJ Modern Language Journal
Nn Nynorsk
NRK Norsk Rikskringkasting
NSklb Norsk Skuleblad
NSpr Norsk Sprâknemnd (— Language Commission)
NT Norsk Tidend (Oslo)
ON Old Norse
PMLA Publications of the Modern Language Association
Rm Riksmâl
Rm.bladet Riksmâlsbladet
SS Syn og Segn
Stort. Forh. Stortings Forhandlinger
VG Verdens Gang (Oslo)
VL Vârt Land (Oslo)
WN West Norwegian
xvi
 For a man to speak one language rather than
another is a ritual act, it is a statement about
one's personal status; to speak the same language
as one's neighbours expresses solidarity with
those neighbours, to speak a different language
from one's neighbours expresses social distance
or even hostility.
E. R . Leach (1954)1

I
T H E P R O B L E M OF LANGUAGE

During the past century Norway has been the scene of a

conscious effort to plan the development of a new national
language. Ideas about language have reached out from the
quiet studies of scholars to the public press and the halls
of Parliament. They have aroused vigorous discussion and
compelled decisions affecting every citizen and his children.
Little by little a linguistic avalanche has been set in mo-
tion, an avalanche which is still sliding and which no one
quite knows how to stop, even though many would be
happy to do so.
When the movement began, Norway had a stable lan-
guage of writing that was virtually identical with Danish.
Today it has two competing languages, neither of which is
stable. One of these claims to be the more cultured, the
other the more patriotic. The average Norwegian is in the
confusing position of not being quite sure whether he can
manage to be both. The paradox was clearly stated at the
turn of the century by the author Arne Garborg, when he
wrote: "An independent Norwegian language of culture has
not been attained. But we do have two languages. One of
ι
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
these is Norwegian, but not yet a developed language of
culture; the other is a language of culture, but not yet in-
dependently Norwegian." 2
When Garborg wrote these wry words, there had been
relatively little official language planning. 3 Such planning
has become characteristic of the twentieth century, and it
will be the purpose of this book to describe the planning
and its results in some detail. The only previous survey of
the Norwegian language movement, by Achille Burgun,
appeared in French in 1918-1921 and concentrated on the
nineteenth century. It ended approximately where this book
begins. It is not the intent here to present a broad survey
of all aspects of the movement, but primarily to give an
account of the so-called "spelling reforms" of the twentieth
century and the discussions that led up to them.
The reader will understand that the problem is a delicate
one, which generates heated argument wherever Norwe-
gians forgather. No issue of internal policy has been more
perennial or more upsetting than this one. Even an in-
terested outside observer like the present writer can hardly
hope to escape the charge of bias in a controversy where
objectivity is notoriously absent. He has nevertheless tried
to present the situation in as unbiased a way as possible and
to give the facts with a minimum of comment.
The ideas and motivations underlying a program of lan-
guage planning are so remote from the experience of edu-
cated Americans or Englishmen that they may find it diffi-
cult even to understand them. In our ever-shrinking world
the notion that a national language is something worth
working at and struggling for may seem merely a piece of
inscrutable mysticism. It is hoped that through the follow-
ing account the reader may gain some understanding of the
feelings of self-respect and personal integrity that motivate
2
 T H E PROBLEM OF LANGUAGE
such a movement, as well as the excesses to which it can
sometimes lead.
While the Norwegian problem has its own unique profile,
it involves issues faced by literate societies ever since the
invention of printing and the consequent spread of stand-
ard languages. At stake are such questions as the establish-
ment of the norms of good writing and speaking, the
adequacy of a language as an expression of the people
which uses it, and the sharpening of language as a tool for
creative and scientific thinking. Another central issue has
been the question of whether a state can properly engage
in language planning: to what extent can a language be
shaped by conscious deliberation, and who is ultimately
qualified to make the necessary decisions?
It is only too apparent that while this is a problem of
language it is not purely linguistic. It is also, and perhaps
pre-eminently, a sociopolitical problem, with roots that
reach down into the heart of Norwegian life. This is true of
standard languages and their growth everywhere, and it is
hoped that the following study may throw some light on
this subject. In a day when many new nations are emerging
and are facing an array of new language problems, it should
be helpful to analyze the course of modern Norwegian lan-
guage planning.

PLANNING AND THE GRAMMARIANS

Prior to the planning of language must come the study

of language. This is the province of a breed of men who
today prefer to be known as "linguists," but in ancient times
were generally called "grammarians." While there is only
sporadic evidence of official language planning before mod-
ern times, its roots go back to the work of the ancient
grammarians. The grammarian played a dual role, being
3
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
concerned on the one hand with discovering the nature of
language, and on the other with teaching its norms to the
young. As an observer and discoverer he was the founder
of the science of linguistics, but as a teacher and lawgiver
he was part of the same establishment as the priests, the
lawyers, and the princes. Just as they founded or adminis-
tered the codes of religion, law, and etiquette, so he es-
tablished and interpreted codes of "right" or "good" or
"correct" language. T h e very use of such terms is repugnant
to the modern linguist, since they imply value judgments
that are extraneous to the scientific, descriptive function of
his science. But in earlier times the line was not clearly
drawn between a descriptive and a prescriptive study of
language, between what is and what ought to be. Grammar
was more a normative than an analytic discipline.
This dual and often ill-defined role was characteristic
even of such great names in the history of linguistics as the
ancient Indian grammarian Panini, whose exhaustive de-
scription of Sanskrit probably had as its chief purpose to fix
the form of Sanskrit as a sacred language and make it pos-
sible to transmit it unchanged from generation to genera-
tion. 4 In so far as this is a kind of language planning, we
may call it negative planning. While the early Greek phi-
losophers were drawn to the study of language by scientific
curiosity, the codification of grammar as a teaching instru-
ment came relatively late in the development of Greek
thought, being characteristic of the Hellenistic and Alex-
andrine periods. Latin grammar was largely taken over from
the Greeks, but even here the typical school grammars did
not come into being before the Imperial era. Languages
were codified when they were on the point of becoming
dead or dormant, ritual languages no longer learned by
children from their mothers. Hebrew and Arabic were first
codified by grammarians long after their sacred scriptures

4
 THE PROBLEM OF LANGUAGE
were written.5 As the American Sanskritist William Dwight
Whitney once remarked, "It is not customary that a lan-
guage has its proper usages fixed by rule until the danger
is distinctly felt of its undergoing corruption." 6
Beyond setting up rules to guard writers against elemen-
tary mistakes, these grammarians could only recommend
certain models for the further, unpredictable behavior of
their users. Cicero in his De Oratore advised against "coun-
try roughness" and recommended to the orator that he
should adopt a "Roman and urban tone, in which there is
nothing to offend, to displease, or even to attract notice." 7
When Horace recommended "usus" as the "arbitrium et
jus et norma loquendi," he can hardly have meant the
usage of the majority, but rather that of the ruling aris-
tocrats of Rome, especially when fulfilling their functions
as public figures.8 This was the kind of Latin handed down
to the Middle Ages by Donatus, Quintilian, and the rest of
the grammarians as the language of Church and Science.
In Western Europe Latin remained the only true "book
language" for many centuries after the fall of Rome. But in
bringing the Latin alphabet to the heathen Celts and Ger-
mans of Northern Europe, the Church also brought them
the instrument for freeing themselves from the yoke of
Latin. In Eastern Europe a similar role was played by the
Greek alphabet and its offspring the Cyrillic, which made
possible the writing of Old Church Slavonic. Throughout
Europe novel traditions of writing sprang up, usually with
the sanction of the Church and at first subservient to her
purposes. These were standardized only within very nar-
row limits: a language like Old High German exists in a
multitude of local forms. Elaboration went on by borrow-
ing and creation on Latin or Greek models. But full accept-
ance was long delayed, thanks to the authority of the Church
and the obvious utility in an essentially feudal world of a
5
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
supranational standard language. The local standards were
at first little more than intermediaries between the local
speech forms and Latin writing, conveying the essentials of
Latin scripture and science to illiterate populations. Latin
and Greek were the "teacher languages" of Europe, a role
which their pupils in turn usurped after the Renaissance.
T h e Renaissance brought with it three important inno-
vations which radically altered the life conditions of stand-
ard languages. These were revolutions of a technological,
intellectual, and political order, viz., the invention of print-
ing, the revival of secular learning, and the rise of the
nation-state. T h e first broke the monopoly of the clerics
on reading and writing, the second their hold on the minds,
and the third their control of the masses. It is not without
significance that Luther's Reformation should also have
prepared the death of Low German as a standard language
and the triumph of High German. 9 Luther's Bible of 1522—
1534 standardized a norm developed in the linguistically
intermediate areas of Eastern Germany and Austria, one
which proved to be acceptable to all Germans. T h e Bible
provided also a beginning toward the elaboration of Ger-
man; and the same year saw the first mathematical proof in
that language. 10 In 1539 King Francis I abolished the use of
Latin in the courts, thereby making French the language
of the state in all functions. 11 These are only typical dates,
which could be duplicated in other countries. They signal
the elevation of certain writing traditions to the status of
official standards replacing Latin and the elimination of
others which were politically less fortunate. We need not
be surprised that the first full-fledged grammars of the new
standards began appearing at this time. 12 Only with their
acceptance by the powers of the state did the languages be-
come objects of pedagogical interest, though of course it
6
 THE PROBLEM OF LANGUAGE
was still a long time before they were to become regular
subjects in school.
The languages which fell heir to Latin and Greek in Eu-
rope numbered a round dozen. In the Romance area they
were Italian, French, Spanish, and Portuguese; in the Ger-
manic area English, German, Dutch, Danish, and Swedish;
and in the Slavic area Czech, Polish, and Russian. There
were marginal traditions that were struggling against odds,
such as Modern Greek, Irish, Welsh, and Icelandic. Among
those which succumbed was Norwegian, along with Low
German, Provençal, Scottish Gaelic, Cornish, and Wendish,
to name only a few.
But the submerged languages were to get still another
chance. The French Revolution, with its ideals of freedom
and fraternity, destroyed old privileges and brought new
nations into being. A new round of linguistic revolutions
burst forth as nations were either liberated or newly created.
Each of the following nations had its language problem,
which became part of its pressing business after the estab-
lishment of political independence: Norway (1814), Greece
(1829), Belgium (1831), Rumania (1861), Hungary (1867),
Bulgaria (1878), and Albania (1913). World War I ended
with the emergence of Finland (1917), Estonia (1918), Lat-
via (1918), Lithuania (1918), Iceland (1918), and the Irish
Republic (1921). Each of these added its own language to
the concert of Europe, or rather to its bedlam. Czecho-Slo-
vakia (1918) found it necessary to add Slovak on top of
Czech, while Yugoslavia (1918) eventually adopted two extra
languages, Slovenian and Macedonian, over and beyond its
somewhat shaky dual language, Serbo-Croatian. The Rus-
sian Revolution led to a further proliferation of languages
in the Soviet Union, where old traditions were altered and
new ones established.13 In 1926 Turkey transformed the

7
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
appearance of its language overnight by substituting Roman
script for Arabic. This was more than a purely external
change, for it meant also a shift of model from Islam to the
West. 14
There is no need to pursue the rapidly changing picture
of standard languages in our time beyond the borders of
Europe, except to point out that the problem today is
world-wide. India agonizes over problems of language, hav-
ing decided to adopt as its future national language one
which lacks literary tradition and is decidedly unpopular in
many parts of the country. 15 Indonesia has adopted a newly
created form of Malay known as "Indonesian," thereby
eliminating several local traditions and its colonial language
Dutch. 16 Israel has established as its lingua franca the old
language of Judaism, with apparent and immediate success.
T h e emergent nations of Africa are faced with more diffi-
cult choices, having had no previous traditions of native
writing and no unified spoken standards. 17 So far most of
them have had to make do with the language of their former
masters, supplemented for local and partial use by some of
the stronger vernaculars. T h e problem is crucial to the in-
dependent existence of many of them, but it will not meet
its real test until programs of universal literacy are seriously
embarked upon.
As long ago as 1928 linguists like Antoine Meillet warned
against what he called the "Balkanization" of Europe. As he
saw it, Europe ivas destroying its own unity by having
large parts of it "handed over to the peasants," who were
busy creating new languages, which were often no more
than caiques on the old. 18 In contrast to what we may call
the "modern languages" which came into full bloom at the
Renaissance, these "recent languages" were often limited
to rural populations, with weak writing traditions, and
would in the natural course of events have disappeared.
8
 THE PROBLEM OF LANGUAGE
But the new doctrines of national self-determination and
what has been called the "mobilization" of the population
into participation in national life reversed a trend toward
drastic reduction in the number of languages. 19 Their lead-
ers found in language a weapon against the old feudal so-
cieties and were not to be talked out of having languages of
their own. They took the position that "sauce for the goose
is sauce for the gander," and disregarding any regrets which
possessors of such major languages as French or English
might express, they were determined to find their own
outlets to expression. They could not wait, either for the
full standardization of their own languages or for the learn-
ing by their native populations of a different language.
It is in this context that we have to see the mushrooming
of language planning in our times. Advice concerning the
use of "good" language, such as was dispensed by the early
grammarians from classical to early modern times, yielded
to official establishment of norms. T h e transitional link was
formed by the semiofficial institutions known as "acade-
mies."
T h e "language academy" was one of the many contribu-
tions of the Italian Renaissance to European culture. In
1582 the writers of Florence persuaded Duke Cosimo I to
establish the Accademia della Crusca for the purpose of
sifting and winnowing the Italian language [crusca means
'bran, chaff']. This they appear to have done xvith great
vigor in their Vocabolario degli Accademici della Crusca,
which appeared in 1612 and was strongly puristic in tone.
Tuscan had already established itself as the leading dialect
in a politically and linguistically divided country, and the
Vocabolario legitimized its position. While the ideas of the
Accademia continued to dominate Italian thinking for a
long time, there were also voices that called for "more
liberal guidance and direction for the literary language." 20

9
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
T h e first and most famous scion of the Accademia was the
Académie française, cannily established by Cardinal Riche-
lieu in 1635 as part of his policy of political centralization.
The statutes declared its function to be "to labor with all
the care and diligence possible to give exact rules to our
language and to render it capable of treating the arts and
sciences." 21 It was thus entrusted with both the normaliza-
tion and the elaboration of French, although its actual effect
was probably more symbolic than operational. T h e first
edition of its dictionary did not appear until 1694 and its
spelling did not become official until 1835.22 In the words
of a French writer, " I l s'agissait, en réalité, de tirer la
langue française comme du milieu des autres langues, et de
lui donner cette universalité, cette prééminence, et pour
cela cette perfection que la grecque et la latine avaient
eues dans le monde ancien." 23
The Italian and French examples were widely copied.
Spain established its academy in 1713, Sweden in 1739,
Hungary in 1830, and others have sprung up from time to
time. Their history has not been written and we are not pre-
pared to say precisely what effect their lucubrations have
actually had on the languages. It would be idle to expect a
scientific approach from institutions representing the social,
literary, and academic élites of these countries. As arbiters
of taste and fashion, their interest in language was entirely
secondary. T o be a member of an Academy was an honor
conferred for reasons only tangentially related to linguistic
insight and knowledge. Perhaps the greatest value of the
academies was to confer social prestige on the work of the
grammarians. They supplied models to be followed and had
access to some of the means by which acceptance of these
models might be gained. They were not qualified to deal
realistically with the linguistic dimension and as time went
on were therefore impelled to call in linguistic experts,
10
 THE PROBLEM OF LANGUAGE
primarily lexicographers. Like the Italian and French acad-
emies, they have usually emphasized the compilation of dic-
tionaries, which served as repositories of the "permitted"
words, a kind of social register of "nice" expressions. Much
good lexicographical work was done in this way, and the
sponsorship of the academies no doubt helped to provide
funds for linguistic work that might otherwise not have
gotten done. But the models which guided their decisions
were narrowly classical, or puristic, and tended to inhibit
rather than encourage the growth of language. And as in-
dices of what was actually happening they are grossly defi-
cient, as we would expect from the fact that they were
primarily normative.
Even in countries where no academy was instituted there
were strong forces working toward the application of regu-
latory and rationalistic standards. Prominent English writers
like Milton, Dryden, Defoe, and Swift called for an English
academy but failed in the face of what Samuel Johnson
termed "the spirit of English liberty." 24 A German student
of the subject, Hermann Flasdieck,25 attributes the failure
to English anti-intellectualism; but it might be more ac-
curate to call it devotion to private enterprise. For the same
Johnson who ridiculed the vain efforts of academies "to
enchain syllables" produced in 1755 the first really authori-
tative English dictionary and thereby made an academy
superfluous. Since his time it has become a tradition that
the privately authored dictionary is the repository of the
best English and the arbiter of all linguistic problems. Noah
Webster transplanted the idea to American soil, and the
book bearing his name has ever since occupied a place in
American life somewhere between the Bible and Emily
Post's handbook of etiquette. 26
The rationalism of the eighteenth century was not solely
directed at the codification of existing standards. It also
11
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
comported vigorous strains o£ revolutionary and skeptical
thought. On the one hand voices were raised in favor of
new languages and new social groups, and the concept of
reform was in the air. Attention was fixed on actual practice,
and note was taken of the discrepancy between usage and
norm. Noah Webster wrote (1798) that "grammar is built
solely on the structure of language. That which is not found
in the practice of speaking a language can have no place in
a grammar of that language . . . Grammars are made to
show the student what a language is—not, how it ought to
be." 27 There were even skeptics who denied the possibility
of regulating language at all. T h e English grammarian
Joseph Priestley wrote in 1761: "This will never be effected
by the arbitrary rules of any man, or body of men whatever
. . . A language can never be properly fixed, till all the
varieties with which it is used, have been held forth to
public view and the general preference of certain forms
have been declared, by the general practice afterwards." 28
T h e need for positive language planning and the means
for implementing it were first widely available in the nine-
teenth century. New orthographies were needed for new
languages, and many of the old were felt to be unsatisfactory.
When school systems were established for whole popula-
tions, the governments that conducted them had to take a
hand in regulating the language in which they were taught.
Many groups awoke to discover that they were second-class
citizens in their own country, excluded from public life by
their unfamiliarity with the dominant standard. In some
cases this led to the establishment or re-establishment of
competing standards. It appears to be almost the rule that
such movements can be traced back to a single devoted per-
son, who gave focus to the prevailing dissatisfactions of his
people. Having issued from the group whose language was
neglected, such reformers often had more than a purely in-

12
 THE PROBLEM OF LANGUAGE
tellectual motivation for establishing the existence of their
language. Theirs became one contribution to the general
liberation of the group, a medium of revolt and a symbol
of unity. Great innovators had arisen earlier, in the his-
tories of the older standards: we may think of Dante for
Italian, Chaucer for English, or Luther for German. But
these men were writers, who furnished models for imitation,
not rules of usage. Only later were they followed by the
grammarians. But in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries
it has happened more than once that the grammarians have
come first, while the writers have followed on their heels.
One of the earliest of the modern reformers was the Greek
Adamantios Koráis (1748-1833), who established the norms
of the Katharevousa, or "pure language," beginning in
1788.28 He chose as his model the religious and academic
version of modern Greek (which retained as much as possi-
ble of New Testament Greek), rather than the folk language,
which came to be known as Demotike. His elaboration of
the vocabulary was puristic, aimed at eliminating loanwords
and restoring the harmonious lexical structure of classical
Greek. The result of his choice was a deep-seated linguistic
cleavage in Greek life, a prime example of what Charles A.
Ferguson has called "diglossia." The exact opposite oc-
curred in Yugoslavia, where Vuk Stefanovi¿ Karadzié (1787—
1864) rejected the Old Slavonic church language in favor of
the folk language and succeeded in rallying around his
grammar of 1814 and his dictionary of 1818 not only the
Serbs but in 1850 (with the aid of the Croat Ljudevit Gaj)
also the Croats.30 In spite of the deep cultural and religious
cleft between Serbs and Croats there is therefore no diglos-
sia in Serbo-Croatian.
These examples suggest that there was ample precedent
in contemporary Europe for the work on behalf of a Norwe-
gian language which Ivar Aasen initiated in 1836 and
13
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
carried through in his grammar of 1864 and his dictionary
of 1873. Other names come to mind: Stur in Slovakia, Aavik
in Estonia, Jablonskis in Lithuania, Ben Yehuda in Pales-
tine. 31 T h e great advantage which Aasen's and later genera-
tions possessed over the earlier periods was the availability
of a newly founded linguistic science. Names like the Danish
Rasmus Rask and the German Jakob Grimm were links be-
tween Aasen in the north and Karadzic in the south of Eu-
rope. 32 T h e discovery of the Indo-European family of lan-
guages, which extended from Ireland to India, and the
newly established principles of comparative linguistics, af-
forded a solid foundation for the creation of new standard
languages as well. T h e principle that made it possible to
reconstruct a hypothetical, unattested mother tongue from
widely scattered languages could also be applied to closely
related dialects, to make a common standard which would
represent them all. T h e result was often etymological or
"old-fashioned" standards. Even though they were synthetic,
this gave them an air of dignity and remoteness which made
them resemble the older, traditionally developed norms of
Europe. T h e i r symbolic significance was of greater weight
than their practical feasibility as media of communication.
It remained for the late nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries to initiate official language planning and under-
take serious programs of linguistic research to back them
up. T h e typical source of language planning in our day is
neither the stately academies of the Enlightenment nor the
eager entrepreneurs of the Romantic Era, but the expert
commission of the Technological Age. Such commissions
exist in virtually all the countries where language problems
are acute, and even in some where they are not. 33 They are
normally appointed by a branch of the government either
ad hoc or on a permanent basis, and they are asked to fur-
nish materials and analyses while serving in a purely ad-
 THE PROBLEM OF LANGUAGE
visory capacity. They are encouraged to make researches
into the linguistic situation of their country and studies of
its linguistic and literary traditions. 34 A typical instance
was the Linguistic Society appointed by Kemal Atatürk in
1932 "to bring out the genuine beauty and richness of the
Turkish language and to elevate it to the high rank it de-
serves among world languages." 35 In 1950 a new political
climate led to its unseating as a semiofficial institution. In
Czecho-Slovakia there are both Czech and Slovak linguistic
commissions at work on the problems of standardizing and
elaborating terminology. 36 Between 1954 and 1959 a joint
Serbo-Croatian commission took a great step toward har-
monizing the minor differences between the Serbian and
Croatian variants of that language. 37 T h e form of Macedo-
nian was thrashed out in a series of conferences held imme-
diately after liberation, in May 1945. A manual of orthog-
raphy appeared in 1950, followed by a comprehensive
normative grammar in 1952-1954. 38 In Scandinavia there
are committees in each country that supervise the creation
of new technical terms and promote linguistic interaction. 39
In Israel there has been a Hebrew Language Committee
since 1890, which in 1953 assumed the higher dignity of an
Academy. 40
How successful has the work of such bodies been? One
may guess that success is a function of the social needs of
the people involved. A population in rapid intellectual de-
velopment will more readily accept a new standard language
than one which has little interest in literacy. T h e German
linguist Eduard Hermann was surprised in 1925 to discover
that standard Lithuanian, first written in 1883, was already
in full use. 41 In Finland and Estonia new coinages replacing
earlier loans came into rapid use after the liberation of
these countries in World War I. 42 On the other hand, the
natives of the Caroline Islands were slow to take any interest
15
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
in a standard created for them by linguists, and a Bantu
language board in South Africa has been met with almost
total indifference by the natives.43 They would rather learn
English, as do the young people of Ireland. The mass of
Guaraní speakers in Paraguay prefer their own language in
daily life but are disinterested in standardizing it, since
Spanish is the normal language for public affairs.44

PRINCIPLES OF PLANNING

Language planning always takes place in a specific social

context, and the choices are therefore severely limited. By
virtue of its complexity, each problem is to some extent
unique and general principles are hard to apply. Their
application tends to be guided by the emotions of the par-
ticipants, which inevitably run strong in any question af-
fecting one's own language. If it is true, as Leach suggests
in the quotation at the head of this chapter, that speaking
a language is a ritual act, then it is clear that any haggling
or manipulation involving its form or function can be ex-
tremely upsetting. T h e planner's hands are least tied when
he can plan a language from the ground up, say in a wholly
illiterate society. But even here there are firm social at-
titudes; and in the case of well-established norms such
attitudes are still more firmly held, so that they can be al-
tered only for the most compelling of reasons.
An Indian student of the subject, P. S. Ray, has suggested
that there are three basic goals which any program of lan-
guage planning should keep in mind.45 He calls these effi-
ciency, rationality, and commonalty. Efficiency refers to the
problem of learning, which faces every user of a language
when he is asked to change his habits or to establish new
ones. Is the new form easier to learn and to maintain than
the old one, in terms of expenditure of human resources?
In so far as this can be objectively determined, it is a strong
16
 THE PROBLEM OF LANGUAGE
argument for change. But efficiency is not necessarily iden-
tical with phonetic spelling or short words or lack of in-
flections, as many might suppose. Rationality designates the
extent to which a given language meets the demands of its
age for intellectual precision. The possible distinctions in
the ever-expanding universe of knowledge are of course in-
finite. Any new form should differ from all older forms
either in structural or functional meaning, in terms of the
objective knowledge of the day. There is no advantage, how-
ever, in having more words than ideas, and the average
user of most languages is only likely to be overwhelmed by
the subtleties of learned jargon. Commonalty is a function
of the individual speaker's relationship to his fellows. A
new form must be affirmative of his self-respect, and permit
him to participate more fully in the expressive life of his
group. This says nothing about the size of his group: is it
the family, the neighborhood, the region, the nation, or the
world? Many problems of language planning arise from
conflicts between these groups, which result in divided
linguistic allegiance on the part of the individual. A lan-
guage which reflects the commonalty of a smaller group may
offend that of a larger one. The best should be one that
most successfully meets the needs of both, or in Ray's terms,
which is inwardly unified and outwardly open.
Whatever usefulness such abstract goals may have in
clarifying our thinking, we must recognize that actual prac-
tice lags rather far behind and that most programs of plan-
ning are faced with problems which cannot be handled on
so high a level. Most of the problems faced may be distin-
guished into problems of form or function: by the former
we mean the linguistic structure in all its ramifications, by
the latter the variety of uses to which that structure is put.
In any movement for change one may distinguish initiation
from implementation: proposals are made, initiatives are
17
 C O N F L I C T AND PLANNING
taken, but decisions, whether conscious or unconscious, have
to be implemented by some kind of social institutions. T h e
initiation in the case of linguistic form will be called the
selection of a norm, while the implementation will be re-
ferred to as the codification of form. In the case of linguistic
function the initiation will here be known as the elabora-
tion of function, while the implementation will be called
acceptance by the community. W e shall explain a little
more fully what each of these involves.
1) Selection of norm. Planning may be involved either in
selecting a new norm or in modifying an old one. Where
a new norm is to be established, the problem will be as
complex as the sociolinguistic structure of the people in-
volved. There will be little difficulty if everyone speaks
virtually alike, a situation rarely found. Elsewhere it may
be necessary to make some embarrassing decisions. T o
choose any one variety as a norm means to favor the group
of people speaking that variety. It gives them prestige as
norm-bearers and a headstart in the race for power and posi-
tion. If a recognized elite already exists with a characteristic
variety of language, their norm will almost inevitably pre-
vail. But where there are socially coordinate groups of peo-
ple within the community, usually distributed regionally
or tribally, the choice of any one will meet with resistance
from the rest. This resistance is likely to be stronger the
greater the language distance within the group. It may often
be a question of solidarity versus alienation: a group that
feels intense solidarity is willing to overcome great linguis-
tic differences, while one that does not is alienated by rela-
tively small differences. Where transitions are gradual, it
may be possible to find a central dialect which mediates
between extremes, one which will be the easiest to learn
and most conducive to group coherence.
Where this is impossible, it may be necessary to resort to
18
 THE PROBLEM OF LANGUAGE
the construction of a new standard. T o some extent this has
happened naturally in the rise of the traditional norms; it
has been the aim of many language reformers to duplicate
the effect in new ones. For related dialects one can apply
principles of linguistic reconstruction to make a hypothet-
ical mother tongue for them all. Or one can be guided by
some actual or supposed mother tongue, which exists in
older, traditional writings. Or one can combine those forms
which have the widest usage, in the hope that they will most
easily win general acceptance. These three procedures, the
comparative, the archaizing, and the statistical, may clash,
making decisions difficult. In countries where there are ac-
tually different languages, amounting in some African na-
tions to more than a hundred, it will either be necessary to
recognize multiple norms or introduce an alien norm,
which will usually be an international language like Eng-
lish or French. If we think of the whole world as a language
community, these and a few others are rivals for leadership
in the same way as dialects within a nation. The weakness
of Esperanto and other constructed solutions is that the
methods of comparative linguistics are not available because
of the lack of common elements to compare. The efforts to
date have all been mechanical combinations of limited
language data.
Since most of the traditional languages of Europe were
originally "written by and for elites," in the words of Meil-
let, their norms may be called self-selected.46 Positive plan-
ning has been called for only when it was desired to change
them in order to achieve some particular effect. An older
stress on the written form as normative has given way
throughout the western world to a desire to make the oral
form central. Writing has been rapidly changing in the
direction of more informal styles of speaking. In keeping
with the spread of education and growing democracy, mod-
19
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
ern times have seen the introduction of previously excluded
forms of speech into the written standards. One aspect of
this has been the repeated calls for borrowing from native
dialects. Romanticism and nationalism combined to urge
the enrichment of the standard by drawing on rural and
other dialects beyond the pale of polite society. Even the
many attempts to purge languages of "foreign" elements
and replace them by native may be seen as part of this
broadening of the linguistic base, a change in norms cor-
responding to changing social attitudes.
2) Codification of form. Informal codification is the rule
in any language community, even that of the written lan-
guage. One can have a high degree of agreement in usage
without any formal statement of rules. W h e n the lawgivers
do arrive on the scene, they may be hampered by tradition
and ignorance from giving realistic rules. T h e scientific ap-
proach of modern linguistics will often find itself at odds
with traditional, prescriptive grammar, just as the modern
philosopher may find himself in disagreement with revealed
religion. Any attempt to apply rational insights to problems
of language is likely to meet a solid wall of prejudice.
T h e problems are too complex, however, to admit of any
easy solution. One school of linguistics has for many years
advocated a "phonetic" (more precisely: phonemic) spelling,
largely to reduce the learning burden of children. Today,
however, it has come to be realized that there is much to be
said for a so-called "etymological" (more precisely: mor-
phophonemic) spelling, which corresponds better to the
grammatical structure of the language. For example, a
phonemic spelling of dogs would require the final -s to be-
come -ζ; but this would destroy its grammatical identity
with the plural -s of cats. T h e sound values of the o's in
geology and geological are very different; but their identity
in spelling keeps these two related words together. One can
20
 T H E PROBLEM OF L A N G U A G E
even argue that a basically morphemic spelling, like the
ideographic one of Chinese, difficult as it is to learn, has
some advantages precisely because it is almost wholly di-
vorced from pronunciation and therefore permits speakers
of different languages to communicate in writing.
Any planning which aims at a change in codification must
begin by having a clear picture of the nature of previous
codifications, if any, and of their relation to the facts of
usage. Extensive and intelligently planned linguistic re-
search is essential in any program of codification. This may
be the most important factor in its success.
T h e topics that might properly arise for discussion by
competent linguists include a choice of script and orthog-
raphy, of pronunciations, grammatical forms, and lexical
items. T h e degree of prescriptive unity desired might vary a
great deal among these topics. One would not like to du-
plicate the unhappy situations prevailing in Hindi-Urdu or
in Serbo-Croatian, where one language is written in two
scripts because of religious cleavage within the nation. T h e
advantages of the Roman alphabet for world communica-
tion are so obvious today that one would like to see it intro-
duced everywhere; yet there are firm resistances in many
parts of the world. A unified orthography is certainly easier
to establish than a unified pronunciation, but there ought
to be a high degree of correspondence between the two for
the sake of simpler learning. T o equalize the learning
burden it may be necessary to adopt ambiguous spellings,
like the a of English bath, which can stand for a number of
different sounds. Conflicting grammatical forms, like Eng-
lish dove and dived or swam and swum, are extremely diffi-
cult to normalize: witness the persistence of proscribed
forms like I ain't and he don't. These are tightly organized
parts of a person's language, learned early and dying hard.
Vocabulary is a much more loosely organized structure,
21
 C O N F L I C T AND PLANNING
which is constantly being renewed by learning and for-
getting. T h e more technical a word is, the more important
it is to have a standardized usage, and it is here that com-
missions of nomenclature can do their best work. Concepts
need unit terms in proportion to their frequency and their
precision.
3) Elaboration of function. Webster's Third Interna-
tional Dictionary claims a vocabulary of 450,000 words, of
which it is not likely that most English speakers know more
than 20-80,000, or about the number of words available to
most human beings in any language. T h e overwhelming
majority of the words contained in such a compilation are
technical terms, used in specialized fields remote from the
interests of the average speaker or writer. In one sense
many of these are not English at all, but belong to an
international language of science and technology, mathe-
matically defined, and readily translatable into any language
that needs them. W h i l e many of them were invented by
speakers of English, a great many were not, since original
scientific research, even in the natural sciences, is not limited
to any one nation or language group. From the Hebrews,
Greeks, and Arabs down to modern times, our elaborated
codes of thought have been transmitted from one language
to another, with accretions from original thinkers in what-
ever country.
T h e evidences of this transmission are most patent in
languages like English which do not attempt to cover their
tracks when borrowing words. Languages like German or
Icelandic, however, which reproduce the originally Greek
"hydrogen" as Wasserstoff or vetni and "oxygen" as sauer-
stoff or eldi, are no less indebted to international science
for their terminology. T h e need for such terms is directly
proportional to the kind and extent of specialization within
the society. Every living social group has its specialists,
22
 T H E PROBLEM OF LANGUAGE
whether they be bards or shamans, artisans or artists. Dif-
ferences in age and sex, family and tribe, intelligence and
interest all lead to differences in lexical stocks. Words are
created on occasion, though observers are seldom present
to record the occasion. More often they are learned from
within the group or outside it.
Planners have been concerned about duplicating the
vocabulary of other languages in elaborating their own. As
suggested, there are two basic approaches to this problem:
innovation or adaptation. Adaptation is clearly the simpler,
since it requires only that an already existent model in an-
other language be adjusted to the structures of one's own.
English and French have drawn heavily on the classical
languages for their learned and scientific terms. The adap-
tation has often been very partial, and one can argue that
English has a dual structure today because of its mass of loan-
words. It is precisely to avoid this distortion of structure
that other languages have sought to create native replicas
instead of adaptations. This position, often called "puris-
tic," is the one adopted by Icelandic as well as Greek,
Hebrew, and others. While the argument is often advanced
that such purism preserves the characteristic structure of
the borrowing language, a more powerful motive is prob-
ably the sense of pride which derives from "doing it your-
self." It is a stronger assertion of identity than the mere
wholesale adaptation of foreign terms. As we shall see,
Danish and Dano-Norwegian (Riksmâl) are more like Eng-
lish in this respect, while New Norwegian (Landsmâl) at
first sought to emulate Icelandic, but has since tended more
and more toward the acceptance of loanwords.
Elaboration is not only a matter of scientific vocabulary.
It involves also the extension of linguistic function into the
realms of imaginative and emotional experience. Here the
enrichment comes more clearly from the artistic community,
23
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
which is at once international in scope and local in attach-
ment. A standard language today is not felt to be complete
unless it also has a wide range of expression for intimate,
emotional life. This is provided from the oral language,
often substandard or rural dialects, whose speakers are
more uninhibited or are sensed as more picturesque in their
language use. Modern lexicographers are often sympa-
thetically inclined and are more ready to include such terms
in their dictionaries than were the old academies. By ex-
cerpting the works of modern authors, they have a wide
range of usage from which to choose.
4) Acceptance by the community. T h e planner proposes,
but the community disposes. Authorities have tried to im-
pose certain norms for centuries with only partial success.
Schools have diligently taught "correct" language, with
only a few of their scholars sufficiently docile, or ambitious,
to learn it. The historical linguists of the nineteenth cen-
tury were inclined to discount the possibility of influencing
linguistic change at all. T h e laws they discovered operated
blindly, like natural laws, and it became fashionable to
speak of language as an organism, subject to the same evolu-
tionary development as other organisms. T h e biological
metaphor has now yielded to a structural one: language is
a structure, every part of which depends on the rest. If this
is true, then of course one cannot tamper with any part of
it without affecting the whole.
Nevertheless this branch of what may be called "applied
linguistics" has shown that it can have pragmatic results.
Just as social planning has become a reality in many na-
tions, so language planning is more than a negligible factor
in the world. Deliberate changes in script and orthography
have proved both feasible and beneficial. New norms have
been selected and codified, and great strides have been
taken toward elaborating them and getting them accepted.
24
 THE PROBLEM OF LANGUAGE
There is a wide difference in achievement between the near-
success of modern Hebrew and the near-failure of modern
Irish, but even the latter has contributed to give Eire a more
picturesque identity, without seriously impeding its prac-
tical affairs. In many countries loyalty to groups larger than
the local community has been promoted, which is at least
one step in the direction of integration into a world com-
munity.
T h e willingness of any community to accept innovations
in language is determined by the degree of difficulty en-
countered in teaching the innovation and the degree of
self-discipline which the community is willing to impose.
Innovations in the fundamentals of grammar and pronuncia-
tion can only be introduced in infancy and depend on the
willingness of parents to discipline their children. Script
and orthography are taught in schools, or at least after in-
fancy, and depend on the willingness of parents to alter the
school curriculum and train teachers to teach it. Innovations
in vocabulary occur throughout life, at all levels of educa-
tion, and depend on both the above factors, plus others still
unknown. Changes in core vocabulary are as likely to be
resisted as changes in grammar. Changes in learned vocabu-
lary can be made at a higher and more conscious level.
Experiences in Norway, as in most other countries where
planning has been attempted, suggest that orthography and
technical vocabulary are the most fruitful areas for the
planner's endeavor. 47
Perhaps it is as well that language planning should re-
main only a modest part of linguistic life. Otherwise the
field might be invaded by the hucksters, whose skill in
manipulating public opinion has so far been devoted largely
to popularizing the names of certain profitable products
and enterprises. Public opinion research may actually have
much to say about the possibility of launching linguistic
25
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
changes. Language habits, like floating icebergs, are mostly
submerged. Their essential nature is still largely hidden
from us, and planners who act on the assumption that they
understand their nature risk running afoul of the invisible
nine tenths.
Language planning is therefore still more of an art than
a science. Like politics, of which it is a part, it is the art of
the possible. The language planner must have some of the
equipment of the prophet or the soothsayer: to foresee the
wave of the future and ride it to its goal. As pointed out by
P. S. Ray, he can do so only if his goal is substantially the
same as that which the people have unconsciously accepted
as their own.48
We shall now consider the vicissitudes of language plan-
ning in a western, democratic, and socially well-ordered
country, Norway, which would have been more peaceful but
also less interesting if its language had not become a national
and social issue.

26
 T h e name of a Norwegian language and litera-
ture is no longer of any concern to Norwegians
. . . Now it is the reality of an independent
written language that challenges the spirits of
Norway. Time must of itself give birth to this
before the century has run its course, and so
much the sooner as our forces are united to that
purpose.

Henrik Wergeland (1835)1

2
THE LIBERATION OF NORWEGIAN

The clarion call on behalf of linguistic independence which

is quoted above was issued to Norwegians by their first great
poet and nationalistic agitator in the first generation of
their political independence. Wergeland's words are sig-
nificant in themselves as an expression of views held by
patriots in that age. They are significant also as stimulators
of action, having been quoted again and again in the contro-
versies that arose throughout the century. Henrik Werge-
land (1807-1845) clearly believed that political independ-
ence, such as Norway had achieved in 1814, would of itself
bring about linguistic independence. But he also believed
that it should be worked for, and that controversy would
be necessary to bring it about. In the essay "On Norwegian
Language Reformation" from which the words quoted
above are taken, he predicted that "the profit and honor of
an independently developed language" would cost the Nor-
wegians "a literary civil war." He welcomed this, since "the
control of the opponents will prevent the language from
being deluged with streams of useless words," while their

27
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
"most fine-meshed sieve will not be able to prevent the use-
ful ones from passing." Wergeland believed that "lexical
enrichment" would be the main advantage to be derived
from the recognition of Norwegian speech, but he did not
exclude the possibility that some of the "grammatical
wealth" of the dialects might also be regained. T o him the
problem was primarily one of expressiveness; he felt the
poet's need of a language rich in concrete, vivid terms, with
symbolic and emotional force. But he concluded his essay
with an appeal to national pride: Norway must no longer
remain a "cultural province" of Denmark; if Norwegians
should be persuaded to lose confidence in themselves and
their future in the cultural sphere, "then Norway will not
long enjoy the benefits of political independence."

DANISH AND NORWEGIAN

T h e reality that faced Norwegians in the generation after

1814 was that four centuries of dynastic union with Den-
mark had left the country without a voice of its own. T h e
tradition of Norway as a sovereign nation had never died,
but there was little in the present to support it. In the face
of a decision by the victors over Napoleon to separate Nor-
way from Denmark and hand it to Sweden, a constitutional
convention had been hastily called, a free constitution writ-
ten in the spirit of the American and French revolutions,
and a Danish prince chosen as monarch. Military pressure
forced the Norwegians to give up their monarch and accept
a new dynastic union with Sweden but left the constitution
and the internal government intact. Norwegians thus found
themselves with an apparatus for democratic self-govern-
ment, plus a set of bureaucratic institutions derived from
Denmark, but with little else that could contribute to the
growth of a truly national consciousness. It was a matter of
life and death for the nation to imbue the political appara-
28
 LIBERATION OF NORWEGIAN
tus, so suddenly evacuated by the Danish government, with
native content and to solidify popular support behind it,
if it were not one day to be occupied by the Swedes. The
main thread of Norwegian history in the nineteenth cen-
tury is the story of how Norwegians succeeded in this en-
deavor, which in 1905 led to the severance of political bonds
with Sweden and the re-emergence of Norway as a sovereign
nation. 2
The Constitution specified that the business of the state
should be conducted "in Norwegian." The purpose of this
provision may have been to exclude the use of Swedish, for
its authors can hardly have had in mind any radical linguis-
tic change from the prevalent Danish. In fact, as long as
Norway and Denmark had remained united, with Copen-
hagen as the common capital, the written language of gov-
ernment and literature was felt by most people to be com-
mon to both nations, equally distant from the spoken dia-
lects of both. It was often called Faellessproget, the Common
Language. It was only when Norway was politically sep-
arated that the problem of nomenclature became acute and
the essential Danishness of the written language stood re-
vealed. Before 1800 neither governments nor populations
were especially sensitive about the national qualities of
written languages, which were limited to official usage or to
a literature that could be enjoyed only by the literate mi-
nority of the population. Danish had itself been in official
disfavor in its own country until quite recently, with
German dominant, just as German had only recently strug-
gled its way out of bondage to Latin and French. The
liberation of German constituted a model, first to the Danes,
and later to the Norwegians. Wergeland made specific ref-
erence in his essay of 1835 to the upsurge of German in the
preceding century, when "Klopstock and Voss and Wieland
unloosed the hobbles and the pinions, while Schiller and

29
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
Goethe flew up with their liberated genius." 3 Norwegians
took heart from this example and proceeded to work toward
the fulfillment of a similar release for their own expression.
Linguistically their problem was to define what was meant
by "Norwegian" and to implement its use in their national
life. Psychologically this was a part of their search for in-
dividual and national identity.
While Wergeland emphasized the spoken dialects as a
major source of Norwegian materials, he also pointed to the
language of ancient Norway. Old Norwegian manuscript
materials are preserved from 1150 on, but writing must
have begun some years earlier. Together with the more
abundant Old Icelandic manuscripts they embody a Nor-
wegian tradition of oral composition going back into the
days of the formation of the Norwegian kingdom in the
ninth century. The rediscovery of this literature and its
Old Norxvegian language was one of the triumphs of scholar-
ship in Wergeland's generation, and a great stimulus to na-
tional pride. The extinction of written Norwegian followed
a century or so after the union with Denmark in 1397, since
there remained in Norway neither a court nor a chancery to
maintain the tradition. The step from written Norwegian
to written Danish was not great, and there is no evidence of
any protest on the part of Norwegian scribes over the use of
Danish. In the late Middle Ages it was a matter of course
that the government used whatever language it pleased;
Latin was still the only language of the Church and of
international scholarship. T h e process was completed with
the Reformation, which brought to Norway the Danish
Bible and thereby sanctified the language. In the same way
and during the same period the governments of Northern
Germany gradually imposed the High German of Luther's
Bible on their Low-German-speaking subjects.
As in other West European countries, the establishment
30
 LIBERATION OF NORWEGIAN
and spread of a standard written language for official pur-
poses led to the growth of an upper-class spoken language.
T h e civil, clerical, and military officials who were entrusted
with the government of the country naturally adopted the
vocabulary of the written language in much of their speech.
With the vocabulary came the phonological shape of the
words, including at least some of their grammar. But in
Norway the sound of the letters as Danes pronounced them
eluded all but the most thoroughly Danish-trained officials.
There was from early times a sharp cleavage between Danish
pronunciation and Norwegian, the latter resembling Swed-
ish to the extent that Danes even now find it difficult to tell
the two apart. Even when Norwegians spoke a Danish that
was lexically and grammatically perfect, they were still un-
mistakably Norwegian in sound. In informal speech the
officials themselves did not maintain Danish vocabulary
and grammar but allowed numerous Norwegian elements
to enter in. By Wergeland's time there must have been a
well-established country-wide Norwegian pronunciation
within the official and merchant classes. While this differed
regionally from city to city, it had in common a native
phonetic basis, and it shaded off into the local urban and
rural dialects of the common people.
In Wergeland's Norway we can thus distinguish roughly
the following types of oral expression: (1) Pure Danish,
used by a small number of immigrated Danish officials and
merchants, and on the stage, which was dominated by Dan-
ish actors; (2) Literary Standard, a Norwegian reading pro-
nunciation of Danish used on solemn occasions by Nor-
wegian-born pastors and officials, in its most exaggerated
form by country schoolmasters when instructing the young;
(3) Colloquial Standard, the daily speech of the educated
classes, a compromise between the preceding and the fol-
lowing types, varying in style according to the occasion

3i
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
and the speaker's origin; (4) Urban Substandard, spoken
by artisans and working-class people, varying from city to
city, but showing many characteristics in common with the
surrounding rural dialects; (5) Rural Dialect, spoken by the
farming and fishing population, varying from parish to
parish, with an intricate network of isoglosses crisscrossing
the country, but falling into broad dialectal areas deter-
mined by the lines of communication. Between the extremes
of stage Danish and the remoter rural dialects there was a
gulf which effectively prevented communication. But from
one type to the next of those listed above there was exten-
sive communication and mutual adaptation.
While Wergeland pointed the way for language reform
and promoted it by the use of Norwegian words and phrases
in his writings, it remained for linguists to work out the
theory of it and a program for putting it into practice.
These tasks were accomplished largely by two men, whose
names have become symbolic of two contrasting responses
to the challenge of the Norwegian situation. They were
both men of the people, born of humble folk, but naturally
gifted and fired with a vision of reform.
One of them was Knud Knudsen (1812-1895), a school-
man who was the first to identify and isolate the Colloquial
Standard, which he called byfolkets talesprog (the spoken
language of city people) in his grammar of 1856, entitled
Haandbog i Dansk-norsk Sproglcere (Handbook of Dano-
Norwegian Grammar). 4 Later he described it by the term
den landsgyldige norske uttale (the nationwide Norwegian
pronunciation), which was also the title of one of his books
(1876). Knudsen worked untiringly for the modification of
Danish spelling by the introduction of forms from the Col-
loquial Standard. His goal was a step-by-step revision of the
orthography in a Norwegian direction. Knudsen's gradualis-

32
 LIBERATION OF NORWEGIAN
tic solution was adopted by some writers even during his
lifetime, but its vindication came after his death with the
reform of 1907, which we shall describe later in this chapter.
T h e other reformer was Ivar Aasen (1813-1896), whose
more radical solution led to the establishment of an entirely
new tradition of writing based on the rural dialects. 5 Aasen
was only twenty-three years old when he wrote out for his
own use a program of research and reform. Instead of re-
garding the dialects either as degenerated forms of the
standard language, as many did in his time, or as perversely
deviant modes of expression, he held that they were the true
heirs of the Old Norwegian language. They alone had pre-
served the grammatical and lexical forms of that language,
though duly modified by the passage of time, and he saw
them as constituting together a single Norwegian language.
In his essay he variously referred to this as vort Almuesprog
(the language of our common people), det rette norske
Folkesprog (the true language of the Norwegian people),
and vort Nationalsprog (our national language).® This con-
ception was revolutionary, flying as it did in the face of
common opinion and prejudice, and would require ex-
traordinary effort for its practical realization. Aasen set him-
self to learning Old Norwegian and then undertook the
first country-wide survey of contemporary Norwegian dia-
lects. His work as dialectologist was fundamental in the de-
velopment of that branch of linguistics in Scandinavia, but
the ultimate goal in this case was not purely scientific. It
was rather to establish the features that he proposed to em-
body in his national written language. His first surveys were
presented in a grammar of 1848 and a dictionary of 1850,
in which the language was referred to in the titles as det
norske Folkesprog. In 1853 he published a small book of
specimens, some in dialect and some in his proposed norm,

33
 CONFLICT AND PLANNING
under the title Priver af det norske Landsmaal (Specimens
of the Norwegian National Language). He continued to
make some small alterations in the norm until the publica-
tion of his definitive grammar (1864) and dictionary (1873);
in these he simply called the language norsk, that is, Nor-
wegian.
Aasen's use of the term "Norwegian" sans phrase was a
challenge in itself to the common attitude of Norwegians,
who accepted the Danish written language, at least when
used by Norwegians, as Norwegian. His use of it was there-
fore not followed except by his supporters; others adopted
the term landsmaal (later written landsmâl), often reinter-
preting it to mean rural language. This sense was inherent
in the word itself because of the ambiguity of the word land,
which like English "country" can refer either to the coun-
tryside or to the whole nation. In his dictionary of 1850
Aasen himself had defined the word as "that type of lan-
guage which is used in the interior of the country" and in
1873 he included as one of its meanings "spoken usage in
the rural districts." An essay he wrote in 1859 shows that
he appreciated the ambiguity: "The country people them-
selves sometimes call this language 'landsmaal' to distin-
guish it from the language of the cities or the book lan-
guage . . . " But, he went on, "it might also deserve the
name 'landsmaal' in a higher sense, since it is actually the
proper language of the land from ancient times." 7 Knudsen
had already used the term landssprog in 1850 about the
country-wide pronunciation of the educated classes (type 3
above), but after toying for a short time with this idea,
Aasen had rejected it.8 Landsmaal (as a more Norwegian
term) took its place in the new sense of a generalized norm
based on the rural dialects as the spoken descendants of Old
Norwegian. 9 We shall hereafter abbreviate it as Lm.
34
Other documents randomly have
different content
Mars. In his interesting book on Mars he has presented the results of
his observations in so lucid and convincing a manner that a reviewer
of the English edition of the work, in an English astronomical journal,
is led to write: "We may say at once that we feel bound to accept
these observations as sufficient evidence of the real existence of the
markings without expressing an opinion as to what they may be."
The reviewer ends by saying: "Indeed, there is a subtle deftness in
the way Mr. Lowell deals with his observations which gives the
impression that he has been there and seen it all, and it is really
hard to say why we cannot accept his conclusions. It is probable,
because we are shy to receive new facts at a first statement. In
time, no doubt, we shall be willing to accept his deductions (or facts)
as to the markings. We were about to advance objections, but they
seem poor, and really it is a case where each person must read and
form his own ideas​—​but by all means read."
We have already presented a summary of his observations. We
may add here, however, an extract from his book on the solar
system. In this Mr. Lowell says of Mars: "What we see hints of the
existence of beings who are in advance of, not behind us in the
journey of life," and again: "Life on Mars must take on a very
different guise from what it wears on the Earth. It is certain there
can be no man there​—​that is as certain as anything can be. But this
does not preclude a local intelligence equal to, and perhaps easily
superior to, our own. We seem to have evidence that something of
the sort does exist there at the present moment and has made
imprint of its existence far exceeding anything we have left on
Mother Earth."
George W. Morehouse, in his "Wilderness of Worlds," says:
"Taken all together we must regard Mars as probably an inhabited
world and very similar to the Earth."
Mr. Hector Macpherson, Jr., member of the Astronomical Society
of France, in his interesting book "Astronomers of To-day," says, in
regard to Mr. Lowell's book on Mars: "He does not ask us to believe
anything fantastical or extravagant. His hypothesis has been framed
to account for all the various Martian features. At present we can
only say that it is the most comprehensive and probable theory yet
advanced to explain the phenomena of the red planet."
Professor Todd, Director of the Astronomical Observatory at
Amherst College, in his book on Stars and Telescopes, in referring to
drawings of a region in the southern portion of Mars, known as the
Solis Lacus, and a complicated drawing of another region, says:
"Whether one views this marvellous and intricate system as a whole,
or in some portion of high detail, it is difficult to escape the
conviction that the canali have, at least in part, been designed and
executed with a definite end in view."
There are many who do not deny the existence of some forms of
life on the planet, but are not prepared to admit the existence of
intelligent creatures. Sir Robert Ball expresses himself as follows:
"That there may be types of life of some kind on Mars is, I should
think, quite likely."
The number of astronomers above quoted, who have seen and
drawn the canals, might be augmented, but a sufficient number
have been cited to show that the evidence of the presence of these
markings does not rest with a few, furthermore, some of these
observers can only interpret the markings as the result of intelligent
action. It may be urged that among those quoted are some whose
opinion may not have great weight since they are not professional
astronomers. One must insist that the study of planetary markings
as well as the interpretation of their meanings comes not only within
the province of planetary astronomers, but that any broad-minded
man, with an acute eye and familiar with the sciences connected
with the surface features of the Earth, is quite competent to make
observations of his own and to judge of the merits of the question.
 VI

THE STUDY OF PLANETARY MARKINGS

Their singular aspect, and the fact that they

are drawn with absolute geometric precision as
if they were the product of rule and compass,
have induced some people to see in them the
work of intelligent beings, inhabitants of the
planet. I should be careful not to combat this
supposition which involves no impossibility.
Schiaparelli.

It is a question whether, after all, the study of planetary

markings comes within the province of astronomers. Not more,
perhaps, than the study of physical geography and subjects
connected with the surface features of the Earth, comes under the
cognizance of those whose profession it is to determine the
oscillation of the pole, the Earth's movements due to the Moon, etc.
Indeed, these lines of research are strictly astronomical. With the
study of the surface markings of the Moon, or Mars, features of an
entirely different kind are to be interpreted, and quite a different
equipment is necessary. It is no wonder, then, that astronomers, the
most conservative of all classes of investigators, should view with
suspicion the results of the work of Schiaparelli, Lowell and others.
Immersed in mathematics, trusting in nothing that cannot be
measured and reckoned, as a class holding their imagination in
abeyance, is it any surprise that they should present an attitude of
indifference and even hostility to the work of those who, differently
equipped mentally, have attempted a definition and solution of the
riddle of the Martian markings? To appreciate how foreign to the
studies of an astronomer is the interpretation of the canals of Mars,
one has simply to scan the index of any astronomical publication, or
the titles of papers in the transactions of astronomical societies. For
example, take volumes XX and XXI of the "Astronomical Journal" and
tabulate the papers, memoirs, etc., therein published, numbering
two hundred and thirty-eight, and we find of these, seventy-four on
the stars; sixty-two on the comets; nineteen on planets and
satellites, mostly mathematical; eighteen on the Sun; eighteen on
the asteroids; fifteen on Eros; ten on polar motion and latitude; four
on Nova Persei; and seventeen miscellaneous, consisting of
logarithms, instruments, Gegenschein, etc.; and only one on Mars,
and this on the polar snow caps!
As to the question whether it is more important to add another
to the thousands of variable stars and binaries, and hundreds of
asteroids, already determined, or to consider whether we are alone
in the universe and, if so, the significance of it, I think with the
intelligent public there can be no doubt.
A fair sample of the subjects which occupy the astronomers'
mind, and which are so remote from the study of planetary
markings, and have so little interest for the public, may be gathered
from the following list selected at random from an astronomical
publication. Notes on variable stars; Maxima and minima of long
period variables; Micrometrical measurements of the companion of
Procyon; The problem of three bodies; Ephemeris of Comet a, 1901;
On the eruptive energy of the stars; Eclipse cycles; Determinations
of the aberration-constant from right ascension; Theory of a
resisting medium upon bodies moving in parabolic orbits; Weights
and systematic corrections of meridian observation in right ascension
and declination; and other titles equally profound. Many of these
memoirs consist of hundreds of pages of figures, and, as a friend of
mine observed, not a column footed up! Take for example a title like
the following: "Method of developing the perturbative functions, also
precepts for executing their development." This memoir is
accompanied by pages of algebraic formulæ which the layman turns
over in despair, the only illumination consisting of a few words in
English which render the gloom still more apparent,​—​such words as
"hence," "or," "we therefore have," "if we put." Of what we "have,"
and why we "put," we are left in profound ignorance. Now I venture
to believe that the great world of humanity takes but little interest in
such pages, or in the kinds of titles above given, though fully
realizing that they mean something and represent important steps in
astronomic research. It would add greatly to the value of these
contributions if a brief summary in plain English could be given at
the end of these papers, but it is the rarest event that these
collectors of data ever make any generalizations, or form any
deductions.
5
My faith in the appalling character of algebraic formulæ
received a rude shock when I learned of an experience of Louise
Michel, the anarchist, who was transported for life to New Caledonia
(afterwards pardoned). On arriving at the savage island, true to her
humanitarian instincts, "she immediately established a school for
native children, who by a curious freak of their minds, she noted
with rejoicing, took naturally to algebra before they learned
arithmetic!"
Hovenden quotes Huxley as saying that mathematics "is that
study that knows nothing of observation, nothing of induction,
nothing of experiment, nothing of causation." He also quotes the
words of Clerk Maxwell, who said, in regard to mathematicians, that
it was "doubtful whether the ideas as expressed in symbols had ever
quite found their way out of the equations into their minds." They
never seem to appeal to the doctrine of probabilities nor do they in
any way permit imagination to act as a stimulus to suggestive
thought.
Least of all would a layman ridicule or question the painstaking
labor involved in astronomic work, though he cannot see a glimmer
of light or intelligence in the enigmatical pages. A certain class of
astronomers might take a lesson from an intelligent public in ceasing
to scoff and ridicule what they are unable to see themselves in the
Martian markings. The chief work of these men indicates the cold
precise measuring of points of light in the heavens, the
determination of orbits, elements and ephemeris of heavenly bodies,
the determination of solar parallax, etc., most of the subjects strictly
mathematical, a question of careful measurements for which the
necessary instruments are at hand, or simply sweeping the heavens
for a new variable, binary or asteroid. Parallaxes and orbits are
matters of measurement to be reckoned by the figures of anybody
else. It is obvious from all this that little or no interest is manifested
by astronomers in planetary markings, least of all in those of Mars.
The exasperating feature of the matter is that they persistently
repudiate the observation of others equally well equipped, and
endowed with the same enthusiasm and devotion to their work.
The way in which the gatherers of the raw material arrogate to
themselves the science of astronomy, relegating the thinkers and
generalizers to the limbo of speculation, is as if the book-keepers of
a corporation should assume themselves to be the master-minds of
the concern and the banker, or financier, at the head of it, a dreamer
not worth regarding.
An illustration of the conservativeness of astronomers in regard
to planetary markings is shown in their cautious attitude concerning
the polar snow caps of Mars. Here are white polar caps on Mars,
precisely where they ought to be if they are snow, they wax and
wane at the time they should and at no other time, a dark band
appears at their borders as the caps in turn diminish in size, which
has been interpreted as water due to the melting snow, and no
other substance known could possibly reproduce these varying
conditions. Professor C. A. Young, in describing these white areas,
says: "The one which happens to be turned toward the Sun
continually diminishes in size, while the other increases, the process
being reversed with the seasons of the planet." After these
admissions Professor Young cautiously says: "These are believed to
be ice caps." Sir John Herschel says: "The variety in the spots may
arise from the planet not being destitute of atmosphere and clouds,
and what adds greatly to the probability of this is the appearance of
brilliant white spots at the poles​—​one of which appears in our figure​
—​which have been conjectured with some probability to be snow, as
they disappear when they have been long exposed to the Sun, and
are greatest when just emerging from the long night of the polar
winter." Had Michael Faraday been an astronomer, how long would it
have taken him to pronounce these white polar caps snow and ice?
De la Rive, in his memoir of Faraday, in speaking of his marvellous
accomplishments, says: "One may easily understand what must be
produced under such circumstances by a life thus wholly
consecrated to science, when to a strong and vigorous intellect is
joined a most brilliant imagination." Tyndall, in his discourse "On the
Scientific use of the Imagination," says: "Bounded and conditioned
by co-operant reason, imagination becomes the mightiest instrument
of the physical discoverer. Newton's passage from a falling apple to a
falling Moon was a leap of the imagination."
That Herbert Hall Turner, Professor of Astronomy in the
University of Oxford, does not regard the various contributions on
the surface features of Mars as belonging to astronomical science
may be inferred from his interesting book lately published, entitled
"Astronomical Discovery." This book presents to us the history of the
discovery of Uranus and Eros, of Neptune, Bradley's aberration of
light, Schwabe and sun-spot period, the variation of latitude, etc.,
but not a word about the marvellous discoveries of the canali of
Mars by Schiaparelli, so fully confirmed by the observation and
drawings of many others, and the great advances made by Lowell in
the discovery of new features with his lucid and rational
interpretation of the seeming enigmas.
Astronomy, the oldest and most conservative of all the sciences,
has been the last to subdivide. Already one group of men has
justified by its work a division of the science known as astrophysics.
The lamented Keeler, in explaining the difference between
astronomy and astrophysics, said: "Astrophysics seeks to ascertain
the nature of the heavenly bodies, rather than their positions and
motions in space, what they are, rather than where they are." This
natural division suggests the propriety of making another division
equally distinct, which should comprise the study and interpretation
of the surface markings of the planets and satellites, under the
name of planetology. The study would be the application to these
bodies of the science of geology, in its broadest sense, meteorology,
physical geography, geodesy, and related sciences.
With the science of planetology established, the student of this
science will no longer call to his aid the astronomer, and, least of all,
the astrophysicist, nor will he be mindful of their criticism or neglect.
He will appeal to the sciences which are involved in the study of the
surface features of his own globe, in the interpretation of planetary
detail.
 VII

DIFFICULTIES OF SEEING

It is contrary to all the analogies of nature to

suppose that life began only on a single world.
Simon Newcomb.

For years I had been familiar with different representations of

Mars in which the surface features had been strongly depicted in
black and white; in other words, photo-reliefs, or engravings
incorporated with the printed page. I had unwittingly come to
believe that these features were equally distinct when one observed
Mars through the telescope. I had not then seen Schiaparelli's
original memoir in which his wonderful map presents the canals in
light and tenuous lines, which are, however, as clear cut as the lines
of a steel engraving, to use his words. For a long time I had hoped
for a chance to observe Mars through a large telescope in a clear
and steady atmosphere. It seemed reasonable to me​—​knowing
nothing about it​—​that one who had traced out under the microscope
delicate lines and structural features in diaphanous membranes, who
had, in fact, used a microscope with high powers for forty years,
would find it child's play to make out the canals, oases, regions, etc.,
of Mars, as represented in the various publications on the subject.
Professor Percival Lowell, of Flagstaff, Arizona, finally gave me the
opportunity I so much desired, and, through his courtesy and
kindness, I was enabled to observe Mars every night for nearly six
weeks through his twenty-four inch refractor, the last and probably
the best telescope ever made by Clark, mounted in one of the
steadiest atmospheres in the world and at an altitude above sea-
level of over 7,000 feet. Imagine my surprise and chagrin when I
first saw the beautiful disk of Mars through this superb telescope.
Not a line! not a marking! The object I saw could only be compared
in appearance to the open mouth of a crucible filled with molten
gold. Slight discolorations here and there and evanescent areas
outlined for the tenth of a second, but not a determinate line or spot
to be seen. Had I stopped that night, or even a week later, I might
have joined the ranks of certain observers and said "illusion" or
something worse. And right here it was that my experience in
microscopic work helped me, for, remembering the hours​—​nay, days​
—​I had worked, in making out structural features in delicate
organisms which my unprofessional friends could not see at all, I
realized that patient observation would be required if I was to be
successful in my efforts. My despair, however, was overwhelming
when Professor Lowell and his assistants, looking for a few moments
at the same object, would draw on paper the features which had
been plainly revealed to them, consisting of definite shaded regions,
a number of canals and other markings, of which, with the utmost
scrutiny, I could hardly detect a trace. For the first time I realized
that observing fixed diaphanous membranes under a microscope
with rigid stand, and within four inches of one's nose, was quite a
different matter from observing a brilliant disk 4,200 miles in
diameter, 52,000,000 miles away, with an oscillating atmosphere of
unknown depth between. Night after night I examined this golden,
opalescent disk, drawing each time such features as I could convey
by memory from the ocular to the drawing table, and, little by little,
new features were detected, and to my delight the drawings agreed
with those made by the others. Since the drawings made by the four
observers coincided, it was evident that we had not been victims of
subjective phenomena. Furthermore, as I discovered afterwards, by
comparison, the drawings I made not only agreed with theirs but
with those made by other observers, at different times, in other
parts of the world. So slow were my acquisitions, however, that it
soon became evident that at least months of continuous observation
would be necessary before the more delicate markings would be
revealed to me. It is interesting to learn that others have had a
similar experience. Mr. A. Stanley Williams, of England, in an article
entitled "Notes on Mars" ("Observatory," June, 1899), in stating the
difficulties of observation, says: "My eye invariably requires at least
two months of continuous observation of a planet before it acquires
its full sensitiveness to the most minute details."
In this connection it is well to state that Mr. Lowell began the
observation of Mars when he was a mere boy. His first telescope,
which he still has, was a two and a quarter inch refractor. His
observations were made from the roof of his house in Boston, and
with this small glass he defined the general shaded regions that
Huyghens had detected and drawn in 1659. Since then Mr. Lowell
has observed in turn through a six inch, an eighteen inch of
Brashear, and, for the last few years, through a twenty-four inch
refractor made by Clark especially for this work.
To refute the accumulated observations of Mr. Lowell one must
have the same acute eye, and a record of the same continuous and
devoted study. Nothing short of that experience will avail. The
jealous derision that has gone up from some observers endowed
with less acuteness of vision is neither dignified nor just. Were these
Martian details based upon the observations of Lowell alone, one
might be inclined to say that some vagary of the mind had led him
to imagine these markings which were first detected by the great
Italian astronomer Schiaparelli. Up to the present time​—​to mention
only a few​—​observations and drawings have been made by Perrotin,
Thollon, and Flammarion, of France; Dr. Phil. Fauth, of Germany;
Williams, of England; Lowell, W. H. Pickering, Douglass, Lampland,
and Schaeberle, of America, while many others have made drawings
of the more conspicuous details. With this record it is impossible to
deny the existence of these markings essentially as they are drawn.
The difficulty of seeing the more delicate markings of the planet
is unquestionable, and an examination of astronomical literature,
from which we shall make numerous quotations, indicates only too
plainly the acuteness of vision, and the time and care necessary to
make competent observations. Sir Robert Ball says, in one of his
recent works: "The detection of the Martian features indicates one of
the utmost refinements of astronomical observations." Macpherson,
in his "Astronomers of To-day," thus writes of Schiaparelli, "Professor
Schiaparelli's observations have been distinguished by his keen-
sightedness and care. He has taken every precaution to avoid all
disturbances resulting from personal equation, and has found it well
to adopt the rule (which he here quotes) 'to abstain from everything
which could affect the nervous system, from narcotics and alcohol,
and especially from the abuse of coffee, which I found to be
exceedingly prejudicial to the accuracy of observation.'" What I
might have accomplished in the way of seeing had I followed the
wise example of Schiaparelli I do not know. A not too strict
abstemiousness in any of these matters, coupled with long daily
walks on the Mesa, with its fascinating flora and fauna, found me in
the observer's chair every night, somewhat fatigued mentally and
physically.
Sir Robert Ball, in his "Popular Guide to the Heavens," in
describing the difficulty in making out the more delicate markings of
Mars, says: "It should be understood that in the unsteady air of
England it is almost hopeless to expect many of the finer details; not
even in the most favorable climates are they to be seen always, or
all at once, and much training of the eye is required before it is fit to
decide for or against the existence of these details on the verge of
invisibility." As another illustration, perhaps, of the difficulties of
seeing, Sir Robert, in the same book, says: "Observers of Mars are
divided into two camps, those who see the canals, and those who do
not. The former are in the strong position that they are perfectly
sure that they see what they represent in their drawings."
From the foregoing it must be evident that not only are the finer
markings on Mars most difficult to see even under the best
conditions but that exceptional acuteness of vision, which few
possess, united with long practice, is necessary to make out the
tenuous lines which enclose the field of Mars like a net. That Mr.
Lowell has had a long and continuous practice, covering years, in
observing Mars through the steadiest of atmospheres and with a
superb glass, is simply a statement of fact. It may be said without
fear of contradiction that he has devoted more time to the
observation of Mars than all the other observers combined. Has he
then an exceptional acuteness of sight, coupled with indefatigable
industry, in the pursuit of this quest to which he is devoting his life
and fortune? The following instance will illustrate his marvellous
eyesight. We were walking along the shores of a lake some miles
from Flagstaff, the expanse of shore left by the rapidly evaporating
waters abounding with thousands of very small black spiders running
hither and thither at our approach. I told him of one I had just seen
in which the abdomen was covered with minute young spiders which
the mother was carrying about with her​—a ​ well-known habit of
certain species. This curious fact I had detected only while stooping
close to the ground in search of minute shells. Mr. Lowell, while
walking along, immediately began scanning the ground for the trace
of a spider with minutely granulated abdomen, and finally
exclaimed: "There is one of them!" On stooping down to examine
the object it proved to my astonishment to be a female carrying its
young in the way already described. This incident revealed a
remarkable acuteness of vision to detect, while standing erect and
walking, this tiny spider among hundreds of others of its species that
were scampering away at our approach.
Not only is acuteness of vision necessary to one who is to study
planetary markings, but of importance also is a clear, and above all a
steady atmosphere; and, strange as it may appear, telescopes of
moderate size seem to be the instruments with which the best work
has been done. It is also true in astronomy, as in warfare, that it is
not the biggest gun but the man behind the gun that does the most
efficient work. As an evidence of the importance of steady
atmosphere Professor W. H. Pickering, in his observations on the
satellites of Jupiter, says his work had two important bearings: "First,
as showing the relative importance of atmosphere versus aperture
for delicate visual observations of this sort. In the same category
would be included studies of planetary detail as distinguished from
the examination of very faint objects. In other words, if an observer
wishes to study very faint stars he must have a large telescope. If he
wishes to study the neighboring planets and brighter satellites he
may use a small telescope, but he must have a very good
atmosphere."
The importance of a clear and steady atmosphere, for delicate
observation, is known to all astronomers. The rarity of such days,
even in our clear atmosphere so superior to that of England, is not
generally known. Forty years ago Dr. Henry Draper, in an address
entitled "Are Other Worlds Inhabited?" in speaking of Mars and the
difficulties of seeing, said: "One of the greatest obstacles to distinct
vision is our own atmosphere. Its currents and motions tend to
confuse the outlines of objects, and, according to my experience, a
whole year may pass without the occurrence of more than one good
night. The only remedy is to carry the telescope as high up on a
mountain as possible, so as to leave below the more injurious
portions of the atmosphere. It might be possible to work 15,000 feet
above the sea in the neighborhood of the Equator." I quote these
words that the general reader may appreciate the advantages Lowell
has with his fine telescope south of all European observatories, in
the latitude, say of Algiers, at a high altitude, and in the dry and
steady atmosphere of Arizona, with uninterrupted seeing for weeks
together, and each night far superior to any night which Greenwich
could ever be blessed with.
Professor W. H. Pickering attests to the importance of a steady
atmosphere in studying the Moon from a station in Jamaica, when
he says that, with a five inch refractor, he was able to detect minute
details which were not revealed by the far larger telescopes at
Harvard University.
Mr. W. D. Barbour, President of the Leeds Astronomical Society,
using his four inch achromatic, says: "In one of those brief intervals
of atmospheric steadiness I saw distinctly a number of well-known
markings," the names of which he gives. Dr. Phil. Fauth, using a
seven inch refractor, made sixty-three drawings of Mars, showing in
wonderful detail the canals, oases, etc. Mr. W. J. Lockyer, in London
"Nature," testifies that "a keen and patient observer, sitting at the
eyepiece of a comparatively small equatorially mounted telescope, if
he makes his observations carefully, and with due regard to
atmospheric conditions for good seeing, can do more useful and
valuable work than one who has a large aperture at his command
and employs it indifferently." Mr. E. Ledger, in speaking of Dawes,
who made a remarkable map of Mars, says he was justly famed for
the remarkable distinctness of his vision; he had detected and drawn
a few lines which seemed to be identical to those of Schiaparelli.
In the authorities above quoted we have endeavored to show
that a steady atmosphere, a persistent devotion to the work,
accompanied by acute vision, and also a talent for observation, are
all the factors needed, not only to confirm the remarkable
discoveries of Schiaparelli and Lowell, but possibly to detect, at
favorable moments, new features which have escaped the eyes of
these keen observers.
At this point we cannot resist giving the words of Sir David Gill,
Director of the Royal Observatory at the Cape of Good Hope.
Professor S. W. Burnham, of the Lick Observatory, in reviewing a
memoir entitled "Double Star Observations at the Cape of Good
Hope," quotes as follows from the preface: "Sir David Gill, in
speaking of the routine character of the work involved in the
investigation, says: 'There is no instance, as far as I know, of a long
and valuable series of double star discovery and observation made
by a mere assistant acting under orders. It is a special faculty, an
inborn capacity, a delight in the exercise of exceptional acuteness of
eyesight and natural dexterity, coupled with the gift of imagination
as to the true meaning of what he observes, that imparts to the
observer the requisite enthusiasm for double star observing. No
amount of training or direction could have created the Struves, a
Dawes, or a Dembowski. The great double star observer is born, not
made, and I believe that no extensive series of double star
measurement will ever emanate from a regular observatory, through
successive directorates, unless men are specially selected who have
previously distinguished themselves in that field of work, and who
were originally driven to it from sheer compulsion of inborn taste.'"
If the reader will substitute the words planetary markings for double
star in the above quotation from Sir David Gill's report, he will
understand why we have ventured to italicise certain lines, and will
appreciate their significance. In no stronger or truer words could one
have emphasized the conditions involved in a critical study of the
surface features of Mars.
In the experience of an astronomer, it is not an unusual
occurrence that an object in the heavens, fairly conspicuous,
remains unseen until by some lucky chance an observer sweeping
the sky picks it up, and, having determined its position, it is promptly
found by others. Professor H. H. Turner, in his "Astronomical
Discovery of the Nineteenth Century," says: "It is a common
experience in astronomy that an observer may fail to notice in a
general scrutiny, some phenomenon which he can see perfectly well
when his attention is called to it; when a man has made a discovery,
and others are told what to look for, they often see it so easily that
they are filled with amazement and chagrin that they never saw it
before."
In the Rev. T. W. Webb's interesting book on "Celestial Objects
for Common Telescopes," a reminiscence of the author is given by a
friend in which the following is related as illustrating the varying
ability of observers in seeing. "A curious instance of difference of
vision was well illustrated one superb evening when Mr. Webb and
the writer were observing Saturn with the nine and a half inch
refractor at Hardwick. Mr. Webb saw distinctly the division in the
outer ring which the writer could not see a trace of, while the writer
picked up a faint point of light which afterwards turned out to be
Enceladus (a satellite) which Mr. Webb could not see."
In my brief observation of Mars I probably might have made out
many more details if I had permitted Mr. Lowell to tell me what to
see, and where to look for them on the disk. This I would not allow
him to do, nor did I study any of the numerous drawings in his own
work, or the original memoirs of Schiaparelli, or other works
containing drawings of Mars in his library. I would not learn the
names of any of the regions, or canals, nor with a single exception
do I know them now. Only when I had finished my last night's
observations, did Mr. Lowell take my drawings and write out a list of
the various canals, oases, etc., which I had made out. Thus,
unaided, I drew simply what was plainly evident, though many other
details flashed out for a second, which were not recorded, simply
because I did not see them often enough to be sure of their precise
position on the disk.
Mr. Lowell points out one of the reasons why so many observers
and astronomers have not seen the canals. In the third volume of
the "Annals of the Lowell Observatory" he refers to a certain series
of observations of Mars, made in 1894, and says: "Not only was
there no sign of a canal, but even the main markings showed
disheartingly indefinite." "This vacancy of expression was due to the
Martian date." "It was the very nick of time to see nothing, for the
part of the planet most presented to the Earth was then at the
height of the dead season, and in this fact lies the key to much past
undetection and present unbelief in the phenomenon of the canals."
 VIII

VARIATION IN DRAWING

Let us not cheat ourselves with words.

Conservatism sounds finely and covers any
amount of ignorance and fear.
Percival Lowell.

Much doubt has been expressed as to the existence of the so-

called canals in Mars and other surface markings of that planet in
consequence of the discrepancy seen in the drawings of the more
delicate features by various observers. While in the main a certain
general resemblance is seen in the topographical character of the
network of lines, and a more close resemblance in the darker
markings, notably the Syrtis Major, the disagreement in the minor
details has led certain astronomers to deny their existence
altogether, or to insist that most of the markings were subjective, or
due to poor focusing, or the result of aberration of the eye or lens.
Professor Simon Newcomb, in his "New Astronomy for Everybody," in
speaking of the work of the observers at the Lick Observatory and
the great telescope at their command coupled with favorable
situation, says: "It is therefore noteworthy that the markings on the
face of Mars as presented by Barnard do not quite correspond to the
channels of Schiaparelli and Lowell." Newcomb also reproduces in
his book the drawings of a region in Mars known as Solis Lacus,
made by Campbell and Hussey, and finds they do not show an exact
agreement between them. Now such objections might have some
weight if drawings made by different observers of the Solar Corona,
for example, or the Nebula of Orion, or the Milky Way had any close
resemblance. As a matter of fact, these various drawings depart far
more widely from the originals, as shown by photographic
reproduction, than do the various drawings of Mars. Mr. Fison, in his
"Recent Advances in Astronomy," in speaking of the divergence in
the drawings made by different observers, says: "In inspecting
sketches of the delicate details of the Corona of the Sun made at the
same place by different observers, it is difficult to believe that the
same object has been represented." To appreciate how widely
divergent such drawings are one has only to refer to the United
States Naval Observatory publication on the Total Eclipse of the Sun,
July 29, 1878.
 PLATE II

DRAWINGS OF THE SOLAR CORONA BY VARIOUS

OBSERVERS

As an indication of the dissimilarity of the drawings of the

Corona made at the same instant by different observers, many of
whom are well-known astronomers, I may say that the various
plates resemble in turn the following objects: a skate's egg-case; a
circular battery discharging fire from one side while the smoke drifts
away in the opposite direction; an ascidian, known as Molgula, with
an extra aperture, however; a snowshoe; a radiolarian; a fighting
shield of an Igorrote savage; an egg of a hair worm; a crushed
spider, and other equally dissimilar objects. I have reproduced a few
of these drawings (Plate II), that the reader may realize that my
similes are not exaggerated. The many drawings which have been
made of the Nebula of Orion, by astronomers of distinction, depart
quite as widely from each other as do those of the Solar Corona. In
Volume XXV of the "Naval Observatory Observations" is published a
monograph of the central parts of the Nebula of Orion, by Professor
E. S. Holden. He starts with a drawing made by Huyghens in 1659
and ends with a drawing made by Professor Langley in 1879. In a
summary of the work the author says: "I am acquainted with but
one drawing of the Nebula which is entirely above criticism, that of
the late G. P. Bond. He was a skilled artist," etc. An examination of
the drawings in this Memoir are equally distracting. In looking at
them casually they suggest respectively a Japanese stocking pattern;
an amoeba; an embryo cuttlefish; a plan of Boston, and other forms
equally divergent. Mr. Fison, in his book above quoted, writes as
follows of other astronomical subjects: "Drawings of the Milky Way
as seen by the naked eye have been recently executed by two
independent observers, Mr. Boeddicker and Mr. Eaton, each drawing
the result of long and arduous observation, but in comparing them it
is the exception rather than the rule to find any approximation in
agreement in respect of the more delicate details." The drawings of
the surface features of Mars by different observers do vary in respect
of the more delicate details, but in every case they represent a map
of some kind and do not remind one of a wheelbarrow, baptismal
font, or other incongruous objects. These divergent drawings of the
same object are not confined to celestial bodies. One has only to
examine works on ancient Mexican and Egyptian monuments, or
those of classical archæology, to see the astounding caricatures and
perversions. The various drawings of the famous Dighton Rock
inscription, covering a period of two hundred years, are striking
examples of the vagaries of an artist. Moreover, the text
accompanying the drawings often states that they were drawn with
scrupulous care. The hieroglyphics are pecked out on the face of a
rock in rough lines, half an inch wide and a third of an inch in depth.
These marks are in enduring rock; it is the observer and his
imperfect drawing which is at fault. The Nebula of Orion, the Milky
Way, and, for the time being, the Solar Corona are permanent
objective realities and have all been photographed, yet behold the
drawings! It is unnecessary to state that the ability to draw varies
quite as much with man as the ability to sing. A man may be an
excellent observer and yet utterly unable to use a pencil, and any
attempt on the part of one to draw who has no ability in that
direction results in a fiasco. It is noteworthy that an artist with no
knowledge of astronomy, or the art of telescopic observation, will
make a more accurate drawing than one made by the best
astronomer who has no ability as a draughtsman. Concerning the
drawings of Mars, if one will turn to the "Annals of the Lowell
Observatory," Volume I, Plate XIV, he will there see drawings made
on successive nights by Mr. Lowell and his assistants, Mr. Douglass
and Mr. Drew, showing a remarkable agreement. After finishing my
observations of Mars, which covered nearly a complete presentation
of the planet, I made a comparison between my drawings and those
made by Professor Lowell and his secretary, Miss Leonard, and a few
made by the assistant astronomers, Mr. Lampland and Mr. Slipher,
and the agreement was almost absolute, the only difference being
that their drawings portrayed additional features which in some
cases I had caught a glimpse of but could not fix. I found it
exceedingly difficult to draw in the correct positions details within a
circle, and particularly when the axis of that circle was inclined some
degrees from the vertical, indicated by a spider's thread in the
ocular.
I think any reasonable man will admit that the divergence seen
in the various drawings of Mars by different observers cannot be
held as an argument against their existence.
 IX

THEORIES REGARDING THE CANALS

In knowledge, that man only is to be

condemned and despised who is not in a state
of transition.
Faraday.

Having shown to the satisfaction of any reasonable mind that

the delicate lines, known as canals, do exist, it will be interesting to
examine some of the theories which have been advanced to explain
these markings, as well as some of the absurd deductions drawn
from their existence. The late Dr. J. Joly, Professor of Geology in the
University of Dublin, in a paper on the Origin of the Canals of Mars
("Trans." Royal Soc., Dublin) came to the conclusion that meteoric
bodies, revolving on or near the surface of Mars, produced these
lines. In brief, he supposed that Mars at various times in the early
stages of his history, when his rotation period was much shorter,
attracted small bodies, which, after whirling about the planet, finally
came down on the crust and caused these lines. He conceived of
satellites twice the diameter of Phobos, or say, seventy-two miles in
diameter, flying about Mars at a distance of sixty-three miles, which
would at this distance, by its attractive force, exert a stress on the
supposed thin crust of Mars of from fifteen to thirty tons per square
foot, and thus rend the surface of the planet in a zone two hundred
and twenty miles wide, thus forming two parallel ridges which might
be visible to us as double canals. This preposterous idea takes no
account of the greater attractive force of the Earth, and that it too
should have had precisely the same experience, more often
repeated. No trace of such behaviors, however, has ever been
detected. The Moon, too, should have caught some of these heavy
bodies, but while conspicuous cracks are seen on her surface, and
delicate ridges are seen radiating from the larger volcanoes, not a
trace of these great meteoric furrows has ever been observed. It
takes no account of the chances​—​one in a million​—​that these
cavorting meteors should meet at common centres, and if they did,
the impossibility that they should stop abruptly and then start off in
opposite directions. It takes no account of many of the lines
following the arc of a great circle, or what finally became of three or
four hundred of these meteors to tally with the number of the
canals, unless it is supposed that some of them went whirling
around the planet three or four times, changing their courses
instantly and repeatedly. Indeed, the advancement of such absurd
ideas shows the desperate despair of a man who tries to escape the
admission that the lines in question may be artificial​—a​ nd hence the
result of intelligence working to a definite end​—​by a conception as
crazy as one might possibly get in a disordered dream. To heighten
the absurdity of this theory, if that were possible, Mr. J. L. E. Dryer,
who signs a notice of this paper, while calling attention to the fact
that this hypothesis takes no account of the correlation of changes in
the canals with seasonal changes on the planet, otherwise soberly
says: "It must be conceded that there is nothing in the new
hypothesis contrary to observed facts."
Mr. J. Orr, in the pages of the "British Astronomical Journal,"
assuming that Schiaparelli believed that the canals were excavated
(despite the fact that Schiaparelli called them canali, or channels),
and compared them to the English Channel and the Channel of
Mozambique​—​for at the outset he had no doubt of their being
natural configurations​—​proceeds to show the impossibility of an idea
that was never entertained. His attempt is as childish and ridiculous
as the theory he conjures up. Mr. Orr, taking it for granted that the
only explanation offered for these lines is that they are excavated,
concludes that a Martian canal, like Tartarus, "should be seventy feet
in depth (one might ask, why not five hundred or five thousand?)
and that the canals of Mars would contain 1,634,000 of our Suez
Canals, and would require an army of two hundred million men,
working for one thousand of our years, for their construction," and
similar idiocies regarding the population of Mars, which he concludes
"must be 409,000,000, thus showing that all the adult males, and a
large number of women, must have been engaged in the great
work." In connection with this absurd travesty, let us pause for a
moment to consider the extraordinary character of the president of
this society before which this paper was read. A man who is the
senior assistant of the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, instead of
rebuking this balderdash as entirely beside the question, stated as
the result of an experiment with a lot of charity-school children, that
the canals are merely illusions of the brain, and this in the face of
the testimony of a number of astronomers, many of whom are
highly distinguished, that the markings do exist. This man seriously
commented on the paper by saying: "He hoped that Mr. Orr's
statistical, but nevertheless amusing and instructive, paper might
prove one more nail in the coffin of a very absurd idea which had
certainly got most undue currency, namely, that the canals of Mars
could possibly be the work of human agents." Equally astounding,
too, is it that this nonsense the "Astronomical Journal of the Pacific"
republishes without a word of comment. But what could we expect
of the mentality of the senior assistant of the Royal Observatory at
Greenwich, who, with the great vault of heaven crowded with
enigmas awaiting an answer, should waste a particle of gray matter
in trying to ascertain precisely where Joshua stood when he
commanded the Sun to stand still so that he could have a little more
time for his bloody work. Even the day of the month is ascertained;
he finds that the date of this murderous affair was about July 22,
and that the Sun must have risen exactly at 5 A. M. and set at 7 P. M.
The Moon, he concludes, must have been about its third quarter and
was within half an hour of setting. He could not fix the year,
however! Fancy all this detail without a word of exegetical criticism,
or comment on the precise words of Joshua. "And he said in the
sight of Israel, Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in
the valley of Ajalon. And the Sun stood still, and the Moon stayed,
until the people had avenged themselves upon their enemies." Not
even a pious query as to why the Lord did not shower down a few
more meteorites, rather than disarrange the whole solar system.
Such an attitude of the mind renders one incapable of appreciating
anything in astronomic research beyond that which can be measured
and photographed. The above is a fair illustration of the intolerable
attitude of many of those who deny the existence of the canals, or, if
admitting them as existent, resort to every expedient to disprove
their artificial character.
Among the interesting suggestions as to the cause of the lines
on Mars is that proposed by Professor W. H. Pickering, who, while
admitting that they represent bands of vegetation, believes that they
have their counterpart on the Moon, and that both are produced by
volcanic forces, the cracking of the surface being the result of
internal strain and stress. The fissures thus produced permit the
escape of water vapor and carbon dioxide, and thus the natural
irrigation of these cracks is effected and growth of vegetation
follows. This opinion should have great weight, as Professor
Pickering has made a profound study of lunar details, and is one of
the foremost authorities on the subject. He has also drawn many of
the surface features of Mars, and was at one time connected with
the Lowell Observatory. He it was who suggested irrigation to
account for the great apparent width of the Martian lines. In the
"Annals of the Harvard College Observatory," Vol. LIII, No. 14,
Professor Pickering presents a study of a crater on the Moon's
surface, known as Eratosthenes, accompanied by drawings and
photographs of an area within the crater revealing a few irregular
cracks which he thinks correspond to the well-known canals of Mars;
indeed, he calls these lines canals though he believes them to be
cracks. A few spots, probably craterlets, he compares to the oases of
Lowell. That there is no atmosphere on the Moon is admitted by all.
Professor Pickering's keen eye has, however, detected a change in
the appearance of these cracks which he attributes to vegetation,
animated in its growth by water vapor and carbonic acid gas, as
before remarked. In this supposition he may be right, though it
seems difficult to believe that so deliquescent an organism as a plant
could withstand a variation of temperature from two to three
hundred degrees below zero, to one above that of boiling water. One
might naturally ask why the greater cracks so conspicuous on the
Moon's surface, typical examples of which are found in the Mare
Serenitis, Mare Triangulatis, and surroundings, do not emit aqueous
vapor and carbon dioxide, and thus show similar features of
widening and change of shade. Admitting the correctness of
Pickering's views, it seems impossible to see any resemblance
between this diminutive agglomeration of lines within a lunar crater,
and the great geodetic lines sweeping for hundreds of miles across
the face of Mars.
 PLATE III

CHINESE BOWL, SHOWING CRACKLE

In the lunar crater, known as Flammarion's Circle, a most typical

branching crack is seen. An examination of these lunar cracks, of
which I made drawings through the great telescope at the Lowell
Observatory, showed them to be cracks of the most unmistakable
character, paralleled on the Earth's surface, by sunbaked fissures. If
volcanic forces have caused these cracks in the Moon the same kind
of energy should have produced the same general results in Mars,
and circular craters should equally be in evidence, for many of the
lunar craters are sufficiently large to be detected were they on Mars.
They would certainly be indicated on the terminator, and yet not a
trace of such markings has been found. It is rather extraordinary,
too, that such earthquake fissures on any great scale should not
have been filled with trap, silicate, or other injected material. Indeed
it is strange that such a triangulating arrangement of cracks has not
been found on the Earth's surface.
 PLATE IV

MUD CRACKS ON SHORE OF ROGER'S LAKE, ARIZONA

In order to pronounce the lines on Mars as simply cracks one

should study the various kinds of cracks in similar surfaces on the
Earth. In such a study he would be amazed at the similarity of
cracks. When there is a grain in the substance, as in wood, the
cracks follow the grain, though even in this material they are
discontinuous. In amorphous material they have essentially the
same character; whether in the almost microscopic crackle of old
Satsuma pottery, or huge cracks in sun-dried mud, the areas
enclosed are generally polygonal. If the material be of impalpable
fineness the edges of the cracks are smooth and clean-cut, as in
Plate III, from a Chinese bowl; whereas if the material is coarse and
pebbly the edges of the cracks are rough and irregular, as in Plate
IV, from the muddy shores of a lake. Cracks arising from contraction
never converge to a common centre, and when not connected with
another crack they taper to a point. They begin at indefinite places
and end in an equally indefinite manner. That there should be a
common resemblance in cracks due to contraction is evident as they
arise from a shrinking of the surface. The most ancient deposits,
millions of ages ago, reveal mud cracks differing in no respect from
those found to-day. We subjoin a few forms of cracks from various
surfaces, to show their essential resemblance. It will be seen that
the cracks in the Moon are identical in character to those found on
the Mesa at Flagstaff. They start from some indefinite point, are
irregular in outline and end as indefinitely. A poor asphalt pavement
offers one of the best opportunities for the study of the formation of
various kinds of cracks and fissures. On the edge of a sloping
sidewalk one may see the cracks due to a sliding, or lateral
displacement of the surface; the effects of subsidence show a
number of cracks around the area of depression; the growth of a
tree crowding the asphalt shows the effect of lateral thrust, and an
enlargement of a root below, or the effects of frost show cracks due
to elevation. All these various cracks reveal the same features: they
are discontinuous, they begin and end without definition. Schiaparelli
says in regard to the canali of Mars: "None of them have yet been
seen cut off in the middle of the continent, remaining without
beginning or without end." These lines on the surface of Mars, as a
writer in "Nature" says, are almost without exception geodetically
straight, supernaturally so, and this in spite of their leading in every
possible direction. It is inconceivable that cracks should be laid out
with such geodetic precision. We have seen that cracks have no
definite beginning or termination; we have seen that the lines of
Mars begin and end at definite places. Cracks are irregular, vary in
width and differ entirely from the straight lines depicted by
Schiaparelli, Lowell, and others. But if we admit them to be natural
cracks in the crust we are compelled to admit that the forces
implicated in such cracks must have been active many millions of
years ago, as Mars, being a much older planet than the Earth, must
have long since ceased to show those activities which the Earth,
even to-day, exhibits in such phenomena as earthquakes,
subsidences, elevations, and the like. Now cracks made at that early
time in the history of the planet must have long since become filled
with detritus and obliterated in other ways, and no evidence would
show, even on close inspection, of their former existence, much less
at a distance of 50,000,000 of miles, more or less.
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