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date: 17 February 2020

Contact-Induced Linguistic Change: An Introduction

Abstract and Keywords

Contact-induced linguistics change (or CILC) has been a feature of all known languages, ancient and modern, and has manifested itself in a great number of ways, which have on occasion interacted; the matter involves a great deal more than the mere transfer of cultural lexicon from one linguistic system to another, although this is probably the most widespread form of CILC and the easiest for linguists to exemplify. Drawing examples from a wide range of languages, but especially those in which CILC has been important, this chapter discuses themes, techniques, tendencies, and a selection of the major works in contact-induced linguistic change in its many forms.

Keywords: contact-induced linguistic change, borrowing, imposition, historiography, transfer of fabric, transfer of pattern, metatypy, core-periphery languages, pidginization, creolization

1.1 Introduction

Language contact—the results of the contact of different linguistic communities—has been a major field of investigation since World War II, and has attracted hundreds of books and monographs, and two international and highly esteemed journals (Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages [1986–] and Journal of Language Contact [2007–]) in English alone. The literature on the topic and its subtopics is immense, as befitting a topic that has affected the linguistic behavior of most if not all users of language, now and in past centuries.

Languages as abstractions or idealizations or systems do not do things; people do things with languages, or rather, they do things with linguistic systems. That being the case, there has probably never been, nor is, nor ever will be, a linguistic system that has not been modified in some way by the incorporation of elements from at least one other linguistic system. If we cannot find any such transfers in our data on a language, a uniformitarian approach suggests that (1) the availability of more data would make such transfers manifest, and/or (2) there are transferred elements, but we do not yet have enough apposite linguistic knowledge to recognize them.

The term language contact is somewhat misleading, as it generally refers to an outcome (namely the changes wrought upon a language system as the result of its speakers coming into contact with users of another language system—we may call this contact-induced linguistic change, or CILC)—rather than to the process(es) by which this outcome occurs. Speakers of one language may not have sufficient contact with speakers of a neighboring language to absorb elements from this neighboring language. Or the interaction between the groups may indicate contempt, enmity, or fear, either in one direction or mutually (p. 2) between the groups. These are factors that would discourage the transfer or replication of much or even any linguistic material from one group to another.

Quite often the interaction between the groups is socially unequal, and this is reflected in the fact that in many cases borrowing of words or constructions goes mostly or entirely in one direction, from the more powerful or prestigious group to the less favored one. The languages of socially subordinated groups may from quite an early period of contact provide terminology for realia or practices with which speakers of the more powerful group were previously unfamiliar, but the effects of contact in that direction may not progress any further than this. In some cases, as with the Dharug language of Sydney, Australia, the source of some of the earliest loans from Indigenous Australian languages into English, the fate of the language system that provided such terms (in this case, including the etyma of boomerang and wombat) is extinction after the obliteration of many of its speakers. The remainder shifted to varieties of English, the language of the people who had slain their kinfolk. In other cases, both languages survive with fluent speakers; in some cases, neither does (as in the case of Latin and its loan source Etruscan).

The degree of the effects of contact-induced linguistic change varies from one language to another, and the strength of contact varies between pairs of languages in which CILC can be diagnosed. Typological and genealogical factors, such as the depth of historical closeness of the languages, play a huge role. So do the length of the period of contact, the intensity of contact in terms of the comparative size of the speech communities, and the consistency of dominance of one speech community over another (sometimes the donor language assumes the role of recipient language when political circumstances change).

We can think of such linguistic systems that have been most strongly influenced by other languages as heavy-borrowing languages. (This is of course a gradient.) On the whole, these (and not only languages such as these) are characterized by the replacement of a considerable amount of their preexisting lexical and/or structural material with items that have been absorbed from other linguistic systems: this is intimate language contact, much like Bloomfield’s intimate borrowing (Bloomfield 1933). If we look at the proportion of loans in the general lexicon of a language, we can get a very crude picture of the effects of “borrowing” (Haspelmath and Tadmor eds. 2009 gives an interesting range of languages for which this is done), and sometimes this is still the most information that we have.

Measuring the impact of CILC upon a language involves two sets of elements. On the one hand, we count the totality of morphemic forms that are transferred or copied into a linguistic system. On the other hand, we must also count the totality of structural patterns of all types (including instances of lexical and other kinds of semantic patterning) that can be shown to have been absorbed by a linguistic system rather than being transmitted from earlier stages of that language.

Not all languages have had their contact histories thoroughly explored. That of English is especially well known (see Miller 2012 for an exploration of the facts about contact in Old and Middle English, and Laker 2013 for a critique of this). But even so, (p. 3) there are questions about the contact history of English that remain unanswered because of a dearth of data from English in the later Norman, Angevin, and early Plantagenet period (ca. 1100–1250): most of the writing from England and Southern Scotland that has been preserved from that time is in Latin or Norman French. The contact history of many other languages (and indeed the major features of their historical linguistic developments) are often much less well explored. There are some languages, for example the Algonquian language Blackfoot, about which both the contact history and the rest of the pattern of historical development are still uncertain, even though there is no dearth of data in Blackfoot (Proulx 1989; Berman 2006).

In this regard, we should note that there is an increasing amount of research on the effects of CILC in the languages of areas, such as Australia and the Americas, which had previously not received much attention (examples are Mithun 2006; Heggarty and Beresford Jones eds. 2012; McConvell 2012; Berez-Kroeker and Walker et al. 2016). Even so, the contact history of some heavy-borrowing languages, such as Lake Miwok of northern California (Callaghan 1964), which has absorbed many loans from Patwin, Wappo, and Southeastern Pomo, and also from Spanish and latterly English (and which has absorbed new consonants from all of these), is known to be extensive. Callaghan (2014) has documented this in greater detail from the available printed and (rather extensive) unpublished resources on the language and has placed it in a greater genealogical and areal context.

Campbell’s paper (1989) on proposed constraints in borrowing (referencing Moravcsik 1978’s claims that verbs cannot be borrowed) shows that laying down hard and fast rules about what is impermissible in borrowing is not always possible, as exceptions can be found. Yet we should not assume that all languages have been equally strongly shaped by the effects of CILC, which after all is just one set of processes or features among the many that shape the history of a language. CILC (or its effects) explains less of the history and development of German than it does that of English; it tells us less about the history of Italian than that of Romanian; it probably reveals less of the history of Sasak than that of Chamorro, and so on. As a result, there are some languages whose degree of CILC is so great that they immediately lend themselves to students of language contact as being interesting as a matter of course.

Several of them are discussed in this book, and in many cases the authors of the chapters have provided textual illustrations that highlight the effects of CILC on the language being discussed. The languages chosen for discussion in this book are ones in which CILC at various levels and in various structural areas has been important (in different ways in different languages) and where it shows its effects clearly. Grant (2012) looked at data from over a dozen languages from around the world in an attempt to analyze and compare the degree of borrowing of basic and less basic vocabulary, and of morphology. If the data for a range of languages had been more plentiful or had been available, yet other languages would have been included in that study—or indeed in this book.

Detailed data on heavy-borrowing languages continue to become available as the decades roll on, and in some cases the results of the effects of other languages upon these are both widespread and profound. Over the past few years, extensive and (p. 4) high-quality data have become available for Berber languages such as Siwi (Souag 2014) and Ghomara (Mourigh 2015), and for other non-Berber heavy borrowers such as Tsat or Hainan Cham from near Sanya City in Hainan, China (Thurgood 2015), and from the Near East, Domari (Matras 2012 and sources cited therein). All that links this set of heavy-borrowing languages is that their speakers practise varieties of Sunni Islam; despite this, the impact of Arabic on Tsat is minimal, comprising a few loanwords, though it is profound in the case of the other languages named. We may combine and compare these languages with linguistic data from Chamorro (Salas Palomo 2009), the Mexicanero variety of Western Nahuatl spoken in Durango, Mexico (Canger 2001), and Garifuna of Central America (Taylor 1977; Cayetano 1993; Sabio and Ordóñez 2005). We can add Kalderash Romani, originating as a distinct Romani variety in Transylvania and spreading throughout the world (Gjerdman and Ljungberg 1963 and Boretzky 1992 are especially valuable sources here because they provide etymological information, but note also Lee 2010, 2011). Such a comparative study shows that the range of features that have been transmitted from one language to another is very extensive and truly startling—more so if we added data from another form of Romani, namely Dolenjska Romani of Slovenia (Cech 2006). This matter is explored in greater depth in section 1.6 in this chapter.

Contact-induced linguistic change is most easily exemplified from data from spoken languages, but data from written languages exemplifies its effects as well, sometimes in ways that are not also reflected in the corresponding spoken language modality. The use of symbols that represented words of the extinct isolate Sumerian, which were incorporated into texts written in the Indo-European language Hittite in Anatolia in the second millennium bc (using a cuneiform system that also employed elements of Peripheral Akkadian cuneiform writing, employed in writing an East Semitic language), is one such instance.

From the same part of the world, a more recent yet still striking example of this is what happened in records of the Semitic language Syriac, a form of Western Aramaic, after about 1000 ce. Syriac was written in a consonantal script in which vowels (especially short vowels) were not usually indicated. For many centuries a large proportion of writers of Syriac were also able to read (and maybe speak) Greek. As writers of Syriac felt that it was increasingly important to indicate vowels, Greek alphabetic vowel letters were taken over and were written in small characters within Syriac words. This is despite the fact that the Syriac and Greek scripts are of different types (consonantal vs. alphabetic) and even though Syriac words containing such vowels continued to be written from right to left, whereas Greek script at that time was consistently written from left to right (Daniels 1995). Aramaic is also discussed by Eleanor Coghill in Chapter 22 in this Handbook.

Sometimes the effects of one language system upon another are subtle and less easy to detect. We may think, for instance, of the use of a retroflex post-alveolar sibilant in Quapaw, formerly spoken in Oklahoma, rather than the post-alveolar sibilant that other Dhegiha Siouan languages use (Rankin 1987). This is part of the evidence of Quapaw being influenced by Muskogean and other languages of the Lower Mississippi (p. 5) Sprachbund, a grouping that is discussed by David Kaufman in Chapter 30 in this Handbook, but one to which Quapaw does not itself belong. Another example of subtlety in the transfer of a feature is from a form of South Siberian Turkic, languages that have in the past couple of centuries been strongly influenced by Russian, which is now replacing them. Gregory Anderson noted that in his fieldwork he found speakers of the Khakas language who had been born in the 1970s. In their speech they used the genitive (rather than the traditional Turkic ablative) with their verb ‘to fear,’ on the model of Russian bojat’sja (Anderson 2005: 180–181). Other features of verb argumentation can be transferred from one language to another: an example is the form for ‘to play,’ in German spielen, but in standard Yiddish zikh shpiln, the verb being made reflexive on the lines of co-territorial Polish bawić się (Lockwood 1965: 244).

Furthermore, as Chapter 31 by David Quinto-Pozos and Robert Adam in this collection shows, CILC is not confined to spoken languages and their written manifestations, but can also be found in other modalities; Quinto-Pozos and Adam exemplify this with data from a signed language, American Sign Language (ASL). ASL has been able to take over elements developed in a spoken language and to make them its own in a different modality; for instance, the past-tense marker represented by the symbols e-x is a carryover from English ex-, itself a derivational prefix that has been taken from Latin (Carol Neidle, personal communication 2004).

There are several good accounts of the general kinds of CILC that have been noted. Hickey (2011) summarizes the issues and incidentally, in doing so, presents a nice primer on many aspects of Irish-English and Irish-Anglonorman CILC. One of the most striking accounts is that by Matisoff (1996), a work that had not been intended for publication, which draws heavily upon Matisoff’s experience working on languages of Southeast Asia that have been massively impinged upon by Chinese and in many cases also by Indic languages. Good summaries of the major concepts and mechanisms of CILC can be found in other sources as part of their theoretical backdrop; we can find this, for instance, in the relevant chapters in Stapert (2011), a discussion of CILC in Dolgan, a Turkic language of Siberia, which has borrowed greatly from Mongolic and latterly Russian.

A picture of the kinds of influences that can occur in CILC can be seen in Figure 1.1. This framework is extensive, flexible, and logically rooted, but it is not complete—for (p. 6) example, it does not cover instances of phonetic or phonological borrowing except by default (as they occur in instances of restructuring, or as part of the consequences of lexical borrowing). But within its terms of reference, it is insightful and brings a degree of welcome order and logical hierarchy to the field.

Contact-Induced Linguistic ChangeAn Introduction

Figure 1.1 Main types of contact-induced linguistic transfer.

Source: After Heine and Kuteva (2008: 59).

There are many distinctions that we can make when we attempt to classify and scrutinize the kinds of contact-induced linguistic changes that one finds in linguistic systems. We can distinguish between those which make a system more complex, and those which simplify it (Trudgill 2011). Aikhenvald (2002) took a similar but slightly differently oriented approach, examining changes that occurred in some languages in Amazonia, and asking whether they helped to preserve the features of a linguistic system or whether they changed it. There again, we may distinguish mechanisms of change that are gained slowly over generations of speakers, versus those gained at once or very quickly. Another distinction that can usefully be made is between those changes that need bilingualism among speakers of the recipient language and those that do not.

It should go without saying that the effects of borrowing vary whether the donor language is Arabic, Chinese, Russian, Spanish, or indeed English (which in general had not been much of a donor language, except to languages spoken in early colonized areas such as Kuna of Panama or Yahgan of Chile, until the beginning of the nineteenth century). Different languages are inclined to borrow different kinds of items. Certain items, such as acculturational lexicon, higher cardinal and ordinal numerals, or subordinating and coordinating conjunctions, are often transferred. Others, such as basic prepositions, are more often transferred from Chinese into other languages (for instance, into Hmong-Mien and Kra-Dai languages; see, for instance, Moskalev 1978 on a Hmong-Mien case) than from the others listed in the preceding. Similarly cliticized pronominals following prepositions or adverbs are found borrowed into some languages influenced by Arabic, for instance Tamazight (Abdel-Massih 1971), but not (say) in languages influenced by Spanish.

1.2 CILC, Social and Other Considerations

Linguistic complexity seems to have developed millennia ago and not to be a new development (Wray and Grace 2007), and the same is the case with CILC. Speakers of all languages seem to borrow or absorb new elements into their languages, and often do this in order to find ways of naming previously unfamiliar concepts or expressing previously unlabeled concepts. In other cases, the elements that are borrowed supplement, replicate, or replace (wholly or partly) elements that were previously in use. The motivation for material from one language exerting influence upon another is tied in with issues of power and prestige. Prestige here refers to high cultural status, which is either overt, when it reflects the linguistic usage of people holding power, or in some cases covert, when it reflects the linguistic usage of people who do not have power but (p. 7) who may have social cachet, often because their activities run counter to those endorsed by the power-holders in society). Thomason and Kaufman (1988) argue for the centrality and indeed supremacy of sociolinguistic (rather than merely structural) factors in the operation of CILC. Milroy (1997) supports this; see also the later discussion of Field (2001). Bayley, Cameron, and Lucas (2013) is a solid account of modern thought in sociolinguistics, which takes into account the effects of contact-induced change.

In the framework presented by Frans van Coetsem (especially van Coetsem 2000), these relate to issues of borrowing, already a familiar term. But there are also cases of CILC that are the result of van Coetsem’s other mechanism, imposition. If a language is acquired by a large number of people who learn it as the language of the colonizers, then it may absorb features of the languages of those who were colonized. This is probably the case with Old English, as it was acquired by speakers of British Celtic who underwent language shift (see the discussion in Beal and Faulkner, Chapter 16 in this volume).

The role and history of borrowing (itself a loaded and inaccurate term, of course) is not always recognized in the literature on a language, though. In many cases, the contact history of a language is underexplored in linguistic scholarship, and only when the scholarship becomes richer can we see the extent to which the effects of such contact have pervaded the language. In some cases it is largely a question of us metaphorically polishing the spectacles through which we look at the language in question, and of jettisoning a priori assumptions that are not as watertight as we might once have believed.

It is not the case that all heavy-borrowing languages borrow the same kinds of features. Some languages absorb plenty of lexicon without causing great adjustments to their morphosyntactic patterns; they may even accommodate all or most borrowed items to their preexisting phonological categories in respect to the phonemes and syllabic templates available for incorporating borrowed items. (This is especially, but not always, the case if such a language already has a rich segmental and templatic phonological inventory.)

Some languages undergo sweeping syntactic change but do so without borrowing large amounts of lexicon or phonological elements. The Oceanic and therefore Austronesian language Takia (Ross 1996, 2009) remodeled much of its morphosyntactic structure on nearby Papuan languages such as Waskia, performing what Ross called metatypy, but Takia borrowed very little lexically and took nothing morphologically from them. Nonetheless, it was not averse to absorbing new lexicon. It did borrow from the non-Austronesian language Bargam (more so than from Waskia), and also from Takia’s close relative Gedaged, from German (the colonial language in the area from the 1880s until 1918), and latterly from Tok Pisin and nowadays increasingly English. In some instances, the kinds of change on the recipient language are subtler. Carvalho (2018) discusses loans from Tupi-Guarani languages into Teréna and Kadiwéu, which has resulted in the creation of a new class of vowel-initial nouns; previously, nouns could not be vowel-initial.

We may suggest that the typical pattern of borrowing starts with cultural borrowing, the borrowing of the names of previously unfamiliar acculturational items, and ends in the taking over and productive use of items of inflectional morphology. One may typify (p. 8) most languages as core-periphery languages, in which all or the bulk of the roster of affixes plus the most frequent, polyvalent, and additionally the most readily grammaticalized content and function words derive from the ancestral language, while items that have been acquired from other language systems are peripheral to this. In this case, the question is how thick the core is, and where the periphery starts. This model roughly or snugly fits most languages, even massively heavy borrowers such as Nihali of India, with between 25% and 30% of items on the longer Swadesh list being borrowed (Nagaraja 2015), but there are exceptions.

The picture sketched in the preceding is an idealization of what happens in CILC. There are some unusual patterns of very basic borrowing between languages, wherein large sets of borrowed material are not matched by similar sets of shared inflectional morphology, and therefore we cannot demonstrate that the languages are descendants of one proto-language. This is the case, for instance, with Quechuan and Aymaran of Andean South America, which share about a fifth of their core vocabularies (including some, but not all, of the lower numerals) but none of their inflectional morphology. There is a huge literature on the relationship (whether it is genealogical or otherwise) between Quechuan and Aymaran/Jaqi languages (a situation most recently highlighted in Emlen 2017). This has been obscured by the fact that Cuzco Quechua, the most frequently studied form of Quechua outside the Andean area, has been heavily influenced by Aymaran languages in a second wave of influence, which is easy to identify. Conversely, the Aymaran language Jaqaru has been strongly influenced by Central Quechuan varieties (Cerrón-Palomino 2000a, 2000b).

Another but differently anomalous case is the relationship between Miskitu and Northern Sumu (already clear from Lehmann 1920, and set in contrast with Southern Sumu or Ulwa), which share the forms of their personal pronouns and many basic adjectives (whose morphological structure is transparent in Northern Sumu but opaque in Miskitu) but few other items. Even so, Miskitu, which had more social prestige than Sumuan languages, has provided these languages with borrowings over the past centuries, and all of them also have numerous loans from Creole English and latterly from Spanish (themselves transmitted via Miskitu).

Yet another pattern characterizes the Kari’na Pidgin element in Garifuna of Central America (and formerly the Lesser Antilles); the elements here are the relics of a by now evanescent genderlect distinguishing men’s from women’s speech in this Arawakan language. If we assume that all referents in the language of the Island Caribs, who gave rise to the earlier form of Garifuna, had both Kari’na and Arawakan (Igneri) equivalents at some point in the past, this was true of about a third of the referents by the mid-seventeenth century (Taylor 1977). Nowadays, about 17% of the items on the long form of the Swadesh list derive from Kari’na Pidgin. This is true of rather less of the vocabulary as a whole, which contains a greater proportion of elements from Spanish, French—both creolized and non-creole—and (mostly creolized) English, all of which figure, though more slightly, on the Garifuna Swadesh list.

A more mainstream but nonetheless striking instance of a very thin core and a dense periphery is true of a small family of languages that have been built out of elements or (p. 9) two or more preexisting languages, namely the Northern Songhay languages of Mali, Niger, and Algeria. These languages, Tagdal, Tadaksahak (Christiansen-Bolli 2010), Tasawaq, the extinct Emghedeshie, and Korandje of Algeria, combine Berber (not merely Tuareg) and Songhay elements. Songhay elements, including inflectional morphs and function words, account for about 300 elements in these languages, while forms of Berber origin are far more numerous and account for almost half the Swadesh list (other forms derive from local African languages such as Fulfulde and Dogon, from Arabic, and latterly from French). Berber also provides such elements as the mechanisms of causative morphology in most of these languages.

Issues respecting the relationship of core and peripheral elements within a language are less easy when much of the morphemic material has no known etymology. In the Algonquian language Blackfoot, for instance, the morphology is clearly Algonquian but most of the lexicon (basic and less basic) has no cognates in other Algonquian languages, and essentially none of this has etyma in any other known language (Bakker 2000; Proulx 1989).

We cannot always divine the answers to these or many other questions. Ethnolinguistic considerations (including the speakers’ own ideas about what language is and what belongs in their language and what doesn’t) are crucial, and these can affect borrowing patterns even within the confines of the Swadesh list. To take a single example, the use of nouns rather than pronouns for the self-designation of people in a number of East Asian languages has resulted in the absorption of some high-frequency borrowed elements that were originally taken over as words meaning ‘slave’ or ‘subject.’ This is the case in Japanese and Malay-Indonesian, for example (Schmidt 2009: 570; Tadmor 2009: 711). This is also the case with the names of celestial bodies such as ‘sun’ and ‘moon’ in languages of greater India, which are often taken over as loans from Sanskrit because of the roles of these bodies in Hinduism (this can be seen in Sridhar 1990 for Kannada).

What unifies cases of heavy borrowing is the fact of prestige and power exerted by the linguistic behavior of some representatives of the donor language community upon those of the recipient language community. A considerable degree of what Bloomfield (1933) described as intimate borrowing—the transfer of elements that already had equivalents or exponents in the recipient language—takes place. This is what Clark (1982), not without caution, termed “unnecessary borrowing.”

If the evidence of CILC suggests a degree of social contact between two or more societies—even though such contact need not result in any transfer of linguistic material from one group to another—the reverse is also true. Just because certain groups have dwelt in isolation for hundreds of years does not mean that their languages cannot show the impact of other languages. Some communities believed that they were the only people in the world: this is true of both the Polar Inuit and the Angmassallik Inuit on what they had assumed was their first contact with outsiders in the nineteenth century—two groups speaking Eskimo languages who were unaware of each other’s existence and that of other groups (van der Voort 1996). Even nowadays, reports of previously uncontacted groups occasionally reach news agencies from the Amazon or from New Guinea.

(p. 10) Sometimes a single word from another language is the best evidence that a speech community was in contact with another one from far away. Frachtenberg (1920) lists a form that we can phonemicize as t’aw’ay’u1 as the word for ‘horse’ in the now dormant Alsea language of northern coastal Oregon. It is clearly Spanish caballo, very probably taken over as a result of Alseas coming into contact with the Spanish expedition in the Pacific led by the Basque military leader Bruno de Heceta in 1775, since the Alseas lived a couple of hundred miles north of the start of the California Franciscan mission belt, where Spanish was dominant. It is also the only Spanish loan recorded in Alsea.

Some populations, of course, purposely separate themselves from all others and remain inward facing. The few hundred people who live on North Sentinel Island, in the Andamans, have been isolated from other populations almost completely since first records of contact with them in the early nineteenth century. All that is known of their language is that it did not seem to be comprehensible to speakers of the southern Andamanese language Önge on the rare occasions when these latter people encountered them. This does not mean that the Önge and North Sentinelese languages cannot be related in the way in which Önge and the Jarawa language are related; we simply have no evidence for the nature and structure of the latter language (Anhava 2013 gives good insights into this and other cases).

Many languages—known as isolates—have no known or at least no surviving relatives. Nonetheless, we know that some are actually the last remnants of previously larger families (Basque, with its scantily attested relative Aquitanian, is one such example; Trask 1997). Such languages are not immune to borrowing: more than half the Basque vocabulary derives from Latin or Romance languages, as Trask pointed out, and this includes almost 10% of the longer Swadesh list.

Speakers of some languages know that to function fully in society one needs to command two or more linguistic systems. One of these systems is used more frequently in written (but not in impromptu spoken) form than the other, which is the spoken language used every day and which is the first to be acquired by members of this speech community. Ferguson (1959) described situations where this division occurred, designating the more formal version H (‘high’) and the less formal one L (‘low’). He presented four case studies, from Egypt, Greece, German-speaking Switzerland, and Haiti. H languages were as follows: for Egypt, Modern Standard Arabic (fuşħa), deriving from Classical Arabic; for Greece, Katharev(o)usa (an artificially archaizing literary Greek); for Switzerland, High German; and for Haiti, French. The L-languages were as follows: Egyptian Arabic varieties; Dhimotiki; Swiss German; and Haitian Creole. Political and social situations have changed much since the 1950s, and though Modern Standard Arabic and High German still dominate in written media in Egypt and Switzerland, Haitian Creole has spread massively as a written medium. Meanwhile, Katharevousa has largely fallen into disuse, while Dhimotiki dominates in written (p. 11) Greek in Greece (and also in Cyprus, where it is considerably removed from spoken Cypriot Greek). Even in those areas where forms of diglossia remain, it is still the case that H elements can and do enter the L language, even if speakers of L actively command little or none of the H language. This is the case, for instance, in the major South Dravidian languages but not so in Malayalam, as Sreekumar’s Chapter 23 in this volume demonstrates.

We may also discuss instances of semanteme-specific bilingualism of the kind illustrated by the compulsory use of Spanish numerals for certain purposes in Christian Philippine languages. Speakers of major languages such as Tagalog, Cebuano, Ilocano, and of minor Philippine languages such as Ibanag—and of dozens of other languages—may not be able to name simple objects in Spanish or conduct simple conversations in Spanish. But they routinely tell the time and count money using Spanish numerals, while otherwise using the numerals of their indigenous languages for many other kinds of counting and expression of quantities (Rubino 2002 provides information on this for Tagalog). This is part of the ethnolinguistic knowledge of such speakers.

Ethnolinguistic considerations of another type are mentioned in Alexandra Aikhenvald’s Chapter 10 in this volume. Linguistic exogamy in the Vaupés area of northern Amazonia has been a staple in the literature since Arthur Sorensen’s account of it in the 1960s (Sorensen 1967). One of the features of this is linguistic purism: speakers do not intentionally take over words from the languages of their neighbors and indeed take steps to avoid what they see as borrowings. Purism in language has characterized many societies and many eras throughout the world; Katharevousa in modern Greece was characterized in part by an attempt at avoiding loanwords from Turkish, Italian, French, and English. And although purism is about the avoidance of the effects of contact, it is still something that needs to be discussed in studies of CILC as a countervailing (and generally futile) social force. Purism can operate even in cases of extreme language shift: Sala (1970) described the deleterious effects of purism on the Judezmo (Judaeo-Spanish) spoken in Bucharest in the late twentieth century, where speakers tried to avoid Judezmo words that had similar shapes and meanings to those in the coterritorial language Romanian. Another case is that of the last speakers of Natchez in Mississippi, members of a tribe who were defeated militarily by the French in 1729 and then dispersed widely (some into slavery in the West Indies). Despite the fact that all of the last few speakers of Natchez, the last of whom died in the 1950s, were multilingual (in Natchez, Creek, Cherokee, and latterly English), lexical items from other languages account for less than 1% of the recorded vocabulary of about 4,000 items.2 (Kimball 2003 describes Natchez structure.)

Borrowing itself is a pervasive yet pernicious and vain term because the item is neither returned to the donor nor lost from the donor’s use—contact-induced linguistic change, or CILC, is better. One advantage of this term is that it locates language (p. 12) contact and borrowing firmly within the endless stream of linguistic change. For many languages (if we may anthropomorphize them thus), CILC is the major kind of linguistic change that they have undergone at one or more period of their existence. For others, CILC is just one of several kinds of change that have modified the language over centuries or millennia.

1.3 Notes on the Historiography of CILC: Documents and Findings

People describing languages and cultures have long recognized that one language may contain elements of another, be they the remarks about the speech of the Sauromatae in Book IV of Herodotus’s Histories, or the list of 329 Hungarian words of Slavonic origin listed in Vrančić (1595), who apart from compiling the first Croatian dictionary also invented the parachute. The development of theory in CILC in its various forms has a long historiography, from the work of creolists and historical linguistics such as Hugo Schuchardt (e.g., Schuchardt 1884, 1914) and the American philologist William Dwight Whitney (e.g., Whitney 1881). The classics on linguistics by Sapir (1921) and Bloomfield (1933) both contain chapters on the effects that one language system can have upon another (and Bloomfield’s tripartite division between cultural, intimate, and dialect borrowing is still valuable).

The theory of contact-induced linguistic change becomes more deeply developed and more nuanced and complex after World War II, and a large number of works have pieces to contribute to the picture, and employ techniques that help us to understand the minutiae of the methods and results of CILC. Articles such as Haugen (1950), and the monograph by Weinreich (1953), which is still consulted today (see Joseph 2016 for a discussion of André Martinet’s preface to this work), develop their theories from narrower (Haugen) or wider (Weinreich) collections of data on various types of CILC, including borrowing, loan translation, pidginization, and creolization. We may note some less renowned but meritorious work on CILC from that era, notably the paper by Vogt (1956) and the book on linguistic borrowings by Deroy (1956).

The 1960s and 1970s saw the production of much work on creolistics, the study of creole and pidgin languages. In this regard the single most important collection is Hymes (ed. 1971), which explores these issues and many more, including some cases of heavy borrowing and some work on what became mixed languages. The potency of this work and its dense sectional introductions is far from being exhausted half a century after the papers were presented at the University of the West Indies, Mona, Jamaica, in April 1968.

The 1970s saw work by Jeffrey Heath, examining some cases of profound borrowing and diffusion in Arnhem Land, northern Australia, and the work on this (Heath 1978; the promised lexical appendix never appeared) draws inferences from the contact histories of English and Romanian to add to our understanding of CILC. Heath (p. 13) conducted his own fieldwork on Arnhem Land languages, many of which were isolates, and some of which were down to their last speaker or two (and none was widely spoken). He has continued to work on CILC and on documenting the languages of the Sahel, themselves often very rich in contact phenomena; Heath (1984) introduced the term pattern transfer, which led Grant (1999, 2002, 2004) to develop the complementary (not opposing) term transfer of fabric to refer to the replication of morphs (including lexicon) from one language to another.

The careful book of lectures on language contact written by Ilse Lehiste (Lehiste 1987) draws strongly on her experience as a polyglot brought up in interwar Estonia. The following year saw the work by Thomason and Kaufman (1988), probably the most influential book in the field after Uriel Weinreich’s monograph, and this brought to wider attention a five-level borrowing scale, and the idea that creole languages resulted from abrupt transmission of lexical and other material. Thomason (ed. 1997) is an important descriptive work on a range of contact languages, while Thomason (2001) is a state-of-the-art report on language contact theory with plentiful examples, not least from her own fieldwork. The highly productive creolist Pieter Muysken (a former pupil of Thomason at Yale) produced a cross-linguistic study of code-switching, which covers much more than its title suggests (Muysken 2000; see also van Hout and Muysken 1994 on modeling lexical borrowability). Important works were produced by the Romanian-Argentinian scholar Marius Sala, drawing plentifully on data from Spanish, Judezmo, and Romanian varieties (Sala 1988). In the previous year some detailed work on CILC and language creation in New Britain, furnished with plentiful data, was presented in Thurston (1987). One notes his ideas about endogenous and exogenous language creation and the relative permeability of the “endolexicon” and its outer carapace the “exolexicon,” and the emblematic nature of language systems that are not usually acquired by outsiders but that coexist in bilingual relationships with more widespread linguistic systems. Wray and Grace (2005) also look at the role of inward-facing rather than outward-facing speech communities. What is more, Hickey (2012: 18) talks of a distinction between supportive transfer, which reinforces a feature that the linguistic system already had, and innovative transfer, which introduces a new structural feature into the linguistic system.

In the following year was published the major work by Frans van Coetsem (van Coetsem 2000; see also van Coetsem 1989). This was a cognitively oriented approach in which he developed to the fullest his ideas about the primacy of the distinction between borrowing and imposition, and his concepts of source languages and recipient languages, which are gaining further appreciation (see Winford’s Chapter 2 in this volume, and also the discussions of CILC in Lucas 2012, 2014). Another cognitive approach to CILC, concentrating especially on paradigmatic change and positing three levels at which this can operate, is Gast (2016).

Matras (2009) and Hickey (ed. 2012) are accounts of modern thinking on CILC. The former follows a functionalist approach, with accounts of a number of important topics such as lexical borrowing, in addition to several early chapters providing plentiful material on a case of Hebrew-German-English trilingual acquisition by a boy named (p. 14) Ben, and what Ben’s output illustrates about processes of contact-induced change. Matras’s four mechanisms, which are cognitively and functionally oriented, and which he uses to account for what is found in CILC, are categorical fusion, selective replication, lexical reorientation, and convergence. Meanwhile, Hickey’s book follows the approach of a compendium, with chapters on various general linguistic topics by experts in the field. There are also a number of studies of the effects of particular languages (for instance, Spanish) on other languages. There is also plentiful information there on convergence in both major linguistic senses. The term convergence can mean the interaction of language system-internal factors with external factors in the development of a new linguistic structure, but it can also refer to the processes by which one linguistic system becomes typologically more similar to a neighboring one.

The period since 2005 has seen the publication of numerous edited volumes on aspects of CILC, combining theoretical position papers with data-driven studies of aspects of CILC in particular languages. These include Stolz, Bakker, and Salas Palomo (eds. 2008) on general topics; Muysken (ed. 2008) on linguistic areas; Vanhove, Stolz, and Urdze (ed. 2012) on morphologies in contact; and Johanson and Robbeets (eds. 2012) and Gardani (ed. 2015) on borrowed morphology. There are also Matras and Sakel (eds. 2007), Chamoreau and Leglise (eds. 2012), and Wiemer, Wälchli, and Hansen (eds. 2012) on issues in grammatical borrowing more widely construed, and Haspelmath and Tadmor (eds. 2009) on loanwords in a selection of the world’s languages. (Several authors helpfully have chapters on different aspects of contact in the same language in both the Matras/Sakel and Haspelmath/Tadmor collections.) The most recent contribution to this field is Hickey (ed. 2017) on areal linguistics, a topic previously explored in Matras, McMahon, and Vincent (eds. 2004), a volume with chapters on linguistic areas provided by experts in individual fields.

Investigations of CILC involving certain languages bring to light new patterns of CILC that have not been documented in other languages. For instance, the investigation of CILC in some languages of the Near East (especially when they are donors rather than receptors) has brought to light the issue of parallel system borrowing (as so named in Kossmann 2010). In this, borrowed verbs retain some or most of the conjugational systems of their source languages, while inherited verbs follow the paradigms of their source language. This is the case, for instance, with verbs of Turkish origin in some Romani varieties (Gilliat-Smith 1915–1916; Igla 1996), and most verbs of Arabic origin in some Berber varieties (for instance, Mourigh 2016). Parallel system borrowing is also found with verbs of Romance origin in Maltese (Mifsud 1995). It also has been noted for the Even dialect of Sebjan-Küöl, a Tungusic language of Siberia, which has borrowed some paradigms from the locally dominant Turkic language Sakha (Pakendorf 2009).

In terms of important studies of CILC focusing on a single situation of language contact, one should also mention Haase (1992), an exemplary study of the effects of French and Gascon on a variety of Basque in southwestern France, and Souag (2014), which examines the structural impact of varieties of Arabic on the Berber language of the Siwa oasis in western Egypt. Both these studies show that there is more to CILC (p. 15) studies than simply long lists of loanwords; another superb study, King (2000), not only presents plentiful detail on English loans into Nova Scotian Acadian French, but also describes and illustrates morphosyntactic influences.

Though not focusing on a single language, Aikhenvald (2002) is an important study of aspects of CILC among some languages in Amazonia, in which the author presents copious data from her fieldwork on a number of languages, including Tariana and Baniwa, in addition to her theory of CILC and her valuable concept of “system-changing” and “system-preserving” features. Descriptive studies of languages that have absorbed heavily from other languages are numerous (though we may wish for more), and some of these descriptions focus throughout on CILC and its effects. Two important titles that are especially comprehensive in their treatment of contact are Nurse (2000), describing two Bantu languages, Daiso and Ilwana, which have been heavily influenced by non-Bantu languages, and Thurgood (2015), which documents Hainan Cham, an Austronesian language that has been influenced by a number of languages, including Mon-Khmer languages, Hlai, and more than one form of Chinese.

Another work partly created by Derek Nurse, namely Nurse and Hinnebusch (1993), on the history of Swahili, includes an immense amount of data on language contact and various forms of the Sabaki group. It includes a lot of material showing the effect that Northern Swahili varieties (especially Kiamu, the dialect of the island of Lamu and an early literary language) had upon the Southern Swahili variety KiUnguja, the Zanzibari variety that underpins modern literary Swahili. Of works that are article-length rather than book-length, one of the best attempts to describe CILC is Sasse (1992) on Greek influence upon Arvanitika, the diasporic Tosk Albanian dialects of Greece.

A number of individual articles have also contributed to theoretical advances in aspects of CILC, and to new ways of examining the topic. The ideal reader in CILC would also include work such as Jill Brody’s papers (Brody 1987, 1995) on the borrowing of discourse markers in Mayan languages, Malcolm Ross’s (1995) paper on metatypy in some languages of New Guinea, and Maarten Kossmann’s (2010) work on parallel system borrowing of morphology in Kormakiti Arabic and certain Berber languages. The paper by Matras (1998) on utterance modifiers and borrowing has enjoyed popularity. A rather less well-known but certainly powerful and fertile approach, and one that, like Matras’s approach, recognizes the importance of pragmatics in CILC, is the work on ERIC, an approach to CILC that is “Essentially Rooted In Conversation.” This is a discourse-driven account of CILC devised by Victor A. Friedman and Brian D. Joseph, and named after their former teacher, Eric P. Hamp of the University of Chicago (himself a keen contactician among a mastery of many linguistic subfields: Hamp 1989, for instance). This draws inspiration from CILC in languages of the Balkans and suggests a hierarchy of items, such as greetings, imprecations, and numerals (and I would add ethnonyms) that are most likely to be borrowed early in interchange or unidirectional borrowing between speech communities. Friedman and Joseph (2011) is a presentation on this approach.

What we have learned from this literature is vast, and the following summary, concentrating on the possibilities of CILC, is perforce highly selective; there may yet (p. 16) be much more to discover. Any kind of phenomenon can notionally be borrowed (or indeed, any kind of phenomenon can be lost through the effects of borrowing). Lexicon as a whole seems to be the stratum that is borrowed or shared with the greatest ease. All kinds of vocabulary can be borrowed in the form of what we call loanwords, and Thomason and Kaufman (1988: 74–76) demonstrate this in their highly regarded five-point borrowing scale. (This scale, which is based on the findings of more than fifty case studies of contact-induced change that the authors examined from primary documentation, is reduced to four points in Thomason 2001). No item on that standard diagnostic instrument of lexical stability, the Swadesh 100-item list, or its longer companions (one of which is presented in Swadesh 1955), is immune to borrowing, and the same is true of the later production, the Leipzig-Jakarta list (Haspelmath and Tadmor 2009, while the proof of this is in Grant to appear). Any item on either of these lists can be shown to have been borrowed in at least one language (an example of this extreme borrowing can be seen in the South Siberian Turkic language Tuvan, which has borrowed its word for ‘what,’ čüü, from Mongolic; Harrison and Anderson 2006). Verbs are anecdotally regarded as being hard, if not impossible, to borrow, but this is not the case, as Jan Wohlgemuth’s superb study (Wohlgemuth 2009) indicates, with plentiful exemplification. Thomason and Everett (2000) is a crisp paper on the issue of borrowing personal pronouns, another group of words that are often assumed to be borrowing-proof. It is not always easy to find reasons on a case-by-case basis why the replacement of one item in a language by a borrowed item takes place. Indeed, the solution often eludes us—but exploring such cases of intimate language contact should enable us to dig more deeply into the kinds of linguistic features that are most readily borrowed.

New sounds and new kinds of sounds can be transferred, and this is usually carried out through the transmission of loanwords, even when this requires the adoption of new distinctive features, or indeed the use of previously unemployed airstream mechanisms, into the recipient language’s phonological system. (Maddieson 1989, with its richness of detail, is a useful first pass at analyzing this issue; see also Grant, Klein, and Ng’s Chapter 3 in this Handbook.) Especially interesting evidence of this comes from the Bantu Nguni languages of South Africa, especially Xhosa, which has absorbed hundreds of words from the Khoe language !Ora, or Korana. Many of these have come into Xhosa with an admittedly somewhat reduced but nonetheless still impressive range of the ingressive and velaric consonants that they had in their source language. (However, Korana permits word-final consonants, which Xhosa does not.) These sounds at least partly entered the Nguni languages through their employment in the hlonipha speech-avoidance style in which wives were not supposed to utter the syllables that comprised their husbands’ names, and were to substitute other syllables (Lanham 1962; Louw 1986; Ownby 1985; Herbert 1991). For instance, Korana /awa ‘to gather together’ is taken into Xhosa as i-/áwa, written as <i-cawa> ‘church; Sunday.’ The semantics of this form and its secondary meaning of ‘Sunday’ resemble those of Zulu i-sonto ‘church; Sunday,’ which is also a loan, but this time from Afrikaans sondag ‘Sunday.’

(p. 17) Morphological borrowing and the integration of borrowed morphs into a language’s structure are far from being unknown: Frank Seifart’s website AfBo (Seifart 2014) collects instances, collected from over a hundred languages from all around the world, of productively borrowed elements of affixal morphology. Seifart has also conducted primary research on the Colombian Arawakan language Resígaro, which has absorbed many inflectional morphemes from the unrelated Bora language, including a whole set of noun-class markers, but has borrowed very little lexicon from Bora or, for that matter, from Spanish (see Seifart 2012).

There are doubtless hundreds of other productive examples of this kind of borrowing in languages across the world. Sometimes even whole classes of new kinds of elements are transferred from one language to another, as Seifart’s works show. Furthermore, evidence from languages such as Pearl Lagoon Basin Miskitu of eastern Nicaragua, which has absorbed and integrated the completive marker don from Caribbean Creole English, reveals that elements of free inflectional morphology (such as tense-aspect-mode particles in certain languages) can also be borrowed. Examination of trends in borrowing across the world’s languages suggests that (in very general terms) items of derivational morphology can be borrowed more readily than items of inflectional morphology, although there are exceptions, and even some heavy-borrowing languages, for example Chamorro, have eschewed borrowing derivational morphology productively.

But it remains the case that some kinds of phenomena are more amenable to what is often styled as borrowing than others are, and even if aprioristic hierarchies (rather than the a posteriori hierarchy presented in Thomason and Kaufman 1988) prove to be too restrictive, it is clear that tendencies and preferred kinds of borrowing do exist. The book by Fredric Field (2002), informed strongly as it is by an analysis of the effects of fusional Spanish upon a variety of agglutinative Nahuatl in terms of form-meaning sets in the two languages, casts light on this: Field offers two principles, the principle of system compatibility and its corollary, the principle of system incompatibility. These invite the reader to examine possibilities and constraints (or indeed embargoes) on borrowability through the comparison of the morphosyntactic typology of the donor and recipient languages. Genealogical considerations in this case are less important than the existence of a high degree of isomorphism (similarity in the patterns of organization of form-meaning sets) between the languages involved. A good recent collection of papers on this approach is Besters-Dilger, Dermarkar, and Pfänder (eds. 2014).

Similarities in typology between donor and recipient language are often the case because the languages involved are genealogically related, sometimes very closely. This should not surprise speakers of English, influenced as it was by its Germanic relatives Norse and Dutch. Indeed, some languages (given the caveat in the first paragraph of this piece) have been most strongly influenced by linguistic systems that are either closely related to them at various degrees of separation (Swedish by Middle Low German [Walshe 1964] and North Frisian by Danish [Hoekstra 2017] are two of many cases). In other cases, they are heavily influenced (by means of back-borrowings (p. 18) from that language) by the language from which they themselves have developed. The impact of Latin as a source of transfer material on its descendants (Spanish, French, Italian, etc.) is huge. (In contrast, the amount of back-borrowing from Old English into Modern English is minimal: witangemot, scramaseax, and a few more.)

A third state of affairs involves languages that combine elements of more than one language, specifically of two languages that are genealogically related, which descend from a single proto-language, and which have given rise to a language that cannot be safely assigned to the taxon to which either of these languages belongs. Stedsk or Town Frisian, blending West Frisian and Dutch (van Bree 1994, 2001a, 2001b), is one such case. Another is the Mayan language Tojolab’al (Law 2016), which blends Tzeltalan and Chujean elements, items from two branches of the Mayan language family. Some cases of heavy intra-familial borrowing are well described: Costa (2013) is a splendid account of the way in which Potawatomi, a Great Lakes Algonquian language that is most closely related to Ojibwe, has absorbed a huge number of loans form Fox-Sauk-Kickapoo, which is also Algonquian but less closely related to Ojibwe than Potawatomi is. Other cases need more description, though the raw data are abundant. For instance, the effect of Georgian upon Mingrelian, which is also Kartvelian but which belongs to a different branch of that family, deserves closer examination. The discussion of mixed languages later in this chapter is also germane here.

Meanwhile, though, it is easier for a feature to pass into one language from another if the two are typologically similar (whether or not they are genealogically related to one another) than it is if they are very different typologically (even if they can be shown to descend from the same proto-language). Typological change, and furthermore any syntactic change, is not always the result of CILC, though the wide-ranging paper by Campbell, Bubenik, and Saxon (1988) presents some robust examples of typological syntactic change through CILC, occurring in several members of families such as Iranian or Ethiosemitic, or in individual languages such as Cappadocian Greek. Anyone who thinks that the typological patterning of structures within a language family is always uniform should bear the following in mind. No fewer than seven of the seventeen actually attested orders that combine various exponents of subject-verb-object, genitive-noun, noun-adjective, and preposition/postposition out of the twenty-four theoretically possible ones discussed in Greenberg (1963), which were reviewed by Campbell, Bubenik, and Saxon (1988), can be found among members of the Indo-European language family. Meanwhile, even a casual comparison of the typological profiles of English and Hindi, at phonological, morphological, syntactic, and semantic levels, will show how much two languages that ultimately derive from the same proto-language can diverge in the space of a few millennia.

The bigger the language family is, the greater the potential for typological diversity. (This potential need not be realized, of course.) Thurgood’s Chapter 7 in this collection, though it focuses on sociocultural rather than purely typological considerations, shows how this is just as true of Tsat or Hainan Cham, a fully tonal language that developed from a non-tonal language (Proto-Chamic), which is closely related to and closely resembled non-tonal Malay, in less than a millennium. About two thousand or so years (p. 19) ago, Chamic and Malay were closely related branches of the same sub-branch of Western Malayo-Polynesian.

Replacement of preexisting items by words from another language is a form of relexification, a process that is often extensive, though always partial, as no language ever relinquishes all its lexicon. Relexification contrasts with cultural borrowing (adlexification) insofar as relexification refers to the replacement of a preexisting label for a concept that the speech community had already recognized and labeled. Supralexification (coined in Hancock 1971: 288) also involves the complication of preexisting semantic fields through borrowing terms that add to the complexity of the post-borrowing system. Welsh Romani (Sampson 1926) inherited words for BLACK, WHITE, and RED from Indic and used a pan-Romani loan from South Slavic for GREEN. It did not preserve the widespread Romani form of South Slavic origin for YELLOW, replacing this with the Welsh loan melanō (Welsh melyn). It added a word for BLUE, blūa, from English (no pan-Romani forms for BLUE are attested, although some borrowed forms for BLUE are widespread in Romani varieties). Similarly, Welsh gwyrdd (from Latin viridis) ‘green’ provided a fresh label for a color whose territory had hitherto been subsumed between glas ‘blue, grey’ and llwyd ‘grey, brown’ (Palmer 1976).

1.4 A Case in Point: Glimpses of CILC in Modern English

The case of English (discussed also in Chapter 16 by Beal and Faulkner) is one that demonstrates that CILC does not explain everything about the later history of a language. Modern English is so much more than simply Old English or “Anglo-Saxon” plus CILC. As a Western Germanic language, Old English had absorbed loans directly or sometimes via intermediaries from Latin, Greek, Aramaic, and unknown languages before a speaker of what became Old English ever set foot on English shores. It became adopted by a population that had switched from a somewhat latinized British Celtic, which served as a substratum to Old English. Later, Old English was adopted as a second but everyday language by the Vikings. These were speakers of Old Danish and Old Norwegian. A couple of centuries later, it was adopted by speakers of Norman French (themselves also descendants of Vikings, but who had been christianized and Gallicized and who now spoke a form of French with some Norse borrowings: Norman French, and later its English offshoot, Anglo-Norman). The cultural prestige language in this environment was Latin, which also exerted a strong influence on English, directly but also indirectly via its descendant French, and which also served as a conduit for numerous elements from Greek, which had long since been absorbed into Latin. But it is doubtful whether we can safely attribute the changes that modified English morphology so much (notably the reduction of most final-syllable vowels to schwa in later Old English) directly to the effect of any of these languages.

(p. 20) CILC is essential to the history of English, but it is far from being the whole story. The second paragraph of this introduction contains forty-eight words or tokens, and thirty-nine types or different words (related forms of the same word are included within the same type). Eleven of these types are from other languages loaned into English; another (never) combines an Old English negator with an adverbial form that is exclusive to English and that is of unknown etymology (forms of unknown origin in languages abound, and though their history perforce remains mysterious, we should not ignore them). The use, though not the etymon, of auxiliary ‘do’ looks like a strong candidate for loan-translation (calquing) from the British Celtic substrate; the relative pronoun ‘which’ shows us using what was originally an interrogative pronouns as a relative pronoun, as French, Latin, and occasionally Norse did, but Old English did not. ‘Not’ itself has shifted from its original meaning of ‘nothing’ (OE nāwiht). But the syntagm that places it after ‘do’ and before the main or lexical verb is something that developed in the late Middle Ages and spread rapidly in Early Modern English, while the construction ‘that being the case’ echoed the Latin ablative absolute, itself an adjunctive echo of the Greek genitive absolute. Cases of true grammaticalization of items taken over through CILC are hard to find, though they occur frequently in English. For instance, want, borrowed from Old Norse as a lexical verb meaning ‘to be in need of, to be missing’ (and resembling the neuter form of the cognate adjective meaning ‘lacking’) has gained a new lease on life as an auxiliary or catenative verb, while its predecessor in its current slot, namely will, now indicates futurity.

As Grant (2002) has pointed out, any kind of CILC in any language can be expressed as being transfer of fabric (this denotes the borrowing of morphemes, including lexemes) or transfer of pattern (the borrowing of ways of using morphemes), and the two kinds of transfer are certainly not mutually exclusive within the same construction. They may and often do co-occur. Furthermore, both kinds of transfer can result in words or constructions that then take on linguistic lives of their own, undergoing changes quite independent of the source material or source languages. Once a word or a construction has been taken over from one linguistic system into another, its subsequent adventures and changes are part of the history of that new linguistic system, and these developments may not be replicated or paralleled or preempted in the language from which the term was originally taken. The history of the English verb STOP, which ultimately derives from a Greek word referring to the substance ‘tow,’ is a glorious example of this (OED Online, s.v. STOP1).

Indeed we may ask of any potential instance of CILC the following questions: Does this instance involve transfer of fabric? Does this instance involve transfer of pattern? If the answer to either or both of these is “yes,” then we are dealing with a case of CILC.

1.5 CILC in Antiquity: Some Cases

Has there always been borrowing between languages? All the evidence available to us from the earliest stages of recorded human language (which are preserved in written (p. 21) form) suggests a positive answer to this question; we may assert that a uniformitarian approach, by which the ways in which languages interacted five thousand years ago are still valid today, is supported by plentiful evidence. Even so, most studies concentrate on, or are simply limited to, the examination of the borrowing of cultural lexicon into the languages in question, rather than examining the absorption of structural and other features from one language to another.

There has been some amount of study of loan strata in the world’s earliest written language that can be read, namely the Mesopotamian isolate Sumerian, for which our earliest records date from about 3000 bc. These include some cultural loan material that we can identify as coming from Akkadian, and other items that we assume came into Sumerian from what are otherwise unknown languages (Rubio 1999). An account of this is provided in Michailowski (2004), while in a study that looks beyond the transfer of lexicon into Sumerian, Edzard (2003) discusses Akkadian syntactic influence on later stages of Sumerian, including the borrowing into Late Sumerian of the Akkadian ū ‘and,’ a coordinating conjunction with relatives in other Semitic languages. Sumerian influence upon Akkadian is the earliest instance of CILC about which we have information.

There is also evidence of borrowing from other languages into another Mesopotamian isolate, Elamite (Stolper 2004), and there are discussions of borrowings into Hurrian (Wilhelm 2004a), and its close relative Urartian, or Urartaean (one possible loan into Urartian from Akkadian, kubša ‘helmet,’ is mentioned in Wilhelm 2004b, this being the only loan identified so far in our sparse Urartaean material). None of these languages has left descendants, but we have evidence for borrowing from other sources in a variety of languages, some of which do have living relatives: Semitic Akkadian (Huehnergard and Woods 2004; loans from Sumerian). Another Semitic language, Hebrew (McCarter 2004), shows borrowings from Greek, Persian, Akkadian, Aramaic, Hittite, Sumerian, and Egyptian), and its sister Afro-Asiatic language Egyptian (Loprieno 2004 indicates the presence of loans from Semitic and possibly other sources). Hebrew, in the revived form that Zuckermann (2003) has called Israeli, has speakers to this day.

There are also cases of borrowing in ancient Indo-European languages, for instance, in Hittite (Watkins 2004 mentions loans from Semitic, and also from Hurrian, the extinct isolate Hattic and elsewhere). Sanskrit (Burrow 1955; Burrow 1973 discusses loans from Latin, Greek, and Old Persian, in addition to the ones from Dravidian and to a lesser extent Austroasiatic, which had already been discussed in Burrow 1955), Classical Greek (Woodard 2004), and Latin (Clackson 2004) all show the evidence of borrowings from other languages—in the case of Greek and Latin, there has been very considerable borrowing between them, especially from the first into the second, a process of transfer that continues apace after the Classical Latin period ends. Latin also contains loans from Oscan and Sabellian (also Italic languages), Etruscan, and Phoenician, while a large amount of the Ancient Greek lexicon originates in a language or languages unrelated to Greek, whose names we do not know. Additionally, there is evidence of borrowing into the Sino-Tibetan language Ancient Chinese (Peyraube 2004, discussing loans from Austroasiatic and Hmong-Mien languages into the (p. 22) language). In addition, we can find evidence for borrowings from Mixe-Zoquean languages into early hieroglyphic records of various Mayan languages of ancient Mexico and Guatemala (Bricker 2004). Woodard (ed. 2004), a collection of descriptive articles written by experts on each language surveyed, is obviously a major resource here, and most of the chapters give a number of examples of borrowed items in the languages in question.

The loan history of Hebrew is especially well covered in this regard. In addition to Horovitz’s and Kutscher’s works (Horovitz 1960; Kutscher 1984) on loans into earlier and later Hebrew in general, we may also note specific shorter studies, such as those of Lambdin (Lambdin 1953) and Stephen Kaufman (Kaufman 1974), which focus on Egyptian and Akkadian elements in Biblical Hebrew, respectively. (The latter comprises more than 1% of the recorded Old Testament Hebrew wordstock, which is itself surely a small fragment of the actual vocabulary known to a speaker of Hebrew in Biblical times; Akkadian provided some 80 or so elements from about 7,450 separate types attested in the Hebrew Bible.) Meanwhile, Horowitz and Kutscher both additionally discuss borrowings from Greek, Latin, medieval European languages, Yiddish, Palestinian Arabic, and modern European languages into Mishnaic (for Latin only), Medieval, and later stages of Hebrew. Also worthy of mention for semiticists interested in language contact is Zammit (1994) on loans from Persian, Nabataean (a variety of Aramaic), Greek, and other languages into the seventh-century Arabic of the Qur’an.

These works are all specialist studies concentrating on a single language; in a more general account, Thomason (2004) discusses borrowings into ancient languages (including some proto-languages) in general, but especially borrowings into certain languages of the Middle East, including those listed in the preceding.

1.6 A Comparison of Transferred Features among Heavy-Borrowing Languages

It may be naively assumed that the proportion of borrowed non-lexical linguistic features in a language, especially one that has borrowed heavily, is directly or closely equal to the proportion of borrowed basic or non-basic vocabulary in that language. Whether this is the case is something that can be submitted to analysis using available data, though in some cases the quantity of relevant data is not as great as might be hoped. Such an investigation also enables us to test and verify hypotheses.

Table 1.1 presents data from a number of languages, chosen in the first instances for their high scores in borrowed vocabulary on the Swadesh 225-item list. The structural and other categories that could be analyzed are numerous; drawing on a detailed case study, the categories that I have selected for cross-linguistic examination are those specified in the analysis of Indic and Arabic elements in Southern Domari in Matras (2003), with a (p. 23) (p. 24) (p. 25) few additions of my own. The contact history of this particular language is well known, and our ability to distinguish inherited from loan elements is assured here. It was decided to preserve the categories investigated in the original study (not all are universal) and add a few more. However, we recognize that not all languages have overt exponents of all the categories listed in the leftmost column. Domari is somewhat distantly related to Kalderash Romani, as both are Indic languages that have undergone some influence from Iranian languages. For the past several centuries, and probably for a millennium, Domari has been influenced extensively by Arabic (and also Kurdish in the case of Domari only), as has Ghomara Berber of northern Morocco, and so has Siwi Berber in Egypt. Again, the contact histories of these languages are well known, and we can compare the potentially differential impact of Arabic on two Berber languages.

Table 1.1 Inherited and Borrowed Linguistic Features in a Selection of Heavy-Borrowing Languages

Kalderash

Domari

Siwi

Ghomara

Hainan Cham

Chamorro

Garifuna

Mexicanero

Swadesh 225 list loans, in %

28

22 (n=155)

26

35 (n=155)

25 (n=173)*

33.5

22

25

Numerals 1–5

I

I

B, A

B (1), A 2–5

H

S

Aw; K, F

N

10, 100

I

I

A

A

H

S

F

S

Other numbers above 5

I=6, 20; Others Gk

A

A

A

H

S

F

S

Bound case markers

I

I

K

N

Indefinite article

I

I

S

N

‘What/who/where?’

I

I

B

A

H

Aw/K

N

‘How much?’

Inn

A

A

A

Ch

Aw

N

Person concord

I

I

B

B

Aw

N

Possessive markers

I

I

B

B

H, Ch

Aw

S

Bound plural markers

I, (Gk)

I, A

B

B

Aw

N

Adjectival comparison and superlation

Rom

A (via suppletion)

A (suppletion)

A (suppletion)

S

Aw

S

Bound tense markers

I

I

B

B

Aw

N

Bound aspect markers

I

I

B

B

Aw

N

Bound modality markers

I

B

B

Aw

N

Bound converb markers

I

I

Aw

Lexical verb negation

Ir

I

A

B

Ch

Chm

Aw

N

Nonverbal predication marker

I

B

N

‘can’

I?/Ir

I

B

B

Unk, Ch

Chm

Aw

S

‘can’ inflection and negation

I

I

BA

B

Ch

Chm

Aw

SN

Other modals

Gk, Slv

A

A

B, A

Ch

S

Aw, F

N

Other modal inflection and negation

I (Ir negation)

A

A

B, A

Ch

Chm, S

Aw

N

Aspectual auxiliaries

A

Ch

Aw

Aux inflection

A

B

B

Aux negation

A

A

B

Ch

Aw

Existential present

I

I

Ch

S

—, S

N

Neg of existential present

I

I

Ch

Aw

N

Existential past/subjunctive

I

A, I

A

Ch

S

N

Neg of existential past

I

I, A

A

Ch

N

Personal pronouns

I

I

B

B

H

Chm

Aw (K)

N

Demonstratives

Inn

I

B

B

H

S, Chm

Aw

N

Relative pronoun

I

A

A

A

Ch

Chm

N, S

Resumptive pronoun

A

Resumptive pronoun agreement

A

Bound adpositions

I

BA

A

Unbound adpositions

I (R)

A

B

B A

H, Ch

Chm, S

Aw

SN

Coordinating conjunctions

I, R

A

B, A

A

H, Ch

Chm, S

F, E

S (N)

Subordinating adverbial conjunctions

I, R

A

A

A

Ch

(Chm), S

Aw (F)

S

Complementizer

I

A

A

A

S

Complementizer agreement

I

A

S

Phasal adverbs

I

A

B, A

B, A

H

S

Aw

S

Focus particles

I

A

B

B

H

Chm

Aw

N

Key: A=Arabic; Aw=Arawakan; B=Berber; C=Chamic; Ch=Chinese; Chm=Chamorro; F=French; Gk=Greek; H=Hainan Cham inherited; HCh=Hainan Cham; I=Indic; Ka=Kari’na; Inn=Innovation; Ir=Iranian; MK=Mon-Khmer; N=Nahua/Nawa; R=Romanian; S=Spanish; Slv=South Slavonic; Unk=Unknown origin; —=the feature in question is absent from the language; ?=data regarding the feature are not available.

Sources: Southern Domari (Matras 2003: 161; Matras 2012); Kalderash Romani (Boretzky 1993); Siwi (Souag 2010); Ghomara (Mourigh 2016); Hainan Cham/Tsat (Thurgood 2014); Chamorro (Topping and Ogo 1973; Topping, Ogo, and Dungca 1975); Garifuna (Taylor 1977; Sabio and Ordóñez 2005; Larsen-Haurholm 2016); Mexicanero (Canger 2001).

Kalderash shared many of the influences that all other forms of Romani have undergone since around 1000 ce, namely Iranian, Armenian, Greek, and South Slavic. Kalderash was also exposed to several centuries of influence from Romanian and (in Transylvania) also Hungarian and Transylvanian Saxon, and latterly from the co-territorial languages that the Roma encountered after their liberation from servitude in Wallachia and Moldavia in 1861.

Hainan Cham and Chamorro are both Austronesian languages, but are probably more distantly related to one another than either of the two preceding pairs of languages is. Hainan Cham has been influenced by the Kra-Dai language Hlai, from maybe a millennium ago, and later (from an unknown date, but especially since 1949) from varieties of Chinese. As a Chamic language, Hainan Cham also has been influenced by Mon-Khmer languages from the early centuries of the Common Era, and shows some of the internal lexical and other innovations that help distinguish Chamic languages from their nearest Malayic relatives. Its development of tones predates Chinese influence, which has nonetheless been stupendous. Chamorro was extensively influenced by Spanish from the 1660s to 1898 (and for a shorter period in the 1520s) but had previously been influenced by an unknown Philippine language (or languages) for a period of time that has yet to be determined.

Finally, Garifuna is an Arawakan language and Mexicanero is Uto-Aztecan, so that neither is related to any other language on the table. Both Garifuna and Mexicanero have been influenced by Spanish (as has Chamorro, and also Ghomara Berber) since at least the seventeenth century, or a century earlier in the case of Mexicanero. But Garifuna shows evidence of strong influence from other languages, too, namely French and Antillean Creole French (both of these seem to have made contributions from the seventeenth century onward), and later from Creole English and maybe non-Creole English, and—earlier than these (maybe from the fifteenth century or earlier)—from Kari’na Pidgin.

In the HCh material there are numerous forms that have Chinese and non-Chinese exponents (including all numerals, for instance), in addition to several forms for which the only item used in HCh derives from Chinese. Additionally, a high proportion (ca. 20%) of HCh Swadesh list forms are without etymology, and a couple of other forms are compounds that use items that have already been found in use elsewhere on the list.

(p. 26) The matrix of features that are examined in Table 1.1 are relevant most clearly for languages that have been influenced by systems, such as Arabic, which have resumptive pronouns, person-marking on prepositions and agreement on complementizers. Most languages lack these features either through inheritance, innovation, or borrowing. The fact that these typologically unusual features are transferrable into languages that previously had no such features, and that had no features which resembled them, is striking: the effects of CILC include typological change at micro- and macro-levels.

Nonetheless, our overall findings are somewhat surprising. Our published Swadesh-list lexical data for Domari and Ghomara are seriously incomplete (and the 155 forms listed for the Swadesh list in each language are for different Swadesh-list items in each case). Even so, we can observe that Ghomara seems to have borrowed twice as much non-Berber vocabulary as Domari has taken from non-Indic sources (Northern Kurdish in addition to Arabic). This is so even though both have been in contact with Arabic for several centuries and the speakers of both languages are (and have long been) bilingual in Arabic. Not all heavy-borrowing languages take over the same kinds of features from the language systems that influenced them. The length of time in which two languages have been in contact and the degree of disparity in prestige or power that the donor language has over the recipient are both important factors. But quantifying them and developing a formula that will allow us to gauge the depth of contact is not easy to draw up; the degree of bilingualism, its duration, and the degree to which it is reciprocal are also important considerations.

We should also discuss Dolenjska Romani of Slovenia and northern Italy (for instance, Cech 2006). Dolenjska Romani in its several varieties has borrowed massively from Slovene (in addition to possessing several Slovene-Romani lexical pairings). Once again, we have sub-adequate records for the long and short Swadesh list, on the lines of about 175 forms for the full list, of which at least 55 concepts are solely expressed by loans from Slovene, with a handful more coexisting with original Romani equivalents (themselves of various origins), and conjunctions are here also taken wholesale from Slovene. The paucity of Greek loans in the language has been commented upon; the reason for this (which is obvious when one examines the lexical evidence) is that the referents which are labeled in other Romani languages by Greek loans have names in Dolenjska Romani that generally come from Slovene. Some interesting cases of grammaticalization can be found, not least the construction of the comparison of adjectives using pre-posed hede, a grammaticalization of feder ‘better,’ itself an old borrowing from Ossetic. What does mark Dolenjska Romani out from other varieties is that it has taken a few verbal inflectional endings from Greek (such as the 3SG.PRES.INDIC –i, found also in Slovene) and has employed them productively on verb stems of all origins, with just a few older monosyllabic verbs preserving original Romani 3SG.PRES.INDIC –el/-al. In the world’s languages, verbal morphology tends to be replaced (through extension in use of prior forms, grammaticalization of what were previously lexical items, etc.) rather than through borrowing. But it is far from immune from change. Incidentally, Herrity (1996: 233 on i-stem verbs in Slovene) shows that –i is the regular ending for such verbs, and this may well (p. 27) have bolstered the use of Greek-origin –i as the 3SG present indicative ending in Dolenjska Romani.

The preceding features concern lexicon and inflectional morphology, and Table 1.1 suggests that some features (e.g., adjectival comparison) are more amenable to replacement through borrowing than others (e.g., finite verbal inflection), and that with more features and more languages available, a scale of borrowing might be able to be assembled. It would be possible to construct a similar table for various features of derivational morphology, such as agentive affixes, markers of causativity, and so on (and here Kalderash, with its fully integrated abstract noun marker –mo taken from Greek and the like would score highly). Yet here the kinds of features that have overt exponents in a subset of languages may be even more diverse than those in Table 1.1.

The greater the number of case studies of pairs of linguistic systems in contact, the greater the range of kinds of CILC one can exemplify, and the greater the number of features that can be identified as open to borrowing. The sheer weight of evidence from these examples shows that there are apparently no restrictions on what can be borrowed, especially within cases of Bloomfieldian dialect borrowing (and secondly, that rigorous hierarchies of borrowing are rather difficult to set up). Indeed, identifying what has been borrowed in these languages can often only be clearly identified once the source language for these borrowings is out of the sociolinguistic picture. The closer the languages are, the greater is the possibility for copying and transfer, but this does not mean that there will certainly be a greater degree of borrowing: sociolinguistic factors, including the access to the target donor language, are crucial, and they can stymie the transfer of plentiful forms. Some kinds of borrowing seem to be especially widely found within certain kinds of languages. Typology and isomorphism are crucial, too, but (pace Field and Meillet, and Sapir before Meillet) their absence does not present a barrier to transfer. Nor can what is to be borrowed be predicted, just understood ex post facto. What can be borrowed is constrained by the features that the donor language has to offer, and despite our wealth of knowledge there may yet be much to discover about the ways in which one linguistic system may reshape other ones.

1.7 Pidgins, Creoles, Koines, Lingua Francas, Mixed Languages, and Linguistic Areas

CILC can help to create new languages, or as Smith (1999) referred to them, younger languages. Linguistic systems that develop because of the need for people without a common linguistic background to communicate with one another for trade, politics, or other purposes are known as pidgins. These have been attested everywhere from the Arctic to Tierra del Fuego, and new pidgins are being noted (or exhumed from earlier records) all the time. Pidgins are characterized by sparse morphology, a stronger (p. 28) dependence upon word order to clarify relations within the clause, and small lexica. Some of these lexica may be macaronic (composed of elements from two or more different languages) but this is not always the case.

Pidgins that become the dominant or sole language of a speech community are known as creoles. Creoles develop from pidgins; this view is controversial, but the immense amount of linguistic evidence to support this opinion brooks no dissent. As such, their structural capacities and lexica expand considerably, so that they can be used for all the purposes that other first languages can be. Their structures may echo features of the structure of their chief lexifier (or superstrate)—the language that provided the bulk of the everyday vocabulary—but they do not continue the actual morphological systems of these languages. These often mirror many of the typological (but rarely the actual morphological) features of the substrate languages spoken as native or dominant languages by the people who helped to creolize pidgins, generally in oppressive social circumstances. Some languages that are thought of as pidgins are used as first languages by a minority of their speakers and as the major everyday language (but not their only language) by the remainder, and these are nowadays known as pidgin/creoles.

Creole languages are often further modified by interaction with languages that play important social or political roles in creolophone societies, and these are known as adstrate languages. The literature on and in creole languages is massive; much attention has been paid to the ultimate origins of creoles (namely, whether or not they derive from prior pidgins). The fact that they do so derive is reinforced by computational studies, notably the collection of studies assembled in a project conducted at the University of Aarhus and edited by Peter Bakker (Bakker et al. 2017), which use phylogenetic methods to demonstrate the interrelatedness of various groups of creole languages and their descent from prior pidgins. For deeper and wider reading, Holm (1988–1989, 2000), Holm and Patrick (eds. 2007), Velupillai (2015), Michaelis et al. (2013) and Bakker and Daval-Markussen (2017) are essential reading, but do not by any means exhaust even the list of languages that fall under these categories (see also Chapter 11 by Parkvall and Chapter 12 by McWhorter in this volume).

The term koine or koiné (from Greek hē koinē dialektos ‘the common dialect,’ referring to the kind of Attic Greek in which the New Testament was first presented) refers to a variety of language that represents a leveling or compromise among several closely related varieties. It is generally based upon one socially dominant variety that has absorbed some features of other varieties (Siegel 1985), and which may have undergone some structural simplification (McWhorter 2007). A koine may be slightly simplified structurally, and may serve as a lingua franca, the common language between people who lack a shared first language. Lingua francas (the term is Italian but is usually pluralized as if it were English) may have undergone some structural simplification, but this too is not necessarily so. Pidgins, creoles, and mixed languages may all serve as lingua francas in the right social circumstances. Koineization is a kind of new dialect formation (Trudgill 2004), a linguistic process that has received much attention of late, not least in Anglophone areas such as New Zealand, where varieties of (p. 29) English English, Scottish English, and Irish English came together against the backdrop of New Zealand Māori, and developed into a distinctive set of national varieties. The rise of New Zealand English was investigated by a team led by Elizabeth Gordon in the ONZE (Older New Zealand English) Project. New towns, such as the English new town Milton Keynes, also have been investigated with regard to the formation of new dialects (Kerswill and Williams 2005). An important process assisting in new dialect formation is dialect leveling (Hinskens 1998).

Over the past few decades a great amount of attention has been paid to mixed languages, for which the coverage was more diffuse in previous decades (and indeed, some of them were regarded initially as pidgins or creoles, from both of which categories they are certainly structurally distinct). These are sometimes the dominant language of a speech community, and because they have achieved a high degree of stability (which is to say that they show a limited degree of internal variation between the sources of their various components), they are known as stable mixed languages. Some of these show a primary division between nominal elements (both lexical and morphological) and verbal elements (again both lexical and morphological), which come from different languages that may be closely related, distantly related, or completely unrelated genealogically, while some others divide their components between taking lexicon from one source and bound morphology from another. Velupillai (2012) treats these in her book, which also covers pidgins and creoles, and Bakker and Mous (eds. 1994) and Thomason (ed. 1997) provide some crucial basic reading on several of them, while Bakker (2017) is a superb introduction to the subject, with snippets from a wide range of mixed languages. Versteegh (2017) casts doubt upon the existence of mixed languages (see also Chapter 13 by Smith and Grant in this volume).

Ever since the pioneering work of Jernej Kopitar on structural similarities among some of the languages in the Balkans (Kopitar 1829), linguists have been interested in bundles of structural and/or lexical phenomena that cross genealogical boundaries within a particular geographical or cultural area. These features are held to be shared among some languages that belong to more than one family (or which may be isolates), yet which do not characterize all the languages in all the genealogical groups that exhibit these features. Such collections of shared features are known as linguistic areas or Sprachbünde. Linguistic areas are dynamic rather than static; they can change over time, and some linguists (notably Campbell 2017) have observed that it can be difficult to define them satisfactorily. Matras, McMahon, and Vincent (eds. 2004) and especially Hickey (ed. 2017) are valuable introductions to this subject and contain numerous case studies of linguistic areas from around the world.

Recent decades have seen an interest in the rise and development of urban (multi)ethnolects, which are used as in-group languages and which combine lexical and sometimes other elements from a wide range of languages. Kiessling and Mous (2004) explore some urban youth languages of this kind from sub-Saharan Africa, while Cheshire, Nortier, and Adger (2015) discuss emerging multiethnolects in Europe. This is further evidence of CILC as a dynamic field. This can also be seen in the recent (p. 30) paper by Frank Jablonka (Jablonka 2017) on the rise of new mixed ethnolects as a fresh result of language contact. A converse view, which shows that controversy remains alive in the field, can be seen in the paper by Kees Versteegh (2017) on what he perceives as the myth of the mixed language.

The interaction of various factors which shape the effects of CILC is complex and multifarious. Table 1.2, whose findings are based on my four decades of studying this topic, indicates something of the degrees to which various kinds of factors, and the circumstances governing their propagation and continuation, may interact within a linguistic system. The overall impression is one of conditioning factors being important but not essential for certain kinds of CILC to occur.

Table 1.2 Features and characteristics of CILC compared according to causes and effects, and set in tabular form

Feature

Changes internal structure of subsystem?

Simplifies system?

Compli-cates subsys-tem?

Bilingualism by some required to actuate this?

Transfer occurs between consecutive generations?

Transfer occurs through gradual language shift?

Transfer occurs through childhood transmission?

Transfer occurs through adult trans mission?

Involves transfer of pattern?

Involves transfer of fabric?

Lexical borrowing

1

1

2

2

1

1

1

1

2

4

Partial relexification

1

1

1

2

3

3

3

3

2

4

Full relexification

1

2

3

4

4

3

1

3

1

4

Van Coetsem feature imposition

3

2

2

4

4

4

4

4

4

1

Change in templatic phonology

3

2

3

3-4

3

1

1

3

4

3-4

Addition of phonological segments

3

1

3

3-4

3

2

1

4

3-4

4

Grammaticalisation of items from lexicon to morphology

4

1

3

2-3

3

3

2

2-4

4

3

Metatypy

4

1

2

3

4

3

0

4

4

3

Calquing

0

1

1

4

2-3

2

2

4

4

0-1

Simplification

4

4

0

4

3

2

2

4

2

2

Complexification

4

0

4

3

4

3

1

3

3

3

Core-periphery changes

2

2

3

3

4

3

1

4

2

4

Interdialectal borrowing within a language

2

2

2

4

2

3

1

4

1

4

Calquing

1

3

2

4

2

2

0

4

4

2

Koineisation

3

4

1

4

2

2

0

4

1

4

Pidginisation

4

4

0

4

1

0

0

3

1

2

creolisation

4

3

1

2

4

1

4

2-4

3

3

0 = never occurs, 1- rarely, 2 = sometimes, 3 = usually; 4 = always the case. NA – not applicable.

1.8 The Content of This Volume

After the present chapter, which constitutes the introduction, the content of this book falls into two main divisions. A series of thematic chapters examining the interaction of CILC with various levels of language structure or language use discusses phonology (Grant, Klein, and Ng, Chapter 3), morphology (Gardani, Chapter 4), syntax (Ross, Chapter 5) and lexis and semantics (Mott and Laso, Chapter 6). In addition, it includes an account of theories of CILC (Winford, Chapter 2), CILC and its relations with endangered languages (Aikhenvald, Chapter 10), and the role of code-mixing and code-switching in the instigation of CILC (Backus, Chapter 8), in addition to issues linking CILC and first- and second-language acquisition (Chapter 9). There are also chapters on CILC and pidgins (Parkvall, Chapter 11), creoles (McWhorter, Chapter 12) and stable mixed languages (Smith, Chapter 13). Sociolinguistic aspects are exemplified in a chapter that looks at a series of related case studies of CILC in the Sinosphere (Thurgood, Chapter 7).

This collection is followed by chapters that discuss the impact of CILC upon a range of languages throughout the world. Most are originally spoken languages that have often later been reduced to writing, although we have included an examination of language contact effects upon American Sign Language (Quinto-Pozos and Adam, Chapter 31). All continents are represented in this selection, and although the collection includes five Indo-European languages, there is also exemplification of case studies from several other families and from Korean (Sohn, Chapter 24), which is often regarded as an isolate, and which may or may not be related to Japanese—although it is certain that Korean has borrowed material from Japanese. Meanwhile the genealogical affinities of Äiwoo of the Santa Cruz Islands, Solomon Islands (Næss, Chapter 28), were uncertain until recently, when it was established that it is indeed Oceanic and therefore Austronesian, although it has been profoundly influenced by non-Austronesian languages. Emphasis has been given to depicting the situation of CILC in languages where the effects of contact-induced change are especially strong, varied in nature, or simply pervasive. In several cases, short texts have been presented, and in these the (p. 31) (p. 32) multifarious effects of CILC on the relevant language have been illustrated, in order to show readers what the effects of CILC can look like. Individual studies of the effects of CILC upon a pidgin (Blaxter Paliwala, Chapter 27), a creole (Baptista et al., Chapter 33), a stable mixed language (Benítez-Torres, Chapter 18), and a linguistic area or Sprachbund (Kaufman, Chapter 30) have been presented. There is also the discussion of the effects of CILC on pre-modern varieties of a small language family, namely Celtic (Hickey, Chapter 14). It had been hoped that we could include accounts of the effects of CILC upon a number of other languages upon which CILC has wrought especially strong changes, but space, time commitments, and the inability to obtain chapters from suitably qualified authors meant that this was not always possible. For this we crave the reader’s indulgence.

In this volume no single ideological or theoretical viewpoint has been imposed upon the authors as a kind of “party line,” and the authors have been given a free hand to take whatever theoretical positions they choose, on the understanding that such positions are not a prioristic assumptions but are empirically supported and can be substantiated with bodies of evidence.

The volume falls into Parts I and II, comprising general chapters and case studies, respectively. After this introductory chapter, Part I commences with Chapter 2 by Donald Winford, who presents theories of contact-induced linguistic change. Work on the topic has been extensive since around 1950, and especially since the publication of Thomason and Kaufman (1988). Winford gives particular attention to the theories of Frans van Coetsem, who posited two transfer types: borrowing as generally understood, and imposition, in which features (rather than elements) of a language that was spoken by a dominated population shaped the language of the invaders. That language may have prevailed but was thus modified as a result of contact with the substrate language.

Chapter 3, by Anthony Grant, the late Thomas Klein, and E-Ching Ng, examines CILC and phonology. The levels at which speakers of one language can modify the language of another group are legion. While one of the commonest levels is for a language to absorb new phonemes from another language, or to promote previous allophones to phonemes because they now create minimal pairs, other features such as new intonational or word-stress patterns, new syllabic canons, and the introduction (or even loss) of processes of vowel harmony or tonogenesis have been attested.

Morphology, both inflectional and derivational, is closely entwined with the rest of the basic structure of a language, and Chapter 4, by Francesco Gardani, documents and discusses a wide number of cases of borrowing, especially in the realm of inflectional morphology.

Malcolm Ross discusses the effects of CILC on several aspects of clausal and sentential syntax in Chapter 5. His theory of metatypy, in which a language gradually changes its syntactic typology as a result of borrowing features from a more powerful language (from which it need not also borrow morphemes) is discussed here, with important attention being paid to its effects on some Slavic languages in contact with one another and with German.

(p. 33) The effects of CILC on several branches of semantics are illustrated by Brian Mott and Natalia Laso, who demonstrate in Chapter 6 that this extends way beyond the extension of the meanings of preexisting words in order to accommodate new concepts that had not previously been lexicalized. Lexicology is examined, too, so that issues such as lexical borrowing and loanblends are illustrated, as are subtler cases in which, for example, verbs that governed one case in a language change their case-government in order to align with that found in a more dominant language.

The preceding chapters deal with what are sometimes described as microlinguistic matters. Introducing the macrolinguistic dimension is Chapter 8 on code-switching by Ad Backus. Code-switching (CS) and code-mixing have long been seen by many scholars (though by no means all of them) as engines of CILC, and Backus discusses the theories and illustrates the effects of CS, often with examples from his own research involving Dutch and Turkish.

First and second-language acquisition (also known as L1 and L2 acquisition) and their interaction with CILC constitute the subject of Chapter 9 by Gabriel Ozón and Eva Duran Eppler. These modes of language acquisition have also often been seen as the means by which CILC occurs in languages, and this chapter examines the evidence for the separate roles of these modes of acquisition in shaping and affecting language change.

Language acquisition is at the heart of Chapter 7 by Graham Thurgood, who examines the effects of the processes of acquisition (especially L1) on some members of the Chamic languages. These comprise a group of Austronesian languages on mainland Southeast Asia that have been profoundly affected by Mon-Khmer languages, not all of which can be identified. This state of affairs has continued into modern times, with some Chamic languages being influenced by Khmer and many more by Vietnamese, while Hainan Cham has been latterly massively influenced by Chinese, and this influence continues.

Alexandra Aikhenvald in Chapter 10 discusses the effects of CILC on languages that are in a state of endangerment. Thousands of languages are in danger of being abandoned by their speakers in favor of other languages that confer more prestige and power (however limited) on their speakers, and speakers of these languages have developed a number of responses to this effect, including overt or covert resistance to the influence of these languages. Aikhenvald draws upon her extensive fieldwork on languages in Papua New Guinea and the Vaupés (Amazonia) to illustrate these issues.

Exploring attestations and sources from around the world, Mikael Parkvall in Chapter 11 presents an innovative account of pidgins, demonstrating their general structural and social characteristics, and presenting examples in the form of sentences and textlets from a range of pidgins, some of which have barely been discussed in the literature before now.

Not all linguists are as yet convinced of the truth that pidgins underlie the development of creoles, but this is made clear in Chapter 12 by John H. McWhorter, who draws upon data from “radical” creoles such as Saramaccan to demonstrate the innate connection between pidgins and creoles. In this way, one may elucidate the relationship (p. 34) between the substrate (the languages spoken by the people whose pidgin gave rise to many typological properties of the creole), superstrate (the source of the lexicon), and adstrate (a later and secondary source of lexicon and other features) in creoles.

Norval Smith and Anthony Grant in Chapter 13 discuss mixed languages, linguistic systems (sometimes the only one used by a speech community, at other times one of many deployed within a single speech community) that have often been lumped together with pidgins and creoles, but which do not demonstrate the kinds of structural simplification that typify pidgins.

Part II of this book explores the effects of CILC on a number of languages, and for this reason they are often furnished with illustrative texts that highlight such contact effects. These works all draw upon the authors’ fieldwork and specialist knowledge, and in some cases (Sreekumar, Sohn, Adam, Baptista, Veiga, Soares, and Lopes Robalo, and indeed Beal and Faulkner) the authors are themselves L1 users of the languages that they describe.

Raymond Hickey discusses in Chapter 14 how early Celtic languages, and furthermore Irish in its various stages, have been affected by a number of languages. For Irish, these include Latin, British Celtic, Norse, Norman French, and English. But there has also been influence by a language or languages whose identity is as yet unknown, but which may have been spoken in northwestern Europe before Celtic languages reached the area in the first millennium bc. This linguistic influence has been passed on from a time before Celtic languages were written down, and can be seen in modern Celtic languages.

In Chapter 15, Clive Grey examines the effects upon Welsh of other languages. The focus here is on English as the major source of influence, and this influence continues apace, although the impact of other languages (notably Latin at various stages) is also highly significant, while Norse, Irish, French, and indirectly Flemish (via Pembrokeshire English) have also made contributions.

Joan C. Beal and Mark Faulkner in Chapter 16 present a crisp account of influence upon English, a language whose history is probably the most intensely and copiously described of all. CILC has affected English greatly, and although our records of documented English have gaps (especially during the Norman period, 1066–1204) it is clear that the five centuries beginning in 1000 ce are the ones when the influence was strongest. We should not lose sight of the facts that the languages which affected the everyday vocabulary of English the most included Norse and Dutch/Low German, both of them closely related to English, while Latin (and to a lesser extent its descendants, especially various forms of French) has been a source of influence from Old English times onward. Nor should we neglect the effect of British Celtic on Old English, which has been a matter of discussion for decades but which is still underplayed by some because of the dearth of British loanwords into English.

Miriam Bouzouita in Chapter 17 examines CILC in Spanish, itself a language that has exerted great influence on many other languages (as Jorge Gómez-Rendón’s Chapter 32 on Guaraní indicates). Like English, Spanish is a language that has been massively influenced by languages to which it is closely related (especially French, but (p. 35) also Italian) or from which it is descended (in this case, Latin). Arabic’s impact on Spanish is well known and richly documented, and the impact of Basque has been slight, but because we know little of Celtic in Roman Iberia (Celtiberian and also Tartessian) and even less of Iberian and its assumed relatives, we cannot say how deeply these under-documented languages shaped Iberian Latin. Meanwhile, English exerts an ever greater influence, not just in the places (such as the US) where it has de facto official status, de jure or de facto.

In Chapter 18, Carlos M. Benítez-Torres describes the genesis and composition of Tagdal, one of a small group of Berber-Songhay mixed languages (so-called Northern Songhay languages), which are spoken in the Azawagh Valley in Mali and Niger (with an outlier, Korandje, being spoken in the village of Tabelbala in western Algeria). The basic morphology and a few hundred words of the high-frequency lexicon of these languages derive from Songhay languages, while some less frequent structural features and the bulk of the everyday lexicon derive from Berber (Amazigh) languages, not merely from the co-territorial Tuareg varieties, with further lexical strata from Fulfulde, French, and especially Arabic. These are core-periphery mixed languages, with a core of morphemes deriving from one source and a larger body of material from another. What distinguishes these from other languages that have borrowed heavily (such as English) is the thinness of the core.

The subject of Chapter 19 by Birgit Hellwig is Goemai, a Chadic language of northeastern Nigeria, which shows influence from unrelated Niger-Congo languages in addition to considerable (and continuing) lexical and structural influence from Goemai’s distant relative Hausa.

Lameen Souag in Chapter 20 gives an account of CILC in Berber varieties—for it is of course a language family, not a single language. Berber is a donor language (or language family) as well as a recipient. Latin, Punic, and Ancient Egyptian have made contributions in ancient times, while Western European languages, such as Spanish and especially French, have influenced Berber lexicon. But the overwhelming source of influence on Berber languages is Arabic in its diachronic and diatopic varieties, and in the case of some forms, such as Siwi (Egypt) and Ghomara (northern Morocco), this influence has been immense and is continuing. Meanwhile, Berber languages have played a strong part in shaping Maghrebi Arabic, and especially varieties spoken in Morocco.

Oleg Belyaev has examined in Chapter 21 a wide range of the structural and lexical effects of CILC from many sources upon Ossetic (especially the Iron dialects). An Iranian language, Ossetic contains some elements originating in Turkic and also in Arabic and Ossetic’s relative Persian/Farsi, but as most Ossetes did not adopt Islam, these effects are minor. More important has been the influence of languages of the Caucasus, both Nakh-Dagestanian languages such as Chechen, and the dominant Kartvelian language Georgian, while later influences upon Ossetic have come from Russian. Indeed, certain features that Ossetic has preserved from Proto-Iranian and which its sister-languages have lost (often as the result of Arabic influence) suggests that we should claim that some features of Ossetic have been preserved through contact-induced conservatism.

(p. 36) Eleanor Coghill in Chapter 22 describes contact effects of many languages upon Neo-Aramaic, specifically the North-Eastern Neo-Aramaic on which she did fieldwork and which malign geopolitical forces have kept in a state of peril for more than a century. Various forms of Aramaic were once lingua francas throughout the Near East, and having themselves absorbed elements from Akkadian (some of these being from Sumerian) and Persian, later absorbed elements of Greek and Latin. (Absorption of Greek influence occurred to the extent that some alphabets used for writing the Western Aramaic variety known as Syriac used minuscule Greek alphabetic letters in their consonantal semi-alphabetic script, blending styles of letters and directions of writing; Morag 1961). Translated materials written in Syriac served as the conduit for the perpetuation of many Greek scientific texts, which were later translated into Arabic and which had a profound effect in the history of science, and the impact of Aramaic on Qur’anic and most spoken forms of Arabic is considerable. Now Neo-Aramaic is severely endangered, its speakers perforce at least bilingual, in Kurdish (in the case of the varieties that Coghill has described), in Hebrew (in Israel), in Turkish, in Georgian, in Farsi—and in the diaspora of the Western world, in European languages such as English. In some places, Kurdish-Neo-Aramaic bilingualism has been in place for centuries, and while both are minority languages when opposed to Arabic or Turkish, Kurdish is nonetheless the dominant partner: few if any Kurds would nowadays learn Neo-Aramaic.

P. Sreekumar’s discussion of Malayalam and its contact history in Chapter 23 illustrates that, as the language of the Malabar Coast, it has been influenced by languages brought by traders from afar, speaking Arabic, Portuguese, and later English. This is in addition to influence from Hebrew and Syriac, both of which were brought by members of religious minorities (Cochin Jews and St. Thomas Syro-Malabar Christians, respectively). Influence from Indic languages, especially Sanskrit, is massive, prolonged, and evident at every level, from segmental phonology to word formation.

Ho-min Sohn in Chapter 24 shows the history of Korean and the waves of influence it has undergone from other language. Here, as is the case with many languages surveyed in this book, one language has been dominant; in this case it is Chinese, which has influenced Korean for over a millennium. Even the strokes that comprise the characters of Han’gul, the system used for writing Korean, are modeled on those used in Chinese characters, as is the arrangement of these alphabetic symbols into syllables that resemble Chinese characters in shape. Other languages have influenced Korean, too: English is the major source of influence at least in South Korea, while Japanese, Dutch, Portuguese, and (at an earlier stage) Mongolian have also made lexical contribution.

In Chapter 25, John Haiman exemplifies the effects of language contact in Khmer. Nowadays the major sources of CILC are French and English, but the major impact on Khmer was from Sanskrit and Pali, to the extent that some important means of derivational morphology were taken over from these languages, and since then also have been used with stems of Khmer origin. Khmer has had a complex contact relationship with Thai and with Khmer’s distant relative Mon (which itself has (p. 37) influenced Thai), and these have also served as conduits for the absorption of elements from Chinese. Khmer therefore bridges the Indosphere and the Sinosphere, the two great spheres of linguistic and cultural influence in East Asia.

Australian Aboriginal languages have had long histories of CILC, much of which has only recently been discovered, while some other instances involve the interaction of Aboriginal languages with English and the creolized varieties known generically as Kriol, and have been investigated in full only within the last decade or so. Chapter 26 by Carmel O’Shannessy touches on both these topics. She explores Warlpiri, a Ngumpin-Yapa language of the Northern Territory that has undergone influence from the Western Desert language, which like Warlpiri is a Pama-Nyungan language (and thus a member of the widely ramified family that covers seven-eighths of indigenous Australia) but which belongs to a different branch from the Ngumpin-Yapa languages. In the mouths of younger generations, Traditional Warlpiri has interacted with Kriol and English to give rise to Light Warlpiri, which like Tagdal is a mixed language.

Adam Blaxter Paliwala in Chapter 27 discusses modern influences upon Tok Pisin, an English-lexifier pidgin/creole closely related to Solomons Pijin, Bislama, and Torres Straits Broken. Separate from those, it also contains elements from German, Malay, and Oceanic languages of Papua New Guinea, but which has never lost touch with its chief lexifier, by which it continues to be reshaped (see also G. P. Smith 2008), and with which it shares official status in Papua New Guinea.

Contact of a very different kind is documented by Åshild Næss in her account in Chapter 28 of Reef Island languages of Temotu province, in the Solomon Islands. These languages puzzled scholars for decades with respect to their affinities, because they seemed to combine Austronesian and non-Austronesian elements in a very non-Austronesian way. This was complicated by the fact that there were no non-Austronesian languages spoken in Temotu, while the Austronesian—and specifically Oceanic—element in the language was very small. Næss examines this small family of strikingly disparate languages and describes the ways in which the elements combine.

In Chapter 29, Anna Berge studies the impact of CILC on Eskimo-Aleut languages, giving an especially detailed account of the effects of other languages upon Aleut. Berge provides lexical and textual data from Pribilof Aleut, which has been sparsely represented in previous documentation. Aleut’s major source of influence is Russian, as it has been since the eighteenth century (and most Aleuts to this day are Russian Orthodox), and influence from English came much later.

David Kaufman explores the structure and defining features of a Sprachbund, the Lower Mississippi linguistic area, in Chapter 30. The languages in this Sprachbund, which borders Louisiana, Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas, are Native American ones (including the pidgin language Mobilian Jargon), many of them isolates (that is, languages without identifiable genealogical affiliation) and most of them are no longer spoken, having lost their last remaining speakers in the first half of the twentieth century. Work on this Sprachbund is therefore largely philological and is constrained by the nature of the data collected on them (not all of which have been published). It is also dependent upon the kinds of investigation conducted by the researchers (which in the case of one investigator, (p. 38) James Owen Dorsey, proved fatal; we know practically all we have of Biloxi from his work conducted in the months before he died of typhoid in Louisiana). Probable causes of the areal features and their spread are discussed and illustrated.

David Quinto-Pozos and Robert Adam in Chapter 31 provide us with an illustrated account of CILC in American Sign Language: language contact is not confined to languages transmitted by the oral modality. The authors discuss a series of forms of CILC, including fingerspelling, mouthings (oral movements made in conjunction with signs, with or without vocalization), and code-switching between spoken English and ASL, and between ASL and other sign languages. The fact that these do not exhaust the possibilities for creativity in language contact in sign languages can be illustrated by the fact that some ASL users employ fingerspelled “E-X-” as a means of representing past tense.

Turning to Latin America, Jorge Gómez Rendón describes in Chapter 32 the multiple effects of contact-induced change in Paraguayan Guaraní, which shows profound influence from regional Spanish (and which in its turn has influenced Paraguayan Spanish). A mixed-Guaraní-Spanish language Jopará (named after a dish mixing meat and vegetables) has developed and is widely used, not least in urban areas. Purism is common in Guaraní as a reaction against the influence of Spanish, and to this end we have seen the rise of a cardinal numerical system stretching into the millions and using native elements, even though traditional Guaraní did not provide for numerals above ‘5.’

The final chapter (Chapter 33) in this section is by Marlyse Baptista, Sérgio Soares da Costa, Manuel Monteiro da Veiga, and Lígia Maria Herbert Duarte Lopes Robalo. They examine Kabuverdianu or Cape Verdean Creole, a creole language group that was structurally and lexically shaped by Atlantic languages such as Balanta and Mandinka (which the ancestors of the speakers of Kabuverdianu had originally spoken), and its centuries of relations with its major lexifier, Portuguese. Each island has its own variety, and these can be divided into Barlavento and Sotavento varieties, the latter being more clearly removed from Portuguese, though speakers in both groups are constantly in contact with Portuguese. Many speakers of Kabuverdianu live in areas, such as New England or Amsterdam, where Portuguese has no official status, and the impact of English or Dutch on diasporic Kabuverdianu will provide fruitful material for present and future researchers on language contact, for here as elsewhere there is still much to discover.

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Notes:

(1) I wish to thank Gene Buckley for supplying me with this form. The term was also taken over into the dormant language Siuslaw to the south of Alsea, as a form to be phonemicized as tauwayu (Frachtenberg 1914: 116).

(2) There are a number of calques, however: Natchez ɁayaM means both ‘bedbug’ and ‘axe’ on the model of Cherokee galuysdi. (Natchez data are from Mary Haas’s fieldnotes, now housed in the American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia; Cherokee form is from Feeling and Pulte 1975.)