Yesterday on Language Log, Mark Liberman posted about the a curious claim that in the language of the Pashtun people of Afghanistan, “the word for ‘cousin’ is the same as the word for ‘enemy.’” Professor Liberman cannot find evidence to bear this claim out, and strongly suspects that it is bogus. What sticks in my mind is this quote Liberman gives from an essay by Louis Dupree collected in Islam and Tribal Societies, edited by Akbar Ahmed and David Hart (Routledge, 1984):
Language sometimes reveals unarticulated (or downplayed) conflicts in a society. The term for cousin in Pashto is turbur [and] the word for the worst kind of hatred is turburghanay which could be literally translated ‘cousin-hatred’. But the non-literate, rural Pushtun deny this interpretation. They say: ‘Turbur is turbur and turburghanay is turburghanay. They are separate words. How can they relate? How could I hate my cousin? I would fight to the death with him. I would never leave his body behind in a fight. I would give him my last crust of bread.’
The overwhelming majority of Afghans and Pakistanis cannot read and write, so showing them that the written turbur is a prefix and -ghanay a suffix, which, when combined create a compound word, fails to impress.
It’s hardly surprising that this fails to impress! Even assuming that Dupree’s etymology is correct, and that the turbur he hears in turburghanay is the word for cousin, we would hardly be warranted to assume that the currency of the word turburghanay implies that Pashtuns secretly hate their cousins. As Josh Fruhlinger puts it in a comment on Liberman’s post,
Particularly instructive and hilarious is the quote from the Ahmed and Hart piece, in which the learned outsiders pity the illiterate Pashtuns for not understanding the underlying etymological-psychological implications of the language that they (the Pashtuns) speak. People are determined to believe that language shapes thought even when the acutal speakers of said language don’t recognize the things embedded in the language that are supposed to be shaping their thoughts.
Here’s a little squib about two kinds of mistakes, either of which can be called ”the etymological fallacy.” Dupree seems to have committed both kinds of mistakes. A person who insists on using words as if their meanings had to be implicit in the meanings of their etymological roots commits a mistake in semantics that can be called “the etymological fallacy.” It looks to me as if Dupree approached his Pashtun informants in the spirit of this fallacy. It’s as if he had gone to English speakers and pointed out that the English word nice comes from the Latin word nescius (which meant “unknowing,”) and proceeded to interrogate them about what it is that nice people aren’t supposed to know. The word has simply changed its meaning over the centuries, so that it has lost any connection it may once have had with the meaning of its etymological base.
A person who constructs an argument using one word and then proceeds as if the conclusions of that argument applied to other words derived from it commits a mistake in logic that can be called “the etymological fallacy.” It looks to me as if Dupree approached the writing of his essay in the spirit of this fallacy. Argument 1: The Pashto word turbur means “cousin.” The Pashtun attach great importance to cousinage, modeling other, more distant relationships in their tribal system on it. Therefore, turbur is a key term for understanding the Pashto tribal system. This turns into argument 2: The Pashto word turburghanay is derived from turbur. Turbur is a key term for understanding the Pashtun tribal system. Therefore, turburghanay is a key term for understanding the Pashtun tribal system.
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