Phonaesthesia, diachronic semantics, and the faculties of performance

Iain Mobbs

Abstract

This paper begins with a study of the semantic histories of the words clustered around the
English phonaestheme sn-, employing a clearly defined methodology repeatable for further
studies. The study provides stronger evidence than previously presented for suggesting that
phonaesthemic clusters may channel the semantic drift of words with appropriate phonetic
form toward their semantic core, and furthermore suggests that semantic change is a more
significant dimension in the emergence of such clusters than previously thought. The work
goes on to motivate the independent findings of the psycholinguistic literature to offer
original explanations for this etymological phenomenon. In doing so, findings emerge that
extend beyond the scope of the formative dimension of semantic change to the overall
motivation for phonaesthemic clusters, arguing that this motivation must, at very least
primarily, be based in phonological analogy from existing lexical conventions, rather than
synaesthesia.

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1. The status of phonaesthesia in synchronic and diachronic linguistics

This dissertation sets out to test the hypothesis that phonaesthesia – conventional, language-
specific sound symbolism – may ‘channel’ the semantic drift of words with appropriate
phonetic form toward the semantic core of a phonaesthemic cluster. We begin by introducing
the context of the study.

1.1 Sound symbolism in linguistics

Sound symbolism is the “linkage between sound and meaning” (Hinton et al. 1994: 1). A
large number of studies, across a range of languages, has revealed the prevalence of
statistically aberrant distributions of certain sounds with respect to certain meanings. Sound
units, such as phoneme clusters, phonological templates, tone contours etc., are often seen to
go beyond their linguistic functions as contrastive, asemantic units, and convey some kind of
meaning. They may be adjudged somehow ‘expressive’ of a certain meaning, as particularly
“easy and adequate” (Jespersen 1922) for it. This “sound suggestiveness” (Bolinger 1965:
192) has been interpreted in differing ways, as is discussed.

The controversy sound symbolism arouses is a result of its seeming conflict with the
structuralist axiom of “l’arbitraire du signe” (Saussure 1915), which has it that sounds convey
meaning through contrastive relations with other sounds, rather than any inherent quality. We
follow Hockett (1960) in claiming that the core of semantic encoding in language could
hardly be otherwise if such a small and finite inventory of sounds is to create such a large set
of meanings; this would be impossible if the sounds themselves were meaningful.

The reputation of the enterprise has been coloured by a few misguided attempts to do without
this central tenet – an approach in no way vindicated by the concrete findings of the literature
– and further by the frequent invocation of inadmissibly subjective impressionism as evidence
for doing so. For example, Hinton et al. (1994: 6), in their otherwise balanced introduction,
describe the brand name L’Oreal as “full of continuant, ‘flowing’ sounds to symbolise
flowing hair”; and Jakobson (1965: 34) suggests “the word ombre is actually quite shady”.
We see here a theme that recurs throughout the literature – the temptation to interpret “the
belief, deeply rooted in our natural feeling for language, that meaning lies directly in the
sound of words” (Hormann 1971: 215) as the reality, not just an illusion based on some kind
of cumulative suggestion. Bolinger (1940: 63) warns against such teleological argumentation:

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“relationships may be set up between things that have no outward similarity whatever, and
[…] once established, the relationship [may seem] the most ‘natural’ thing in the world, but
any similarity which we think to find between the word and the thing is only fancied.” As a
result of such “dilettantism” (Malkiel 1990: 1), phonosymbolic research has been somewhat
non grata within linguistics.

However, perhaps the foremost serious scholar advocating non-arbitrary sound symbolism,
John Ohala, limits its scope to just “a small part of the set of meanings” (Ohala 1997: 1) and
accepts that most sound symbolisms are purely conventional. These issues are discussed at
greater length in the conclusion, but suffice it to say here that there is no incompatibility
between research into sound symbolism and the structuralist orthodoxy, and so attempts to
synthesise the data and discuss its implications are perfectly valid, and entirely necessary to
establish the rightful role of sound symbolism in a theory of language.

1.2 Phonaesthesia within sound symbolism

Before continuing we offer a brief, uncritical typology of sound symbolisms suggested in the
literature, following Hinton et al. (1994: 3-6).

Imitative sound symbolism, or onomatopoeia, is the function whereby the phonetic form of a
word directly imitates an environmental sound, denoting either the sound itself (atishoo, moo)
or the source of the sound (cuckoo, kazoo). Much onomatopoeia becomes conventionalised
into the lexicon (cf. Rhodes’ (1994) “tame” onomatopoeia).

Synaesthesic sound symbolism is the function whereby certain phonetic units may be
consistently linked with certain visual, tactile, proprioceptive or emotional properties, as part
of the wider phenomenon in human cognition of transference across senses, known as
synaesthesia (cf. Ramachadran et al. 2001). The most widely studied sound symbolism
claimed as synaesthesically motivated is the alleged cross-cultural tendency toward using
high-front vowels in words denoting ‘little’ or associated concepts such as ‘child’, ‘small
animal’, etc., a claim made as early as Sapir (1911). Ultan (1978) compares 136 languages for
size ablauting and finds that almost 90% of those with diminutive marking express it using
high-front vowels. This finding has been explained by a combination of articulatory and
pitch-related factors. For example, when pronouncing /i/, the tongue is raised and moved
forward, which creates a small space between the front of the tongue and the roof of the
mouth, which supposedly predisposes words including it to diminutive semantics in

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accordance with synaesthesic laws. Synaesthesic sound symbolism is much the most
controversial of the types suggested, and the more sober scholars have recognised the need at
the very least to limit its scope.1

Phonaesthesia (Firth 1930) is the term used for language-specific, non-iconic sound
symbolism, where there is a disproportionate clustering of words sharing a certain phonetic
unit (not a contrastive morpheme) in a certain semantic area. A classic example of a
phonaestheme (Householder 1946) is the English onset gl-, which usually implies something
visual or light-related, as in glance, glare, gleam, glimmer, glow, glower (Wallis 1653,
Bloomfield 1933). Other well-attested English examples of consonant initial phonaesthemes
include sl-, associated with slipperiness/smoothness/artifice, as in slide, slip, slime, slither,
sly, slick (Samuels 1972); and cl-, ‘clinging/coagulation’, as in cling, clutch, clasp, clench,
cloy (Marchand 1971).

Bolinger (1950) emphasizes that phonaesthemes are not all consonantal onsets (‘assonances’),
but may also be word endings (‘rhymes’). English examples include -ag, associated with
‘slow, tedious, tiring motion’, as in sag, lag, flag, drag, nag (Hock & Joseph 1996); -irl,
‘circular movement or shape’, as in twirl, curl, furl, whirl, swirl (Nuckolls 1999); and -
ow, ‘steadiness’, as in glow, blow, flow, grow, tow (Bolinger 1950).2

In fact, statistical form-meaning pairings are found to arise in various guises – with various
types of phonological form, and various types of semantic core. Not only segmental, but also
prosodic phonological features may be distributed according to semantics. Cassidy et al.
(1999) document a connection between the prosodic phonology of English first names and
gender, finding that male first names tend toward trochaic stress (Richard, Peter, Andrew),
and female names toward iambic (Michelle, Jeannine, Diane). These skews are shown to be
psychologically active in language processing: subjects tend to process the names along the
lines predicted by the phonological cues to gender.

Phonological features are also seen to aggregate in accordance with grammatical divisions,
so-called ‘phonosyntactics’. Sereno (1994) demonstrates that frequent English verbs are much
more likely to have front vowels than back, but frequent nouns to have back vowels rather

1
In accordance with the semiotic scheme outlined by Peirce (1902), onomatopoeia and synaesthesia
might more properly be said to result in sound iconisms, but we follow the orthodoxy in referring to
them as subtypes of sound symbolism.
2
The issue of subjectivity in the definition of phonaesthemes’ values is discussed in the final section.

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than front. She shows that these phonosyntactic skews are invoked during perception tasks.
Malkiel (1984) discusses a phonosyntactic effect found in Hispanic languages – the
statistically aberrant skewing toward disyllabicity in primary adjectives and the particular
vogue for the ‘C1+o(+nasal)+C2+o’ pattern (bobo, loco, tonto).

Again, not only segmental, but also prosodic phonological features may be distributed
according to grammatical class. English disyllabic nouns predominantly take stress on their
first syllable, but disyllabic verbs on their second – most clearly shown by noun-verb
homograph pairs, such as record, permit (Sherman 1975). Kelly (1988) and Kelly & Bock
(1988) show this skew is psychologically active in processing.

Phonaesthemes seem to be pervasive in languages. Studies reveal their presence in a large

spread of languages: French (Petrafalvi 1970), Indonesian (McCune 1988), other Autronesian
languages (Blust 1988), Japanese (Hamano 1998), Swedish (Abelin 1999), German
(Humboldt 1836), Slavic and Hispanic languages (Malkiel 1984, 1987, 1990). In fact, Bergen
(2004: 290) claims “every systematic study of a particular language has produced results
suggesting that language has phonaesthemes.”

1.3 Phonaesthesia in diachronic linguistics

The prevalence of phonaesthemes raises the obvious question of their historic origins –
however, the majority of work focuses on their synchronic distribution. There is relatively
little study into any role they might have in language change. Although this is at least partly
attributable to the general scepticism surrounding sound symbolism and any operations that
presuppose it, it has been compounded by the fact that any diachronic reality phonaesthesia
might have has failed to manifest itself with the regularity and discreteness preferred by
historical linguists – not all words with the appropriate phonetic form are phonaesthetic
(although this is in fact is unsurprising, like any etymological factor its effects would be
confounded by the interplay of several competing forces – see below). Consequently, it seems
the significance of phonaesthesic forces in language change has been greatly neglected, and
so “a cautious reintroduction of phonosymbolism as just one of several factors responsible for
changes […] would seem to allow of no further delay.” (Malkiel 1990: 2)

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Logically, several possible dimensions may be involved in the diachronic emergence of
phonaesthemic clusters: 3

(1) a word might be neologised into the language with the sense and sound of a
phonaesthetic word;
(2) a word might be borrowed into a language with the sense and sound of a
phonaesthetic word;
(3) a word with the sense of a phonaesthemic cluster member might change in phonetic
form, or resist a broader phonological change, to be phonetically in line with a
phonaesthemic group;
(4) a word with the phonetic form of a phonaestheme might change in meaning to be
semantically in line with the group.

The focus of the literature has been the first three.

Bolinger (1950) discusses the continuing significance of phonaesthemic “constellations” for

neologisms – “creative etymology” – suggesting the coinage of hassle into the phonaesthemic
group tussle, bustle, wrestle as an example. Marchand’s (1971) work reveals that while many
phonaesthetic words in English do have origins in OE., there has been continuing attraction of
new members into the cluster by neology since: for instance, clap, flap, rap, slap were all first
evidenced in 14th century, but without clear etymons. Samuels (1972) discusses the
emergence of trudge as a neologism formed from the phonaesthetic roots -udge (grudge,
drudge) and tr- (tread, tramp.) Blust (1988) reports on the historical developments of
Austronesian roots, word-final phonaesthemes, finding numerous cases of cognateless forms,
best explained as cases of the richer roots gaining new members by neologism. Wales (1990)
reports how, frequently, phonaesthetic words are assigned indeterminate, cognateless
etymologies in dictionaries – typically “probably imitative” or “origins unknown”.

Marchand’s (1971) work has also been instrumental with regard to the implication of
phonaesthesic effects in motivating borrowings. It reveals that a significant number of current
phonaesthetic words in English have origins in other languages, from which it is suggested
that there is a force to adopt words that are phonetically appropriate to their meaning; Wales
(1990) suggests gremlin, flak and slob as just such cases. Bolinger & Sears (1981: 130-1)
suggest that “some loan words may have been adopted less because of cultural need than

3
A point of usage: words are phonaesthetic, clusters are phonaesthemic, effects are phonaesthesic.

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because their sound was in some way suggestive” and suggest by the borrowing of Hindi
jungle on the grounds of sound-sense connection with jumble and tangle.

The influence of meaning on sound change is also reasonably well studied. Hock & Joseph
(1996: 293) report that the -ag phonaesthemic group acquired the new member sag through
an irregular, analogical change in sacke in the 16th century. In fact, the only etymons of lag
and flag also end in -k. These changes are not part of a broader change in the phonological
system of English at the time, but rather seem to be motivated by patterns in the lexical
system. Malkiel (1994) similarly invokes phonosymbolic orchestration as a unique category
of sound change in defiance of regular sound laws. He suggests that the Hispanic craving for
disyllabicity in primary adjectives mentioned above could well be the decisive factor in the
evolution of Portugese fundo and Spanish hondo from Latin profundus ‘deep’, in defiance of
the general change in Romance – the obsolescence of the prefix pro- and the avoidance of a
sequence of back vowels in which the second carries the stress, cf. Old French parfont,
Valaisan prevon, etc. McCune (1988) confronts the hypothesis that “attraction to […]
submorphemic patterns can influence how lexical items change in form” (‘submorphemes’
understood as “smaller form-meaning composites”, i.e. phonaesthemes) with a study of
Indonesian etymology, and finds substantial evidence in its favour.

1.4 Phonaesthesia in diachronic semantics

While progress has been made in establishing the diachronic reality of phonaesthesia along
dimensions which produce novel phonetic forms as members of a cluster (neologism, sound
change and borrowing), comparatively scant attention has been paid to the possibility of
words previously unconnected in meaning entering the relevant semantic orbit through the
motivation of their phonetic form. Marchand’s (1971) extensive tracing of clusters pays no
attention to this possibility whatsoever, and it is only ever mentioned elsewhere in the
literature in connection with isolated examples. Typically, Bolinger (1950) suggests that
shambles changed in sense from ‘slaughterhouse’, to ‘carnage’, to ‘mess’ under the influence
of the phonaesthemic cluster shoddy, shanty, shack; and that pick, in addition to its meaning
‘to select’, developed the related meaning ‘to select for unfavorable attention’ through the
attraction of the forms peck, poke, pike. Samuels (1972: 55) suggests the following semantic
changes be explained by the influence of the phonaestheme br- ‘vehemence’ (as in break,
bruise, brawl):

brazen: ‘of brass’ (OE.) > ‘impudent’ (1573)

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bristle: ‘stand up stiff’ (1480) > ‘become indignant’ (1549)
broil: ‘burn’ (1375) > ‘get angry’ (1561)

Importantly, this hypothesis is qualitatively different from the changes which implicate
phonetic form in meaning change discussed in Ullmann (1957: 234-40) – for instance, the
change in the sense of sam-blind (sam < Latin semi) from ‘half-blind’ to ‘having a defect in
the eyes, by which small particles appear to fly before them’ (with an associated change in
form to sand-blind) under the influence of sand. Samuels (1972: 54) notes the similar cases of
outrage < ultra + -agium ‘excessiveness’, interpreted as out + rage, or abominable < ab +
omen ‘of ill omen’, interpreted as ab + homine ‘beastly’. These changes represent a distinct
mechanism of semantic change, based on the mistaken reanalysis of a word as being
derivationally related to a word which etymologically it is not. As such, it is on a par with
other mechanisms of change, such as the well-established conceptual pathways of metaphor,
metonymy etc. (see Traugott & Dasher (2001) for current thinking on potential mechanisms).
This is not our claim for phonaesthesia; our hypothesis is that it may act with a channeling
effect in semantic change, predisposing changes under independent mechanisms to move in a
particular direction – creating a ‘basin of attraction’. Unlike mechanisms, it need not be an
all-or-nothing effect – different words may manifest its influence to different degrees – indeed
its influence may not be evident at all with some words.

There are a variety of compounding factors we might expect to mask phonaesthesia’s

influence such that is not universally realised. Semantic change must take place by
independent conceptual mechanisms, and we cannot expect these pathways to be infinitely
flexible to the pressures of purely functional factors – they have their own conceptual
‘obligations’ to fulfil. Furthermore, there are a number of other intrasystemic factors thought
to influence semantic change. Samuels (1972: 65-67) reports three likely examples: the
avoidance of ambiguous forms; the avoidance of synonymity; the functional pull of an empty
semantic slot. Another intrasystemic factor, of course, would be the presence of other
phonaesthemes in the word (cf. trudge above) perhaps channeling the semantics in a separate
direction. All told, these separate mechanical and functional forces will together act to scatter
the semantics of words with respect to the semantic core of a phonaestheme. Therefore, a
positive result for our hypothesis would be evidence that this scattering is defied with
statistically significant regularity, that words regularly come to enter, or be more closely
aligned with, a phonaesthemic group by semantic change alone – that neologism, sound
change and borrowing are not the only formative dimensions.

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Because of the variety of other potential motivating factors in semantic change, the evidence
presented in the literature can be seen as on the whole rather weak and inconclusive. It takes
the form of isolated compatible examples. However, we would expect a certain number of
compatible semantic histories to be produced by chance, through the scattering action of the
other forces. The strongest available evidence is Samuels’ observations on the br- group, just
three examples. What is needed to provide stronger evidence either way is a more holistic
approach – a study of the meaning histories of a whole synchronic phonaesthemic group to
see whether the members were ab initio semantically well concentrated, or whether they were
more dispersed and have aggregated. We set out to test this by conducting a study of the
semantic histories of the words clustered around the English phonaestheme sn- (as in snipe,
sneer, snigger, snob).

2. Aims and methodology

It is perhaps unsurprising that previous speculations on the force of phonaesthesia in

diachronic semantics have paid insufficient attention to the data when one considers the
demands of a fuller study. A clearly defined methodology needs to be established to
synthesise an uninterpretably wordy amount of data into an analysable form, without
damaging its integrity as a fair representation of the diachrony. The methodology of this study
is described and justified below.

First, a coherent semantic core for the phonaestheme must be defined on the basis of a sample
of obvious paradigms of the group. The definition must be tight and cogent enough that it is
easy to analyse the direction of any semantic movement with respect to it. Furthermore, a
semantic core too broadly defined would be too permissive: we could somehow interpret
almost any movement as movement towards it – however claims on this basis would be
hollow. The more tightly defined the core, the stronger the claims we can make. Conversely,
the phonaesthemic core must be accommodating enough to capture the synchronic reality – a
core too tightly defined would lead us omit members of the cluster. Our definition should be
plausible in light of these considerations:

Characterisation for sn-: contempt, criticism, unpleasantness, derogation

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This is still, of course, to some extent a subjective judgement; other people might perhaps
emphasise the nasal connotations of sn- in their characterisation. We return to this issue in the
analysis.

Secondly, all potential members of a phonaesthemic group – phonetically appropriate

lexemes – must be identified, and then filtered to identify those with appropriate
contemporary semantics.

Once the initial data set was established, we removed any word that was not mono-
morphemic or could not justifiably be considered a functionally independent lexeme. A
common example was noun-verb pairs, where one, both historically and synchronically,
derives the other. The semantic movement of the noun and verb tend to mirror each other, yet
this only represents a single ‘drift’, as the derived word is largely a semantic dependent. We
only wish to include in our final data set a single representative of each ‘drift’; otherwise the
statistical results will be artificially skewed. We include the earlier attested member of any
such pair.

The OED often lists a significant number of inflectional forms of a lexeme as separate entries,
predominantly those with a long history or specialisation of sense. We exclude these on the
same grounds as above, and similarly, combinations of more basic members listed as main
entries. While they are listed as separate entries on the grounds of a certain measure of
specialized importance or a long history, again their drift is not properly independent.

We further exclude any words that are purely dialectal and not part of the common lexicon,
because it is impossible for me to make informed judgements about which of the senses are
extant/obsolete, and because we might consider words that haven’t been widely adopted
anomalous and not proper members of the group, or at any rate not indicative of mainstream
patterns. We wish to limit our data set to the truly paradigmatic.

Finally, we exclude any pairs of homonyms where there is uncertainty whether the two are
homonyms are in fact the same word, and where which analysis we follow would determine
how we construe the direction of the shift. This confusion is preclusive for snaffle, v.1 and
snaffle, v.4.

We then began to examine the details of each word’s entry and abstract the relevant
information. OED entries are far too messy and contain too much irrelevant information for
any semantic drift to be easily discernible. For the word snap, v., the OED lists fifty-one

10
senses, and the total entry consists of c5500 words. So, first, we wished to remove any senses
that were not relevant for establishing the word’s semantic drift, i.e. senses that do not signal
any change in the word’ semantics. This largely consisted of removing senses recognising a
new grammatical status, such as the extension of an intransitive verb to transitive usage. We
also excluded senses that simply listed a change in the manner of the word’s construal, e.g. if
the preposition it took changed. The original construal is the only one included, except in the
cases in which the initial one has been completely superseded by a later one, where the later
one is included alongside. We also exclude any derivatives listed under the entry. These
derivatives are not listed as separate entries like some because they are straightforwardly
related to the root word. Similarly, any combinations listed in the entry are “so simple as
either to require no explanation”, and contribute no additional semantic content.

Senses listed as only ever belonging to a particular dialect or technical nomenclature are
omitted because it is impossible to give a valid judgement on whether they are extant or not.
Furthermore, because the senses have not generalised, they are not indicative of mainstream
change in the word’s semantics – they are semantic back-alleys. We retain, however, senses
that were only dialectal initially and have since generalised, and also dialectal senses that are
of vital significance for the history of the word, i.e. a dialectal sense that constitutes the first
attestation of a word which has subsequently developed fully generalised senses – this is not a
semantic back-alley, but rather the word’s semantic origins. Any senses that were once in
general usage, but now only exist in dialectal usage are included, but approximated as
obsolete (see below). In our effort to pare the senses down to the mainstream, we also exclude
senses that were only ever rarely used, signified in the OED by the epithet rare.

It was then necessary to determine which of the remaining senses are extant and which
obsolete. The OED is rather guarded on this front. As the preface states, “[e]ven after we
cease to use a word [in a particular sense], the memory of it survives, and the [sense] itself
survives as a possibility; it is only when no-one is left to whom its use is still possible, that the
[sense] is wholly dead. Hence, there are many [senses] of which it is doubtful whether they
are still to be considered part of the living language.” Occasionally, the OED is unambiguous
in asserting the obsolescence of a sense – through the prefix . We follow its authority here.
Frequently though, it pulls its punches. For senses where the OED is less certain of the
sense’s complete obsolescence the abbreviation obs. (for ‘obsolete’) is used instead of . We
approximate both significations as representing total obsolescence. Further, when a sense is
listed as having moved from widespread to purely dialectal usage, we approximate this as
obsolescence also.

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We frequently find senses of a word which the OED judges extant, but which with regard to
my lexicon are obsolete. As most of the words considered are commonly used ones whose
usage I am very familiar with, we consider the OED’s silence as representing the fact that
these senses may still be productive, or at least comprehensible, for certain older speakers; the
OED is not so much an up-to-date record of mainstream current usage as a historical record of
the variety of attested senses. It also, of course, represents the history of the dictionary’s
construction – entries have been written and revised over a substantial period of time, so what
we think of as obsolete now may not have been at the time of writing. Therefore, we break
with the OED in adjudging certain senses obsolete, but whenever we do so acknowledge the
fact. The treatment of obsolescence as an ungraded parameter, based on personal intuition, is
a necessary though not entirely unproblematic approximation: my appreciation of the
currently productive senses of these words is not necessarily complete. However, it is
adequate to justify a qualitative description of the direction of any drift. We signpost this as
an issue, should the reader wish to question any judgements.

The preface states that the first quotation given constitutes the earliest known usage of the
word in a given sense. For our purposes, we consider this date the origin of fully diffused
usage of the sense. Obviously, this is an approximation, inevitably undermined by the
increasing incompleteness of written records the earlier the origins. However, again, this
approximation is more than adequate for determining the direction of drift. The results of this
methodology are presented in the appendix.

3. The findings

The section presents an analysis of how the data resulting from the described methodology
(shown in the appendix) bears on the hypothesis that phonaesthesia may channel semantic
drift.

3.1 Analysis of the data

It is necessary to refer to the appendiced data to follow the below.

(i) These words show clear evidence of semantic drift toward the phonaesthemic core.

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snag, n.1: From the initial, non-phonaesthetic 1577-87 and 1586 senses, we now also have the
phonaesthetic 1612 and 1830 senses, and have lost the least phonaesthetic sense-aspect of all,
‘a fruiting spur’, from the 1577-87 sense.

snake, n.: Starting from a single non-phonaesthetic sense, three appropriate senses (1590,
1593, 1611) have developed and survived, and one inappropriate (1603) developed and lost.

snap, v.: The 1579, 1624, (1647), 1677, 1687, 1709, 1742, 1806, 1847, 1883 senses all seem
phonaesthetic, although 1742 also has an ‘anti-phonaesthetic’ aspect to it (the ‘delight’
aspect). The c1590 and 1602 senses could arguably also be considered phonaesthetic. The
1530, 1568, 1673, 1673, 1673, 1687, 1714, 1798, 1828, 1842, 1852, 1918, 1935 senses are
neutral with respect to the phonaestheme. Once obsolescence is considered, the word has six
(perhaps eight) phonaesthetic senses and twelve (perhaps fourteen) neutral ones, having
started from a single non-phonaesthetic sense.

snarl, n.1: We have lost the initial, non-phonaesthetic sense, and developed two (1609, 1631)
still extant, phonaesthetic senses and a short-lived, now obsolete, non-phonaesthetic sense.

snarl, v.2: While it is possible to construe the initial, still extant sense as phonaesthetic, all
three subsequently developed, and still extant, senses focus closely on the contemptuous,
aggressive intent of snarling over the quality of sound made (the initial sense). They are more
strongly phonaesthetic at any rate.

snatch, v.: Four senses are unambiguously phonaesthetic: 1563, 1597, 1765, 1932. Two
senses may plausibly be interpreted as phonaesthetic, or at least partially so: 1799, 1803.
Three senses are neutral: c1330, 1530, 1582. One sense is ‘anti-phonaesthetic’: 1601. As all
are extant, we have moved from one neutral sense to four (perhaps six) phonaesthetic senses,
three (perhaps five) neutral senses, and one ‘anti-phonaesthetic’ sense.

sneak, v.: The initial sense is at most weakly phonaesthetic; both the 1648 and c1660 senses
are neutral; while the 1883, 1891 and 1897 senses are clearly phonaesthetic. We start with a
single, at best weakly phonaesthetic, sense and develop three senses which are clearly
phonaesthetic, and two which are not, of which one is now obsolete.

sneer, v.: All the senses are phonaesthetic except the initial. We have moved from a single,
non-phonaesthetic sense to three phonaesthetic senses, as the initial sense is obsolete.

13
sneeze, v.: The 1806 sense is phonaesthetic, whereas the other three are not. We now have
one phonaesthetic sense out of four, having started with a single, non-phonaesthetic sense.

sniff, v.: The initial sense is non-phonaesthetic, as are the added 1788, 1796, a1845, 1864,
1925 senses. The 1729, 1837, 1859 added senses are phonaesthetic. We have moved from one
neutral sense to six neutral and three phonaesthetic senses.

snipe, n.: From an initial, non-phonaesthetic sense, two phonaesthetic senses are added, of
which one is now obsolete, resulting in one neutral and one phonaesthetic sense.

snitch, n.: The initial and 1700 senses are non-phonaesthetic but now obsolete. The 1785
sense is phonaesthetic, and the only remaining sense.

snivel, v.: The initial sense is non-phonaesthetic. The 1690 sense is phonaesthetic, being an
expression of emotional deceit. The 1835, now obsolete, is non-phonaesthetic. We have
added one phohaesthetic sense to the initial neutral one.

snob, n.1: The initial and 1781 senses are non-phonaesthetic, but now obsolete. The 1838,
1848, 1911 senses are phonaesthetic, of which only the later is extant. We have moved from a
non-phonaesthetic sense to a phonaesthetic one.

snort, v.1: All the senses of this word are non-phonaesthetic except the initial one. Considering
obsolescence, we have moved from one non-phonaesthetic sense to six non-phonaesthetic
senses and one phonaesthetic.

snot, n.: While the initial, now obsolete sense is not phonaesthetic, both the remaining senses
clearly are. One non-phonaesthetic sense has been replaced by two phonaesthetic senses.

snout, n.1: The initial sense is non-phonaesthetic. The contemptuous aspect of the a1300 sense
is phonaesthetic (the non-phonaesthetic aspect of it, as a simple denotation of the face or
countenance, is obsolete) as is the 1910 sense. The 13.., 1387, a1425, 1536, 1819 senses are
neutral. One non-phonaesthetic sense has been replaced by two phonaesthetic senses and five
non-phonaesthetic ones.

snuff, n.1: The 1560, 1778, 1975 senses are all phonaesthetic, as perhaps to a degree is the
1534 sense. The 1592, 1611 senses are non-phonaesthetic. Given the obsolescence facts, a
single, non-phonaesthetic sense is replaced by a single phonaesthetic sense.

14
(ii) These words show no net movement with respect to the semantic core.

snide, a.: We have moved from the 1859 sense to the 1933 one – both are phonaesthetic.

snigger, v.1: Both the initial and the added senses are phonaesthetic, and both extant.

(iii) These words show movement away from the semantic core.

snicker, v.: The initial sense is phonaesthetic, whereas the added sense is not. Both are extant.

snub, v.1: Once we consider obsolescence, we have added a single, non-phonaesthetic sense
(1846) to the initial, still extant phonaesthetic one.

3.2 The results of the analysis

It is clear that the lexemes forming the phonaesthemic group were previously much more
semantically dispersed than they are now. Words in the group have semantic origins as
diverse as ‘shoemaker’, ‘type of bird’, ‘fruiting spur’, ‘serpent’, and ‘candle-wick’. Of the
twenty-two histories, eighteen display movement toward the phonaestheme’s semantic core,
while two show no net movement, and two move away from the core. In sixteen cases,
semantic movement alone is responsible for introducing the word to the current
phonaesthemic cluster. This is a positive result for the hypothesis that synchronic
phonaesthesia is a powerful influence on semantic change, and confirms it as a more powerful
formative dimension for phonaesthemic groups than previously discernible.

As anticipated, the semantic changes are seen to take place through independent mechanistic
apparatus – mostly, of course, metaphorical extension – e.g. the extension of snag from ‘a
short stump’ to ‘impediment, obstacle’. We also find metonymic effects – e.g. sniff’s
development of the sense ‘to regard something with scorn’ – it takes on the full meaning of
the situation often the setting of its initial, purely gestural denotation. We also find culturally-
based mechanisms of change – with snot and snuff it might well be pointed out that the initial
senses become obsolete due to the almost total loss of candles from everyday life. As

15
hypothesised, phonaesthesia seems to ‘channel’ the action of these independent mechanisms,
without being a mechanism itself.

The two cases of movement in the opposite direction (snicker, snub) illustrate the point
discussed that phonaesthesia will merely be one among several forces acting, and that the
others are dispersive with respect to the core. While impossible to positively identify the
factors influencing these words, in the case of snicker, the emergence of snigger in a very
similar sense may perhaps have led to semantic crowding and revulsion from synonymity.
The presence of other factors is precisely why we need a holistic approach to evidence, to try
and factor out the possibility that they are producing compatible findings by chance through
the confrontation of a large enough body of data.

3.3 A change in sn-’s value

Something apparent from the data is that there are no members of the group which are
inherited from OE. with the semantics of the current phonaesthemic core. Every single
currently phonaesthetic sense displayed by cluster members is a development through
borrowing, neology or semantic movement.

The semantic value of the sn- phonaestheme in the early stages of English seems to have been
‘related to the nose or mouth’. Snivel and snout were inherited from OE. with this semantics,
and most of the early additions followed suit (snatch (1225), sniff (c1340), snort (a1360)). A
change in the core has taken place over time, now being ‘contempt etc.’. The earliest sense
compatible with the current core didn’t arise until a1300 (snout). We suggest that these early
senses arose independently through chance semantic change in members of the early cluster,
or chance borrowing, and that the resulting skew influenced the emergence of many more
appropriate senses. Evidence of a change in phonaesthemic core is evident in the later
neologisms (e.g. sneak (1596), snide (1859)) and borrowings (e.g. snub (a1340)) of words
with contemptuous semantics, but without any nasal content, and also in the introduction to
the cluster of words without any nasal semantics through semantic change (e.g. snake, snob,
snipe, snag, snuff). It is important to note that the patterns of drift observed cannot be
explained by mass metaphorical extension from the concept of nasality to contempt through
some kind of privileged conceptual pathway between the two (although some kind of
relationship may have been involved in producing the initial, ‘chance’ senses); not only it is
implausible that so many words would follow a single conceptual pathway given the

16
availability of other possibilities, but it also fails to account for the clear evidence of semantic
drift toward the new core in words previously without any nasal sense – snake, snag, etc..

While this is not a work of semantic theory, we might think about the drifts displayed above
in terms of changes in the prototypical meaning of the words. The prototypical meaning of
snag is no longer ‘a protruding cut stump’, but ‘an impediment’. Prototypes provide a
particularly useful way of capturing the fact that in many cases, a word’s initial sense(s), nasal
or otherwise, are retained, but are no longer the ‘foremost’ sense(s) of the word. We might
also think about the semantic core of the phonaesthemic cluster itself in terms of prototypes.
The characterisation of sn- as ‘contempt, derogation etc.’ captures the whole group in the
tightest possible way, the methodological requirement, but many members retain nose/mouth-
related senses, explaining the possibility that some people might construe the semantic ‘value’
of sn- as including nasality – the reported subjectivity of definition. We might think about the
prototypical meaning of the phonaestheme as moving from just ‘nose/mouth-related’ to
‘nose/mouth-related contempt’ – with sneer, snarl, snigger, snot etc. being highly
paradigmatic, and sneak, snide, snipe, snake and other non-nasal, contemptuous words
slightly less so. This is still compatible with the neologism facts seen at the different stages
being the result of phonaesthesic influence – earlier ones are likely to be purely nasal (snatch,
sniff, snort), and later ones purely contemptuous (sneak, snide), or nasal and contemptuous –
snicker (1694). And crucially, judgements of drifts using our previous characterisation of the
current semantic core and conclusions on their basis are still valid: eighteen out of twenty-two
words would still be adjudged to move toward a prototypical conception of semantic core. A
prototypical conception captures the fact that the old semantic core still has a residual
synchronic reality, but also accommodates the fact that many of the words that enter the
phonaesthemic cluster never had, nor do have, nose/mouth-related semantics.

3.4 A further evidential issue

In the appendiced summary of data, we signpost our intention to discuss the origins of certain
asterisked words. Each of these words is assigned as “prob. of imitative origin” or “imitative”.
I believe this is not a full analysis of the reasons for their coinage. All these words are
introduced in a somehow nose/mouth-related sense, the phonaesthemic core at the time of
their first attestation. Given the significant evidence discussed in the introduction for its
reality, neologism based on phonaesthesic appropriateness would seem to be indicated. We do
not wish to suggest that the words have no onomatopoeic value, rather that this is involved
with the base, not the constant cluster. The histories of sneeze and snicker both show the prior

17
existence of an imitatively formed base in the same sense (nese, nicker) which forms the base
of the neologism, motivated phonaesthesically by their nasal semantics. These cases inform
our understanding of the others. The sn- cluster itself is very unlikely to be involved in any
underlying onomatopoeic effect. Even if we accept that there is some onomatopoeic content
to the base, this is not inconsistent with sn- being an independent, non-onomatopoeic factor.
However, regardless of these issues of origin, what is more important for our purposes is what
happens to the semantics of the word after its coinage. Onomatopoeia of other phonetic units
in a word is simply another of the many potentially confounding factors.

4. Discussion of causative and general issues

Given the evidence prevented in the previous section suggesting phonaesthesia is a significant
intrasystemic force in diachronic semantics, we might reasonably ask what is its mechanism
of influence. As discussed, we are not seeking the mechanisms for the shifts themselves,
rather that by which phonaesthesia comes to exert its channeling force upon them.

We must approach this by trying to implement independently motivated factors, and so offer
the most principled explanation available. We therefore need to consider what there is in the
existing synchronic psycholinguistic literature that might explain the phenomenon.

4.1 Neologism studies

Many studies have shown the influence of phonaesthesia in the interpretation and production
of neologisms. According to Bergen (2001, 2004), a representative example is Magnus
(2000). Here the subjects interpret and produce neologisms as if using phonaesthemes. For
example, the neologism glon evokes definitions relating to ‘light’ about 25% of the time. And
given the definition ‘to scrape the black stuff off overdone toast’, 27% of subjects invent a
word starting sk-. Similar findings are found throughout the neologism literature.

The conclusion Magnus (2000) draws from her results is that phonaesthemes have a
psychological reality. However, Bergen (2004) observes that “neologism studies do not by
themselves constitute conclusive evidence” for this claim, and that the extent to which
phonaesthemes are represented in the mental organization of language remains open. He

18
objects on the grounds that various different mechanisms could account for the cognitive
processing facts, and it is not possible to distinguish between them:

(i) Conscious generalization over a randomly selected set of words that share the
structure of the neologisms;
(ii) Random selection of nearest neighbours;
(iii) Unconscious action in accordance with the mental storage of language, which is
in part structured on the basis of phonaesthemes.
(adapted: Bergen 2004: 295-6)

Bergen goes on to provide independent evidence for the psychological reality of

4
phonaesthemes using a priming experiment. A phonaesthemically related word primes
much more strongly than either a purely phonologically or semantically related word does. As
such, neither of these factors can explain the result – nor can a combination of the two:
however they are measured, the sum of their priming quotients is significantly less than that
for the phonaestheme condition. Furthermore, Bergen tests for priming using so-called
‘pseudo-phonaesthemic’ pairs, words that share form and meaning but are among only a few
words in the lexicon sharing both. He finds that they yield reactions 7ms faster than the
baseline, compared with the phonaesthesic priming effect of 59ms. Bergen’s results
demonstrate the psychological reality of phonaesthemes in unconscious, time-constrained
tasks, not merely in ones in which other factors may also be implicated. 5

The presentation of neologisms in these studies is closely paralleled in real learning

situations. A child or adult presented with a new word – a ‘real’ neologism – is likely to try
and assign it meaning under the pragmatic pressure to follow the meaning of the speaker –
just as a subject in a neologism experiment would do under the artificial pressure of the
tester’s request. That neologism presentation experiments are conducted repeatedly in
language acquisition situations is (somewhat surprisingly) a point that does not seem to be
explicitly made in the literature.

4
Priming is the facilitation or inhibition of mental access to a target word on the basis of some other
word (the “prime”), which has been presented previously.
5
Bergen argues that his results indicate that the frequency of a form-meaning pairing is crucial to its
processing and that this, in turn, lends support to a view of the mental lexicon in which statistical
recurrences across words, such as phonaesthemes, are the key organizing factors, such as connectionist
models (e.g. Rumelhart & McClelland 1986). I believe that both these claims could plausibly be
disputed, but will not pursue this matter further here.

19
A general finding of studies into semantic development is significant lethargy in adjusting
words from the particular context in which they are first learnt to their fuller usage (Aitchison
1994: 171-180). Children begin by learning new words in restrictive settings, then later fit
them into an overall network as they detach them from the context in which they were learnt;
it is thought that adults learn new words in a similar way. The reanalysis of a word’s sense to
fit with the general usage “appears to be an extremely gradual process which may never be
complete” (180). Consider the situation in this light, we see that the initial sense assigned to a
word must have a significant influence on what it ends up meaning (if it ever reaches a static
semantics at all) and on the way it is used. It is not hard to see that if a word is struggling to
shake off previously assigned meanings any subsequent reanalyses will be predisposed to
accommodate this fact and result in a meaning already likely to be significantly associated
with the word, thereby channeling semantic change toward such meanings.

While our neologistic effect will be far from the only factor affecting what sense is assigned
to a new word (context is obviously important – Aitchison (1994) notes that collocational
links have a particularly strong influence in childhood), we reasonably expect it to be
significant, given that studies have demonstrated phonaesthesia’s influence on neologism
interpretation across the ages (cf. Cassidy et al. 1999), and that it is not hard to think of
presentations in which insufficient ‘extra’ information is available to make much of a sensible
guess: for instance, when a word is heard on its own; when reported speech removes much
idea of context, or the context is so thin as to offer little help anyway. As such, we suggest
that the facts of neologism interpretation and semantic lethargy may act in conjunction as a
manner of influence for phonaesthesia in semantic change.

4.2 Models of word recognition (and production)

As discussed, we are not able to distinguish for certain which of the possible reasons accounts
for the neologism production and interpretation facts. Bergen’s independent demonstration
that phonaesthemes have at least some kind of reality in word storage seems to offer the most
natural explanation, but we cannot conclusively rule out the other possibilities, including
models of word recognition (see (ii)). It is possible, therefore, that the way in which the mind
recognizes words plays a role in the previous suggested explanation for phonaesthesia’s
channeling of semantic change. However, psycholinguistic models suggest a further, separate
possibility in which they may do so.

20
The cohort model of word recognition (Marslen-Wilson & Tyler 1980) is motivated by the
extensive evidence of multiple word activation, the use of all available information to
distinguish between them, and the startling speed with which the decision is made. Under the
model, a “whole army of words” is activated by word-initial phonological units – the ‘word-
initial cohort’ – and narrowed down on the basis of semantic and syntactic evidence, and the
arrival of further phonological information. However, its failure to deal with distorted
acoustic signals at the beginning of words – if the first sound is indistinct, the wrong cohort
should be activated – has led to more flexible approaches like spreading activation models
(McClelland & Elman 1986). In these models, hearers start activating possible candidates as
soon as a few segments have been heard – any phonological unit identified will immediately
form links with all those words containing a similar unit in the same place. Candidates are
then linked up with their meanings. Semantic and syntactic contextual information is again
implemented in the narrowing down – some words will be further activated by being
semantically and/or syntactically appropriate and given a boost, others will not and fade.
Guesses about the word’s identity are continually updated as more information – partly
phonological, partly contextual – is added. Words more likely to fit get more and more
excited until one pops up; the unwanted ones are gradually suppressed. More recent models,
such as Gaskell & Marslen-Wilson (1997) or Norris (1994) share the principle features of
these two models, but try to accommodate the fact that word recognition can recover even if
parts of the words are misidentified early in the process. Their structural adjustments serve to
place even greater emphasis on the fact that the target word only becomes strongly
differentiated from the phonological competitors close to its uniqueness point (for a summary
of this work, cf. Harley 2001: 228-240).

Any synchronic reanalysis of words by speakers takes place on the basis of semantic input,
i.e. words that are heard and enter word recognition. Meanings that are highly activated in
word recognition will already be close to the top of the mental pile before cognition’s
conceptual, reanalytic mechanisms kick in, so will be unconsciously suggested. Therefore,
cognition may favour any reanalysis that results in one of these senses. According to models
of recognition, the senses most highly activated are those of phonological near neighbours.
Should the word display the phonetic form of a phonaestheme, many of the senses near the
top of the pile will be similar, and so their particular semantics will undergo greater
unconscious suggestion than the semantics of phonological neighbours acting in isolation.
Therefore, the reanalytic mechanisms may be especially strongly influenced toward
producing a semantic result compatible with the phonaesthemic cluster.

21
We may also think about the possible influence of word recognition in terms of mistakes
made. In the early stages after acquiring a new word, we have had only very limited
reinforcement of the link between form and meaning, and often mistakenly assign a word the
meaning of another. We have all had the experience of being confused by a sentence because
we are assigning a word the wrong meaning, usually that of a near neighbour, rendering the
sentence nonsense. Models of word recognition offer a principled explanation for this. The
meaning of phonologically similar words will be highly activated relative to phonologically
dissimilar ones. If the connection between the presented form and its semantic value is weak
(and even sometimes if it is not), an incorrect semantic value may be substituted in by
accident. Being relatively more activated, this value is likely to be that of a near neighbour.

We suggest a similar situation may arise in the process of word finding. The same type of
interactive activation model as proposed for word comprehension is also thought to apply in
production – there is a good deal of evidence from speech errors that many more words are
activated in the course of speech than are actually produced (Fromkin 1971). We do not have
space to discuss the details of these models, but refer the reader to Harley (2001: 359-70) for
a summary. They are much like the latter recognition model above, except beginning with
semantic value and selecting a form, rather than vice versa. Suffice it to say for our purposes
that words phonologically similar to the one sought are significantly more strongly activated
than the dissimilar.

We are frequently unable to find the exact word we want (“the lexical form can be gallingly
absent despite the lucid subjective presence of exquisite meaning detail” (Garrett 1993: 146))
and mistakenly activate the wrong form (as speech errors demonstrate), especially when the
link between the semantic and phonological forms is only weakly reinforced. Selection errors
under this model are predisposed toward uniting the semantics of a word with a phonological
form closely related to the one sought, as they are closer to the top of the ‘activation pile’;
Fromkin (1971) shows that a significant proportion of speech errors comprise near
neighbours.

Therefore, although starting at different points, errors in both word recognition and word
finding are predisposed toward lending a phonological form the semantic value of a close
phonological neighbour. Should the mistake not be consciously corrected promptly, the error
will become cemented into usage and may well predispose any semantic movement to a
particular direction in a similar fashion to that suggested for neologistic factors – mispairing,
in tandem with semantic lethargy, may transfer some meaning across from one word to a near
neighbour with lasting effect, predisposing reanalyses to accommodate it. This is a distinct

22
proposal from the first one, however, because it is rooted in mistakes in performance after
acquisition, rather than a factor influencing what is taken as the word’s initial sense.

4.3 Further discussion and findings

The above suggestions for the manner in which existing meaning-form clustering may
channel semantic change employ independently motivated factors: neologism interpretation
facts, models of word recognition and production, and lethargy in semantic readjustment.
Notice that we have made no reference to synaesthesia. We might possibly argue that
synaesthesia exerts influence through being the force behind the neologism interpretation
facts – a claim strongly represented in the literature (cf. Magnus 2000, Berlin 2006).
However, there seem no grounds for holding this view beyond teleological ones. As
discussed, Bergen (2001, 2004) offers word storage and recognition as independently
motivated reasons for these facts, deriving the motivation for word storage himself. In the
pro-synaesthesia literature, however, the distribution and neologism facts are explained by a
force which they themselves comprise the sole motivation for proposing! The argument
works backwards from essentialist beliefs and goes looking for kinaesthesic or acoustic
justification. However, independently-motivated options, rather than unfalsifiable,
unmotivated ones, must surely be the starting point for a principled explanation here, just as
in our broader question.

We continue by suggesting further reasons to believe that phonaesthemic clusters are

motivated by phonological analogy from the existing language system, rather than
synaesthesia. These findings extend beyond the scope of just the formative dimension of
semantic change to its overall motivation, encompassing also the dimensions of neology,
sound change and borrowing. They argue that each dimension should be founded in
conventional phonological analogy in some way, and, more locally, that the conventional
ways in which phonaesthesia might influence diachronic semantics we have suggested might
well be along the right tracks.

For many sound symbolisms, synaesthesic motivation seems implausible for the a priori
reason that their semantic values are inappropriate to be subject to the action of transference
across the senses. Phonosyntactic phonaesthemes are associated with purely language-internal
information, not represented in senses or emotions. This surely argues against the implication
of synaesthesia in their formation, and suggests that conventional factors are likely to be of
primary significance in sound symbolism more generally.

23
A study of malapropisms in young children (Aitchison 1972) reveals that rhythmic pattern is
the feature of the target word most often retained, followed by the stressed vowel. The initial
consonant is the least likely feature to be retained. (Slobin 1973) Children appear to give
higher priority to issues of rhythm and stressed vowel than they give to consonants in their
approach to phonological organisation. Different characteristics are attended to by adults:
adult malapropism studies reveal that the initial consonant is the most likely phonological
feature to be retained, followed by the final consonant or syllable – the rhythmic pattern and
stressed vowel are much more likely to be rendered incorrectly. (Aitchison & Straf 1982)

It is interesting to note how phonaesthemes associated with a more ‘basic’ semantic value are
represented by a phonological feature that is more prominent in children, and those associated
with a more ‘advanced’ semantic value by a feature more prominent in adults. Referring back
to the introduction, we see that phonaesthemes with more ‘functional’ semantic values, which
would be well represented in the lexicon from an early age, such as part of speech or gender,
often comprise particular rhythmic patterns, whereas those associated with more complicated,
lexical semantics, not prominently represented in the lexicon until a later age, are usually
word-initial consonant clusters or final syllables. This mirroring in the acquisitional
chronology of phonaesthemic semantics and phonology is well explained by motivation based
in phonological analogy on the basis of the existing lexicon, i.e. phonaesthesic convention.
However no such explanation is available if we assume meaning-form clusters result from
synaesthesic forces.

As discussed, much of the motivation for suggesting synaesthesic motivation relates to the
particular ‘expressiveness’ of phonaesthetic words (see introduction). While it is true that we
do receive this impression, there seems no reason to suggest that it is anything other than the
result of some kind of cumulative conventional suggestion and the fact that the words
themselves are often associated with expressive semantic values (see below), so are imparted
with a certain extra suggestiveness through the tone in which they are usually spoken. Again,
it seems more principled to invoke independently motivated factors in explaining this
sensation. The activation of multiple words in a phonological area in the course of word
recognition seems to be a prime candidate. If the word is phonaesthetic, many of the words
activated will share a very similar semantic value; the high degree of background activation
of appropriate semantic values in the course of recognition may well result in a residual
feeling of some kind of extra semantic forcefulness.

24
Further motivation for suggesting synaesthesic forces as the primary motivation behind
phonaesthemic clusters is the observation that many (though not all, as we have seen)
phonaesthemes are associated with semantic values relatable to the senses or emotions, the
‘expressive semantics’ mentioned above – gl-, sl-, sn-, -ag etc. We seem to find pejorative
phonaesthemes particularly frequently, e.g. sn-, sl- (sly, slippery, slight, slander, slate), gr-
(grim, grouse, gripe, grumble). If we dismiss synaesthesia, how are we to explain these facts?

There seem to be other plausible explanations. First, it seems likely that semantic areas
relatable to senses or emotions are particularly susceptible to neologisms, borrowings and
altered forms. Given their cognitive primacy, speakers expressing sensory or emotional
information may feel a particular pressure to employ language in the way likely to
communicate most strongly. This increases the likelihood that a speaker would attempt to
align his or her choice of words with an appropriate phonaestheme – in order to utilize its
particular expressive quality. Sensory or emotional words may lose their required ‘edge’ with
extended usage so there is perhaps a communicative pressure to be creative. We have all had
the experience of not quite being able to find a word that communicates a particular feeling
with the force and precision we would like – as such, these kinds of semantic areas are
especially susceptible to phonaesthetic neology, borrowings or sound change. Furthermore,
sensory and emotional areas can support many words before overcrowding becomes an issue
because of the subtleties in feelings and emotions we are able to perceive. A further factor
predisposing such areas to phonaesthetic expression is that they are accessible from a variety
of different semantic directions – there are many roots into sensory or emotional semantics
(see the earlier study). It seems likely therefore that the tendency toward phonaesthetic
expression of sensory and emotional semantics is a result of their privileged cognitive status
and accessibility via semantic change, rather than synaesthesic factors.

The particular predilection for pejorative phonaesthemes may be partly explained by

Samuels’ (1972: 76) observation that “one of the most frequent and obvious reasons for the
obsolescence of old meanings [is] that the new meanings are […] pejorative”. That is, when a
word develops pejorative senses, there is an increased chance the early senses will be lost.
While this would not in any way motivate coinage of new pejorative senses, i.e. the direction
of the drift, it would serve to exaggerate the extent of such drift were it to occur. And, as we
have seen, semantic drift is a primary formative dimension for phonaesthemic clusters.

25
It is difficult under a synaesthesic conception to account for phonaesthemes which change
semantic core, such as sn-. This is entirely natural and understandable in a conventional,
diachronic perspective: there is no reason to preclude a change in core if it is nothing but
convention to start with.

Conventional motivation also offers the more natural explanation for the striking fact that we
don’t seem to get single phoneme phonaesthemes. The reason for this seems likely to be that
is not possible to get sufficient initial semantic skewing in a large group by the chance
operation of other factors to motivate phonological analogy to produce sufficient force along
the formative dimensions to produce clustering.

While some advocates of synaesthesia recognise that most sound symbolism is rooted in
convention and limit its scope, e.g. Ohala (1997), there are still many that claim for it a far-
reaching role, e.g. Magnus (2000), Berlin (2006), Allott (1995), Abelin (1999). Magnus
(2000) considers “every phoneme […] meaning-bearing” and its “meaning […] rooted in its
articulation”. However, rather than instinctual assertion and neologism studies, what is
required to establish that a phonological unit is acting synaesthesically is either evidence from
neurological studies of some kind of cross-sense nerve firing in sound symbolic
production/comprehension – I am not aware of any such studies – or extensive cross-
linguistic confrontation. If a phonetic unit were associated with a particular semantics in a
large number of languages, this would lend support to the claim that this sound symbolism
was in fact independent of the internal workings of a particular language and a facet of human
cognition. The only sound symbolism that has been studied extensively in this regard is the
alleged tendency toward using high-front vowels with diminutive semantics mentioned in the
introduction. However, even this is not unproblematic. Diffloth (1994) provides an example
of a Mon Khymer language, Bahnar, that actually reverses this so-called ‘frequency code’,
having low-back vowels denoting ‘smallness’. Further, at least some of these cross-linguistic
studies have not properly controlled for language contact, which, in light of evidence that
sound symbolisms may be transferred in contact situations (cf. Langdon 1994), undermines
their claims. It seems, therefore, that there are problems to overcome before we are even able
to admit synaesthesia as an accepted explanation in the best supported of examples.

So, while we do not wish to rule out the possibility of synaesthesic implication completely,
we wish to point out the facts of sound symbolism seem explicable without resort to it, and
that much work remains before we can accept its reality. At any rate, it seems that any
synaesthesic factors that may or may not be involved are very much secondary to
conventional ones.

26
4.4 Conclusion

This paper has provided stronger evidence than offered previously in the literature for
suggesting that phonaesthemic clusters may channel the semantic drift of words with
appropriate phonetic form toward their semantic core. We have furthermore suggested that
semantic change is a more significant dimension in the emergence of phonaesthesia than
previously thought. We motivated the independent findings of the psycholinguistic literature
to offer original explanations for this result. In doing so, findings emerged that, as well
supporting the suggested conventional explanations for phonaesthesia’s influence on semantic
change, extended beyond the scope of this formative dimension to the overall motivation for
phonaesthemic clusters, encompassing also the dimensions of neology, sound change and
borrowing. These findings strongly argue that this motivation should, at very least primarily,
be based in phonological analogy from existing lexical conventions, rather than synaesthesia.

Appendix - The data

This appendix comprises the data produced by the action of the described methodological
simplification on the raw OED entries of English words beginning with sn-.

snag, n.1:
snag, n.1 emerges in the senses of ‘a short stump standing out from the trunk, or from a stout
branch, of a tree or shrub, esp. one which has been left after cutting or pruning; also, a fruiting
spur’ (1577-87) and ‘a sharp, angular, or jagged projection’ (1586), “probably from
Scandinavian origins”. It acquires the senses of ‘a broken piece or stump of a tooth; a large or
unshapely tooth’ (1612), now represented as snaggle-tooth, rather than snag itself, and ‘a
trunk or large branch of a tree imbedded in the bottom of a river, lake, etc., with one end
directed upwards (and consequently forming an impediment or danger to navigation)’ (1807)
(originally in U.S. usage, but extended to widespread usage). It then acquires the sense of ‘an
impediment or obstacle; also, a disadvantage, a hitch; a defect’ (1830) as a figurative
extension of the 1807 sense, which is subsequently lost (at least with respect to my lexicon).
(If I were to use snag to mean ‘a trunk or large branch of a tree imbedded in the bottom of a
river’ now, it would be as a extension of the 1830 sense, rather than the other way round - the

27
historical reality.) All the other senses remain except the ‘fruiting spur’ aspect of the original
sense is now unambiguously obsolete.

snake, n.:
snake, n. was introduced from OE. in the standard sense of ‘an ophidian, a serpent’ at some
stage before 1023. It was figuratively extended to the senses of ‘a contemptuous or
opprobrious term for a person’ (1590), ‘with reference to the ingratitude or treachery
ingratitude or treachery’ (1593), ‘some lurking danger, suspicious circumstance or person
etc.’ (1611). It retains all these senses, but the OED lists the other sense it said to have
developed – ‘in the phrase ‘to eat snakes’, meaning to renew one’s youth or vigour’ (1603) –
as obsolete.

snap, v.:
snap, v. was adapted into English from MDu. or MLG. It was first used in the sense ‘of
animals: to make a quick or sudden bite at something; to feed on in this way’ (1530). The
number of senses added since then is vast, even with the methodological simplification. We
list them below in chronological order of first attestation:

To catch, capture, or seize quickly, suddenly, or by surprise (1568)

To utter sharp, tart, or cutting words or remarks; to speak or reply irritably or abruptly (1579)
To bite off (a limb, etc.) sharply and quickly (c1590)
To break suddenly and (usually) with a sharp noise or report; to give way or part suddenly
owing to strain or tension (1602)
To snatch for one's own use; to take to oneself with a quick movement; to steal or purloin in
this manner (1624)
(To catch or take (one) up with an abrupt or sharp remark (1647))
To snatch, to make a quick or eager catch, at a thing (1673)
Of things: To make or emit a sharp cracking sound or report; to crack, crackle (1673)
To pull the trigger of or fire (a pistol); to strike (a flint, etc.) (1673)
To snap short, to fail to get or obtain (1677)
To catch or seize with a quick bite or snap (1687)
To interrupt or snub, to cut short, in an abrupt or peevish manner (1687)
To snap one's nose, or head, off, to speak or reply to (a person) in a curt, sharp, ungracious, or
angry manner (1709)
To cause (something) to make or give out a sharp sound of the nature of a click or crack; to
close or fasten, to open or shut, etc., with this sound etc. (1714)

28
To cause (the fingers) to make a sharp noise by striking against the ball of the thumb, esp. as a
sign of delight or contempt (1742)
To secure, obtain, take up, quickly or readily (1798)
To snap one's fingers at, to treat with indifference or contempt; to disregard or ignore (1806)
To bring down by a quick shot (1828)
To secure (a girl) in marriage (1842)
To wink or blink (the eyes) quickly or angrily (1847)
To strike at with a snapping sound (1852)
To fire off (questions) (1874)
To secure the passing or giving of (decisions, legislation, etc.) without allowing due time for
consideration or discussion (1883)
To take (an instantaneous photograph); to snap-shot (1890)
To change one's behaviour or position quickly, esp. to snap back: to recover; to snap (in)to: to
throw oneself smartly into (an action); to snap out of: to desist from (an attitude, etc.), to
change a mood, pattern of behaviour, etc., by sudden effort. Freq. as imp. snap out of it
(1918)
To match (an exposed card in a game of snap); to call out ‘snap!’ to (an opponent) (1935)

1647 and 1687 are functional variants of each other (distinguished by different construals –
the first with ‘up’, the second with ‘short’ – but resulting in the same meaning), but 1687 is
included because it represents the existing construal, whereas 1647 is now obsolete. The sense
of 1647 remains, but in a different construction. All the senses at extant with respect to the
OED, while the 1677, 1742, 1806, 1828, 1883
senses are all obsolete with respect to my lexicon.

snarl, n.1:
snarl, n.1 emerges as an alternative rendering of snare, n., covering essentially the same
semantic ground, i.e. as ‘a device for capturing small wild animals or birds, usually consisting
of a string with a running noose in which a foot or the head may be caught’, in c1380. The
sense of ‘tangle, knot, ravel, as in the hair’ emerges in 1609, and figurative extensions of this
sense (listed as a separate sense), e.g. traffic/politics/administration/fate, begin to be seen
from 1631. The sense of ‘a knot in wood’ emerges in 1891. This sense is now obsolete (with
respect to my lexicon), and the dates of its two quotations are separated by less than 10 years,
suggesting it was productive for only a very short time before obsolescence. The initial sense
of ‘a snare, gin, noose’ was lost (according to the OED and my lexicon) more or less at the
same time.

29
snarl, v.2:
snarl, v.2 represents a frequentative formation of snar, v. (“intr. Of dogs, etc.: To snarl or
growl”) suffixed by –l(e), 3 (“a verbal formative […] extensively used to form vbs. expressing
repeated action or movement”). Both components were native, productive morphemes in ME.
and early ModE., but are now obsolete.

snarl, v. was introduced in the sense of ‘of dogs, etc.: to make an angry sound accompanied
by showing the teeth’ (1589). It subsequently developed the senses:

Of persons: to quarrel; to grumble viciously; to show strong resentment or ill-feeling (1594)

To utter in a harsh, rude, or ill-natured manner (1693)
To put down with snarling (a1873)

All these senses are extant.

snatch, v.:
snatch, v. emerges from obscure origins in the sense ‘to make a sudden snap or bite at
something’ shortly before 1225. Several senses have been added since its introduction – we
list them below in chronological order:

To seize, to take or lay hold of, suddenly, smartly, or unexpectedly (c1330)

To make a sudden catch at a thing, in order to secure hold or possession of it (1530)
With immaterial object: To take, obtain, acquire, etc., in a hasty or improper manner, or so as
to take advantage of a momentary chance (1563)
To remove quickly from sight, etc.; to hide or conceal suddenly (1582)
To seize, catch, or take suddenly from or out of one's hands, etc. (1590)
To remove suddenly from this world or life (1597)
To save or rescue from or out of danger, etc., by prompt or vigorous action (1601)
(a) To steal, esp. by snatching; (b) slang (orig. and chiefly U.S.), to kidnap (1765)
To remove or avert hastily (1796)
To cut off from, by sudden removal (1799)
To partake hurriedly of (food, sleep, etc.) (1803)
Of a mechanism or its control in a motor vehicle, aircraft, etc.: to operate in a jerky or rough
manner (1932)

All these senses are judged current by the OED and with regard to my lexicon also.
sneak, v.:

30
sneak, v. emerges from doubtful origins in 1596 in the sense ‘to move, go, walk, etc., in a
stealthy or slinking manner; to creep or steal furtively, as if ashamed or afraid to be seen; to
slink, skulk’. Several independent senses are seen to develop also:

To turn or draw aside, to put or thrust in or into, to move or slide to, etc., in a stealthy manner
(1648)
To cringe or be servile to (a person, etc.) (c1660)
To steal in a sneaking or stealthy manner; to filch; to take or partake of surreptitiously (1883)
To pass through in an underhand or stealthy manner (1891)
To peach, inform, tell tales (1897)

All the senses are recognised as extant by the OED, but with respect to my lexicon the c1660
sense is obsolete.

sneer, v.: ** (This sign indicates that the origins of this word are discussed together with other
words marked with this sign in the analysis.)

sneer, v. is introduced in the sense of ‘of a horse: to snort’ in 1553. The following senses
developed subsequently:

To smile scornfully or contemptuously; to express scorn, derision, or disparagement in this

way; to speak or write in a manner suggestive or expressive of contempt or disparagement
(1680)
To laugh foolishly or smirkingly; to grin (1683)
To utter with a sneer or in a sneering tone (1693)
To affect in a certain way by sneering; to drive or force by means of sneers or scornful speech
or manner (1737)

All these senses, except the initial and 1683 ones, are extant, with respect to both to the OED
and my lexicon.

sneeze, v.: **
sneeze, v. is introduced in the sense of ‘to drive or emit air or breath suddenly through the
nose and mouth by an involuntary and convulsive or spasmodic action, accompanied by a
characteristic sound’ (1493). The following senses developed subsequently:

31
To eject or cast by sneezing (1677)
To regard as of little value, worth, or consideration; to despise, disregard, underrate. Chiefly
in the negative phrase not to be sneezed at (1806)
To utter with a sneeze (1851)

All these senses are extant, both with respect to the OED and my lexicon.

snicker, v.: **
snicker, v. is introduced in the sense ‘to laugh in a half-suppressed or smothered manner; to
snigger’ in 1694. It gains the sense ‘of horses: to neigh, nicker’ (1824). Both these senses are
extant.

snide, a.:
snide, a. emerges in 1859 from unknown origins in initial sense of ‘counterfeit, sham, bogus’,
most frequently applied to money or jewelry (see snide, n.). It subsequently develops the
senses of ‘of a person: cunning, sharp’ (1883) and ‘insinuating, sneering, slyly derogatory’
(1933). Both the 1859 and 1883 senses are obsolete with respect to my lexicon, if not the
OED.

sniff, v.: **
sniff, v. emerges in c1340 in the sense of ‘to draw air through the nose with short or sharp
audible inhalations; to clear the nose in this way, esp. when under the influence of emotion’.
It subsequently develops the additional senses:

To show or express contempt, disdain, disparagement, incredulity, or similar feeling, by

sniffing, const. at a person or thing (1729)
To sniff in smelling; to smell with a sniff or sniffs (1788)
To take up, draw in, (air, etc.) by inhaling through the nostrils (1796)
To regard (something) with contempt or scorn; to sneer at (1837)
To smell (a thing) (a1845)
To utter with a (scornful) sniff; to express by means of a sniff (1859)
To perceive as if by smell; to smell or smell out (a plot, etc.); to suspect (1864)
To inhale cocaine, the fumes of glue, etc., through the nose (1925)

All these senses are extant.

snigger, v.1: **

32
snigger, v.1 emerges in the sense ‘to laugh in a half-suppressed, light or covert manner’ (1706)
and develops the sense ‘to utter with a snigger’ (1857). Both these senses are extant.

snipe, n.:
snipe, n. is introduced from unknown origins in the sense ‘one of the limicoline birds of the
genus Gallinago’ in c1325, and develops the senses ‘as an opprobrious or abusive term’
(1604) and ‘a long-range shot or attack from a sharp-shooter. Also fig.’ (1969). The figurative
extensions contained in the 1969 sense relate to personal criticism or barbed remarks, as in
evident in the quotations. The 1604 sense is now obsolete with respect to my lexicon (but not
the OED), but the other two are extant.

snitch, n.:
snitch, n. emerges from obscure origins in 1676 with the sense ‘a fillip on the nose’ (a fillip =
‘a movement made by bending the last joint of a finger against the thumb and suddenly
releasing it’). It adds the sense of ‘the nose’ itself some time before 1700 and at roughly the
same stage loses the initial sense. The sense of ‘an informer, one who turns King’s or Queen’s
evidence’ introduced in 1785 and the sense of ‘the nose’ lost, leaving ‘an informer’ as the
only remaining sense.

snivel, v.:
snivel, v. is inherited from OE. *snyflan in the sense ‘to run at the nose; to emit mucus from
the nose; also, to draw up mucus audibly’ (c1325). It acquires the senses:

To make a sniffing or snuffling sound expressive of real or assumed emotion; to be in, or

affect, a tearful state (1690)
To clear (the nose) by snuffling (1835)

The former two senses are extant, while the latter is obsolete.

snob, n.1:
snob, n.1 emerges from unknown origins as a dialectal or colloquial term for ‘a shoemaker or
cobbler, or a cobbler’s apprentice’ (1781). It subsequently developed the senses:

A person belonging to the ordinary or lower classes of society; one having no pretensions to
rank or gentility (1831)
One who has little or no breeding or good taste; a vulgar or ostentatious person (1838)

33
One who meanly or vulgarly admires and seeks to imitate, or associate with, those of superior
rank or wealth; one who wishes to be regarded as a person of social importance (1848)
One who despises those who are considered inferior in rank, attainment, or taste’ (1911)

All the senses are obsolete with respect to my lexicon except the 1911 one, though the OED
suggests all are extant except the initial one, which only exists in dialectal usage.

snort, v.1:**
snort, v.1 is introduced in the sense ‘of the nose: to turn up, as in sniffing’ in a1366.
It adds the following senses:

To snore; to sleep heavily or sluggishly (c1386)

Of a horse: To make a characteristic loud or harsh sound by violently driving the breath
through the nostrils, esp. when excited or frightened. Also said of other animals (c1386)
Of things, esp. in later use of a railway engine: To make or emit a sound resembling or
suggestive of a snort (1582)
To utter with a snort; to give out, drive away, etc., by snorting (a1634)
Of persons: To express contempt or indignation by a snorting sound (1818)
To eject or discharge through the nostrils with a snort; to spout out in this way (1818)
To clear (the nose) with a snort (1835)
To rush past with snorts (1899)
To inhale (a narcotic drug in powder form, esp. cocaine or heroin) (1935)

The initial and both c1386 senses are obsolete with respect to both the OED and my lexicon.
The other senses are extant.

snot, n.:
snot, n. emerges from ME. in the sense of ‘the snuff of a candle, the burnt part of a candle-
wick’ in 1388. In c1425 it acquired the sense of ‘the mucus of the nose’, and in 1809 began to
be used ‘applied to persons as a term of contempt or opprobrium’. The 1389 sense is obsolete
with respect to my lexicon, and the OED lists it as now productive only in northern dialects.

snout, n.1:
snout, n.1 emerges from ME. in c1220 in the sense of ‘the trunk of an elephant’. It
subsequently develops the following senses:

34
Contemptuously: The nose in man, esp. when large or badly shaped; the face or countenance
(a1300)
The projecting part of the head of an animal, which includes the nose and mouth; the
proboscis or rostrum of an insect; the beak or bill of a bird, etc. (13..)
The end of a ship's prow; the beak or rostrum of a vessel (1387)
A structure, formation, projecting part, etc., resembling or suggestive of a snout; a nozzle or
the like (a1425)
A projecting point of land, rock, etc. (1536)
One or other of various species of moths characterized by having abnormally long palpi
projecting in front of the head; esp. the snout-moth, Hypena proboscidalis (1819)
A police informer (1910)

The OED recognises all of these senses as extant, but with respect to my lexicon at least the
c1220 sense is obsolete.

snub, v.1:
snub, v.1 is adopted from Old Norse in the sense ‘to check, reprove, or rebuke in a sharp or
cutting manner; in later use, to treat or receive (a person, suggestion, etc.) in a way calculated
to repress or mortify’ (a1340). It adds the senses:

To check or restrain (a thing); to prevent from having free course or development (1583)
To check the growth of; to shorten; to cut, nip, or break off, the end of (a thing) (1615)
To take up sharply or severely; to order about in a sharp fashion (1672)
To cheat or defraud (1694)
To make snub-nosed or snub (1796)
To press bluntly (1846)

The OED lists the 1583, 1615, 1672 and 1694 sense as obsolete. With respect to my lexicon
we might add the 1796 sense.

snuff, n.1:
snuff, n.1 emerges from obscure origins in the sense of ‘that portion of a wick, etc., which is
partly consumed in the course of burning to give light, and in the case of candles requires to
be removed at intervals; a candle-end’ in 1382. This is not a phonaesthetic sense. The
following senses were added:

35
In comparisons, used to describe what is faint, feeble, or on the point of extinction (1534)
To take… in (the) snuff (or to snuff), to take (a matter) amiss, to take offence at, to be annoyed
or indignant at, to resent (1560)
A heel-tap; a portion of a drink left at the bottom of a cup (1592)
The nozzle of a lamp, in which the wick burns (1611)
Used to denote something of no value (1778)
To designate pornographic photographs or films involving the actual killing of a woman
(1975)

The OED represents ‘candle-end’ aspect of the 1382 sense, the 1560 and 1592 as obsolete,
and the others as extant. With respect to my lexicon, all the senses are obsolete except the
1975 one.

36
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