In historical linguistics, we group languages into families based on the belief that they all descended from a common ancestor, a “proto-language.” Think of the Romance languages—French, Spanish, Italian, and Romanian—all evolving from the Vulgar Latin spoken in the Roman Empire. The Altaic hypothesis proposes a similar, but much older and vaster, family.
In its broadest form, the “Macro-Altaic” theory claims that several major language groups form a single genetic unit. The core members are:
The most controversial—and popular—version of the theory extends the family tree to also include:
If true, this would mean that a speaker in Ankara and a speaker in Osaka are using languages that share a single, ancient grandmother tongue, dubbed Proto-Altaic, spoken thousands of years ago somewhere on the vast plains of Central or Northeast Asia.
Proponents of the Altaic hypothesis, often called “Altaicists”, point to a fascinating collection of shared features that are, at first glance, too numerous to be mere coincidence. The evidence generally falls into two categories.
The most striking similarities aren’t in the words themselves, but in how the languages are built. They share a common “blueprint”:
ev
(house) → ev-ler
(houses) → ev-ler-im
(my houses) → ev-ler-im-de
(in my houses). This structure is a hallmark of all the proposed Altaic languages.ev
(front vowel) is ev-ler
, but the plural of kol
(back vowel) is kol-lar
. Vestiges of this system are found in Korean, Mongolian, and even Old Japanese.Altaicists have compiled lists of hundreds of proposed cognates—words believed to have evolved from a single ancestral word. While many are debated, some are undeniably compelling. Consider these examples, traced back to a reconstructed Proto-Altaic form:
When you see these patterns laid out, it’s easy to get excited. How could so many languages, spoken across millions of square kilometers, independently develop such a similar toolkit?
For most of the 20th and 21st centuries, the mainstream view in linguistics has shifted dramatically against the Altaic hypothesis. Critics, sometimes called “anti-Altaicists”, argue that the similarities are not the result of a shared parentage, but of something else entirely: intense and prolonged contact.
The central counter-argument is the concept of a Sprachbund (German for “language league”). A Sprachbund is a group of languages that are not genetically related (or only distantly so) but have become structurally similar by borrowing features from each other over a long period. The peoples of the Eurasian steppe—Turks, Mongols, and Tungus—have been neighbors, allies, and enemies for millennia. They have traded, intermarried, and built empires together and on top of one another. In such a historical melting pot, it’s inevitable that they would borrow not just words, but even grammatical patterns.
With this in mind, critics dismantle the pro-Altaic evidence:
Today, the overwhelming consensus among historical linguists is that the Macro-Altaic hypothesis, especially the version including Korean and Japanese, is not supported by the evidence. The similarities are considered a textbook case of a Sprachbund—a story of ancient neighbors, not a family tree.
The debate isn’t entirely dead. A smaller group of scholars continues to research the topic, refining sound laws and lexical lists. The “Micro-Altaic” hypothesis (just Turkic, Mongolic, and Tungusic) is still considered plausible by some, though even it is increasingly viewed as a Sprachbund.
The Altaic debate is a perfect example of the scientific method at work in linguistics. A bold hypothesis was proposed based on compelling data. But under decades of rigorous scrutiny, the data was reinterpreted, and an alternative explanation—the Sprachbund—was found to be a better fit. So while Turkish and Japanese may not be grandmother and grandchild, their shared features tell an equally fascinating story: a history of deep, prolonged contact and cultural exchange across the vast and dynamic continent of Asia.
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