The common origins of all Languages

Frederick Dodson

Frederick Dodson

Any amateur with a keen eye on language and the sound of words soon discovers two things:

  1. All languages have a common origin
  2. The meaning of words across different cultures, reveals a lot about life.


I’ve been diving into languages for two (!) upcoming books, one to be published by the end of 2020, the other due in 2021. My next book is not primarily about languages, but in one of its chapters I make a strong case for their common origin. This article provides a small taste.

The English word Maker or to make originates from the ancient English word Macian, also related to the ancient German words Maha (maker) and Mahon (to make) or modern German Macher (maker) and Machen (to make)

The Arabic word Maher, refers to Deft, Skill or a job well done.

The Maori (Polynesian) word Mahi means effort. The Maori word Ma alone, means “made by” and “acted upon”.

It’s commonly assumed that English, Arabic and Polynesian are not related. Yet the sound Maha refers to almost the same thing across these “disparate” languages.

But that’s only the beginning! I was able to find the sound Maha related to making, creation, creator, doing, work and effort in almost every language I looked into! What a surprise!

In Sanskrit, the word prefix Ma means “to create”, “to make” and “to produce”. Ma also means Mother in Hindi and many other tongues (Mama, Mommy, Mater in Latin). When Buddhists call the “illusory world” Maya, they are referring to Ma-ya, the world that was created. The anagram of Maya is Yama, which happens to be the name of the Hindu and Buddhist “God of Death and the Underworld”. From the base-word Ma, we also get the Hindi term Maha which means super or great and finally Maharaj, which means King. And perhaps this is why Hindus call the highest Creator Brah-ma. And maybe that is also where we get our words Ma-yor and Ma-jor. From Ma we also get our word for Matter, in Latin Materia, because ma-tter is that which is created.

The ancient Hebrews had the words Mahon and Machanon which both referred to Heaven or the realm of the Creator.

But wait, there’s even more. If you believed that Asian languages are entirely foreign, get this:

In Japanese, there is a word called Takamahara. It is translated as “high heaven”, with the Mahara part, referring to the realm of the Creator. But even the official Japanese word for Creator can easily be seen to be related to European. It is Kureita, which is actually pronounced “Creataa”. The word also means Architect, Designer and Maker. The word “Create” in Japanese is Tsukuru. Hmmm…that doesn’t seem to relate to anything, does it? It does, if you are a little familiar with ancient languages. The word “Ur” means Source and Origin across many ancient tongues. In German it still means “Source” to this day. This is why, in the Bible, Abraham is said to have come from “Ur”, which is supposedly the oldest city of Mesopotamia. It is for this reason, that I pay special attention to the “Ur” sound when I see at, as in the Japanese Tsuk-Ur-u, source. In English, “to source” means the same thing as “to create”. Just like some Aborigenes of Australia who claim that Uluru (Ul-Ur-U) or Ayers Rock was made by “creator beings” at the time the “first things were created”.

The word “Maker” in Japanese, by the way, is Meka. Are “Meka” and “Kureita” words borrowed from English or are they ancient Japanese? I don’t know, I haven’t looked into it. But Taka-Maha-ra  and Tsuk-ur-u are certainly not modern “borrowed words”.

So we’ve found commonality between Japanese, German, Hebrew, English, Hindi, Arabic and Maori. It only took 15 minutes and one single word, by an amateur as myself, to show hints of commonality between these languages.

Of the languages that I looked up, only Hungarian didn’t match the Maha pattern. But it fits another pattern! The Hungarian word for Creator is Alkoto. Can you see it? Maybe you can see it if I separate the letters: Al-Kot-o. If you are familiar with European and ancient European languages, you know that the word Kot and Koto mean God and the word Al refers to “All” (and also outer space, Universe in some languages). The Hungarian word for Creator is therefore All-God, Alkoto. There is a popular cliche among linguists, that Hungarian is a “language isolate”, of “mysterious” origin, not related to any other language. But is it really?

While looking up these words, I came across another oddity: The word Maca means “to give” in both Nahuatl (ancient Aztec) and Hawaiian. What could the people of ancient Mexico and Polynesians possibly have in common? Nothing, if you believe modern Academia, which falsely claims that there has been no trans-oceanic contact between the peoples in thousands of years. Of course, “to give” is not that far away from “to make”. The reason you make, is so that you can give.

In 1866, the Linguistic Society of Paris prohibited that any papers on the common origin of all languages be published. From there, the prohibition extended to other countries and the topic has been actively derided  in “Academia” ever since. I have read linguists echo this, telling me that it’s “prohibited” to make word-list comparisons, because there will always be a couple of words that cultures borrowed from each other. They say that these lists create the false impression that the languages are somehow related. But what if all words of a disparate language can be shown to be related to one specific other language? Or shown to be related to several other languages? I believe that can fairly easily be shown and I do so in my upcoming two books.

And why prohibit inquiry? Who do they think they are? Why is the idea over the common origin of languages “prohibited”?

The short answer: In the middle ages, the Catholic Church had power over most of Europe. It exercised this power in violent oppression. The even more violent backlash against this, were the Revolutions (foremost the French Revolution), which unseated the power of the Roman Catholics and replaced it with rule by atheists. The “age of enlightenment”, as it was called, rejected anything religious and built the secular institutions we call “modern Academia”. Their goal was to put an end to superstition. In 1866, the people in charge of education were fiercely anti-religious.

The idea that all languages have a common origin came from Religion. This is why it was suppressed and still is to this day. Anything that came from Religion was suppressed, regardless of whether it was true or not. And so the world went from an age of religious intolerance to our current age of atheist intolerance. We went from a state of ignorance to a different state of ignorance.

But all languages do originate from one original language and I believe that can be proven.

To make this a little more compelling, let’s do the same with another word. Let’s take the word Market, as in Marketplace or Mart. I just now chose this word randomly (creator and maker were not chosen randomly, they are the subject of my book). I then, also randomly and without forethought look up Market in a Basque Dictionary. According to linguists, Euskara (the Basque Language) is another one of these mysterious “language isolates” and relates to no other languages.

I found that the word for market is Azoka. I instantly understood the word and would have understood it without translation, because I know the Arabic word for marketplace, which is Souk. Here’s a little hint for this type of research: If you remove the first or the first two letters as well as the last letter, you often get the right word. In that case Azoka would be Zok, which is the sound Souk, which is the Arabic word for Market. Why remove the first letter? Because someone will say “That’s a souk” and the person will understand “That’s asok”. That’s how a “new” language is born.

This is the first word I have looked up in the Basque language in many years. Back then, I looked up a few words for my books on Atlantis. I thought “Hmmm, that’s interesting. Basque doesn’t sound that mysterious to me!  Inspired by that, I looked up a Basque-Estonian dictionary, because both Basque and Estonian are claimed to be “language isolates with no relation to other languages”. After all, Azoka is likely to be taken from Arabic because the Arabs occupied Spain more than a thousand years ago. If we look more deeply, we’ll probably find hundreds more Arabic words in the Euskara language.

The very first word I find in the dictionary list is the basque word Abendu, which in Estonian, is Detsember. That’s nice, I understand both words right off the bat! Detsember is obviously the borrowed word December. And since I know German, I know the word Abend, which means Evening. “But evening isn’t the same as December!” one might object. But a thousand years ago, the word Abend did not only mean evening, it also meant “late” or “the last part”, according to the Dictionary of Ancient German. And December is indeed the late part of the year.

The first three words I randomly looked up in Basque, I understand without translation. How is that possible? Is the Basque language really such a mysterious one? Or is what I was taught in school about linguistics, total and complete nonsense?

My curiosity is now piqued. Is Basque really that easy and so very non-mysterious? I scroll down to the very last word under “A” and find the word azukre, translated to the Estonian word suhkur. Again, I understand the word without even translating it! Removing the a, I get zukre, which is obviously related to the German Zucker or the English Sugar. Now let me go see if I was right, I’ll be right back.

Yes, I was right. It is sugar. The first 4 words of Basque I have looked at and I knew them all. How is it possible that I know a language that I’ve never learned? I’ll do one more. I am now going to look for a word that I don’t immediately understand.

I scroll up a little and pick the word Axola. I have no idea what it means. In Estonian its mure or hool. I don’t know those words either. In such cases, before looking the word up, I usually play around with it in my mind. Axola…let’s remove the “a”, then its Xola. Xola could be Ksola or simply Sola. Still no answers. I type it into an online translator and find that it means Care. I also find that in tribal tongues of southern Africa, it means Peace. Any relation? Maybe. Maybe not. After Care comes Peace. But that’s not close enough. Then I suddenly remember similar sounding words in Nahuatl (Aztec, ancient Mexican). The more you know, the more you get to know. I look them up and find that words beginning with Axi relate to care, caretaking or hospitality. For example axihuayan is the word for lodging or hotel.. Axiltia means to accompany or protect. Who would have thought to find any relation between an almost extinct language of northern Spain and another near extinct language of Mexico?

I’ve drifted so far off path, I almost forgot we were talking about MarketAzoka in Basque and Souk in Arabic.

Interestingly, ancient Arabic has the word Markaat, which refers to “a place that people sleep”. What does that have to do with “Market”, which is the opposite of people sleeping? For that, you’d have to know the ancient origin of the word. In ancient Germanic languages the word Markt did not refer to a Market but merely a dwelling place or a place were people stayed and rested on trips. Later, Markt referred simply to a town. This is why many town names in Germany begin with “Markt”.

It is strange that the ancient Arabic word Markaat and the ancient German Markt are related. This ancient meaning can also be gleaned in other languages. For example in Afrikaans, which is an old variant of Dutch, Samerkaat means togetherness or people together. In Uzbekistan there is a city called Samarkand, previously Markanda. Sa-Mark-and. What does it mean? According to the Etymology Dictionary, it means town, which is exactly what Markt means in German. Markanda is a Sanskrit word and also ancient Persian, where it means “place” or “area”. From Markanda derives the word Khand or Kanda a prefix for many villages in India and Nepal, which is possibly related to the ancient English word for “coastal Area”: Kent. The word for town in Japanese, by the way, is Machi.

There, I did it again. With a randomly chosen word, I connected Arabic, German, Afrikaans, Uzbek and Japanese.

If any random word can that easily be traced in sound and meaning across many distinct cultures, it points to a common origin or at the very least, a more extensive migration of people than commonly assumed.

You can see I enjoy this and could go on all day, but I’ll stop here. If you found this article interesting, please share it.

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