In the classical west the possession of language made an early appearance in lists of what were claimed as human prerogatives, and swiftly became a fixture there, taking its place alongside such varied items as reason; upright posture and gait; a face or countenance; a sense of humour; sciences and skills; the ability to plan for the future; the capacity to form general concepts or beliefs; and morality. The uniqueness of our status as language users was often and powerfully challenged: but at least some of the evidence in its favour must, one feels, have been as obvious and as persuasive as it is today. Then, as now, human infants (literally ‘non-speakers’) typically came to understand at least one language, in contrast, it appears, to all other animals, including even the chimpanzees reared by diligent 20th-century researchers. (The Roman god Uaticanus, who presided over the beginnings of human speech, took the initial syllable of his name from the first sound children utter: Aulus Gellius noct. att.xvi xvii 2.) Almost effortlessly, in a predictable sequence, with only informal and haphazard instruction and correction from speakers lacking special didactic skills and having at best only generalised didactic motivation, human offspring move from a radically languageless state to mastery of their native tongue, phonology, morphology, syntax, idioms, intonations, and all.

But that is how a linguist today might describe the situation.