Hamilton's _Lectures_, Vol. ii, Lec. xxxv.
_Conception and Naming._—We have so far supposed that the processes
of conception are carried out without any help from language. But it
is exceedingly doubtful whether any such orderly process as that just
described, the comparison of a number of percepts and the marking off
of common attributes could be carried out without the aid of words or
some equivalent. It is probable that even the clear grasp of individual
things as unities and as permanent identical things, depends on the use
of a name (proper name) which as one and the same sound seems to mark
in an emphatic way the continued oneness of the object.[109] And the
same applies still more manifestly to the apprehension of a general
class of things. It is certain that in later life at least all clear
general thinking takes place by help of language. The general idea is
held together, and retained by means of a name; and, as already pointed
out, it is very uncertain whether in the absence of such general signs,
the infant or the lower animal ever attains to a clear consciousness
of the 'one in the many,' the common aspect of a number of different
objects.
[109] It seems to follow that animals cannot attain the clear
consciousness of individual things as permanent unities, as we
attain it.
_Is Generalisation Possible Without Language?_—The question how far we
can generalise or form a general idea apart from the use of names or
other signs is one of the standing _cruces_ in psychology. If we judge
by introspective examination of our own minds we do no doubt now and
again carry on processes of thought of a quasi-general character with
little if any help from words. Yet it is doubtful whether we attain
a clear consciousness of the _generality_ of our thinking in this
case. It must be remembered too that even if we can, as is alleged,
employ a particular image or succession of images as representative
of generalities without any aid from language (as when we intuitively
follow the proof of a particular case in geometry and at the same time
recognise its general validity) we are employing powers of thought that
have been developed by help of language.[110]
[110] On the nature of such speechless thought see Venn,
_Empirical Logic_, p. 147.
If now we turn from the developed to the undeveloped mind, and ask
whether children think apart from the use of language, we find the
question exceedingly difficult. It has been alleged that a born mute
reached prior to his mastery of a deaf-mute language the highly
abstract idea of maker or creator and applied this to the world or sum
of objects about him.[111] It must be borne in mind however, that born
mutes make a certain spontaneous use of articulate sounds or signs, and
such articulations, though unintelligible to others, and not even heard
by themselves, may be of great assistance in carrying out the process
of Abstraction. It must be further remembered that a child understands
others' words and may probably make some internal use of them as signs
before he proceeds to imitatively articulate them.
[111] See a very interesting account of the experience of
a born mute by Prof. S. Porter, in an article "Is Thought
Possible without Language?" in the _Princeton Review_,
January, 1881.
Lastly with respect to the lower animals, while it must be admitted
that they display something closely resembling the germ of general
thinking, it is manifest that we cannot in their case, be certain of
the degree of clear consciousness of generality attained. The actions
of a fox caught in a difficulty and inventing a way of escape seem
indistinguishable from those of a man thinking by help of general ideas
and general rules: yet the mental process may after all be non-ceptual,
and pictorial. It seems safe therefore to conclude that apart from
verbal or other general signs the full consciousness of generality does
not arise.[112]
[112] It must be remembered that some of the most intelligent
of the lower animals, e. g. ants, have a system of tactual
signs analogous to our language. On the whole subject of the
germ of linguistic and conceptional power in animals, see
Romanes, _Mental Evolution in Man_, Chap. v and following.
_Psychological Function of General Names._—A name is commonly
defined as a mark or sign by the help of which the idea of a thing
may be called up in our own mind or in the mind of another. Signs are
either self-explaining, as in the case of a drawing, or an imitative
gesture, or conventionally attached to objects as the larger number
of linguistic signs or names, the symbols used in music, etc.[113]
Language signs consist either of articulated sounds or other
percept-producing movements, as the finger movements[114] used by the
deaf and dumb.
[113] Articulate sounds so far as imitative (onomatopoetic)
words, are of course to be classed with self-explaining signs.
[114] On the general function and the possible varieties of
language-signs, tone-language, gesture-language, etc., see
Romanes, _Mental Evolution in Man_, Chap. v and following. Cf.
Venn, _Empirical Logic_, Chap. vi.
A name may be given to one thing (proper name) or to a general class
(common or general name). In either case, as explained above, the
name psychologically considered is the expression or indication of a
similarity among our percepts. To name a thing is thus the outward
manifestation of a process of assimilation.
The name (articulation-sound complex) becomes attached to the idea
it stands for by a process of contiguous integration. Looking at it
as accompanying and perfecting the process of assimilation, we may
say that a name, whether as employed by ourselves or as heard used by
others, becomes specially associated with, and so expressive of, some
similar feature or features of our perceptual experience. Thus the
name 'home' specially emphasises the recurring or constant features
of the child's surroundings, the name 'horse' the common features of
structure in the objects so named. The name thus becomes specially
attached to, and so a mark of the effects of superposition of common
presentative elements in our experience.
This is well brought out in Herbart's view that the general idea is the
result of "apperception," or the coalescence of a new presentation with
previous like representations (apperceptive masses). Such apperceptive
fusion or assimilation would according to Herbart help to explain
the prominence or distinct emergence of the common element in a new
presentation, and the falling back of the particular or variable
features into indistinct consciousness.[115]
[115] See Mr. Stout's account of Herbart's view. _Mind_, Vol.
xiv. p. 15.
_Use of Names in Early Life._—In the beginning of life linguistic
signs are used in close connection with the process of automatic
assimilation. Thus the recurrence of the presentative complex answering
to a particular animal as the dog, calls forth, by a process analogous
to a reflex movement, the articulation, let us say, of the sound
'bow-wow.' This use of words by the child to mark likeness is partly
spontaneous, partly imitative. As is well known, children often invent
names of their own, as their pet names for nurse, doll, and so forth,
and their names for classes of objects, as when one child used the
sound 'mum' as a name of eatables, generally, and another, the sound
'appa' as a name for this, that, and the other animal (kitten, chick,
etc.). They also spontaneously extend the use of names supplied by
others as when the sound "ba" (ball) was extended to a bubble and other
round objects. This spontaneous use of names gives place in time to an
imitative use of names as heard by others.[116]
[116] For interesting illustrations of children's spontaneous
invention, as also of their extension of names, see Preyer,
_Die Seele des Kindes_, 3er Theil; Pérez, _The First Three
Years of Childhood_, Chap. xii; Taine, _On Intelligence_, Book
iv, Chap. i, § 1; and Darwin's _Notes_ on his child, _Mind_,
Vol. ii. p. 285, et seqq.
From what we said above we have to suppose that names are used at the
beginning neither as proper or Singular, nor as General names. They
merely serve to mark off and register common features of the child's
experience. As the processes of comparison gain in strength and the
difference between the individual and the general class becomes
distinct, the two uses of names as singular and general grow clearly
differentiated. Thus the names Charles, Papa, Rose, and so forth, come
to be marks of particular things, those organised experience-unities
which are thought of as having continued existence independently of
our intermittent percepts. Similarly, the general name, dog, man,
and so forth, come to be consciously applied to a number of such
object-unities on the ground of common attributes.
_How Names Further Conception._—At first we find this use of
general names confined to classes of objects having numerous points
of similarity and so easily representable in the pictorial form of
Generic Image, as "dog," "house," etc. Here, as pointed out above, the
name is not used with a clear consciousness of its general character
or function. Yet the very application of one and the same name to a
number of percepts is an important aid to those processes of reflective
comparison and selection of common features by which the apprehension
of generality arises. To begin with, any use of a name to mark the
result of an assimilative process, serves to call attention to and
to emphasise the existence of like features. Not only so, the name
being applied to each of a number of percepts is a valuable means of
recalling these together, and so furthering that extended process of
comparing a number of things which underlies generalisation. More
than this, since the name from the beginning serves to emphasise and
register the fact of likeness, it greatly facilitates the subsequent
careful analysis and definition of the points of likeness. Of special
service here is the hearing of names applied by others to a variety of
things, as when a multitude of unlike things are called 'plants' and
so on. Such announcement of likeness as yet undiscovered by the child
serves as we know as a powerful stimulus to a comparative examination
of the things and this urges the child on along the conceptual path.
The greatest use of general names, however, in connection with
general ideation or conception is in definitely marking off and
rendering permanent each new result of analysis and comparison. Thus
on reflecting upon dogs with a view to see in what exactly they do
agree in spite of their differences, and on gradually gaining clear
consciousness of this, that, and the other characteristic features
of form, action, etc., a child demarcates and definitely registers
these results of abstraction by help of the name. That is to say, the
name is used as a defining mark as one might mark off an ill-defined
local feature in a piece of board by drawing a chalk circle about the
spot. When the name is thus definitely and exclusively applied to such
products of comparison and abstraction it henceforth serves as a means
of recalling these and keeping them distinctly before the mind.
When thus definitely attached by association to the points of
similarity singled out by abstraction from a number of particular
objects, the name is used as a true general sign. The image now takes
on a much more definite function as a typical or representative image,
through the circumstance that by help of the demarcating sign certain
of its features stand out distinctly, and are at the same time realised
as belonging not merely to one particular thing, but to what we call
a general class. Thus the name dog, though probably still calling up
an image of a more or less concrete character, that is, including
traits of some individual dog or variety of dogs, becomes a general
sign inasmuch as it throws prominently forward, and so secures special
attention to certain definitely apprehended common class-features (the
common canine form, action of barking, etc.).[117]
[117] Since the result of abstraction though representing
concrete things does not represent them fully and explicitly
we may, with Mr. Spencer, call the general or abstract idea a
re-representation. See his _Principles of Psychology_, ii, p.
513.
Used now in this way as a general sign of certain definitely
apprehended points of likeness or common qualities, the name acquires
the double function attributed to it by logicians. That is to say, it
_denotes_ any one of a certain order or class of things: the class or
group being determined in respect not of the number of things included,
but only of the common qualification or description of its number, that
is to say of the qualities which the name is said to _connote_.[118]
[118] According to logicians a general name denotes certain
things (members of a class) and connotes certain qualities in
these things. For the terms denotation and connotation those
of extension and intension are often substituted. See Jevons,
_Elementary Lessons on Logic_, Lesson v.
_Formation of more Abstract Notions._—A similar process of comparison
and abstraction clinched by a linguistic sign takes place in the
formation of those general ideas which answer to few common qualities,
and are altogether removed from the plane of the generic image,
as for example 'animal.' It is obvious that we cannot compound a
quasi-concrete image of animal as we can, roughly at least, compound
an image of dog. There is no common form running through the vast
variety of animals that renders this possible.[119] There is indeed an
image-element here, for in thinking of animals most people probably
image imperfectly one of the more familiar quadrupeds. Here the
_general_ representative function of the image is still more evident. A
child cannot form the idea animal till he has attained a considerable
skill in the use of verbal signs as general. For to represent animal
(in general) is to repress the tendency to image particular concrete
examples, and to give peculiar and exclusive prominence to a few
properties, such as spontaneous movement, sensation, which can only be
grasped by a special effort of abstraction; and can only be brought
before the mind by the medium of a verbal sign.
[119] Cf. Lotze, _Logic_, p. 38.
These higher steps in the thought-process become possible by means of
the verbally embodied results of the lower steps. It is after the child
has formed the general ideas, dog, horse, and so forth, that he climbs
to the more difficult, more comprehensive, and more abstract idea,
animal. In this way, we may say with Hamilton, that language is to the
mind what the arch is to the tunnel, the necessary precondition of all
advanced thought-work.
It is not meant by this that the child progresses regularly from
notions of a comparatively small range to more comprehensive ones. It
must be remembered that it is often easier for a child to form an idea
of a larger class or genus than of one of its constituent sub-classes
or species, viz. when the form presents prominent easily discernible
points of likeness, and when the distinctive features of the latter are
obscure. Thus the child uses the name tree before he uses the name
oak-tree, and so forth. This is what is meant by saying that the child
sees likenesses before he sees differences.
In this brief account of the name-embodied concept reference has been
made only to those names which grammarians call nouns, and of these
only to such as are names of things. By the same mental process by
which the child reaches the idea orange, it reaches the idea yellow,
round, and so forth. The clear use of adjectives as qualifying epithets
marks a higher stage of analysis than the first use of names, viz.
the separating out for special consideration of _single_ qualities in
things. Hence in the imitative speech of the child, the first use of
adjectives follows by an appreciable interval that of names.[120] This
separate apprehension of single qualities becomes still more distinct
when abstract nouns such as whiteness, height, come to be used. As the
etymology of such names shows they come after concrete names in the
development of the thought of the race and community, and are invented
by help of such concrete names. The individual only acquires the use
of these abstract names when intelligence has developed under the
stimulating and controlling influence of education.
[120] One or two adjectives as ni-ni (nice) are used along
with nouns from the first, but these probably so far as names
are on the level of nouns, i. e. names of things as concrete
wholes. It must not be supposed however, that the child or
the race begins with a clear apprehension of any one class
of words. The several classes of words distinguished by the
grammarian are confused at first and are only differentiated
as intelligence advances. All that is meant here is, that the
child knows and names things as concrete wholes before it
begins to qualify them, or discern particular qualities in
them. On the differentiation of nouns etc., in the early use
of language, see Romanes, _Mental Evolution in Man_, p. 219 et
seqq. and p. 295 et seqq.
It is only when analysis is thus carried up to the point of a
separate consideration of single qualities that the class-notion, the
representative of a _group_ of qualities, becomes definite and concise.
A perfectly clear general idea of a class means one of the constituent
elements of which we can separately attend to and name.
_Conception as Dependent on Social Environment._—It is evident from
this brief sketch of the development of the general idea that it
is a process that is largely dependent on the action of the social
environment. Language is pre-eminently the invention and instrument of
social life. It is the medium by which we communicate one to another
our ideas, wishes, and so forth. In the early years of life the
undeveloped intelligence of the child is continually roused to activity
through his desire to enter into the system of language which he finds
others using. In this way the results of ages of thought-processes
embodied in the language of educated men and women are brought to
bear on the growing mind, and these constitute a main ingredient
in the educational influence of the community upon the individual.
The profound and far reaching influence of this medium of common
word-embodied ideas is clearly seen in the arrest of intellectual
development when contact with the general mind through language is
excluded, as in the case of neglected deaf-mutes. As Professor Huxley
says, "A race of dumb men deprived of all communication with those who
could speak would be little indeed removed from the brutes."[121]
[121] Quoted by Professor Horatio Hale, in _The Origin of
Language_, p. 42.
J. SULLY.
THE RIGHT OF EVOLUTION.
In the Royal Academy's Exhibition which opened May 2, 1890, I remarked
a fine picture of the Lord Mayor's Show. That Show is the monument of
a mercantile evolution by which poor men,—one, 'tis said, with only a
cat for capital,—clubbed together in guilds, largely socialistic, and,
so increasing means, accumulated the wealth which controlled kings, and
inaugurated the epoch of peace, so necessary for commerce.
But the Academy picture was not so striking as one I had seen the day
before (May-day) in Hyde Park. There, amid a motley crowd with red
and black flags inscribed 'Anarchy,' stood William Morris,—artist,
scholar, and poet,—announcing to the workmen that they are slaves,
rich men their owners, their natural enemies, and existing society a
war.
The Guild-Socialism of London is past. Its gorgeous ghost may presently
masquerade for the last time through November fog and London squalor.
But the Hyde Park scene has its career yet to run. What its orators
demanded was a new privilege. It was not the equal rights of labor, but
privilege. This new lordship is to dictate my limits of education, my
mode of production, my hours of work, my wages. The poet leader told
the toilers that they alone did what was useful, all others were doing
what was useless; the man who wrote "The Earthly Paradise" declared
himself one of the mere "parasitic class," climbing and flourishing
on the manual laborers. I did not see how his remorseless logic could
have spared Shakespeare himself, and it appears certain that under this
levelling scheme no dreamer, no poet, could ever have the culture,
or the leisure, necessary to bear his literary fruit. When the
distribution of work and wages is left to a majority of the millions,
will they agree that writing "The Earthly Paradise" is as productive
as the mining of coal? Among these millions, how many fools, how many
sots! Shakespeare drew, in Christopher Sly, a character familiar to
us as to him. Christopher is taken, while in a drunken sleep, into
a nobleman's mansion, and, on waking, is treated as a lord who has
been wandering in his mind, fancying himself a boor. He is surrounded
by liveried servants; his lady comes to welcome his recovery; he is
feasted; a beautiful drama is performed before him. In the height of
his glory Christopher calls for a tankard of beer; he drinks deep; and
just as his players are entering on the poetic drama, Christopher rolls
from his cushioned throne and lies snoring on the floor. Had it been
left to Christopher Sly's vote to determine whether higher wages should
be paid Shakespeare or the brewer, the bard might have come off badly.
And were the wages of actors and actresses dependent on a government
chosen by the masses, not only the Slys throughout England, but the
millions remote from theatres, and the Methodists, Salvationists,
Presbyterians, would certainly unite to close all theatres. Even Edward
Bellamy "looking backward" finds no provision for a theatre. Little by
little we should find ourselves in a prosaic world. Men and women would
be born; they might eat, and sleep; they would die. But our little life
might bid farewell to the beautiful dreams that clothe its dry bones
with beauty.
Such is my impression of every constructive scheme of Socialism. I
recognise the evils that give rise to such schemes; I feel their
urgency. Their strong appeal to our humanity might silence criticism
of their crudity, were their method evolutionary. We could then feel
certain that every practical step would be traceable if not confirmed
by experience. But when a theory adopts the revolutionary method,
when it proposes a complete, irreversible overthrow of existing
institutions; it is necessary to ask whether its own system would be
any improvement on the old.
It may be said that English Socialism does not advocate violence.
But violence is only an incident of revolution. There never was a
revolution in which the fighting did not come as a surprise. Those who
inflame the masses with aims that cannot be gained but by bloodshed,
are really advocating violence. Reforms of a political or a social
system are secured peacefully, but a revolutionary subversion of the
foundations in a whole nation can only come by war. It is a declaration
of war to deal with the whole existing order with hostility, with
acrimony and hatred, as wholly bad. Such order is thereby sentenced to
death; its execution is merely a question of power.