DEFINITION OF COMMON TERMS
Sec. 1. Ordinary words may need definition, if in the course of exposition
or argument their meaning is liable to be mistaken. But as definition
cannot give one the sense of a popular word for all occasions of its
use, it is an operation of great delicacy. Fixity of meaning in the use
of single words is contrary to the genius of the common vocabulary;
since each word, whilst having a certain predominant character, must be
used with many shades of significance, in order to express the different
thoughts and feelings of multitudes of men in endlessly diversified
situations; and its force, whenever it is used, is qualified by the
other words with which it is connected in a sentence, by its place in
the construction of the sentence, by the emphasis, or by the pitch of
its pronunciation compared with the other words.
Clearly, the requisite of a scientific language, 'that every word shall
have one meaning well defined,' is too exacting for popular language;
because the other chief requisite of scientific language cannot be
complied with, 'that there be no important meaning without a name.'
'Important meanings,' or what seem such, are too numerous to be thus
provided for; and new ones are constantly arising, as each of us pursues
his business or his pleasure, his meditations or the excursions of his
fancy. It is impossible to have a separate term for each meaning; and,
therefore, the terms we have must admit of variable application.
An attempt to introduce new words is generally disgusting. Few men have
mastered the uses of half the words already to be found in our classics.
Much more would be lost than gained by doubling the dictionary. It is
true that, at certain stages in the growth of a people, a need may be
widely felt for the adoption of new words: such, in our own case, was
the period of the Tudors and early Stuarts. Many fresh words, chiefly
from the Latin, then appeared in books, were often received with
reprobation and derision, sometimes disappeared again, sometimes
established their footing in the language: see _The Art of English
Poetry_ (ascribed to Puttenham), Book III. chap. 4, and Ben Jonson's
_Poetaster_, Act. V. sc. I. Good judges did not know whether a word was
really called for: even Shakespeare thought 'remuneration' and
'accommodate' ridiculous. But such national exigencies rarely arise; and
in our own time great authors distinguish themselves by the plastic
power with which they make common words convey uncommon meanings.
Fluid, however, as popular language is and ought to be, it may be
necessary for the sake of clear exposition, or to steady the course of
an argument, to avoid either sophistry or unintentional confusion, that
words should be defined and discriminated; and we must discuss the means
of doing so.
Sec. 2. Scientific method is applicable, with some qualifications, to the
definition of ordinary words. Classification is involved in any problem
of definition: at least, if our object is to find a meaning that shall
be generally acceptable and intelligible. No doubt two disputants may,
for their own satisfaction, adopt any arbitrary definition of a word
important in their controversy; or, any one may define a word as he
pleases, at the risk of being misunderstood, provided he has no
fraudulent intention. But in exposition or argument addressed to the
public, where words are used in some of their ordinary senses, it should
be recognised that the meaning of each one involves that of many
others. For language has grown with the human mind, as representing its
knowledge of the world: this knowledge consists of the resemblances and
differences of things and of the activities of things, that is, of
classes and causes; and as there is such order in the world, so there
must be in language: language, therefore, embodies an irregular
classification of things with their attributes and relations according
to our knowledge and beliefs. The best attempt (known to me) to carry
out this view is contained in Roget's _Thesaurus_, which is a
classification of English words according to their meanings: founded, as
the author tells us, on the models of Zoology and Botany, it has some of
the requisites of a Logical Dictionary.
Popular language, indeed, having grown up with a predominantly practical
purpose, represents a very imperfect classification philosophically
considered. Things, or aspects, or processes of things, that have
excited little interest, have often gone unnamed: so that scientific
discoverers are obliged, for scientific purposes, to invent thousands of
new names. Strong interests, on the other hand, give such a colour to
language, that, where they enter, it is difficult to find any
indifferent expressions. _Consistency_ being much prized, though often
the part of a blockhead, _inconsistency_ implies not merely the absence
of the supposed virtue, but a positive vice: _Beauty_ being attractive
and _ugliness_ the reverse, if we invent a word for that which is
neither, 'plainness,' it at once becomes tinged with the ugly. We seem
to love beauty and morality so much as to be almost incapable of
signifying their absence without expressing aversion.
Again, the erroneous theories of mankind have often found their way into
popular speech, and their terms have remained there long after the
rejection of the beliefs they embodied: as--lunatic, augury, divination,
spell, exorcism: though, to be sure, such words may often be turned to
good account, besides the interest of preserving their original sense.
Language is a record as well as an index of ideas.
Language, then, being essentially classificatory, any attempt to
ascertain the meaning of a word, far from neglecting its relations to
others, should be directed toward elucidating them.
Every word belongs to a group, and this group to some other larger
group. A group is sometimes formed by derivation, at least so far as
different meanings are marked merely by inflections, as _short_,
_shorter_, _shorten_, _shortly_; but, for the most part, is a conflux of
words from many different sources. _Repose_, _depose_, _suppose_,
_impose_, _propose_, are not nearly connected in meaning; but are
severally allied in sense much more closely with words philologically
remote. Thus _repose_ is allied with _rest_, _sleep_, _tranquillity_;
_disturbance_, _unrest_, _tumult_; whilst _depose_ is, in one sense,
allied with _overthrow_, _dismiss_, _dethrone_; _restore_, _confirm_,
_establish_; and, in another sense, with _declare_, _attest_, _swear_,
_prove_, etc. Groups of words, in fact, depend on their meanings, just
as the connection of scientific names follows the resemblance in
character of the things denoted.
Words, accordingly, stand related to one another, for the most part,
though very irregularly, as genus, species, and co-ordinate species.
Taking _repose_ as a genus, we have as species of it, though not exactly
co-ordinate with one another, _tranquillity_ with a mental differentia
(repose of mind), _rest_, whether of mind or body, _sleep_, with the
differentia of unconsciousness (privative). Synonyms are species, or
varieties, wherever any difference can be detected in them; and to
discriminate them we must first find the generic meaning; for which
there may, or may not, be a single word. Thus, _equality_, _sameness_,
_likeness_, _similarity_, _resemblance_, _identity_, are synonyms; but,
if we attend to the ways in which they are actually used, perhaps none
of them can claim to be a genus in relation to the rest. If so, we must
resort to a compound term for the genus, such as 'absence of some sort
of difference.' Then _equality_ is absence of difference in quantity;
_sameness_ is often absence of difference in quality, though the usage
is not strict: _likeness_, _similarity_, and _resemblance_, in their
actual use, perhaps, cannot be discriminated; unless _likeness_ be the
more concrete, _similarity_ the more abstract; but they may all be used
compatibly with the recognition of more or less difference in the things
compared, and even imply this. _Identity_ is the absence of difference
of origin, a continuity of existence, with so much sameness from moment
to moment as is compatible with changes in the course of nature; so that
egg, caterpillar, chrysalis, butterfly may be identical for the run of
an individual life, in spite of differences quantitative and
qualitative, as truly as a shilling that all the time lies in a drawer.
Co-ordinate Species, when positive, have the least contrariety; but
there are also opposites, namely, negatives, contradictories and fuller
contraries. These may be regarded as either co-ordinate genera or the
species of co-ordinate genera. Thus, _repose_ being a genus,
_not-repose_ is by dichotomy a co-ordinate genus and is a negative and
contradictory; then _activity_ (implying an end in view), _motion_
(limited to matter), _disturbance_ (implying changes from a state of
calm), _tumult_, etc., are co-ordinate species of _not-repose_, and
are therefore co-ordinate opposites, or contraries, of the species of
_repose_.
As for correlative words, like _master and slave_, _husband and wife_,
etc., it may seem far-fetched to compare them with the sexes of the
same species of plants or animals; but there is this resemblance between
the two cases, that sexual names are correlative, as 'lioness,' and that
one sex of a species, like a correlative name, cannot be defined without
implying the other; for if a distinctive attribute of one sex be
mentioned (as the lion's mane), it is implied that the other wants it,
and apart from this implication the species is not defined: just as the
definition of 'master' implies a 'slave' to obey.
Common words, less precise than the terms of a scientific nomenclature,
differ from them also in this, that the same word may occur in different
genera. Thus, _sleep_ is a species of _repose_ as above; but it is also
a species of _unconsciousness_, with co-ordinate species _swoon_,
_hypnotic state_, etc. In fact, every word stands under as many
distinct genera, at least, as there are simple or indefinable qualities
to be enumerated in its definition.
Sec. 3. Partially similar to a scientific nomenclature, ordinary language
has likewise a terminology for describing things according to their
qualities and structure. Such is the function of all the names of
colours, sounds, tastes, contrasts of temperature, of hardness, of
pleasantness; in short, of all descriptive adjectives, and all names for
the parts and processes of things. Any word connoting a quality may be
used to describe many very different things, as long as they agree in
that quality.
But the quality connoted by a word, and treated as always the same
quality, is often only analogically the same. We speak of a _great_
storm, a _great_ man, a _great_ book; but _great_ is in each case not
only relative, implying small, and leaving open the possibility that
what we call great is still smaller than something else of its kind, but
it is also predicated with reference to some quality or qualities, which
may be very different in the several cases of its application. If the
book is prized for wisdom, or for imagination, its greatness lies in
that quality; if the man is distinguished for influence, or for courage,
his greatness is of that nature; if the storm is remarkable for
violence, or for duration, its greatness depends on that fact. The word
_great_, therefore, is not used for these things in the same sense, but
only analogically and elliptically. Similarly with good, pure, free,
strong, rich, and so on. 'Rest' has not the same meaning in respect of
a stone and of an animal, nor 'strong' in respect of thought and muscle,
nor 'sweet' in respect of sugar and music. But here we come to the
border between literal and figurative use; every one sees that
figurative epithets are analogical; but by custom any figurative use may
become literal.
Again, many general names of widely different meaning, are brought
together in describing any concrete object, as an animal, or a
landscape, or in defining any specific term. This is the sense of the
doctrine, that any concrete thing is a conflux of generalities or
universals: it may at least be considered in this way; though it seems
more natural to say, that an object presents these different aspects to
a spectator, who, fully to comprehend it, must classify it in every
aspect.
Sec. 4. The process of seeking a definition may be guided by the following
maxims:
(1) Find the usage of good modern authors; that is (as they rarely
define a word explicitly), consider what in various relations they use
it to denote; from which uses its connotation may be collected.
(2) But if this process yield no satisfactory result, make a list of the
things denoted, and of those denoted by the co-ordinate and opposite
words; and observe the qualities in which the things denoted agree, and
in which they differ from those denoted by the contraries and opposites.
If 'civilisation' is to be defined, make lists of civilised peoples, of
semi-civilised, of barbarous, and of savage: now, what things are common
to civilised peoples and wanting in the others respectively? This is an
exercise worth attempting. If poetry is to be defined, survey some
typical examples of what good critics recognise as poetry, and compare
them with examples of bad 'poetry,' literary prose, oratory, and
science. Having determined the characteristics of each kind, arrange
them opposite one another in parallel columns. Whoever tries to define
by this method a few important, frequently occurring words, will find
his thoughts the clearer for it, and will collect by the way much
information which may be more valuable than the definition itself,
should he ever find one.
(3) If the genus of a word to be defined is already known, the process
may be shortened. Suppose the genus of poetry to be _belles lettres_
(that is, 'appealing to good taste'), this suffices to mark it off from
science; but since literary prose and oratory are also _belles lettres_,
we must still seek the differentia of poetry by a comparison of it with
these co-ordinate species. A compound word often exhibits genus and
difference upon its face: as 're-turn,' 'inter-penetrate,'
'tuning-fork,' 'cricket-bat'; but the two last would hardly be
understood without inspection or further description. And however a
definition be discovered, it is well to state it _per genus et
differentiam_.
(4) In defining any term we should avoid encroaching upon the meaning of
any of the co-ordinate terms; for else their usefulness is lessened: as
by making 'law' include 'custom,' or 'wealth' include 'labour' or
'culture.'
(5) If two or more terms happen to be exactly synonymous, it may be
possible (and, if so, it is a service to the language) to divert one of
them to any neighbouring meaning that has no determinate expression.
Thus, Wordsworth and Coleridge took great pains to distinguish between
Imagination and Fancy, which had become in common usage practically
equivalent; and they sought to limit 'imagination' to an order of poetic
effect, which (they said) had prevailed during the Elizabethan age, but
had been almost lost during the Gallo-classic, and which it was their
mission to restore. Co-ordinate terms often tend to coalesce and become
synonymous, or one almost supersedes the other, to the consequent
impoverishment of our speech. At present _proposition_ (that something
is the fact) has almost driven out _proposal_ (that it is desirable to
co-operate in some action). Even good writers and speakers, by their own
practice, encourage this confusion: they submit to Parliament certain
'propositions' (proposals for legislation), or even make 'a proposition
of marriage.' Definition should counteract such a tendency.
(6) We must avoid the temptation to extend the denotation of a word so
far as to diminish or destroy its connotation; or to increase its
connotation so much as to render it no longer applicable to things which
it formerly denoted: we should neither unduly generalise, nor unduly
specialise, a term. Is it desirable to define _education_ so as to
include the 'lessons of experience'; or is it better to restrict it as
implying a personal educator? If any word implies blame or praise, we
are apt to extend it to everything we hate or approve. But _coward_
cannot be so defined as to include all bullies, nor _noble_ so as to
include every honest man, without some loss in distinctness of thought.
The same impulses make us specialise words; for, if two words express
approval, we wish to apply both to whatever we admire and to refuse both
to whatever displeases us. Thus, a man may resolve to call no one great
who is not good: greatness, according to him, connotes goodness: whence
it follows that (say) Napoleon I. was not great. Another man is
disgusted with greatness: according to him, good and great are mutually
exclusive classes, sheep and goats, as in Gray's wretched clench:
"Beneath the good how far, yet far above the great." In feet, however
'good' and 'great' are descriptive terms, sometimes applicable to the
same object, sometimes to different: but 'great' is the wider term and
applicable to goodness itself and also to badness; whereas by making
'great' connote goodness it becomes the narrower term. And as we have
seen (Sec. 3), such epithets may be applicable to objects on account of
different qualities: _good_ is not predicated on the same ground of a
man and of a horse.
(7) In defining any word, it is desirable to bear in mind its
derivation, and to preserve the connection of meaning with its origin;
unless there are preponderant reasons for diverting it, grounded on our
need of the word to express a certain sense, and the greater difficulty
of finding any other word for the same purpose. It is better to lean to
the classical than to the vulgar sense of 'indifferent,' 'impertinent,'
'aggravating,' 'phenomenal.'
(8) Rigorous definition should not be attempted where the subject does
not admit of it. Some kinds of things are so complex in their qualities,
and each quality may manifest itself in so many degrees without ever
admitting of exact measurement, that we have no means of marking them
off precisely from other things nearly allied, similarly complex and
similarly variable. If so we cannot precisely define their names.
Imagination and fancy are of this nature, civilisation and barbarism,
poetry and other kinds of literary expression. As to poetry, some think
it only exists in metre, but hardly maintain that the metre must be
strictly regular: if not, how much irregularity of rhythm is admissible?
Others regard a certain mood of impassioned imagination as the essence
of poetry; but they have never told us how great intensity of this mood
is requisite. We also hear that poetry is of such a nature that the
enjoyment of it is an end in itself; but as it is not maintained that
poetry must be wholly impersuasive or uninstructive, there seems to be
no means of deciding what amount or prominence of persuasion or
instruction would transfer the work to the region of oratory or science.
Such cases make the method of defining by the aid of a type really
useful: the difficulty can hardly be got over without pointing to
typical examples of each meaning, and admitting that there may be many
divergences and unclassifiable instances on the border between allied
meanings.
Sec. 5. As science began from common knowledge, the terms of the common
vocabulary have often been adopted into the sciences, and many are still
found there: such as weight, mass, work, attraction, repulsion,
diffusion, reflection, absorption, base, salt, and so forth. In the more
exact sciences, the vague popular associations with such words are
hardly an inconvenience: since those addicted to such studies do not
expect to master them without undergoing special discipline; and, having
precisely defined the terms, they acquire the habit of thinking with
them according to their assigned signification in those investigations
to which they are appropriate. It is in the Social Sciences, especially
Economics and Ethics, that the use of popular terminology is at once
unavoidable and prejudicial. For the subject-matters, industry and the
conduct of life, are every man's business; and, accordingly, have always
been discussed with a consciousness of their direct practical bearing
upon public and private interests, and therefore in the common language,
in order that everybody may as far as possible benefit by whatever light
can be thrown upon them. The general practice of Economists and
Moralists, however, shows that, in their judgment, the good derived from
writing in the common vocabulary outweighs the evil: though it is
sometimes manifest that they themselves have been misled by
extra-scientific meanings. To reduce the evil as much as possible, the
following precautions seem reasonable:
(1) To try to find and adopt the central meaning of the word (say rent
or money) in its current or traditionary applications: so as to lessen
in the greater number of cases the jar of conflicting associations. But
if the central popular meaning does not correspond with the scientific
conception to be expressed, it may be better to invent a new term.
(2) To define the term with sufficient accuracy to secure its clear and
consistent use for scientific purposes.
(3) When a popular term has to be used in a sense that departs from the
ordinary one in such a way as to incur the danger of misunderstanding,
to qualify it by some adjunct or "interpretation-clause."
The first of these rules is not always adhered to; and, in the progress
of a science, as subtler and more abstract relations are discovered
amongst the facts, the meaning of a term may have to be modified and
shifted further and further from its popular use. The term 'rent,' for
example, is used by economists, in such a sense that they have to begin
the discussion of the facts it denotes, by explaining that it does not
imply any actual payment by one man to another. Here, for most readers,
the meaning they are accustomed to, seems already to have entirely
disappeared. Difficulties may, however, be largely overcome by
qualifying the term in its various relations, as produce-rents,
ground-rents, customary rents, and so forth, (Cf. Dr. Keynes' _Scope
and Method of Political Economy_, chap. 5.)
Sec. 6. Definitions affect the cogency of arguments in many ways, whether
we use popular or scientific language. If the definitions of our terms
are vague, or are badly abstracted from the facts denoted, all arguments
involving these terms are inconclusive. There can be no confidence in
reasoning with such terms; since, if vague, there is nothing to protect
us from ambiguity; or, if their meaning has been badly abstracted, we
may be led into absurdity--as if 'impudence' should be defined in such a
way as to confound it with honesty.
Again, it is by definitions that we can best distinguish between Verbal
and Real Propositions. Whether a term predicated is implied in the
definition of the subject, or adds something to its meaning, deserves
our constant attention. We often persuade ourselves that statements are
profound and important, when, in fact, they are mere verbal
propositions. "It is just to give every man his due"; "the greater good
ought to be preferred to the less"; such dicta sound well--indeed, too
well! For 'a man's due' means nothing else than what it is just to give
him; and 'the greater good' may mean the one that ought to be preferred:
these, therefore, are Truisms. The investigation of a definition may be
a very valuable service to thought; but, once found, there is no merit
in repeating it. To put forward verbal or analytic propositions, or
truisms, as information (except, of course, in explaining terms to the
uninstructed), shows that we are not thinking what we say; for else we
must become aware of our own emptiness. Every step forward in knowledge
is expressed in a real or synthetic proposition; and it is only by means
of such propositions that information can be given (except as to the
meaning of words) or that an argument or train of reasoning can make any
progress.
Opposed to a truism is a Contradiction in Terms; that is, the denying of
a subject something which it connotes (or which belongs to its
definition), or the affirming of it something whose absence it connotes
(or which is excluded by its definition). A verbal proposition is
necessarily true, because it is tautologous; a contradiction in terms is
necessarily false, because it is inconsistent. Yet, as a rhetorical
artifice, or figure, it may be effective: that 'the slave is not bound
to obey his master' may be a way of saying that there ought to be no
slaves; that 'property is theft,' is an uncompromising assertion of the
communistic ideal. Similarly a truism may have rhetorical value: that 'a
Negro is a man' has often been a timely reminder, or even that "a man's
a man." It is only when we fall into such contradiction or tautology by
lapse of thought, by not fully understanding our own words, that it
becomes absurd.
Real Propositions comprise the predication of Propria and Accidentia.
Accidentia, implying a sort of empirical law, can only be established by
direct induction. But propria are deduced from (or rather by means of)
the definition with the help of real propositions, and this is what is
called 'arguing from a Definition.' Thus, if increasing capacity for
co-operation be a specific character of civilisation, 'great wealth' may
be considered as a proprium of civilised as compared with barbarous
nations. For co-operation is made most effectual by the division of
labour, and that this is the chief condition of producing wealth is a
real proposition. Such arguments from definitions concerning concrete
facts and causation require verification by comparing the conclusion
with the facts. The verification of this example is easy, if we do not
let ourselves be misled in estimating the wealth of barbarians by the
ostentatious "pearl and gold" of kings and nobles, where 99 per cent. of
the people live in penury and servitude. The wealth of civilisation is
not only great but diffused, and in its diffusion its greatness must be
estimated.
To argue from a definition may be a process of several degrees of
complexity. The simplest case is the establishing of a proprium as the
direct consequence of some connoted attribute, as in the above example.
If the definition has been correctly abstracted from the particulars,
the particulars have the attributes summarised in the definition; and,
therefore, they have whatever can be shown to follow from those
attributes. But it frequently happens that the argument rests partly on
the qualities connoted by the class name and partly on many other facts.
In Geometry, the proof of a theorem depends not only upon the definition
of the figure or figures directly concerned, but also upon one or more
axioms, and upon propria or constructions already established. Thus, in
Euclid's fifth Proposition, the proof that the angles at the base of an
isosceles triangle are equal, depends not only on the equality of the
opposite sides, but upon this together with the construction that shows
how from the greater of two lines a part may be cut off equal to the
less, the proof that triangles that can be conceived to coincide are
equal, and the axiom that if equals be taken from equals the remainders
are equal. Similarly, in Biology, if colouring favourable to concealment
is a proprium of carnivorous animals, it is not deducible merely from
their predatory character or any other attribute entering into the
definition of any species of them, but from their predatory character
together with the causes summarised in the phrase 'Natural Selection';
that is, competition for a livelihood, and the destruction of those that
labour under any disadvantages, of which conspicuous colouring would be
one. The particular coloration of any given species, again, can only be
deduced by further considering its habitat (desert, jungle or
snowfield): a circumstance lying wholly outside the definition of the
species.
The validity of an argument based partly or wholly on a definition
depends, in the first place, on the existence of things corresponding
with the definition--that is, having the properties connoted by the name
defined. If there are no such things as isosceles triangles, Euclid's
fifth Proposition is only formally true, like a theorem concerning the
fourth dimension of space: merely consistent with his other assumptions.
But if there be any triangles only approximately isosceles, the proof
applies to them, making allowance for their concrete imperfection: the
nearer their sides approach straightness and equality the more nearly
equal will the opposite angles be.
Again, as to the things corresponding with terms defined, according to
Dr. Venn, their 'existence' may be understood in several senses: (1)
merely for the reason, like the pure genera and species of Porphyry's
tree; the sole condition of whose being is logical consistency: or (2)
for the imagination, like the giants and magicians of romance, the
heroes of tragedy and the fairies of popular superstition; whose
properties may be discussed, and verified by appeal to the right
documents and authorities (poems and ballads): or (3) for perception,
like plants, animals, stones and stars. Only the third class exist in
the proper sense of the word. But under a convention or hypothesis of
existence, we may argue from the definition of a fairy, or a demigod, or
a dragon, and deduce various consequences without absurdity, if we are
content with poetic consistency and the authority of myths and romances
as the test of truth.
In the region of concrete objects, whose properties are causes, and
neither merely fictions nor determinations of space (as in Geometry), we
meet with another condition of the validity of any argument depending on
a definition: there must not only be objects corresponding to the
definition, but there must be no other causes counteracting those
qualities on whose agency our argument relies. Thus, though we may infer
from the quality of co-operation connoted by civilisation, that a
civilised country will be a wealthy one, this may not be found true of
such a country recently devastated by war or other calamity. Nor can
co-operation always triumph over disadvantageous circumstances.
Scandinavia is so poor in the gifts of nature favourable to industry,
that it is not wealthy in spite of civilisation: still, it is far
wealthier than it would be in the hands of a barbarous people. In short,
when arguing from a definition, we can only infer the _tendency_ of any
causal characteristics included in it; the unqualified realisation of
such a tendency must depend upon the absence of counteracting causes. As
soon as we leave the region of pure conceptions and make any attempt to
bring our speculations home to the actual phenomena of nature or of
human life, the verification of every inference becomes an unremitting
obligation.