Accuracy of language is one of the things which, in ordinary speech and
writing, is but indifferently observed. The reason, perhaps, is to be
sought, not in any general indifference to correctness or precision, but
rather in the want of some recognised authority, some specific rules or
principles, to which the use of words apparently synonymous, yet of
slightly different signification, might be distinctly and easily
referred. It is in regard to the finer shades of meaning, the subtler
touches of expression, the application of words and phrases where the
strictest exactness and perspicuity are required, that an ordinary
English style is apt to become loose and shadowy; and it is precisely
here that we are entitled to expect the severest, chastest form of
utterance. Coleridge used to complain of a general confounding of the
word 'notion' with 'idea,' and was often at great pains to point out the
distinction between the two, as also between many other words similarly
misused. Archdeacon Hare, too, has remarked upon the common
misapplication of such words as 'education' for 'instruction,'
'government' for 'administration,' 'the church' for 'the priesthood' or
'ministry;' and indeed holds that such a confounding of terms leads to
serious practical misunderstandings and confusions.[3] Any one, upon
reflection, will perceive that in the common use of these and numberless
other words, there is often a signal lack of clearness and precision,
and will hardly fail to notice that the error proceeds from a want of
due attention to the nice and peculiar meanings of words which are
vaguely presumed to have the same signification.
As a help to those who may wish to attain a somewhat more than common
correctness of style and language, Archbishop Whately has recently
published a small work on _English Synonyms_;[4] and the rapidity with
which the first edition has been disposed of leads us to infer that the
public is to some extent prepared to take an interest in the subject.
The second edition, 'revised and enlarged,' is now before us, and it is
thought that a brief glance at its contents may not be unacceptable to
some of our present readers.
The word 'synonym,' as the archbishop observes, is, in strict reality, a
misnomer. 'Literally, it implies an exact coincidence of meaning in two
or more words, in which case there would be no room for discussion; but
it is generally applied to words which would be more correctly termed
pseudo-synonyms--that is, words having a shade of difference, yet with a
sufficient resemblance of meaning to make them liable to be confounded.
And it is in the number and variety of these that, as the Abbé Girard
well remarks, the richness of a language consists. To have two or more
words with exactly the same sense, is no proof of copiousness, but
simply an inconvenience. A house would not be called well furnished from
its having a larger number of chairs and tables of one kind than were
needed, but from its having a separate article for each distinct use.
The more power we have of discriminating the nicer shades of meaning,
the greater facility we possess of giving force and precision to our
expressions. Our own language possesses great advantages in this
respect; for being partly derived from the Teutonic, and partly from the
Latin, we have a large number of duplicates from the two sources, which
are, for the most part, though not universally, slightly varied in their
meaning.
'These slight variations of meaning,' he proceeds, add to the
copiousness of the English language, by affording words of more or less
familiarity, and of greater and less force. This may easily be
understood, if we consider that the branch of the Teutonic, spoken in
England during the Anglo-Saxon period, never became extinct, but that
three-fourths of the English language at present consist of words
altered or derived from that ancient dialect; that these words usually
express the most familiar ideas--such as _man_, _house_, _land_, &c.;
and that the French terms gradually introduced, being those of a more
highly civilised people, were adapted to express the more refined ideas.
This is true even of physical objects; thus, for instance, most of the
names of the animals used for food are still Teutonic--such as _ox_,
_sheep_, _swine_, &c. The Anglo-Saxons, like the modern Germans, had no
objection to say _ox-flesh_, _sheep-flesh_, _swine's-flesh_; but the
Norman conquerors, introducing a more refined cookery, introduced with
it French words for the flesh of the animal; hence we have _beef_,
_mutton_, _pork_, &c.'
It has not been the author's design to notice _all_ the synonyms in the
language--that, as he remarks, would be an almost endless undertaking;
'but merely, after excluding technical terms, and words which do exactly
coincide, to select a few of those groups of words which are in most
frequent use, and are most liable to be confounded.' His purpose,
perhaps, will be more distinctly shewn, if we add a few more sentences
from the preface.
'Many persons,' says he, 'imagine that two words must either coincide
precisely in their meaning, so as to be, in the primary and strict sense
of the word, "synonymous," or else stand for two (more or less) distinct
_things_. Indeed, it would often be regarded as almost a truism to
assert this; but those who maintain such an opinion overlook the fact,
that two words, without exactly coinciding in sense, may nevertheless
relate to one and the same thing, regarded in _two different points of
view_. An illustration of this is afforded in the relation which exists
between the words, "inference" and "proof." Whoever justly infers,
proves; and whoever proves, infers; but the word "inference" leads the
mind from the premises which have been assumed, to the conclusion which
follows from them; while the word "proof" follows a reverse process, and
leads the mind from the conclusion to the premises. We say: "What do you
infer _from_ this?" and "How do you _prove_ that?"[5] Another
illustration may be quoted in the synonyms, "expense" and "cost." The
same article may be expensive and costly; but we speak of _expense_ in
reference to the means of the purchaser; of _cost_, in reference to the
actual value of the article.'
This work does not profess to deal much with _etymologies_; the author
thinking that any very strict attention to the _derivation_ of words, in
connection with synonyms, would only tend to confuse the subject. The
history of the origin and growth of words must undoubtedly throw light
upon their meanings; but he, nevertheless, holds the two questions to be
completely distinct and separable; and thinks that, in an inquiry into
the _actual_ and _present_ meaning of a word, the consideration of what
it originally meant may frequently lead us into error. A few suggestive
remarks are given upon this matter.
'Our question is, not what _ought_ to be, or formerly was, the meaning
of a word, but what it _now_ is; nor can we be completely guided by
quotations from Shakspeare or Milton, or even from Addison or Johnson.
Language has undergone such changes, even within the last sixty or
seventy years, that many words, at that time considered pure, are now
obsolete; while others--of which the word "mob" is a specimen--formerly
slang, are now used by our best writers, and received, like pardoned
outlaws, into the body of respectable citizens.' The standard,
accordingly, to which the author refers in the work before us, is the
sense in which a word is used by the purest writers and most correct
speakers of our own days.
The synonyms are arranged or classed according to the parts of speech to
which they belong--namely, into particles, nouns, adjectives, and verbs.
The uses of all the words are well defined, and sufficiently illustrated
by examples; a table of contents and a complete index are also added,
rendering reference to any word as easy as looking for it in a
dictionary. The table of contents, indeed, will be found to serve most
of the purposes of a vocabulary of synonyms: a glance at it will
frequently give you all the words of similar signification to the
particular one for which you may happen to require an equivalent. From
the part of the book relating to _verbs_, we take the following; the
words under notice being, _To teach, instruct, inform, educate_:--
'Of these words, the first two are often used synonymously, but they
have also a distinct meaning. "Teaching," strictly speaking, when
distinguished from instruction, is applied to the practice of an art or
branch of knowledge: instruction, to the theory. A child is, correctly
speaking, _instructed_ in the grammar of a language, and _taught_ to
speak the language. Thus, teaching may be merely mechanical; while
"instruction" implies a degree of understanding in the pupil, as well as
in the master. A child who has been _taught_ to learn lessons by rote,
without understanding them, will find difficulty in comprehending
_instruction_ in the principles of what he has learned: hence, we speak
of _teaching_ a brute, but never of _instructing_ it.
'_Information_,[6] again, is distinguished from instruction, in relation
to the truths conveyed by it. Matters of fact, made known to one who
could not have known them before, are called information: instruction
elicits new truths out of subject-matter _already_ existing in the
mind--(see Whately's _Logic_, book iv. § 1.)
'A traveller gives us information respecting foreign countries; a
metaphysician instructs us in the principles of moral
science--principles drawn from facts already known to us. The two
processes may take place at the same time: a child in learning a lesson
receives both information and instruction: he is taught things he never
knew before, and also taught to apply and make use of what he does know
already. In fact, pure mathematics is the only branch of instruction
which includes no information, as the propositions are all based on
principles previously assumed. In short, a person who is informed,
_knows_ something he did not before; one who is instructed,
_understands_ something he did not before; one who is taught, can _do_
something he could not do before.
'Education is more comprehensive than any of the other words before us.
It includes the _whole course_ of moral and intellectual teaching. One
who gives occasional lessons is not said to _educate_. To _educate_
(agreeably to its derivation, from "e-duco," not "in-duco"), includes
the _drawing out_ of the faculties, so as to teach the pupil how to
teach him_self_; which is one of the most valuable of arts.
'Moral training, considered _by itself_, is called "teaching;" this
constitutes no exception to the rule laid down, as its object is to
enable us, not to _know_, but to _do_ what is right.'--(P. 32-34.)
'Few words, perhaps, are more apt to be misapplied than the string of
adjectives treated of in the section next quoted--namely, _benevolent,
beneficent, charitable, munificent, liberal, bountiful, philanthropic_.
'Benevolent and beneficent, together with their conjugates, have
curiously diverged from their original meaning. Etymologically,
"benevolent" implied merely _wishing_ well to others, and "beneficent"
_doing_ well; _now_, "benevolent" includes both kinds of feelings and
actions, and "beneficent" is restricted to acts of kindness on a great
scale, and generally performed by some one of exalted station and
character: hence, we speak of the "beneficence" rather than the
"benevolence" of the Creator. It may perhaps be said to follow from
this, that "benevolent" draws our attention more to the character of the
agent; "beneficent," to that of the act performed--retaining, so far, a
tinge of their etymology.
'"Charitable" (when not used in reference to a mild and candid judgment
of others) seems to be restricted to one kind of benevolence--that which
consists in alms-giving.
'"Munificent" resembles "beneficent," in referring always to favours on
a large scale, and conferred by superiors; but there is this important
difference, that "beneficent" always implies some real and essential
good done, while "munificent," as its derivation implies, may be applied
equally to any _gift_, whether really useful or not. One who makes a
present of jewellery or pictures to a friend, is munificent, but would
not be called "beneficent." If he raised a distressed family from
starvation, the word "beneficent" would be more appropriate. But one who
gives largely to the public, or to some institution, is called
munificent. It seems to convey the idea of splendour. No one can be
called munificent who does not give on a large scale.
'Any one who is ready to give _freely_, as the etymology implies, on
whatever scale, is "liberal." "Bountiful," again, is stronger than
"liberal," and implies giving in abundance; it also differs from
"liberal" in being restricted to _giving_; while "liberal" is applied to
an easy style of expenditure in general; to the reverse, in short, of
"stingy," or "miserly." Many people live in a _liberal_ style, who are
very far from being "bountiful." Bountiful always seems to imply, giving
out of an ample store.
'"Philanthropic," as its etymology indicates, implies benevolence solely
in reference to the _human race_, and always to masses, not to
individuals. One who devises some plan to benefit numbers, is called
"philanthropic;" but we should not talk of "philanthropically giving a
loaf to a hungry child."'--(P. 83-85.)
As space is beginning to press, our last extract must be short: it
relates to words often enough employed indiscriminately--_imagination,
conception, fancy_. '"Imagination" and "fancy" are frequently confounded
together, but are, nevertheless, very distinct in their signification.
In the first place, "imagination" implies more of a _creative_ power
than "fancy;" it requires a greater combination of various powers, and
is therefore a higher exercise of genius. "Fancy," on the other hand, is
more an employment of ingenuity and taste, though it also requires
inventive power. Secondly, "imagination" implies a longer flight;
"fancy," rather a succession of short efforts: the one is a steady
blaze; the other, a series of sparkles. An epic poem would require an
exercise of the first; a ballad, or other lighter production, of the
last: hence, we may see that the difference between the two is, in some
measure, one of subject-matter; for the same power which we call "fancy"
when employed in a melody of Moore, would be called "imagination" in the
works of Dante or Milton. In short, the efforts of "fancy" bear the same
relation to those of "imagination" that the carving and polishing of a
gem or seal does to sculpture.
'In the third place, _wit_ may come into works of "fancy," and could not
be admitted into the province of "imagination." The same with what are
called _conceits_.
'"Conception" has something in common with imagination, but it implies
more decidedly a creative power, and is referred to something tangible
and real; whereas, in efforts of fancy and imagination, there is always
a consciousness of unreality. The province of "conception" is that which
has a real existence: hence, the productions of painters, sculptors, and
musicians, are called "conceptions." "Conception" also denotes something
framed and originated in our _own_ mind; whereas the imagination or
fancy may be acted on merely from without. The poet or writer of fiction
exercises his own conceptions, but awakens the imagination of his
readers.'
These quotations will give as general a notion of the work as can be
conveyed by a few extracts. To those among our readers who may be in
quest of such a book, we can decidedly recommend it as one that is
certain to be useful. It is by far the best of the kind that we have
ever happened to meet with; and we think that if it were universally
studied and consulted, the result would be a great improvement of
expression, both in common speech and literature.