will he understand you? Talk to him of stamens, pistils, calyxes; of
monandria, diandria, triandria; of gypsum, talc, calcareous spar,
quartz, topaz, mica, garnet, pyrites, hornblende, augite, actynolite; of
hexahedral, prismatic, rhomboidal, dodecahedral; of acids and alkalies;
of oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen and carbon; of the configuration of the
brain, and its relative powers; do all this, and what will he know of
your meaning? So of all science. Words are to be understood from the
things they are employed to represent. You may as well talk to a man in
the hebrew, chinese, or choctaw languages, as in our own, if he does not
know what is signified by the words selected as the medium of thought.
Your language may be most pure, perfect, full of meaning, but you cannot
make yourself understood till your hearers can look thro your signs to
the things signified. You may as well present before them a picture of
_nothing_.
The great fault in the popular system of education is easily accounted
for, particularly in reference to language. Children are taught to study
signs without looking at the thing signified. In this way they are mere
copyists, and the mind can never expand so as to make them independent,
original thinkers. In fact, they can, in this way, never learn to reason
well or employ language correctly; no more than a painter can be
successful in his art, by merely looking at the pictures of others
without having ever seen the originals. A good artist is a close
observer of nature. So children should be left free to examine and
reflect, and the signs will then serve their proper use--the means of
acquiring the knowledge of things. In vain you may give a scholar a
knowledge of the Hebrew, Greek, or Latin, learn him to translate with
rapidity or speak our own language fluently. If he has not thereby
learned the knowledge of things signified by such language, he is, in
principle, advanced no farther than the parrot which says "pretty poll,
pretty poll."
I am happy, however, in the consideration that a valuable change is
taking place in this respect. Geography is no longer taught on the old
systems, but maps are given to represent more vividly land and water,
rivers, islands, and mountains. The study of arithmetic, chemistry, and
nearly all the sciences have been materially improved within a few
years. Grammar alone remains in quiet possession of its unquestioned
authority. Its nine "parts of speech," its three genders, its three
cases, its half dozen kinds of pronouns, and as many moods and tenses,
have rarely been disquieted. A host of book makers have fondled around
them, but few have dared molest them, finding them so snugly ensconced
under the sanctity of age, and the venerated opinions of learned and
good men. Of the numberless attempts to simplify grammar, what has been
the success? Wherein do modern "simplifiers" differ from Murray? and he
was only a _compiler_! They have all discovered his errors. But who has
corrected them? They have all deviated somewhat from his manner. But
what is that but saying, that with all his grammatical knowledge, he
could not explain his own meaning?
All the trouble originates in this; the rules of grammar have not been
sought for where they are only to be found, in the laws that govern
matter and thought. Arbitrary rules have been adopted which will never
apply in practice, except in special cases, and the attempt to bind
language down to them is as absurd as to undertake to chain thought, or
stop the waters of Niagara with a straw. Language will go on, and keep
pace with the mind, and grammar should explain it so as to be correctly
understood.
I wish you to keep these principles distinctly in view all thro my
remarks, that you may challenge every position I assume till proved to
be correct--till you distinctly understand it and definite impressions
are made upon your minds. In this way you will discover a beauty and
perfection in language before unknown; its rules will be found few and
simple, holding with most unyielding tenacity to the sublime principles
upon which they depend; and you will have reason to admire the works and
adore the character of the great Parent Intellect, whose presence and
protection pervade all his works and regulate the laws of matter and
mind. You will feel yourselves involuntarily filled with sentiments of
gratitude for the gift of mind, its affections, powers, and means of
operation and communication, and resolved more than ever to employ these
faculties in human improvement and the advancement of general happiness.
LECTURE III.
WRITTEN AND SPOKEN LANGUAGE.
Principles never alter.--They should be known.--Grammar a most
important branch of science.--Spoken and written Language.--Idea
of a thing.--How expressed.--An example.--Picture writing.--An
anecdote.--Ideas expressed by actions.--Principles of spoken and
written Language.--Apply universally.--Two examples.--English
language.--Foreign words.--Words in science.--New words.--How
formed.
We now come to take a nearer view of language as generally understood by
grammar. But we shall have no occasion to depart from the principles
already advanced, for there is existing in practice nothing which may
not be accounted for in theory; as there can be no effect without an
efficient cause to produce it.
We may, however, long remain ignorant of the true explanation of the
principles involved; but the fault is ours, and not in the things
themselves. The earth moved with as much grandeur and precision around
its axis and in its orbit before the days of Gallileo Gallilei, when
philosophers believed it flat and stationary, as it has done since. So
the great principles on which depends the existence and use of all
language are permanent, and may be correctly employed by those who have
never examined them; but this does not prove that to be ignorant is
better than to be wise. We may have taken food all our days without
knowing much of the process by which it is converted into nourishment
and incorporated into our bodies, without ever having heard of
delutition chymification, chylification, or even digestion, as a whole;
but this is far from convincing me that the knowledge of these things is
unimportant, or that ignorance of them is not the cause of much disease
and suffering among mankind. And it is, or should be, the business of
the physiologist to explain these things, and show the great practical
benefit resulting from a general knowledge of them. So the grammarian
should act as a sort of physiologist of language. He should analyze all
its parts and show how it is framed together to constitute a perfect
whole.
Instead of exacting of you a blind submission to a set of technical
expressions, and arbitrary rules, I most urgently exhort you to
continue, with unremitting assiduity, your inquiries into the reason and
propriety of the positions which may be taken. It is the business of
philosophy, not to meddle with things to direct how they should be, but
to account for them and their properties and relations as they are. So
it is the business of grammar to explain language as it exists in use,
and exhibit the reason why it is used thus, and what principles must be
observed to employ it correctly in speaking and writing. This method is
adopted to carry out the principles already established, and show their
adaptation to the wants of the community, and how they may be correctly
and successfully employed. Grammar considered in this light forms a
department in the science of the mind by no means unimportant. And it
can not fail to be deeply interesting to all who would employ it in the
business, social, literary, moral, or religious concerns of life. Those
who have thoughts to communicate, or desire an acquaintance with the
minds of others, can not be indifferent to the means on which such
intercourse depends. I am convinced, therefore, that you will give me
your most profound attention as I pursue the subject of the present
lecture somewhat in detail. And I hope you will not consider me tedious
or unnecessarily prolix in my remarks.
I will not be particular in my remarks upon the changes of spoken and
written language, altho that topic of itself, in the different sounds
and signs employed in different ages and by different nations to express
the same idea, would form a most interesting theme for several lectures.
But that work must be reserved for a future occasion. You are all
acquainted with the signs, written and spoken, which are employed in our
language as vehicles (some of them like omnibusses) of thought to carry
ideas from one mind to another. Some of you doubtless are acquainted
with the application of this fact in other languages. In other words,
you know how to sound the name of a thing, how to describe its
properties as far as you understand them, and its attitudes or changes.
This you can do by vocal sounds, or written, or printed signs.
On the other hand, you can receive a similar impression by hearing the
description of another, or by seeing it written or printed. But here you
will bear in mind the fact that the word, spoken or written, is but the
sign of the idea derived from the thing signified. For example: Here is
an apple. I do not now speak of its composition, the skin, the pulp,
&c.; nor of its qualities, whether sour, or sweet, or bitter, good or
bad, great or small, long or short, round or flat, red, or white, or
yellow. I speak of a single thing--an apple. Here it is, present before
you. Look at it. It is now removed. You do not see it. Your minds are
occupied with something else, in looking at that organ, or this
representation of Solomon's temple, or, perhaps, lingering in melancholy
review of your old systems of grammar thro which you plodded at a
tedious rate, goaded on by the stimulus of the ferule, or the fear of
being called ignorant. From that unhappy reverie I recal your minds, by
saying _apple_. An apple? where? There is none in sight. No; but you
have distinct recollections of a single object I just now held before
you. You see it, mentally, and were you painters you might paint its
likeness. What has brought this object so vividly before you? The single
sound _apple_. This sound has called up the idea produced in your mind
on looking at this object which I now again present before you. Here is
the thing represented--the apple. Again I lay it aside, and commence a
conversation with you on the varieties of apples, the form, color,
flavor, manner of production, their difference from other fruit, where
found, when, and by whom. Here! look again. What do you see?
A-P-P-L-E--_Apple_. What is that? The representation of the idea
produced in the mind by a certain object you saw a little while ago.
Here then you have the spoken and written signs of this single object I
now again present to your vision. This idea may also be called up by the
sense of feeling, smelling, or tasting, under certain restrictions. Here
you would be no more liable to be mistaken than by seeing. We can indeed
imagine things which would feel, and smell, and taste, and look some
like an apple, but it falls to the lot of more abstruse reasoners to
make their suppositions, and then account for them--to imagine things,
and then treat of them as realities. We are content with the knowledge
of things as they do exist, and think there is little danger of
mistaking a potato for an apple, or a squash for a pear. Tho in the dark
we may lay hold of the Frenchman's _pomme de terre_--apple of the earth,
the first bite will satisfy us of our mistake if we are not too
metaphysical.
The same idea may be called up in your minds by a picture of the apple
presented to your sight. On this ground the picture writing of the
ancients may be accounted for; and after that, the hieroglyphics of
Egypt and other countries, which was but a step from picture writing
towards the use of the alphabet. But these signs or vehicles for the
conveyance or transmission of their thoughts, compared with the present
perfect state of language, were as aukward and uncomly as the carriages
employed for the conveyance of their bodies were compared with those now
in use. They were like ox carts drawn by mules, compared with the most
splendid barouches drawn by elegant dapple-greys.
A similar mode would be adopted now by those unacquainted with
alphabetical writing. It was so with the merchant who could not write.
He sold his neighbor a grindstone, on trust. Lest he should forget
it--lest the _idea_ of it should be obliterated from the mind--he, in
the absence of his clerk, took his book and a pen and drew out a _round
picture_ to represent it. Some months after, he dunned his neighbor for
his pay for a cheese. "I have bought no cheese of you," was the reply.
Yes, you have, for I have it charged. "You must be mistaken, for I never
bought a cheese. We always make our own." How then should I have one
charged to you? "I cannot tell. I have never had any thing here on
credit except a grindstone." Ah! that's it, that's it, only I forgot to
make a hole through it!"
Ideas may also be exchanged by actions. This is the first and strongest
language of nature. It may be employed, when words have failed, in the
most effectual manner. The angry man, choked with rage, unable to speak,
tells the violent passions, burning in his bosom, in a language which
can not be mistaken. The actions of a friend are a surer test of
friendship than all the honied words he may utter. Actions speak louder
than words. The first impressions of maternal affection are produced in
the infant mind by the soothing attentions of the mother. In the same
way we may understand the language of the deaf and dumb. Certain motions
express certain ideas. These being duly arranged and conformed to our
alphabetic signs, and well understood, the pupil may become acquainted
with book knowledge as well as we. They go by sight and not by sound. A
different method is adopted with the blind. Letters with them are so
arranged that they can _feel_ them. The signs thus felt correspond with
the sounds they hear. Here they must stop. They cannot see to describe.
Those who are so unfortunate as to be blind and deaf, can have but a
faint knowledge of language, or the ideas of others.
On similar principles we may explain the pantomime plays sometimes
performed, where the most entertaining scenes of love and murder are
represented, but not a word spoken.
Three things are always to be born in mind in the use and study of all
language: 1st, the thing signified; 2d, the idea of the thing; and 3d,
the word or sign chosen to represent it.
_Things_ exist.
Thinking beings conceive _ideas of things_.
Those who employ language adopt _sounds or signs to convey those ideas_
to others.
On these obvious principles rest the whole superstructure of all
language, spoken or written. Objects are presented to the mind,
impressions are there made, which, retained, constitute the idea, and,
by agreement, certain words are employed as the future signs or
representations of those ideas. If we saw an object in early life and
knew its _name_, the mention of that name will recal afresh the idea
which had long lain dormant in the memory, (if I may so speak,) and we
can converse about it as correctly as when we first saw it.
These principles, I have said, hold good in all languages. Proof of this
may not improperly be offered here, provided it be not too prolix. I
will endeavor to be brief.
In an open area of sufficient dimensions is congregated a delegation
from every language under heaven. All are so arranged as to face a
common center. A white horse is led into that spot and all look at the
living animal which stands before them. The same impression must be made
on all minds so far as a single animal is concerned. But as the whole is
made up of parts, so their minds will soon diverge from a single idea,
and one will think of his size, compared with other horses; another of
his form; another of his color. Some will think of his noble appearance,
others of his ability to travel, or (in jockey phrase) his _speed_. The
farrier will look for his blemishes, to see if he is _sound_, and the
jockey at his teeth, to _guess_ at his _age_. The anatomist will, in
thought, dissect him into parts and see every bone, sinew, cartilage,
blood vessel, his stomach, lungs, liver, heart, entrails; every part
will be laid open; and while the thoughtless urchin sees a single
object--a white horse--others will, at a single glance, read volumes of
instruction. Oh! the importance of knowledge! how little is it
regarded! What funds of instruction might be gathered from the lessons
every where presented to the mind!
One impression would be made on all minds in reference to the single
tangible object before them; no matter how learned or ignorant. There
stands an animal obvious to all. Let him be removed out of sight, and a
very exact picture of him suspended in his place. All again agree. Here
then is the proof of our first general principle, viz. all language
depends on the fixed and unvarying laws of nature.
Let the picture be removed and a man step forth and pronounce the word,
_ippos_. The Greek starts up and says, "Yes, it is so." The rest do not
comprehend him. He then writes out distinctly, [Greek: IPPOS]. They are
in the dark as to the meaning. They know not whether a horse, a man, or
a goose is named. All the Greeks, however, understand the meaning the
same as when the horse or picture was before them, for they had _agreed_
that _ippos_ should represent the _idea_ of that animal.
Forth steps another, and pronounces the word _cheval_. Every Frenchman
is aroused: Oui, monsieur? Yes, sir. Comprenez vous? Do you understand?
he says to the rest. But they are dumb. He then writes C-H-E-V-A-L. All
are as ignorant as before, save the Frenchmen who had agreed that
_cheval_ should be the name for horse.
Next go yourself, thinking all will understand you, and say, _horse_;
but, lo! none unacquainted with your language are the wiser for the
sound you utter, or the sign you suspended before them; save, perhaps, a
little old Saxon, who, at first looks deceived by the similarity of
sound, but, seeing the sign, is as demure as ever, for he omits the _e_,
and pronounces it shorter than we do, more like a yorkshire man. But
why are you not understood? Because others have not entered into an
_agreement_ with you that _h-o-r-s-e_, spoken or written, shall
represent that animal.
Take another example. Place the living animal called man before them.
Less trouble will be found in this case than in the former, for there is
a nearer agreement than before in regard to the signs which shall be
employed to express the idea. This word occurs with very little
variation in the modern languages, derived undoubtedly from the
Teutonic, with a little change in the spelling, as Saxon _mann_ or
_mon_, Gothic _manna_, German, Danish, Dutch, Swedish and Icelandic
like ours. In the south of Europe, however, this word varies as well as
others.
Our language is derived more directly from the old Saxon than from any
other, but has a great similarity to the French and Latin, and a kind of
cousin-german to all the languages of Europe, ancient and modern. Ours,
indeed, is a compound from most other languages, retaining some of their
beauties and many of their defects. We can boast little distinctive
character of our own. As England was possessed by different nations at
different periods, so different dialects were introduced, and we can
trace our language to as many sources, German, Danish, Saxon, French,
and Roman, which were the different nations amalgamated into the British
empire. We retain little of the real old english--few words which may
not be traced to a foreign extraction. Different people settling in a
country would of course carry their ideas and manner of expressing them;
and from the whole compound a general agreement would, in process of
time, take place, and a uniform language be established. Such is the
origin and condition of our language, as well as every other modern
tongue of which we have any knowledge.
There is one practice of which our savans are guilty, at which I do most
seriously demur--the extravagant introduction of exotic words into our
vocabulary, apparently for no other object than to swell the size of a
dictionary, and boast of having found out and defined thousands of words
more than any body else. A mania seems to have seized our
lexicographers, so that they have forsaken the good old style of
"plainness of speech," and are flourishing and brandishing about in a
cloud of verbiage as though the whole end of instruction was to teach
loquacity. And some of our popular writers and speakers have caught the
infection, and flourish in borrowed garments, prizing themselves most
highly when they use words and phrases which no body can understand.
I will not contend that in the advancement of the arts and sciences it
may not be proper to introduce foreign terms as the mean of conveying a
knowledge of those improvements to others. It is better than to coin new
words, inasmuch as they are generally adopted by all modern nations. In
this way all languages are approximating together; and when the light of
truth, science, and religion, has fully shone on all the nations, we may
hope one language will be spoken, and the promise be fulfilled, that God
has "turned unto the people a pure language, that they may call upon the
name of the Lord, to serve him with one consent."
New ideas are formed like new inventions. Established principles are
employed in a new combination, so as to produce a new manifestation.
Words are chosen as nearly allied to former ideas as possible, to
express or represent this new combination. Thus, Fulton applied steam
power to navigation. A new idea was produced. A boat was seen passing
along the waters without the aid of wind or tide. Instead of coining a
new word to express the whole, a word which nobody would understand, two
old ones were combined, and "_steamboat_" became the sign to represent
the idea of the thing beheld. So with rail-road, cotton-mill, and
gun-powder. In the same way we may account for most words employed in
science, although in that case we are more dependant on foreign
languages, in as much as a large portion of our knowledge is derived
from them. But we may account for them on the same principle as above.
_Phrenology_ is a compound of two greek words, and means the science or
knowledge of the mind. So of geology, mineralogy, &c. But when
improvements are made by those who speak the english, words in our own
language are employed and used not only by ourselves, but also by those
nations who profit by our investigations.
I trust I have now said enough on the general principles of language as
applied to things. In the next lecture I will come down to a sort of
bird's eye view of grammar. But my soul abhors arbitrary rules so
devoutly, I can make no promises how long I will continue in close
communion with set forms of speech. I love to wander too well to remain
confined to one spot, narrowed up in the limits fixed by others. Freedom
is the empire of the mind; it abjures all fetters, all slavery. It
kneels at the altar of virtue and worships at the shrine of truth. No
obstacles should be thrown in the way of its progress. No limits should
be set to it but those of the Almighty.
LECTURE IV.
ON NOUNS.
Nouns defined.--Things.--Qualities of matter.--Mind.--Spiritual
beings.--Qualities of mind.--How learned.--Imaginary things.--
Negation.--Names of actions.--Proper nouns.--Characteristic
names.--Proper nouns may become common.
Your attention is, this evening, invited to the first divisions of
words, called _Nouns_. This is a most important class, and as such
deserves our particular notice.
_Nouns are the names of things._
The word _noun_ is derived from the Latin _nomen_, French _nom_. It
means _name_. Hence the definition above given.
In grammar it is employed to distinguish that class of words which name
things, or stand as signs or representatives of things.