Southern Branch
of the
University of California
Los Angeles
Form L I
\A-08>
c-6b-\
' tne 'a.t date
stam
ped beloyy
SEP 2 5 1933^^
n-8.'oj
24
T H E
SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE
A RHETORIC FOR HIGH SCHOOLS
AND COLLEGES
ARNOLD TOMPKINS
PK'.FESSOR OF PEDAGOGY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS, AUTHOR OF
" PHILOSOPHY OF TEACHING," " PHILOSOPHY OF SCHOOL
MANAGEMENT," AND " LITERARY
INTERPRETATION "
34? J:
Boston, U.S.A., and London
GINN & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
Cbe fttbnuram Press
1807
Dec. ie- 1&C l
Copyright, 1889
By ARNOLD TOMPKINS
Copyright, 1897
By ARNOLD TOMPKINS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INTRODUCTION.
Kl"
Man continually speaks or writes, reads or gives audi-
ence. Rhetoric deals with all these universal and lifelong
processes; hence, its practical importance is obvious and
emphatic.
This study, however, got its name from the one exercise
of speaking — from the Greek rhetor, speaker — because, in
the political life of the Greeks, so much depended on the art
of public address. If this study should be named now, and
after the most effective means of formal communication, the
term would come from reading or writing; and it would not
matter which, as each presupposes the other. But we care
now nothing for the name except to insist, in obedience to
the demands of both life and logic, on its extension over all
phases of the discourse process.
Until quite recently it has been customary to organize
this subject under the literal meaning of the word, attaching
it to the chair of oratory in college and confining its prac-
tical value to those engaged in public address. Thus, as
with the Greeks and Romans, it became the hidden art of
the few by which fickle masses were to be swayed. But
now it is not so much the swaying of masses that is needed
as masses who can critically estimate and appreciate the
utterances of others. And these utterances are compara-
tively seldom made now in the form of public address, but
in that of the book, the newspaper, and the magazine.
IV INTRODUCTION.
Practical life demands the art of discourse in every phase of
its process, and the interest of logic as well as life is sub-
served by the discussion in unity of all phases of the proc-
ess. Guiding truth in any one can be found only in the
unity of all.
The distinction between speaking and writing, and also
between reading and giving audience, is one of form and
instrument, and involves no valid principle; and the four
processes reduce to two, — the process of interpreting and
that of constructing discourse. The principles controlling
one of these processes control also the other. In fact, dis-
course is grounded in the relation of constructer and inter-
preter. He who makes discourse does so in conscious
recognition of the process of interpretation, and he who
interprets does so in conscious recognition of the process of
construction. Discourse without both author and auditor is
unthinkable. Hence, to treat one process to the exclusion
of the other, as, for instance, to write a book on composition
and then one on reading, would not only be bad economy,
but would defeat the search for the highest guiding truth in
either. It is hoped, therefore, to take care of both phases
of the discourse process by a central movement in the proc-
ess itself; the relation must take care of the terms related
by including them.
Holding, then, that the demands of life and logic must
finally be the same, this book is formed under the twofold
thought (i) that rhetoric is not a study for the special few
who may chance to speak from the platform or at the bar,
in the senate or in the pulpit, but for the mass of mankind
who all need to communicate thought effectively and to
interpret with accuracy and appreciation ; that whatever be
the vocation or profession of the student, discourse in all
phases of its process remains a constant necessity to him,
INTRODUCTION. V
however variable to his needs other subjects may be ; and
(2) that the most practical results follow from holding the
obverse phases of the discourse process into the unity of a
single discussion, thus giving skill in all phases while reach-
ing more deeply for the principle controlling each.
If any one phase of discourse study should have promi-
nence above another, it is that of literary interpretation.
The school does not exist for what it can do for the pupil
while he is simply a pupil, but for what it can influence him,
by self-direction and self-propulsion, to do for himself after
the days of formal tuition. And no opportunity of the
teacher is, perhaps, so great as that of influencing the pupil
through an appreciation of good literature to read through
life to his soul's salvation. Rhetoric must influence strongly
in this direction by making the pupil conscious of, and sensi-
tive to, the elements of beauty in literary productions. Lit-
erature is rapidly gaining its place in the high school course,
and everywhere teachers are asking how to make the most
of it. It is hoped that the following discussion may aid in
the solution. To this end much attention has been given
to the principles and practice of literary analysis, which is
also theoretically, as well as practically, proper; for beauty,
while an essential element in all discourse, is its highest out-
come and crowning glory.
While urging strongly that rhetoric should bear its fruit —
that it should take possession of the pupil's life for the
future and not be finished and put on the shelf as having no
relation to life — it must not be supposed that the treatment
is necessarily unscientific, a mere collection of rules and
recipes, such as is generally found in so-called practical and
elementary books on the subject. The more closely organ-
ized becomes the discourse process in thought, the more
efficient becomes the theory in practice. It would be strange
VI INTRODUCTION.
indeed if theory and practice, science and art, should prove
mutually repellant, as so much talk which opposes theory
and practice implies. The more perfect one's construction
in thought, the more perfect may be his practice under guid-
ance of that thought. While art precedes science, it is only
through science that art maybe perfected; hence, art is made
effective by perfecting the science.
Besides, the scientific treatment is the only elementary
one. The rule and recipe treatment cannot excuse itself on
the plea of making the subject easy. A subject may be
shunned successfully, but it cannot be simplified without
scientific coordination. If the subject is to be made easy
as well as practical, it must be reduced to an organized,
coherent body of knowledge. And if this were not true, even
the high-school pupil is not a child and must put away child-
ish things. Not at all that I should expect or care that he
be conscious of scientific experience, but that he should have
the experience without reflecting on it. He must see, or
see nothing, the relation of unity among the elements of
his subject-matter. In studying rhetoric the pupil usually
accepts obediently anything and everything in the serial
order put down for him; would accept as many more or as
many less in any order in which they might be served up.
Discourse, real living discourse, is not such a hodge-podge,
and the sooner he finds it out the better, both for ease in
knowing and power in practice. What is needed is not
dodging, but simple, full, concrete, and organic statement.
This book is therefore an effort to enable the pupil to see
discourse as it unfolds from a single principle, and to prac-
tise constructing and interpreting it under that principle.
He must become aware that all is determined from within,
and not a mere matter of external legislation by some rheto-
rician. Experience has proved that so much a high-school
INTRODUCTION. Vll
pupil can do, and it needs no argument to convince one that
such organic grasp of, and specific insight into, the subject
is the only economic way to an efficient practice in the con-
struction or interpretation of discourse. Whatever the result,
such is the earnest conviction which prompts the following
treatment, and which accounts for the deviation from the
beaten path of rhetorical discussion.
*>
PREFATORY NOTE.
3637
This book is based on a former publication by the author,
under the same title. The former treatment was dominated
by a pedagogical motive, which, for the present purpose,
required so complete a rewriting that this work can scarcely
be called a revision of the former. The spirit of scientific
coordination, however, which prompted the old is the ruling
spirit in the new, so that I can say now as I did then : —
" Whatever the result of the effort, this book has been
written under the conviction that a more strictly scientific
treatment of discourse is possible than has yet been made,
and which would, therefore, yield a higher discipline and a
more fruitful application in the art than usually results from
discourse study."
Much valuable assistance has been received from the
leading Rhetorics, and, when of a nature to permit, formal
credit has been given in the text. Special credit should be
given to C. C. Everett's " Science of Thought " and to
Herbert Spencer's " Essay on the Philosophy of Style," the
former having direct influence on my treatment of "The
Thought in Discourse," and the latter on "The Language
in Discourse."
ARNOLD TOMPKINS.
Department of Pedagogy;
University of Illinois.
Champaign, Illinois, Feb. 5, 1897.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION iii
THE ORGANIZING PRINCIPLE i
THE SUBJECT-MATTER BOUNDED .... I
THE ORGANIC ELEMENTS 8
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE 13
EFFICIENT MEANS TO A WORTHY END - "13
CONDITIONS OF EFFECTIVENESS - - - - 19
The Author or the Interpreter Himself - 19
A Sincere Purpose ------ 24
A Definite Purpose - - - - • - 31
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE 41
the theme 41
the discourse processes .... 53
Description - 61
attributive description - - - - 62
By Attributes of Relation ----- 62
By Means of its Properties - - - - - 70
PARTITIVE DESCRIPTION 75
THE PROCESS ILLUSTRATED 8 1
Construction - - ----- 81
Interpretation ------ 86
Xii CONTENTS.
PAGE
Narration 93
THE CHANGE AS A WHOLE 96
Purpose --------- 96
Time - - 96
Cause and Effect ------- 97
Likeness and Difference - - ... 97
THE CHANGE IN ITS PARTS 98
THE PROCESS ILLUSTRATED 103
Construction - - - - - - - - 103
Interpretation 106
Exposition 11 1
the content of the theme ii3
Definition - - - - - - - _II 3
Comparison and Contrast - - - - - 117
Exemplification - - - - - - -118
Idealization - ------ 120
THE EXTENT OF THE THEME 1 23
Division - - - - - - - - 124
THE PROCESS ILLUSTRATED 1 28
Construction - - - - - - -128
Definition - 128
Comparison and Contrast - - - -129
Exemplification - - - 130
Division - - 13°
Interpretation - 132
Argumentation - 137
the relation of whole and part- - - - i3s
Deduction 139
Law of Deductive Inference 140
Induction - - - - - - • - 14 1
Law of Inductive Inference 142
THE RELATION OF CAUSE AND EFFECT - - - I46
A Priori Arguments - - - - - - 148
Law of Inference from Cause - - - 149
A Posteriori Arguments - - • - - - 152
Laws of I nferetice from Effect - - - - 154
CONTENTS. Xlll
PAGE
GENERAL LAWS OF ARGUMENTATION - - - l6o
The Law of Purpose 160
The Law of Unity - - - - - 163
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE - - - 171
ITS FUNDAMENTAL LAW - - - - - 17 1
QUALITIES REQUIRED BY THE LAW - - - 174
Clearness - - 177
Energy - ...... iyg
Elegance 182
CONDITIONS FOR SECURING THE QUALITIES - - 185
Conditions for Securing Clearness - - 185
Conditions for Securing Energy - - 191
Conditions for Securing Elegance - - - 194
THE RHETORICAL QUALITIES SECURED - •- - I96
LANGUAGE AS AN OBJECT OF PERCEPTION - 1 98
Correctness - - - - - - - -199
Distinctness . . . . - - - 199
Brevity - - - 200
Euphony .... - - 202
Harmony ........ 207
Rhythm 211
THE DIRECT RELATION OF LANGUAGE TO THOUGHT 221
ASSOCIATION OF LANGUAGE FORM WITH IDEAS - 222
Eamiliarity - - - - - - -222
Concreteness - - - - 230
Precision ........ 234
ORGANIZATION OF THE IDEAS INTO THOUGHT - 24I
Conciseness ----- - 241
The Proper Length of the Sentence - - - 249
The Proper Arrangement of the Sentence - - 255
Unity of Sentence Structure - 262
Unity in the Discourse Structure - 278
THE INDIRECT RELATION OF LANGUAGE TO THOUGHT 284
FIGURES OF SPEECH - ... 289
Figures of Spelling - - ... 290
Figures of Syntax • - 291
XIV CONTENTS.
PAGE
FIGURES OF THOUGHT 295
Figures of Association ...... 299
Synecdoche ........ 300
Metonymy - ...... 302
Figures of Comparison ...... 304
Expressed Comparison 307
Implied Comparisons - ... 309
Metaphor 309
Allegory 318
Figures of Contrast ...... 323
Expressed Contrast - - - - - - 323
Implied Contrast - - - - - - 325
EXERCISE IN CLASSIFYING AND TESTING FIGURES - 329
CONCLUSION --- - - - 335
UNIVERSAL OUTLINE OF DISCOURSE - 336
UNIVERSAL OUTLINE FOR PRACTICE - - - 337
ANALYSIS OF "THE RAINY DAY" - '33^
THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
THE ORGANIZING PRINCIPLE.
The Subject-Matter Bounded.
The science of discourse, or rhetoric, is one of a
large group of language studies ; some of which are
orthography, orthoepy, lexicography, grammar, composi-
tion, reading, linguistics, and literature. In a general
way these all have the same subject-matter — language ;
but each is restricted to a given view or phase of it.
Yes, view or phase, since each subject is not re-
stricted to a part ; for each study covers the entire
extent of language. Either spelling, pronunciation, or
definition of words extends to the whole of language.
Grammar is the grammar of the whole ; and all lan-
guage is composed, and is supposed to be read. Lin-
guistics includes the entire organized framework of
language as an instrument of expressing thought ; and
literature the whole of thought which animates such
organized framework.
Thus the entire territory of language is claimed by
each language study. Rhetoric has no corner which it
can call its own ; but must work the whole field over
in its own way. What way ?
2 THE SCIENCE OE DISCOURSE.
Language divides itself into the very obvious parts,
words, sentences, and discourse. These are the lan-
guage units ; and it would seem that language studies
should be parted off to deal with each separately. And
so they are, to a certain extent ; for we have word
studies — orthography, orthoepy, and lexicography ; a
sentence study — grammar; discourse studies — com-
position, reading, rhetoric, and literature. But with-
out naming all, we have several more studies than
units ; and, what is worse, grammar and discourse
studies deal with words and sentences. Any unit is
not confined to one study, nor any study to one unit.
This appears strange ; for the language studies can do
nothing but deal with the language units. Why do
they seesaw in this way ?
The trouble arises from catching up the wrong
language unit ; or rather, from seizing the unity at the
wrong point. We are accustomed to think of words as
parts which added together make sentences ; sentences
as parts which added together make discourse ; and dis-
courses as parts which added together make literature.
This addition seems most proper; yet words may be
added all day long without producing a sentence ; and
sentences, without producing discourse. If literature
is not produced before discourses are added, there will
be none after the addition ; and if there is not a dis-
course before sentences are added the addition will avail
nothing.
The difference between these language units is not
primarily nor essentially that of length. If so we
should be inclined to ask, How long must a language
THE ORGANIZING PRINCIPLE. 3
piece be made before it becomes a sentence or a dis-
course ? If two sentences put together make a discourse,
then, if addition of sentences be the test, one hundred
sentences would make a superb oration, and one
thousand an immortal poem. No ; men have made
great speeches in single sentences, long or short ; and
good sentences, yea, speeches out of single words.
You remember this : "We have met the enemy and
they are ours " ; and Caesar's famous effort, " Veni, vidi,
vici " ; and " Peace, be still." And either " Peace " or
" Vici " would have made a first-rate discourse by itself.
The point is that these language units are not such
with reference to each other, but with reference to
what each expresses. They are the true language
units ; not because they refer back and forth to each
other as whole and part, but because each expresses a
unit of consciousness, — a mental act or state. Each
faces its own content and not its neighbor. The true
parts of language cannot be obtained by cross-section-
ing, but by a division between form and content, —
between the letter and the spirit.
To show the point exactly, suppose you are now, in
your first recitation in rhetoric, laughing outright at
the idea of beginning so delightful a study ; and the
teacher, to restore proper class dignity, exclaims,
" Hush ! " Is he using a word, a sentence, or a dis-
course ? Look in the dictionary, and you will find it as
a word ; grammar declares it to be a sentence ; while
rhetoric maintains it to be a discourse, good or bad
depending on whether you do what the word expresses.
If the language-form "hush" is thought of simply in
THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
relation to its idea, its action, it is a word ; if in relation
to its thought, its triple unity of subject, predicate, and
thinking act, it is a sentence ; if viewed in relation to
its effect on the mind, causing to hush, then it is a dis-
course — good if it accomplished the purpose ; bad if it
further provoked the laughing. In each case it is the
same material unit, but it becomes a different language
unit as we turn it from an idea to a thought, or to an
effect. The unity is not in the mere language form,
but in the relation of the form and its spirit. If
language were mere form, then the material juncture
of parts would decide the question in any case ; but
language is the relation of form and content, and the
units are to be selected out of this relation.
Since the same language form exists in more than one
relation at the same time the same form may be classed
differently, as attention is fixed on this or that relation.
A man may be a governor, a churchman, a father, a
mason, a merchant, etc., at the same time and without
violence to his unity ; and when our attention is fixed
on one of these relations he is a governor, or a father,
etc. A language form considered in relation to an
idea is called a word, if the parts are fixed ; if movable,
a phrase. The very same language form put in relation
to the three elements of a thought, subject, predicate,
and copula, is classed as a sentence ; and if studied in
relation to the change it is to make in the mind
addressed, it becomes a discourse. In discourse there
is always an auditor, a recipient, in relation to whom
the language is to be considered ; but in the study of
language as words, phrases, and sentences, the relation
THE ORGANIZING PRINCIPLE. 5
is within the language itself, between its outside and its
inside. Discourse study does not separate between
form and thought ; but holds both in unity to an end
which lies beyond them.
The primary law of words and sentences is that of
correctness ; the form must be the established form for
expressing a given idea or thought. But correct forms
are not ends in themselves ; they are only means to
effective utterance, in supplying the composer with all
the possible ways of expression. Rhetoric selects out
of the many forms the one which, under the circum-
stances, will be most effective. While there are many
ways of expressing the same thing, there is but one
of them best suited to a specific end under specific
conditions. Shakespeare had Macbeth say, when
his conscience was stinging him after the murder of
Duncan, " Duncan is in his grave ; after life's fitful
fever he sleeps well." This can be said in forty ways
to the satisfaction of the dictionary and grammar ; but
only one is adequate to Shakespeare's purpose. He
might have had Macbeth say, " Duncan died recently ;
I still live ; but he is better off than I, for he does not
suffer so much " ; or " Duncan is dead and buried ; hav-
ing passed the tribulations of life, nothing now annoys
him, but my conscience hurts me terribly"; and so on
without limit. The rules of spelling and syntax may find
no fault in all these, but rhetoric would enter its protest,
and challenge the right of all but one. If, in the pos-
sibilities of language, an expression can be found better
than Shakespeare's he must be tried in the court of
rhetoric for flagrant violation of the law of his art.
6 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
We see at once how delicate and exacting is the art
of rhetoric ; yet, in general estimation, one is held
much more strictly accountable for violating rules of
orthography, orthoepy, or syntax ; perhaps because
such mistakes lie on the surface and are the more
easily detected, and because it is comparatively easy
to avoid the sins of formal language. Man may and
should write correctly by habit and reflex action ; but
none but the inspired artist can give the happy stroke ;
and to apply the rhetorical test requires insight and
reflection. Can we not thus account for the excessive
amount of time given to the study of formal language
as compared with that of living discourse ? We wish
to be forewarned and forearmed against violations for
which the merest schoolboy may arrest us. Yes, lan-
guage ought to be correct, absolutely so ; but correct-
ness is not the last word, and perhaps not the best
word, which can be said about language. After being
searched and quickened by a poem of Tennyson or
charmed and convinced by the music and logic of
Phillips, how impertinent to suggest that some long
and involved sentence slipped in its syntax!
Before closing up the boundary of our subject-matter,
we must note that rhetoric is not the only discourse
study, — that composition and reading fall within the
same compass, using reading in the broad sense to
include the study of literature. Composition is the art
of constructing discourse ; and reading the art of inter-
preting it. They are the reverse sides of the discourse
process. Rhetoric investigates the principles which
control in the process of constructing and interpreting
THE ORGANIZING PRINCIPLE. 7
discourse. Both processes are controlled by the same
principles : in one case the principles operate in the
direction of purpose or effect, through thought out to
language ; in the other back from language, through
thought, to the purpose or effect of the discourse, — the
first as synthesis, the second as analysis. Composi-
tion and reading are simply applied rhetoric ; and both
subjects must be held together in a common principle
throughout our discussion. Discourse is an interesting
and profitable topic considered as mere theory, if this
be possible ; but its practical value becomes imperative
when we consider that we are constantly making or
interpreting discourse, — talking, writing, or speaking;
or listening or reading. Especially does its value
appear in the higher processes of composing and of
reading. One cannot write or speak with assurance
and effect without a consciousness of guiding laws ;
neither can he read with appreciation without a knowl-
edge of the rhetorical elements constituting literary
discourse.
Since composing and reading are but rhetoric in
practice, there is but one discourse study, having its
two phases of science and art, or theory and practice.
Hence rhetoric is not excluded from any part of the
territory of discourse, that is, language in its adapta-
tion to the purposes of utterance ; only this : rhetoric
cannot practice while it is preaching, although it must
practice what it is preaching.
8 the science of discourse.
The Organic Elements.
In getting our fingers firmly around the subject-mat-
ter we have necessarily felt of the organic elements.
Discourse, in producing an effect on another mind,
uses ideas as a means, and language as a medium.
We have already noticed that in words and sentences
as such, there is the distinction between form and
meaning ; and that in discourse this form and mean-
ing are not consciously separated, but move together
in producing the effect. If words may be defined as
language forms expressing ideas, and sentences as lan-
guage forms expressing thought, then a discourse may
be defined as a language form expressing thought in the
process of producing a definite change in some mind
addressed. The ideas presented are the direct means
to the end, while the language is chiefly means to the
ideas, and therefore indirect means to the purpose.
Such, then, are the organic elements. Discourse can-
not exist without either, nor unless they cooperate in
a definite order. In writing a discourse, the author is
first prompted by a desire to put another mind in a
certain condition ; then he orders his thoughts to that
end ; after which he clothes them in language. This
order cannot be reversed. Of course the impulse to
produce the change is not dropped to work out the
matter of the discourse and express it properly ; for
all of this workmanship to the end sought must be
done under the moving and shaping force of the desire
to reach the end. In fact, in the stress of composition
the author is not conscious that he uses language,
THE ORGANIZING PRINCIPLE. 9
being wholly occupied and moved as the recipient is to
be occupied and moved. This explains what was said
at the outset ; namely, that a language form has its
unity in the fact that it expresses a unity of conscious-
ness. The unity of consciousness in discourse is the
moving impulse which shapes discourse to its end.
While it has three elements, two are absorbed in the
other, — in a consciousness of the end to be realized.
In reading, the language element comes first, and
then the thought appears ; after which the effect is
produced. Yet they do not occur ' this way in an
order of time but in an order in which each conditions
the other. We cannot realize the thought except in
and while perceiving the language, and no effect is
produced except in and while gaining the thought.
So far as time is concerned, language, thought, and
effect move abreast as organically one. Language can-
not be received before the thought, as its perception
consists in conceiving the thought ; and the thought
cannot precede the effect, for the effect is in receiving
the thought. In reading, one cannot survey the lan-
guage throughout, and then go back and review the
thought, and finally receive the effect which the dis-
course is to stand for.
But after a reader has realized the change which the
thought and language are adapted to produce in him,
then, if he should turn to make a critical estimate of
the discourse he surveys it in the order of its composi-
tion. In coming upon a strange machine, the observer
makes such a survey of it as will indicate to him
its purpose, for instance, to sew with. His attention
IO THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
now rests on the point at which the sewing is done,
and from that point outward he reconstructs the ma-
chine in the order of its invention. Thus the reader
moves inward to the point that moved the writer, and
then, if he make a critical estimate of the discourse,
he must move outward with the author in the process
of construction. And really in the ordinary process of
reading for what the discourse contains, and not for
purpose of estimating the discourse, — for instance, as
a child would read, — the purpose, the motive, in the
discourse first occupies the recipient. The child feels
first, last, and all the time the life in what he reads or
hears ; he does not know, if able to read with ease,
that language is involved in the process. He lives in
an immediate consciousness of what moved the writer
to utterance.
Survey the matter as. we please and we are driven
at last to put down as the established order in the dis-
course movement, the purpose or motive, the matter,
and then the language. At least this is the only order
in which a discussion of discourse can move ; no esti-
mate or analysis can be made of thought and language
until the specific aim is ascertained. But it must be
remembered that the separation of elements and the
order of discussion is a necessity for the purpose of
discussion only; that in the actual discourse itself they
move together as a unity of life, thought and language
being gathered up and fused in an experience in the
writer to be reproduced in the reader.
The organic relation of the elements in discourse
appears clearly in comparing discourse with other ob-
THE ORGANIZING PRINCIPLE. I I
jects. Discourse is like all other objects in expressing
thought. The tree, the mountain, the sky, the rain-
bow, all say something to us when we look upon them.
" To him who in the love of nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language."
Likewise with the forms of man's creation ; the bridge,
the engine, the statue, the cathedral speak a language
to him who holds communion with them.
But while all objects express thought, all do not
exist for that purpose. The street car is the embodi-
ment of thought and must express it ; but its work is
to carry passengers. A house manifests the thought
of the builder ; but its use is to live in.
Some objects, however, are not only like discourse
in expressing thought but in existing for that very
end. The Angelus and the Statue of Liberty exist
for the sole purpose of speaking to man. The ship
expresses thought incidentally ; the flag that floats
over it, on purpose. Thus discourse falls within a
large number of things having for their purpose the
expression of thought ; it expresses thought to com-
municate it, as do all the fine-art forms, architecture,
sculpture, painting, and music.
But discourse is cut out from all of these by the
peculiar form through which its thought is expressed
— language. In the other forms of expression there is
some natural resemblance or symbolic property ; but
language is purely arbitrary, which is both its loss and
its gain. If one should express the thought of a house
12 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
by sculpture, drawing, or painting, the resemblance of
these forms to the real house would express the
thought, without previous preparation on the part of
the observer. But if the word house should be pre-
sented to one for the first time it would fail to com-
municate the idea house ; there is nothing in its nature
to do so. Hence we say that it is an arbitrary symbol.
Of course printed language, being a degenerate form
of picture writing, did in that form naturally express
its object ; as perhaps did spoken language at one time.
They no doubt lost their natural character and assumed
the conventional in the effort of man to express his
thought more effectively. Thus the purpose of dis-
course has shaped its instrument through the ages, as
it immediately shapes it in each particular discourse.
Discourse, then, connects itself with every other
object in the universe, words and sentences included,
in the fact of expressing thought, or having meaning.
It lifts itself out of the universe of objects, with the
exception of a small group, by the fact of existing for
the sole purpose of communicating thought. It now
separates itself from the small group by communicating
its thought through the arbitrary symbol of language.
C Discourse may, therefore, be defined as the expression of
\thought in language for the purpose of communication.
Thus is bounded the field of our further study, with a
guiding map of the territory, purpose in discourse ;
thought in discourse ; language or style in discourse.
Thus appears the organizing principle of our science ;
nam el v, the effective expression of thought in language
to a definite, worthy aim.
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE.
Efficient Means to a Worthy End.
Discourse, like any other instrument, must be
studied in its adaptation to the end sought ; and is
estimated to have merit in proportion to its efficiency
as a means to a worthy end. Hence purpose or effect
in discourse is the only standard by which it can be
measured, as well as the only motive by which it can
be produced.
Discourse, being a means to an end, stands between
two minds, one of which produces the discourse while
the other is affected by it. The effect of the discourse
in the mind of the reader is the cause of the discourse
.in the mind of the writer. While skating produces
pleasure, pleasure produces skating ; that is, pleasure in
idea produces the skating which brings the pleasure in
reality. Pleasure is both cause and effect in the skat-
ing. Exercise causes health, but health, in idea,
causes the exercise. Speed in locomotion produces
the train, and the train produces speed in locomotion.
Thus everything man produces, as an engine, a palace,
or a poem, moves in a circle from end in idea to end as
reality.
Likewise a discourse stands between the effect held
in idea by the author and the effect produced in the
reader or hearer. When one calls to his friend, " See
14 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
the rainbow ! " it is because he wishes his friend to
have the same rainbow delight which charms himself.
This effect held in mind produces the discourse, " See
the rainbow"; and this discourse realizes the delight
in the one addressed. If one announce that the
French President has resigned, it is because he desires
the idea which he entertains to be entertained by
others. The following lines stand between the heart-
break which Tennyson held in mind and the heart-
break which he desired to produce in the reader : —
" And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill ;
But oh for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still ! "
Thus a writer or a speaker idealizes an effect desired
in another mind, -and under this guidance and impulse
constructs the discourse which realizes the effect. The
reader or hearer is also striving to make real the same
effect. The end of constructing a discourse and of in-
terpreting it are in a sense the same, — are to bring
the two minds, through discourse, into the same idea,
sentiment, or volition. This is suggested by the word
interpretation, whose root meaning is to declare be-
tween. An interpreter stands between the speaker
and the hearer and aids in bringing their minds into
unity. With the composer, the effort is to bring the
interpreter into a given thought ; and with the inter-
preter the effort is to bring himself into the same
thought. Discourse is a means to the unity of two
minds in the same thought ; which common thought is
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 1 5
the purpose of the discourse both to the author and to
the interpreter.
Hence discourse has it purpose to the reader or
auditor as well as to the writer or speaker. It would
be as vain to read as to write without a purpose ; in
either case the discourse is used for a purpose. It is
possible for the reader to use a discourse for another
purpose than that for which the author intended it ; as
an instrument designed for one purpose may often be
serviceable for another. In fact it is sometimes
claimed that a reader cannot know the purpose of an
author ; but the reader can know what effect a given
discourse produces on himself, and to him this effect
is the purpose of the discourse, being that for which
he uses the discourse. We attribute as purpose to the
author what we find to be the effect of the discourse in
ourselves. We should be much surprised to find the
practical outcome of a discourse to be one thing, as
tested by our experience in reading it, and to learn
from the testimony of the author that he had intended
something entirely different. But what is worse, it is
claimed that in the case of a poet he has no purpose ;
that he but sings as the linnet, and speaks in numbers
because the numbers come. If the urgency to utter-
ance is so strong as to obliterate consciousness of an
objective effect, this does not prove that the composi-
tion seeks no objective end ; that it has no use either
to the author or the interpreter. And if in such cases
the spontaneous outbreak adapts the. discourse without
the usual course of patient planning, so much the
more credit to the inspiration of purpose.
l6 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
Be this as it may, all such self-forgetful frenzy of in-
spiration is quite exceptional ; and the ordinary writer
must still set up a definite aim to be realized, and use
the most diligent care in adapting his discourse to the
end set up. If this were not so every discourse would
be a chance product, lawless and irresponsible ; quite
apart from our ordinary experience of sequence in
cause and effect and the adjustment of means to end.
When it is claimed that there is no science of literary
discourse, it must be assumed that there is no cer-
tainty as to the effect produced in different minds ;
and no necessary connection between design and ac-
complishment. In such uncertainty the speaker be-
fore an audience on the Fourth of July, designing to
produce an inspiration of patriotism, might instead, by
chance, arouse base passions of spoils and anarchy, or
the delightful experience of an ocean voyage. The
writer of a great poem designing to exalt religious
faith might instead produce skepticism and despair, or
the joy of moonlight scenery. Milton wrote "Paradise
Lost," but to the reader it might happen to be " Para-
dise Regained." Now, let any number of people read
the "Psalm of Life," the "Barefoot Boy," " Ivanhoe,"
or the "Nineteenth Psalm," and all will report sub-
stantially the same impression ; and the fuller and the
more accurate the comprehension of the selection the
more nearly will there be confessed unity of effect, and
the more pronounced the conviction that the author
knew what he was about in the writing.
We are often warned of the danger of reading into
a discourse more than the writer put into it ; and it is
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 1 7
possible, and sometimes indulged in, to strain after
hidden meanings and subtle analogies quite apart from
the main line of the author's movement ; yet the real
danger lies in not reading out of the discourse the full
meaning of the author. Some say that Shakespeare
did not intend what people accredit to him ; but if so
he must have credit still for a wonderful knack of sue:-
gesting to other people what he himself did not think
of. Admitting for the exceptional few the habit of
outdoing Shakespeare, Goethe, Dante, and the like,
yet most need fear only limping behind their leader.
In any case the reader must get out of the discourse
all there is in it for him ; and an author may well re-
ceive full credit, be it for good luck or wise design.
If the reader can fairly read the universe out of the
writing it is only fair to suppose that the universe
somehow got into it by the hand of the writer. How-
ever this may be, the reading world will continue to
class certain writings as masterpieces on the basis of
the breadth and depth of the effect produced ; and the
authors of such writings as masters because, by con-
scious or unconscious wisdom, they planned and execu-
ted them.
The highest effect is not always desired, and dis-
course is good if it reach the end sought, whether it
be the passing information of conversation or the most
powerful influence in the field of thought, art, or elo-
quence. So that while discourse is judged in effective-
ness to the end sought, it cannot be indifferent to the
kind of end sought. In the first place, the end must
be a worthy one. A discourse may be well adapted
1 8 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
to produce a bad effect, which considered merely in
its adaptation to the end desired is a good discourse,
but a bad one when taken in its entirety. A boot-
black can excel a prime minister in saying some things
effectively, but might fall far below him in the value
of the thing said and the change wrought in the mind
addressed. To merit rhetorical consideration a dis-
course must have good moral character. But within
this scope, the value of the effect produced is the abso-
lute standard of rhetorical criticism. Compare the
Sermon on the Mount with, " It snowed yesterday,
and to-day the sleighing is good." Both are well
adapted to the end sought, but differ infinitely in the
effect produced.
Thus effectiveness may be considered merely as a
quality of the means used, or as a quality of the
change produced in the mind addressed. It is possible
to approve and admire the finished oration and at the
same time condemn its effect on the audience. In
fact, the efficient and fascinating means may be the
very instruments for beguiling unwary auditors into
the acceptance of vicious theories and the adoption of
an evil course of conduct. The demagogue needs to
use more attractive and, in a sense, more effective
means than does a statesman. But rhetorical laws
must hold discourse responsible for more than mere
efficiency to an indifferent or evil result. The effi-
ciency of a discourse is measured by its real value to
the mind addressed. If the tendency is evil, the
greater the effectiveness the worse for the discourse.
Hence effectiveness is measured both by the qua)
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 19
ity and the quantity of the change produced in the
mind of the recipient. At least rhetorical skill which
conflicts with ethical laws is to be reprobated rather
than praised. Vile literature deserves no considera-
tion from the rhetorician, further than a public scourg-
ing from an outraged moral sense. Discourse, by
efficient means, must seriously and honestly seek a
worthy aim — must seek to produce a change in the
mind addressed for the good of that mind. Hence
effectiveness, announced at the outset as the ultimate
law of discourse, when properly limited becomes an
efficiency which includes the end, and as the law now
stands it requires that discourse be an efficient means
to a worthy end. It is not only a question of saying
the thing well, but whether the thing said is worth
saying and what degree of worth can it claim.
Before dismissing this topic it would be well for the
student, by way of further illustration and emphasis,
to compare the value of a wide variety of discourses
from the recent conversation and current newspaper
topic to the sermon, the poem, and the political J
oration.
Conditions of Effectiveness.
From the foregoing the prime condition of effective-
ness is obvious at once as, —
The Author or the Interpreter Himself. — No one
can write beyond himself, — produce an effect deeper,
truer, and more potent than his own life. The com-
pass and power of a writer limit absolutely the com-
20 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
pass and power of the writing. To prepare to speak
and write with influence involves the whole problem
of character and culture, as Ouintilian well under-
stood in relation to the orator ; for in his " Institutes
of Oratory" he treats comprehensively the whole sub-
ject of education, emphasizing continually that the
orator is first a wise and virtuous man. As he keeps
the man back of the orator, so must the man be kept
back of effective speech of whatever purpose. Wealth
of knowledge and conviction of duty are vastly more
essential to purposes of effective utterance than are
laws of syntax and rhetoric. One cannot become a
journalist by studying rules of editorial style and journ-
alism. This can be accomplished only by a long course
of training to alert and comprehensive thought, and
to the power of a quick application of a sound political
and social philosophy to everyday life. It is charac-
ter, wisdom, and wealth of life, and not homiletics,
which fit for pulpit eloquence. The study of poetics
cannot supply the inspiration and inner grasp of
things necessary to poetic construction. Skill in
speaking and writing come riot by application of
rhetorical devices, but by a full, active, and versatile
life. The metaphor is a good rhetorical instrument,
but it must be born in the writing and not made and
applied to it. In the stress of composition and in
the exigency of the moment the figure springs forth
winged for its flight and charged with its message.
Weighty and forcible utterance cannot be gotten at
from the outside, but spring from the weight and
force of the life which makes the utterance. The
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 21
whole character and life are necessary to each fit word
and sentence ; and to that finer rhetorical, stamp which
gives them currency as universal as life. Milton said
that for him to write an epic poem required that he
make his life an epic poem. Not out of rhetorical
maxims but out of the heart the mouth speaketh.
The student must, therefore, not come to the task
of seeking skill in discourse with any hope of reaching
it by specific and short-cut methods ; but by that
profound and universal preparation which takes care
of all the issues of life. Often the young man with a
meagre education, but with ambition for a literary
career, seeks a special course in rhetoric and literature,
expecting to be shown the knack of successful writing
and speaking ; just as the illiterate novice in elocution
seeks the tricks and finishing touches for pronounc-
ing literary masterpieces by attendance on a school
of oratory ; or as a barren soul vainly hopes, by a
knowledge of notes and practice of nimble touches on
the key-board, to compose symphonies and conduct
orchestras.
What is really needed is a deep, an all-sided culture.
Mathematics, science, history, and the wealth of the
world's literature must store the life and illumine the
soul for any special literary task which the writer may
undertake. Rhetorical study has its special function ;
but that excessive faith in its precepts which leads to
neglect of universal culture as the true source of
rhetorical power will defeat the true aim of rhetoric
itself. Quintilian says that Cicero " frequently de-
clares that he owed less to the schools of the rhetori-
22 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
cians than to the gardens of the Academy." Let
the pupil but consider how much and what kind of
preparation it required to write one of Swing's or
Beecher's sermons, Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech,
Washington's Farewell Address, Lowell's " Vision
of Sir Launfal," or Wordsworth's " Ode on the Intima-
tions of Immortality." Out of what rhetoric did these
come ? They embody the culture and tension of the
age, rather than the age's rhetorical maxims. Yes,
" The orator is the good man skilled in speaking "; and
skill itself is the man's speaking. In further descrip-
tion of the orator Ouintilian speaks of him as "a man
who, being possessed of the highest natural genius,
stores his mind thoroughly with the most valuable
kinds of knowledge ; a man sent by the gods to do
honor to the world, and such as no preceding age
has known ; a man in every way eminent and excel-
lent, a thinker of the best thoughts and a speaker of
the best words." No one can be a speaker of the
best words who is not a thinker of the best thoughts.
And just as discourse of worthy effect can spring
only from a soul of wealth and worth, so it can be
adequately interpreted and appreciated by the same
general qualifications. The art of literary criticism,
i.e. the art of estimating rather than fault-finding, is
not the application of specific rules to a production,
but the reception of its effect into the life of the
critic, and its ideal reproduction from the standpoint
and basis of life from which it was produced, with the
added experience of its value. The problem is, how
the production arises out of and returns to life, and
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 23
the consequent value of the process. Since the critic
must speak to the value of the selection he must have
the refinement and compass of life to reexperience the
author's life embodied in the selection. The small
critic can do no better than to attack details here and
there, with this or that rhetorical weapon which he
has learned to apply under the name of criticism ;
but such is not the process of that discourse-inter-
pretation which brings the value of the production
home to the reader. Hence it is evident that all that
has been said touching the prime condition of effect-
ive discourse applies equally to the author and to
the interpreter. Of course there is a difference in the
capacity required for the details of execution in the
two cases ; but the fundamental basis of operation
in life is the same in each. Discourse cannot be
effective without the adequate reception of its mes-
sage, any more than without the adequate presentation
of that message. Effective discourse implies some
one susceptible to the effect. The writer demands
qualified readers as strongly as the reader demands
qualified writers.
It must not be supposed that this general require-
ment of culture on the part of both reader and writer
makes discourse unnecessary, by rendering the writer
unable to advance the interests of the reader. The
help comes to the reader through the writer's ad-
vanced position in the particular thought and sen-
timent of the discourse under construction. In a
particular case, the writer must keep in advance of
his reader. He may have to raise himself to the full
24 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
height of his ability to do so ; or he may need, as
when addressing the immature in thought, to lower
himself within their reach ; but in all cases he must
keep in advance on the particular line of his investiga-
tion, and more elevated in any sentiment he would
arouse. In fact the greater the inequality between
the reader and the writer in any particular selection of
discourse the better, so long as vain or wasteful effort
is not required in the process of interpretation.
There has grown up a sentimental prejudice against
difficult books, giving preference to those which may
be perused in the relaxed mood of the hammock.
Real reading requires energy ; and the best books are
those which challenge effort, and merit frequent and
prolonged study. Yet the original proposition holds,
that man, born into the world of literature, to receive
the most of it, needs the most varied and thorough
culture. As with the writer, the greater the reader's
breadth and depth of culture the more effective does
discourse become.
Coming now to the task of a particular composition,
with volume and force of life in general, the author
must be moved in each production by
A Sincere Purpose. — We have already observed
that the effect in the mind addressed is the true
cause of the discourse ; and sincerity of purpose re-
quires that the effect to be produced in the mind
addressed for the good of that mind be the sole
impulse to the utterance. The motive must be un-
alloyed with any feeling of self ; as when one is
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 25
moved to speak by a desire to appear before an
audience, to display learning and power of language,
to excel another speaker, or to call forth popular
applause. The assumption is, from the very nature
of discourse, that the purpose is the effect in the
mind of the hearer, for the benefit of the hearer.
The moment the reader or hearer feels that the author
is making the discourse with reference to himself, the
discourse at once loses its power.
For this reason the pronoun I should be used
warily and sparingly. It is bad taste for a speaker
to play a part in illustrative incidents and stories,
when his own personality is not essential to the
illustration. He should not state, for instance, that
he while visiting Rome found the Coliseum in such
and such condition, assuming that the point of in-
terest with his audience is not the condition of the
Coliseum, but the fact that the speaker has traveled
and has seen Rome and the Coliseum. He must not
thrust himself in between his audience and the object
he describes. This does not prevent a speaker or
writer from presenting his own experience when that
is the topic called for ; but the temptation to get into
the foreground of the discussion must be silenced.
It is a safe rule for the composer to keep himself out
of the discourse altogether, assuming that the audience
are interested only in the topic under discussion and
not in him. Should he himself become the interesting
topic, as when a famous man is called upon to give an
account of himself, the case is different ; for then he
is the theme of the discourse. But those who need to
26 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
guard themselves most are least apt to be called upon
for self-explanation.
Instead of uttering the thought for the mind ad-
dressed, as the law of purpose requires, consciously
or unconsciously, the language and the thought are
frequently deformed into affectation of style, than
which nothing is more offensive to good taste and
to good morals. " Affectation creates caricatures of
beauty ; these repel taste as they repel good sense.
That cast of character which leads a young man to
wear long hair and to part it in the middle often
appears in literature in a straining after the feminine
qualities of style when no beauty of thought underlies
and demands them. This nauseates short-haired men
and lends reason to their prejudice against the genuine
because of the counterfeit elegance." 1
A natural style cannot be produced without an ab-
sorbing interest in the aim of the discourse. Pretense
will unconsciously leave its mark in some undue atten-
tion to the details of style. Phelps quotes the follow-
ing illustration of this offense from a speech of the
elder Josiah Ouincy, delivered in the American Con-
gress to secure the repeal of the embargo on our com-
merce laid by Great Britain in the War of 1812: —
An embargo liberty was never cradled in Massachusetts.
Our liberty was not so much a mountain as a sea nymph. She
was as free as air. She could swim or she could run. The
ocean was her cradle. Our fathers met her as she came like a
goddess of beauty from the waves. They caught her as she was
sporting on the beach. They courted her as she was spreading
her nets on the rocks.
1 Phelps.
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 2J
Phelps comments on the above thus : " In this
strain the orator proceeds. Mark now the quality of
this style as related to the professed aim of the whole
speech. What was that aim ? The ships of the mer-
chants of Boston and Salem and Newburyport and
New London and New York were rotting in their
harbors. The aim of the legislation advocated by Mr.
Quincy was to remove the embargo, and send those
ships to sea. Was his mind intent on that in the pas-
sage here quoted ? Did this passage assist that aim,
or could it naturally do so ? Not at all. The para-
graph is vivacious ; its metaphors are novel ; its diction
is compact and clear ; it is a specimen of what passed
in those days for fine oratory. But it was quite too
fine for the sober and rather rough work which the
orator had before him. His interest just then, all the
enthusiasm of his mind in the business, was expended
on the embellishment of his style. He was thinking
of it as a work of art. He was speaking to Harvard
College and its environs, not to the Southern Con-
gressmen whom it was his business to win over to the
commercial interest of New England. If his own for-
tunes had been embarked in one of these rotting ships,
and he was intent with his whole soul on saving it by
a vote of the Congress, he would have found some-
thing to say more to the purpose than courting sea
nymphs on the rocks."
The practical object of the discourse should hold
everything in control from beginning to end. What
is known as natural eloquence arises from the speaker's
being caught up by the inspiration, the power of an
28 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
aim. An intense aim is creative ; the result a natural
growth, not mechanical contriving. Thought and lan-
guage grow to and fit the striving soul within. Hence,
sincerity is the secret of naturalness, the greatest
charm of discourse.
Thus always must the composer be controlled by the
genuine impulse of the effect to be produced. The
message to be delivered must be the all-absorbing con-
sciousness in the delivery. One is not in condition to
speak or write till he has an idea which disturbs him
into utterance. The urgency of the idea — the end, the
effect, the purpose — must be the informing power
which orders and organizes every element of thought,
and gives harmony and color to every feature of style.
Every discourse, like a plant or an animal, is the prod-
uct of a vital force ; and it cannot take the form of
life by external carpentry. Composition is not prima-
rily a putting together ; but the outgoing of a unitary
impulse which divides itself into a multiplicity of ideas,
thoughts, and language forms in the process of reach-
ing unity again in the mind addressed. It begins and
ends in unity. One cannot learn to compose by putting
words together into sentences, and sentences together
into paragraphs, and paragraphs together into discourse.
The impelling idea creates and determines the elements
and forms needed for its realization in the mind of the
reader or hearer.
Hence the most searching standard of criticism which
can be applied to any discourse is whether it is pro-
duced under the full and undivided impulse of the idea
for which the discourse purports to stand. For instance,
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 20,
al other standards for criticising a popular lecturer are
rendered useless when it is observed that he is conscious
of beautiful similes, superb gestures, of the fact that he
is the lecturer of the evening, etc. Then nothing is to
be expected of him but a performance, which is always
disposed of by the single criticism that it is hollow and
purposeless. Self-consciousness in some form, replac-
ing the consciousness of the message, is a general
source of weakness in all kinds of stage performers.
There are plenty of exceptions to this ; but it is true
to such an extent that lecture committees often avoid
the employment of professionals, seeking those who are
earnestly engaged in solving life's problems and in elevat-
ing humanity. Efficient service comes, not from those
who seem to think it a nice thing to speak in public
from the stage and compose pieces for that purpose, but
from those who are earnest seekers after living truth,
and who are called and sent to the platform to say what
needs to be said to fallen humanity. It is not strange
that revolutionary and antislavery times produced or-
ators. It was the rugged, earnest business in hand
that made Patrick Henry and Wendell Phillips speak
with tongues of fire. The secret of Moody's success
lies not in any external elocution — for he has none of
it — but in his simple, direct, and earnest effort to help
his brother man. It is said that after Bishop Simpson
had finished a sermon in Memorial Hall, London, a
professor of elocution was asked by a friend what he
thought of the Bishop's elocution. "Elocution," he re-
plied, "that man doesn't need elocution; he's got the
Holy Ghost."
30 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
This remark of the elocutionist suggests the applica-
tion of the standard of genuine motive to his own art.
In this there is decidedly too much reliance on ex-
ternals ; and not enough, we may say, on the "Holy
Ghost." Usually his choice selection is that which
enables him to display his art ; and this is not the selec-
tion which of itself produces the deepest and truest
effect, but one which requires action, gesticulation,
grimaces, contortions, and the full diapason of the vocal
cords. For this purpose, the gravedigger's scene in
Hamlet is much to be preferred to Portia's tribute to
mercy ; and yet the latter has in it far more potency for
good — more of genuine effect on the hearer; but we
are most frequently favored with the former, because,
perhaps, the reciter can best impress himself, if not the
greater truth, upon the audience. The selection is to
display his art ; not his art the selection. And such,
again, is a reversal of means and end in discourse ; for
what was presumably written to be a means to an
end in the hearer, is used as a means to an end in
the reciter. The true elocutionist understands this,
and seeks artistic delivery through the merit and inspi-
ration of what he delivers. His impelling motive is to
make the thought and spirit of the selection go for all
they are worth, not for his sake, but for their own.
The musician's art is tested likewise.
And thus it is in all fine-art and literary criticism ;
the first standard to apply is that of a genuine motive
in the production. In tracing the history of literature
the student may thus part off productions into two
great classes, differing more or less in the fundamental
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 3 1
requirement of discourse. Chaucer will be found to be
hearty, genuine, sincere, — "so genuine that he need not
ask whether he were genuine or no, so sincere as quite
to forget his own sincerity." Lowell again pays Chaucer
a great tribute when he says, "With Chaucer it is al-
ways the thing itself and not the description of it that
is the main object." Passing to Spenser, the accom-
plished gentleman and scholar, a peculiar form of
insincerity may be detected in his "Faery Queen."
Spenser at heart was a poet, filled with fine emotions
and beautiful imagery ; but in his day writings that did
not carry on their face a distinct moral purpose were
supposed to be idle and useless. Spenser yielded to
this and tried to expound a system of ethics in a poem ;
whereas, if he had been true to his own instincts and
impulses his Faery Queen would have had living
interest to the general reader, and not merely historic
value to the antiquary. Pope said that Shakespeare did
not write correctly ; and avowed his own purpose to be
that of correct writing. He thus became conscious
of his style and not his message ; while Shakespeare
searched the heart, seemingly unconscious of his art ;
yet in the mere matter of style he far excelled all the
critical school which followed him, and which made style
the conscious object of direct concern. Thus in all
literary study, the student must make his first, most
general, and most fundamental estimate in terms of the
motive creating the selection.
A Definite Purpose. — It has already been incident-
ally stated that a composer must have, besides a sincere
and worthy aim, a definite one. He must set before
32 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
himself just what he is to accomplish, and then keep
the eye single to that end. And so, too, must the recip-
ient come to a definite experience of the effect pro-
duced ; not be satisfied with a blurred or vague general
sense of what the discourse means. With the composer
a definite and firm seizing of the end is absolutely essen-
tial to direct and forcible movement to that end ; and
unless the interpreter realize definitely and firmly what
has been presented, he has missed so far the object of
interpretation. Preparatory to any formal exercise the
composer must test himself by such questions as :
Just what end do I wish to accomplish? Exactly what
impression do I wish to leave? or, Just what action do I
wish to prompt? When a high-school pupil makes a
choice of his graduating theme, he must be examined
as to the ground of his choice. Should he choose,
"Every Cloud has a Silvery Lining," or "Over the
Alps lies Italy," he may find that he has been caught
by something that sounds well, and that he really has
no definite idea, sentiment, or conviction moving him
to speech. If he does not settle this important matter
at the outset he may be forced to learn as he proceeds
that his "silvery lining" is only a thin film after all;
and that his Italy, which lies beyond the Alps, is sure
enough beyond the Alps, but what of that ? If he ex-
pects to awaken only the bit of sentiment of "silvery
lining" and " over the Alps," he can do no better than
to announce his title on the program and retire. Like-
wise the value to the interpreter must be tested by
an effort to state precisely how he is affected by the
selection.
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 33
The composer cannot state precisely the end sought
till all the circumstances under which the effect is to be
produced are known. Discourse will sometimes have
to be adapted to the special experience of trades, pro-
fessions, and social surroundings. Farmers, mechanics,
merchants, lawyers, and teachers are each interested in
and prepared to receive a special class of ideas, which
would make no appeal to others. And under such
limiting conditions the composer is restricted to aims
in harmony with the special interests of the class
addressed.
But a still more widely controlling factor is the stage
of mental development to be addressed. The writer
may have to address children and the immature in
thought, who can appreciate only the pictures of ob-
jects, and these only when expressed in the simplest
language ; or he may have to address those who can
form classes of things and desire to find relations
among objects ; or, still higher, he may have to address
those who are able to search for the unity of all things,
— the connection of things into a universe. That is,
he may have to form popular discourse, scientific dis-
course, or philosophic discourse.
The composer must always mark the grade of minds
addressed, and adjust himself to their experience. The
farther he is removed from the grade of life addressed,
the more difficult is it to make the required adaptation ;
and this is impossible when he has to adapt to those
above himself, — the composer can descend, but not as-
cend. But adjusting to those of lower capacity is not
so easily done as would appear. The difficulty of writ-
34 THE SCIENXE OF DISCOURSE.
ing for children is clearly recognized ; and it arises
from the distance to which the writer is necessarily
removed from the experience addressed. As a rule, a
philosopher cannot address a popular audience effectively.
To do so he must be a pliable and skillful rhetorician,
which means that he has the art of adaptation.
But aside from the variable factors which limit and
define the end according to circumstances, there is an
invariable factor to be counted on in all audiences and
under all circumstances, and which determines funda-
mentally the aim and adaptation in discourse. This
factor is the different powers of the mind to be affected
— the intellect, the sensibility, and the will. To make
any definite effect on the mind is to affect prominently
one or another of these powers. This fact defines the
end, making it threefold more definite than the mere
idea of addressing the mind ; and gives rise to the three
great classes of discourse, Prose, or didactic discourse ;
Oratory, or persuasive discourse; Poetry, or literary
discourse.
Prose, or didactic discourse, seeks to inform the in-
tellect, — to communicate to it knowledge for its own
sake. This process involves the sensibility and the
will, as the mind must be stimulated by desire to re-
ceive the truth, and the will must make effort to
appropriate it ; yet the end is the knowledge gained,
and the other activities are only means thereto. Thus
prose discourse is discourse adapted to the logical end
of truth. It seeks to bring the mind into a knowledge
of the objective world of fact ; to develop a knowl-
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 35
edge of things as they exist. Whatever the form, the
discourse is didactic when it is adapted to inform the
intellect as an end.
Oratory, or persuasive discourse, seeks some end,
through action, beyond the knowledge and feeling by
which the action is stimulated. With oratory the
object is not to bring the mind into conformity with the
world, but to stimulate to reaction against the world, —
to bring the world into conformity to some idea which
the mind itself sets up. While prose seeks to give a
knowledge of things as they are, oratory strives, through
influencing the will, to make things what they ought to
be. For instance, the composer may seek to give a
knowledge of the state or of society as they at present
exist ; or he may strive to give such knowledge and
arouse such sentiments as will prompt to effort to make
them what they should be. A writer may desire to
give a knowledge of slavery for the sake of the knowl-
edge ; or he may, through such knowledge, prompt to
action against some form of oppression, as was once
done against slavery. Railroads as they are, are not
what they should be; and feeling the desirability of
making them so, one may speak to prompt action to
that end. In so doing, he would form an oration.
An oration is based in the emotions, for these are
the motives to action. No appeal can be made to the
will directly. People will not choose to act by simply
being asked to do so. The proper motives to action
must be aroused, through the presentation of thought
to the intellect. Hence, while it was stated that dis-
course affects the intellect, the sensibility, and the
36 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
will, the direct effect is confined to the intellect
and the sensibility ; the sensibility being addressed
as means to some end reached through action, or
for its own sake.
Poetry, or literary discourse, awakens emotions for
their own sake, and not to serve as motives to action.
One may contemplate a waterfall or a landscape and
find his reward in the contemplation. Hearing the
song of a bird or viewing a gorgeous sunset, is justified
by the emotions awakened. In all such cases the mind
feels that the object is what it ought to be — that it is
perfect. Poetry presents the object as if there were no
collision between its ideal and its real nature. Such a
view of an object awakens the esthetic emotions, rather
than those emotions which prompt to effort, such as
the feelings of injustice and oppression wielded by Pat-
rick Henry to arouse the colonists to resist the mother
country.
Let it be emphasized that the distinction here drawn
between the kinds of discourse is that of adaptation to
an end and not that of form. Popularly speaking, an
oration is something spoken, and poetry is that which
is written in verse. But an oration is still an oration
when printed, and a poem is still a poem when changed
to the prose form, as often happens in the process of
translation. A poem delivered orally does not become
an oration ; and an argument for states' rights put in
verse is at best only doggerel poetry. Note the fol-
lowing stanzas, from a so-called poem on the discovery
of America, "designed to convey instruction to the
young " : —
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 37
" Till near the sixteenth century,
To Europe was unknown
This great land of America,
So populous since grown.
The people then believed the world
To be so very small
That Europe, Asia, Africa
Were with some islands all."
While this is written in verse, it cannot be called
poetry in any fundamental sense, but readily falls under
prose, because it is an effort to teach facts touching
the discovery of America. In all cases the form is
incidental to the spirit. By the spiritual standard Irv-
ing's " Sketch Book " is a collection of poems ; and this
view is justified by the dictionary and the encyclopae-
dia ; while Whittier's war poems, designed to arouse the
people against slavery, are oratorical, because they seek
to change the existing order of things. Shakespeare
and the Psalmist are poets in spite of the fact that they
did not write in verse. When it is said that an expres-
sion is poetic, the soul of the expression is hinted at,
and not its form. It is true that the highest tension
of feeling naturally seeks rhythmical expression ; yet
all good prose is more or less rhythmical ; every oration
should be musical. Undoubtedly discourse may be
classified on the basis of form into prose and poetry,
and this will be done at the proper place — in discuss-
ing the language of discourse ; but here we are con-
cerned with discourse in its entire spirit and compass.
Every one is conscious of using language to each of
38 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
the three ends above described. And these ends are
fundamental, controlling, as we shall see, the organiza-
tion of both the thought and the style of discourse.
These kinds of discourse shade imperceptibly into
each other ; and frequently a discourse defies exact
classification. But this should not discourage us, for
such is true everywhere. The dividing line between
plants and animals has never been found ; yet we rec-
ognize the working value of such a distinction. Every-
where in the world of thought things blend and flow ;
and we must not hope to draw lines of thought more
sharply than they are found in things. It matters not
that we are baffled in classifying a given piece of dis-
course ; for this fact shows the nature of the discourse,
and this is what is really sought. Classification is not
an end, but a means. If it be found that a discourse
is equally well adapted to each of the three ends, let it
be so ; for this is its unique and fundamental fact, —
the fact that regulates all further procedure in its
study. Such a discovery might be a criticism on the
discourse, but not a reflection on the critic. As a rule,
however, the classification is readily made, for the
types of each class are distinct and numerous. Classify,
on the basis of purpose, the following : —
" The founder of rhetoric as an art was Corax of Syracuse
(c. 466 15. c). In 466 Thrasybulus, the despot of Syracuse, was
overthrown, and a democracy was established. One of the im-
mediate consequences was a mass of litigation on claims to prop-
erty, urged by democratic exiles who had been dispossessed by
Thrasybulus, Hiero, or Gelo. If, twenty years after the Crom-
wellian settlement of Ireland, an opportunity had been afforded
to aggrieved persons for contesting every possession taken under
THE PURPOSE IN DISCOURSE. 39
that settlement in the ten counties, such persons being required
to plead by their own mouths, the demand for an " art " of forensic
rhetoric in Ireland would have been similar to that which existed
in Sicily at the moment when Corax appeared. If we would un-
derstand the history of Greek rhetoric before Aristotle, we must
always remember these circumstances of its origin. The new
"art" was primarily intended to help the plain citizen who had to
speak before a court of law."
"It is estimated that from seventy-five to a hundred thousand
wives and children of these soldiers are now held in slavery. It
is a burning shame to this country. . . . Wasting diseases, weary
marches, and bloody battles are now decimating our armies.
The country needs soldiers, must have soldiers. Let the Senate,
then, act now. Let us hasten the enactment of this beneficent
measure, inspired by patriotism and hallowed by justice and hu-
manity, so that, ere merry Christmas shall come, the intelligence
shall be flashed over the land to cheer the hearts of the nation's
defenders and arouse the manhood of the bondman, that, on the
forehead of the soldier's wife and the soldier's child no man can
write ' Slave.' "
" Oh, there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to her
son that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither
to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened
by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice
every comfort to his convenience ; she will surrender every pleas-
ure to his enjoyment ; she will glory in his fame, and exult in his
prosperity ; and if misfortune overtake him, he will be the dearer
to her from misfortune ; and if disgrace settle upon his name, she
will still love and cherish him in spite of his disgrace ; and if all
the world beside cast him off, she will be all the world to him."
Which of the foregoing confronts an actual with an
ideal condition of things, for the purpose of changing
the ideal into the actual ? Which presents simply an
ideal for the mere sake of the joy awakened by con-
4-0 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
templating the ideal ? Which presents a fact for
its merely intellectual value ? Which of the fore-
going confines the attention to one aspect of the sub-
ject, and which to two aspects ? In what respect
are all of these alike, and in what respect is each
peculiar ? Select many other examples, and classify
them by applying the foregoing questions. And for
further emphasis select some piece of land and pre-
sent it, first, to give a clear notion of it ; second, to
persuade some one to buy it or to improve it ; third,
to awaken the feeling of beauty. To each of the three
ends, how should a steam-engine be presented ? forest
trees ? charity? the school ? the solar system ? rhetoric?
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE.
The Theme.
To whatever end discourse is adapted, thought is
presented as the means, through language as the
medium. Hence, we are here concerned, not with the
nature of thought, but with its adaptation to the ends
of utterance, — with thought in the process of affecting
the mind addressed. The same subject-matter may be
used for different purposes, but in each case it must be
differently organized. In logic thought is considered
in its own nature, and organized about some center
of its own ; while in discourse thought must be or-
ganized to the requirements of the end sought, and in
obedience to the conditions under which it is sought.
The history of Greece might be so compacted and
organized as to satisfy the sternest laws of logic ; but
such an organization would not serve to instruct im-
mature minds, nor to produce emotional or volitional
effects. The nature of the theme determines the logi-
cal organization; the particular end sought, and the
conditions under which it is sought, the rhetorical
organization. The latter may be identical with the
former, — in fact, for some purposes it must be so ;
but in most cases a modification is made by the laws
imposed from without.
4 2 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
Therefore, thought in discourse is studied in the
process of producing an effect on some mind addressed,
and its organization varies in obedience to the differ-
ent effects to be produced, and the circumstances
and conditions under which the effect is to be pro-
duced. To give instruction, the battle of Gettysburg
should be organized in one way ; to arouse poetic
emotions, it must be organized differently, and still
differently to move the will. And each of these
must be changed in a marked degree in adapting from
a lower to a higher phase of mental development. A
still further modification is required when the end is
sought under the limitations of some particular time,
or place, or .peculiar circumstances, or to minds of
special experience. An address to citizens would not
be adapted to the soldiers who were engaged in the
battle, and what would be suitable for the Southern
soldier would not be suitable for the Northern soldier.
The poet and the astronomer do not present the same
facts about the sun, the moon, and the stars. A didactic
discourse on religion or ethics requires the selection of
quite different phases and elements from that required
in arousing people to religious and ethical conduct.
The poet dare not give the mathematical position,
form, and size of a landscape, but the surveyor must
do so. To use the rainbow as a subject of instruction
would require its analysis into the laws of light, but to
awaken esthetic feelings the attention must be directed
to other aspects, and if it is used to guide conduct in
some specific way, still other views must be taken.
Lowell, in saying of the dandelion : —
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 43
" Dear common flower that grow'st beside the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,"
does not select the same points that are given in the
botany. The instructor in zoology would not say of
the bird singing that he
..." lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer he receives."
Thus always the subject considered must be plastic
to the purpose. Thought in discourse is peculiar in
being considered, not in itself, as in logic, but as a
means to an end, and is, therefore, organized, not only
by its own laws, but also by the laws of the mind in
which the effect is to be produced. From the side of
mind we have already deduced the fundamental law of
discourse as that of Purpose, and we are now brought
to the highest law from the side of thought ; namely,
that of Unity of process to the end sought. If instruc-
tion is to be given, the ideas must cooperate to that
end ; if the will is to be moved, all the feelings aroused
must prompt in that direction ; if the esthetic feelings
are to be stimulated, there must be no discordant note.
The thought must have unity in moving the mind to
the end sought. Such is the supreme requirement
which the purpose makes upon the thought.
This thought unity is called the Theme of discourse.
In every discourse there must be one idea which sums
up the whole, and within which all the parts are organ-
ized. Whether a discourse is a single sentence, a para-
graph, or an entire book, there must be one all-inclusive
44 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
thought. The Declaration of Independence is a com-
plex document, but it is designed to express a single
truth, — the right of the American Colonies to free-
dom. Many things are said in " Little Lord Faunt-
leroy," but they are all included in the idea that kind-
ness begets kindness. All the diversity of imagery
and sentiment in the "Vision of Sir Launfal " have
their unity in the feeling of true charity. No matter
how elaborate the exposition, if it have organic unity,
it must revolve about, or within, a single idea. Hence
the theme is the total significance of the discourse.
After purpose, a clear conception of the theme is
the first requirement of the composer or the inter-
preter. Reading or hearing a discourse is largely the
art of grasping into unity the various elements and
phases of thought as they are presented ; as the art
of composition consists chiefly in giving wealth and
diversity of life to some theme constantly kept in
unity. Hence the very great value, in reading and
literary work, of being required to state the one idea
for which the given discourse stands. For practical
purposes discourse has been quite thoroughly read
when the reader can state its theme ; not its title,
for this is quite generally not its theme, and per-
haps always too indefinite to answer the requirement
of interpretation. The required definiteness will be
given to the theme by stating it in the form of a
proposition, — by answering the question, What one
thing can be affirmed by the reading of this selection ?
Or, if a composer, What one thing do I wish to affirm
vby writing on this theme ?
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 45
It will be observed that the composer and the in-
terpreter move in reverse order in relation to the
elements of the theme. The interpreter seizes the
elements and features first, and progressively unifies
them into the theme. The composer first grasps the
theme, and then proceeds to analyze it into its
elements, after which the elements are given the
organic unity of the whole. The critic will take one
step beyond the ordinary reader ; for, after ascertain-
ing the theme from the elements, he will reconstruct
the discourse from the standpoint of the author —
from the theme to its elements. But the first, and for
^general purposes the last, movement in reading is the
construction of the theme out of the elements pre-
sented. Hence, to interpret with efficiency one must
keep the imagination and the judgment intently
active relating into one idea all the others. The
difference between readers is great ; and it lies
chiefly in the power of organizing details into unity.
One tries to hold everything, and remembers nothing ;
while another organizes the elements into unity as he
proceeds, and reaches with certainty the one thought
which holds for him all the others.
As no habit of reading is so valuable as that of
resting the attention on the main issue as it unfolds
itself in the process of interpretation, so nothing
steadies the nerve of the writer through the compli-
cated details of his subject-matter like a firm grip on
the organic unity of his theme. After the inspiration
of a worthy purpose, a firm grasp of the theme is next
of prime importance. In fact there is little distinction
46 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
between them ; for seizing a theme firmly and vividly
is itself an inspiration to utterance. One cannot
wield a subject till it becomes a part of his life,
and is reenforced by his whole life. At this point
the subject is transmuted into motive to utterance.
Therefore when a composer chooses a theme by which
to accomplish a certain end, his first concern is to
so bring the theme into his life that it becomes
the impelling force in speech. No merely external
posting tip on a subject will meet the requirement ;
the speaker or writer must be able to give original con-
struction to the theme by the initiative force of his
own life. Unless the theme be thoroughly possessed
it cannot be wielded with precision and force to the
end proposed ; it cannot be adapted and given organic
unity under a dominant purpose. One staggering
under the weight of his theme cannot move nimbly
to varying ends, nor adjust the matter delicately to
varying conditions. The theme will burden him,
and constrain him to the same movement under all
circumstances. Thus burdened he cannot move with
that masterly progress through the subject, and with
that harmony and proportion of treatment which gives
symmetry and organic beauty to the whole.
Here again it appears that the primary condition of
effective speech is the man himself ; for the theme on
which he discourses must have been fully assimilated
to his own life --must be his life. Unity in discourse
cannot be secured by patching things together in a
mechanical and external way ; it must arise from a
unitary life impulse which orders and organizes every-
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 47
thing to a supreme end. This principle is well
illustrated in the practice of writing books. For in-
stance, one decides to write a grammar, and not
having mastered language by an intimate experience
with it through its prolonged use and study, places
before him the grammars already written ; and by a
careful reading and comparison rewords the matter in
new phrases and outlines. This is the best he can
do, if his wealth of experience with the language
itself does not move him to construct from an inward
resource. In one case there is mechanism ; in the
other, organic life. One may easily write a history of
the United States by averaging and paraphrasing many
texts on that subject ; but to produce a living history
the United States must have so found its way into the
writer that he can construct originally. None but an
original work can be well written, — not one that an-
nounces truth before undiscovered, for in this sense
originality is a vain striving ; but one written by the
self-assertive thought of the writer, — one actively and
not passively determined. Everything is original to
the man who makes it his own, — to the one who can
originate it and reproduce it. Originality in this sense
conditions all effective writing. When the theme so
takes possession of the writer as to speak through
him as its mouthpiece something will be said clearly
and forcibly to the purpose.
This firm holding of the theme by the composer
requires first that the theme be definitely bounded.
To this end it should be stated in as many definite
ways as possible, and the boundary lines between it
48 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
and all adjacent territory of thought should be pre-
cisely run by means of comparison and contrast. The
" fingers of the mind " must be placed well and firmly
around it, as a condition to wielding it to any definite
end. After the theme as a whole has been grasped it
must be inwardly explored and all its phases, and its
elements selected out and organized into the theme as
a whole. Whatever wealth of life there is in the
theme must be taken possession of by the composer.
The law of unity implies variety ; there can be no
unity without difference, and the greater the variety
the richer the unity, so long as unity is main-
tained. The more complex any work of man, so long
as the complexity is in obvious unity, the greater the
power of art displayed. One of the greatest feats of
composition is shown by Shakespeare's dramas, which
display great profusion of life in unity. Many scenes
move abreast without confusion, and in a way to
sweep the diapason of human life. A great volume
of life is gradually wrought up to the most intense
climax, and then as gradually relieved in the peace
and joy that follow the storm cloud. The chief labor
of the composer is to give distinct feature and
wealth of variety to the object of his discussion.
The greater the diversity held in unity in an organism
the higher the life of that organism. The egg passes
into the diversity of the chick, and thus assumes
greater unity and life force ; and so must a theme,
by the mind's brooding on it, grow into diversity and
higher unity, and thus become a living and active
force in the world of speech. Every composer will
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 49
recall the fact that the greatest stress under which he
labors is that of giving organic life to his subject ;
and the striking weakness of compositions such as
those prepared for high-school graduating exercises, is
the lack of varied and conspicuous features given to
the theme treated. Bare mathematical unity may be
maintained; it may be a unit without variety, — a
globe without air, land, or water, without valley,
plateau, or mountain, without lake, river, or water-
fall, — a monotonous surface, without height or depth,
day or night, winter or summer. Thus while empha-
sizing the unity of the theme, there is implied a
wealth of diversity in the unity, and that the greater
the diversity the stronger the unity. In fact the law
might well be stated as diversity in unity.
While emphasizing wealth of diversity, the law does
not require all the elements of the theme to be pre-
sented ; but only those necessary to the purpose
under the circumstances. All elements which do
not further the purpose must be strictly rejected ;
but every element which will further the purpose must
be included. To whatever end the subject may be
presented, many elements and phases of the subject
have to be rejected ; and the composer must often
practice self-denial in withholding what he finds inter-
esting to himself, yet irrelevant to his purpose. He
may desire to give his theme unity and completeness
in itself, but he must yield to the unity of the theme
in relation to the proposed end.
But while unity does not require all the attributes
of the theme, yet care must be taken to emphasize
50 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
the all which are necessary to produce the desired
effect. Again, the necessity for the complete mastery
of the theme appears. The composer has ample
resources only through knowing all the possibilities of
the theme. He cannot make the theme go for all it
is worth to the auditor without knowing the wealth of
thought which it contains. He must be able to dwell
on it with cumulative power till the end is realized ;
and this he cannot do without an all-sided view, and
without having explored its inner constitution. The
cumulative force in his movement is by the wealth of
material which he is able to present. The composer
is most conscious of the effort to expand and amplify.
His greatest strain is that of pushing out his theme
here and there in its varied and distinct features till
it takes possession of the mind addressed. The mind
must have time to grow into a new state. It is a
great art to be able to hold the theme close to the
mind long enough for its full reaction upon the theme,
even though old elements have to be repeated ; yet in
this case they would assume new aspects and relations.
The time factor is most easily secured when the
speaker or writer has a wealth of views and materials
provided. The unity requires the action of the theme
on the mind in ways varied and continuous till the
mind grows into the state desired. Shakespeare, in
bringing his audience up to the climax, illustrates this
principle admirably. His wealth of invention enables
him to hold the auditor in one movement for a great
length of time. But care is needed, in seeking to gain
time, to keep up a feeling of progress. The purpose
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 5 1
is defeated as soon as there is a feeling of delay. The
auditor must feel that the thought is being developed
as rapidly as possible ; and the only way to secure this
feeling and gain the necessary time is to have the
mind of the author in rich and varied touch with the
subject being considered.
But the effective movement to a mental change by
means of a theme does not depend wholly on the selec-
tion and number of phases and elements of the theme,
but finally on the DietJiod of their presentation.
In discourse the elements are seldom, if ever, pre-
sented in the order in which they logically cohere; but
in the order in which they can most easily be appro-
priated by the recipient. The discourse order is the
chronological rather than the logical order; the point
needed by the mind first is not necessarily of first im-
portance to the subject. To instruct children in the
Civil War would require first its picture and moving
panorama of events; but these logically follow the
cause and the moving spirit of the war. The child
must begin with the objective and picturable aspects;
and it may be that these are all he can receive at the
time. The different grades of ability addressed require
different arrangements of subject-matter. Popular,
scientific, and philosophic discourse employ different
methods of presenting the same subject-matter. And
the elements arranged for the purpose of instruction
are not properly arranged for volitional or emotional
ends. The orator does not use materials in the same
order as does the poet ; and when audiences and cir-
cumstances vary the arrangement varies with them.
52 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
In general, the discourse must move freely and
smoothly onward. There must be no hitching back
and forth; the thought must grow by easy and imper-
ceptible gradations from point to point. Not that it
must move in a straight line, — for rather there should
be rise and fall, a rhythmical flow, for thought and feel-
ing obey the universal law of rhythmical motion, — but
that there must be no lunging ahead, or returning to
pick up pieces left by the wayside. No one feature
gives a discourse more power than a steady onward
movement to the end set up. All hesitancy and eddy-
ing about of the thought are prime sources of weakness.
The points made must have a distinct and orderly suc-
cession, or the receiving mind will be baffled in its
effort to organize the material presented, and miss the
object for which the discourse stands. We have seen
that interpretation is primarily the process of bringing
into unity the elements as rapidly as they are pre-
sented, and nothing can assist the interpreting mind so
much as the orderly arrangement of elements in their
presentation.
In order that a composer master a theme in its unity
and diversity, so that he may wield it with precision
and effect, and in order that one may interpret with
appreciation and profit, the various ways in which a
theme is organized must be traced out. The different
methods of theme organization give rise to clearly
defined discourse processes.
the thought in discourse. 53
The Discourse Processes.
Since themes are unities of elements, it follows that
the two primary movements of thought in the prepara-
tion and the presentation of any theme for any purpose
are those of analysis and synthesis. The elements of
the theme must first be discerned, and then integrated
into the whole. Or better, perhaps, three steps may
be distinguished : First, seizing the theme in its vague
unity; second, analyzing the theme into its elements;
third, organizing the elements into the theme, giving a
definite organic whole instead of the vague one grasped
at the outset.
This analysis and synthesis takes definite character
from the kinds of unities which constitute the theme,
— from the kinds of relations which bind the parts
into unity.
The parts of an engine are bound together in co-
operation to the end for which the engine is designed.
The parts of a tree are parts in working together to
carry on the life process of the tree as a whole. The
parts of the human body contribute to one life process,
and are not parts except in and through the whole; and
the whole is not a whole except in and through the
parts. The government is composed of parts working
together to secure the ends of justice. The earth, the
solar system, the universe have parts bound together
in cooperation. Such a unit is called an organic unit.
The lowest form of it, or the form in which it seems to
vanish, is the unit whose parts have spatial unity, as in
the case of a stone or a pile of material. Here the
54 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
parts are in touch, and bound together by physical
force; yet in this case the parts cooperate to make the
whole. In some of the other cases named, parts were
separated in space, and the unity consists in functional
cooperation rather than in spatial wholeness. But in
both cases the wholes are bounded in space, and both
have parts whose connection makes the whole; both
are called individual objects. Gladstone is an individ-
ual ; and so is the British nation, and for the same
reason. The police force of a city is an individual
police force, because the parts work together to keep
order, as do the parts of one policeman. The reasons
given for calling Jupiter an individual apply equally
well to the solar system as an individual. Let it not
be understood, therefore, that a theme to be individual
must consist of parts touching in space ; yet every in-
dividual, though it be a mental act or state, must be
figured to the mind as bounded in space. Hence, such
themes must first be presented to the imagination as
pictured wholes; after which their deeper thought
unity may be penetrated.
Further guidance for presenting the individual is
obtained from noting that each individual has parts
which coexist in space and parts which succeed each
other in time — space wholes and time wholes. The
parts of this tree exist together now, but considering
the life of this tree as a whole, in its growth from the
seed, it has parts succeeding each other: as, first the
sprout and then the shoot appearing above ground,
then the shrub, etc. A battle may be caught up in
one view at a given moment, as having coexisting parts
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 55
in space; but it is also a moving panorama, having
parts in distinct succession. A complete view of the
earth brings before the mind its successive stages of
development, and also its parts as they at present work
together side by side. Thus every individual is a space
whole or a time whole — a simultaneous whole or a
successive whole.
While it requires both views of an individual to
complete its organization, the two views cannot be
taken at the same time. This will become evident by
an attempt to think of an object as fixed and as chang-
ing: at the same time. Since this is true, two distinct
discourse processes arise in treating the individual.
The process presenting the individual as a space, or
coexisting, whole is called Description; the process
presenting the individual as a time, or successive,
whole is called Narration.
Themes have quite a different kind of unity from the
organic unity above described. A sewing-machine has
its origin in an idea which creates all other sewing-ma-
chines, and may create them infinitely, so far as the pos-
sibility of the idea is concerned. All sewing-machines
have their unity in the one originating idea, or type.
The idea as an outgoing energy produces all sewing-
machines, and thus gives unity to all. When one says
simply ''sewing-machine" or "the sewing-machine"
he is naming the type, or idea, which brings forth the
individual sewing-machines. To think any given sew-
ing-machine requires it to be viewed in connection with
the common idea of all sewing-machines. A certain
activity produces a triangle — an activity which goes
56 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
out and comes back to the place of starting by two
pointed turns. This activity produces all triangles,
and can produce them infinitely. All are one in this
activity, and this is the essence of each one. The
mind cannot grasp any one triangle without seizing
upon the activity which produces triangles in general.
Triangles may vary infinitely, but they are all alike in
being produced by an activity returning to the place of
starting by two pointed turns. There is an idea, a
nature, a potency which produces oak trees, and which
may produce them without limit. All trees formed
under the impulse of this idea are one in that idea;
and the study of each oak requires it to be viewed in
connection with the all-producing idea. When we
speak of the nature of anything we have reference to
its producing idea; for the word nature means that
which is about to appear. The nature of man is the
energy, the potency which persists in producing men
as distinguished from other objects. The nature of
an Indian is the fixed idea or type which determines
all individual Indians.
Such a unit is called a class unit, or concept, as dis-
tinguished from the organic unit. The class unit does
not mean simply the common productive idea of a
number of individuals, but the unity of the individuals
in and through the idea. The parts of this unit are
the individuals which spring from the same originating
source. It differs from the organic unit, not in parts,
but in the way the parts are unified. Thinking of the
French people as a nation, as individuals working to-
gether for a common good, we have an individual —
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 57
a nation ; but thinking of them as being Frenchmen,
as having a common genesis, we have a class unit.
In each case it is the same subject-matter, — the same
whole and the same parts, — but in the former the
parts are unified through cooperation, while in the
latter through a common nature. Each triangle has
sides which work together to make a triangle, but
these sides have common nature, being produced by
the same kind of movement, which makes the class
units called sides. And so with the angles ; they help
to form the triangle, but the same activity produces
each ; by the former they are organized, and by the
latter classified. Triangles might be placed together
to form some figure, and would thus help one another
to make the whole ; but the same parts, triangles, may
be formed into a class by conceiving them in unity
with the idea producing each and all. Thus the dis-
tinction between the organic unit and the class unit is
not that between different parts nor different wholes,
but in the manner in which the parts are bound
into wholes. It might be well to observe, however,
that the class whole cannot be bounded in space, as
can the organic whole ; hence it is not a space whole.
This follows from the fact that the producing energy,
the idea, the type, can create individuals infinitely. After
making any conceivable number of engines from the idea
engine, the idea remains as productive as ever. Hence
the imagination is not required to bound the class unit,
as it is required to do with the organic unit.
As the organic unit has two aspects, so has the class
unit. Class unity consists, as we have seen, in the
58 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
relation of the parts, the individuals, to the one princi-
ple which produces the parts. The unity is that of
the individuals with the general creating them. This
unity can be taken as it exists at a given time, simply
as a fixed thing, somewhat as the individual is viewed
in description ; or the unity may be thought of in the
process of being established under the influence of the
active principle, somewhat as the individual is viewed
in narration. Ocean currents may be considered as
they are, — the individual currents as in unity with a
physical principle which constitutes them what they
are ; or the physical principle may be viewed in the
active production of them, or, through them, of other
phenomena. The distinction is simply that between
individuals as already existing in the unity of a com-
mon nature and individuals in the process of being
produced by a common nature or of producing other
individuals.
From the side of mind, it is the distinction between
concept and judgment. The concept is the grasping
of the unity existing among individuals, while the
judgment is the process of establishing in thought the
unity between the subject and predicate of thought ;
which interpreted means the unity between the indi-
vidual and the general. When the subject and predi-
cate of a judgment become identified the judgment
vanishes into a new concept, and the desired unity is
established, and may be taken in the future without
affirming and arguing.
However the matter may be turned the unity appears
as that between the individual and the general, either
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 59
as fixed, as a fact, or in the process of becoming. The
first kind of unity is set forth by the process of Expo-
sition ; the second, by the process of Argumentation.
These processes are distinct, because, as in the case of
description and narration, unity cannot be viewed as
established and in the process of being established at
the same time.
The four discourse processes are alike in that each
deals with individual objects ; but they differ in that
description deals with individual objects as fixed, as
spatial wholes, as they stand organized at a given
time ; narration, with individuals as changing in time,
as time wholes, as organized wholes progressive in
time ; exposition, with individuals as in fixed unity
with a common productive energy ; argumentation,
with individuals in the active process of unity under a
general principle. In all cases the purpose is to pre-
sent the theme in unity, and the different processes
are only so many phases of a movement to that end, —
phases depending on the kind of unity inherent in the
subject-matter itself. All of the processes may be
required in the same discourse, but the character of
the discourse as a whole is determined by the kind of
unity which the discourse seeks ultimately to estab-
lish. The relation of the processes is not that of
higher and lower, or that of simplicity and complexity,
but that of the view taken of the subject-matter. For
different purposes the same theme may be presented
under one or the other of the different processes.
Hence, the three ends of discourse are realized by
four processes, and to the three kinds of discourse on
60 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
the basis of the effect produced must be added the
four kinds of discourse on the basis of the process by
which the effect is produced. These processes, based
on the nature of the theme, move forward under the
law of purpose. It thus appears that the processes of
discourse are controlled by two factors : (i) the rela-
tions which constitute the theme, and (2) the laws im-
posed by the mind addressed. These factors must
now guide us in the detailed consideration of the dis-
course processes.
DESCRIPTION.
Description is the process by which one mind presents
to another, through language, an individual as consti-
tuted of coexisting elements.
If the real object or its picture could be presented
to the eye, its attributes and parts would appear in
their unity at once, — at least in their spatial unity.
But by the limitation of language, when the several
ideas are presented in discourse they must follow each
other in an order of time. In this respect language is
inferior to painting. Painting, which employs figures
and colors in space, presents attributes and parts as
they coexist ; thus freeing the mind from the neces-
sity of unifying the constituent ideas, so far as the
superficial unity is concerned. But in expressing
the inner meaning of the object, as interpreted by the
judgment and penetrative imagination, language has
more than a compensating advantage. While it is
possible to paint or to sculpture all parts of the human
body, the functional relation of each to life, as inter-
preted by the judgment, can be expressed in language
only. Painting can express only the outer unity of an
object, while language can express the inner unity of
thought. The two facts — namely, that the object to
be described consists of coexisting elements, and that,
by the necessities of language, these elements must be
presented in succession — make the law of unity in de-
scription difficult to obey. The law requires the object
62 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
to be so presented that the interpreter will readily and
correctly organize it into the unity it was before
broken in the process of presentation.
The first step in description is that of presenting
the theme as a whole by means of its attributes.
Attributive Description.
The theme as a whole is presented by means of its
attributes, and this process may be called attributive
description. Any means by which this object is
known not to be that is an attribute. Since attri-
butes do not mutually exclude each other as do parts,
they always distinguish objects as wholes. The odor,
flavor, weight, and form of the orange are interfused
throughout, and occupy the same space ; while the
peel, pulp, and seeds must occupy different spaces.
An object is first distinguished from other objects
by its relations to them ; and the first step in this
phase of description is to present the theme
By Attributes of Relation. — This method presents
the object under the relation of Purpose and Means,
Cause and Effect, Time and Place, and Likeness and
Difference.
The use of each of these attributes involves some
object other than the one under consideration. To
think of the purpose of an object or of the object as
means carries the thought directly to something be-
yond the immediate object of thought. To think of
the cause or the effect of anything involves more
than the single thing. A second object is required
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 63
to locate anything in space or time ; and likeness or
difference is clearly inconceivable without two objects.
1. Purpose is the highest distinguishing mark of an
object ; and to state the purpose to which an object is
means is to make the most comprehensive description
of it possible by the use of a single term. Purpose
calls the object into being, and unifies its other attri-
butes and its parts. These are what they are because
of the object's purpose, or end which it fills. There-
fore purpose is the most fundamental truth, the most
pervasive fact, that can be given in the description of
an object. All thought would be thwarted without
the ideas of design and adaptation. One cannot speak
intelligently about a book, a bridge, a plant, an animal,
or the earth, without employing in some form these
conceptions. The whole question before us in this
discussion of discourse is that of its construction or
of its interpretation under the law of adaptation and
design. In any field of labor man has only to design
and adapt. All things are organized under ends
sought ; and there is always assumed a supreme end
which organizes all, —
"one far-off divine event,
To which the whole creation moves."
And again : —
" I see in part
That all as in some piece of art,
Is toil cooperant to an end."
We should expect, therefore, the relation of purpose
and means to permeate and control every description ;
and yet one not accustomed to note the fact will be
64 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
surprised at the frequency and variety of terms used
in a description to express this relation. They are
not confined to those of direct expression, such as
purpose, adaptation, aim, object, design, intent, motive,
destination, in order to, the "be all and the end all,"
and the like ; but are found lurking in disguises of
many forms, as in this : —
"And what is so rare as a day in June ?
Then, if ever, come perfect days ;
Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays."
The three expressions, "rare," "perfect," and "in
tune," express the adaptation of the day to its life-
giving purpose. A day is perfect in proportion as it
nourishes life, for that is its purpose. To say that a
day is rare is to say that it is exceptionally well fitted
to the end of life. The earth is in tune when it can
produce the song of life. Lowell's whole description
of the day in June brings out in varied ways this
one idea. And when he describes the mountain by
saying, —
" With our faint heart the mountain strives,"
he expresses, in the word "strives," the fact that the
mountain seeks to influence our lives for the better.
Note the same relation expressed in the following
lines from the Spanish by Longfellow, describing the
brook : —
41 Laugh of the mountain ! lyre of bird and tree !
Pomp of the meadow ! mirror of the morn I "
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 6$
This relation has two forms, — one in which the
object is considered in adaptation to an end ; and
the other in which the object itself is conceived as
the purposer. This latter phase is known as descrip-
tion by personification. Note its use in the following
exquisite bit from Lowell's description of the brook,
in " The Vision of Sir Launfal " : —
" Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,
From the snow five thousand summers old ;
On open wold and hill-top bleak
It had gathered all the cold,
And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek ;
It carried a shiver everywhere
From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare ;
The little brook heard it and built a roof
'Neath which he could house him winter-proof ;
All night by the white stars' frosty gleams
He groined his arches and matched his beams ;
Slender and clear were his crystal spars
As the lashes of light that trim the stars."
In the description of the June day, occurring in the
same poem as the foregoing, the author presents it as
being adapted to a purpose ; but the wind and the
brook are presented as purposing.
2. After an object has been purposed a cause must
operate to produce it ; and when produced it acts
and reacts on other objects, manifesting itself in
effects. The relation of cause and effect produces
changes in objects, and is more prominently employed
in narration ; yet it is essential to description. In
giving a full conception of the Andes Mountains it is
necessary to state the force that upheaved them, and
66 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
their effects on climate, vegetable and animal life,
and on the industries of man.
The relation of cause and effect is the leading
means of presenting a mental state. To bring a
particular mental state fully into consciousness, it is
necessary to present the conditions which produced
the state ; and these may be further strengthened
by giving the conduct of the person under the in-
fluence of the state. To describe a state of fear is to
present some object that produced the state ; as a
tornado whirling aloft the ruined houses of a city, with
the effect of the fear in the wild gesticulations and
screams of the fleeing inhabitants. Longfellow, in
describing his sadness in " The Day is Done," gives
the cause of his condition in the falling darkness and
the light gleaming through the rain and the mist,
and also the effect in the fact that he is driven to
seek relief.
Under the same relation a person's physical appear-
ance may be described to suggest his spiritual attri-
butes, since the latter, to a certain extent, are causes
to the former as effects. Chaucer, in the Prologue to
the "Canterbury Tales," introduces the spiritual quali-
ties of each character by means of his physical attri-
butes. And thus Irving, in "The Legend of Sleepy
Hollow," brings out the spiritual Ichabod Crane by
means of the physical Ichabod.
Physical objects are frequently presented, and in
some of their phases can be presented only, by giving
their effects on the observer. To speak of an object
as awful, terrible, stupendous, sublime, picturesque,
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 6?
grotesque, or beautiful is to present the object by
means of the effect produced on the observer. Irving
talks of sober and melancholy days, mournful magnifi-
cence, gloomy remains, a picture of glory, amazing
height, noiseless reverence, disastrous story, awful
harmony, thrilling thunders, solemn concords ; and in
so doing speaks in terms of the effect produced.
3. Relation in time is not so prominently used in
description as in narration ; yet its use frequently
facilitates the presentation of other attributes. Stat-
ing the time of the day and of the year at which a
landscape is observed is necessary in order to bring
the picture briefly and fully before the mind. This
relation has great power of suggestiveness. To in-
troduce the description of a shipwreck by, " It was
midnight on the waters," both arouses a vague sense
of fear, which the fuller description is to make clear
and strong, and fills the imagination at once with a
general conception of the whole. To state that a
man is old carries with it gray hairs, dim eyes, feeble
voice, palsied limbs, and clouded memory. To know
that a church has stood for a hundred years implies
more than can be told in pages of descriptive detail.
The location of an object in space corresponds to
its location in time. A material object cannot be
conceived without relation to other objects in space ;
and the parts of an object can be conceived only in
spatial relations to each other. And spiritual objects,
such as mental activities and states, are figured under
spatial relations. In treating one's moral character
his virtues are placed side by side as if they had
68 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
spatial qualities. Thus space seems to be a universal
form which the mind imposes on all objects in order
to think them. The mind itself is figured under
spatial relations ; as, large and small, high and low,
few-sided and many-sided, and the like ; and character
is spoken of as straight or crooked, erect or prostrate,
etc.
4. The relation of Likeness and Difference gives
rise to a distinct process of description called Com-
parison and Contrast. All objects are known by
means of likenesses and differences. An object can-
not be grasped as an object were it not both alike
and different from other objects. To bring these like-
nesses and differences into consciousness is one of
the most effective means at the composer's command
of presenting the elements of an object effectively.
Generally the process employs a well-known object
as a means of presenting the one under consideration.
It has been seen that the chief weakness of a verbal
description is the limitation of language which pre-
vents the writer or speaker from flashing all parts
of the object on the mind at once. The more nearly
this can be done, the better. Comparison and contrast
is a most powerful means to this end. Often a
detailed process of thought and a tediousness of ex-
pression may be avoided by comparing and contrast-
ing the object under discussion with some well-known
object.
This is not merely brevity in language, which comes
from substituting a known object for words ; it econo-
mizes the thought processes. Without requiring the
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 69
mind to trace the action of a valve in the heart,
attention may be called to the action of a valve in a
pump, if the latter be familiar to the audience. A
strange fruit may be put before the mind at once, by
comparing it to an apple, if it is essentially like an
apple ; and thus save weariness of details in both
language and thought. To refer a strange animal to
its species saves a volume of descriptive detail and a
useless repetition of thought processes. This implied
comparison presents the essential characteristics of
the object ; and if the special marks of the individual
are required, a few points of contrast will fill the out-
line. Of two objects equally well known, comparison
and contrast is a strong means of presenting both at
the same time. Often a vivid and sufficient descrip-
tion may be made by presenting an object by its
extreme opposite.
Whether comparison or contrast shall be the leading
method depends on whether likenesses or differences
are assumed to be most prominent in the object. If
two objects are supposed to be different, then it is
most effective to present them in their likenesses ;
and if they are assumed to be alike then the presenta-
tion of differences will fix best the individuality of
each. But usually likenesses and differences should
be carried along together. In doing this the two
methods should be kept distinct. A point of likeness
may be given, and then a corresponding point of dif-
ference, thus carrying the likenesses and differences
in parallel lines. Or all the likenesses may be given
by themselves, and then the differences by themselves.
JO THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
The purpose being to abbreviate thought and language
processes, the object chosen with which to compare
the theme must (i) be a familiar object, and must (2)
have the greatest number of points common to the
theme. To select an object less familiar than the
theme, or points of comparison that need explanation
themselves, is to defeat the purpose of the comparison.
In order that the object may have the greatest number
of points common to the theme, it must not be chosen
from a class more comprehensive than necessary.
The comparison of a horse with a reptile would violate
this law. Both belong to vertebrates, but it would be
better to choose from mammals, as the bat ; better
still to choose from quadrupeds, as the lion ; and still
better to choose from the ungulata, as the ox.
After presenting an object as a whole by means of
its distinct relations to some other object, one other
step in attributive description remains; namely, that
of presenting the object
By Means of its Properties. — Properties are attri-
butes which inhere in the nature of the object. They
determine it from within, while relations determine it
from without. Properties are of two kinds, Primary
and Secondary.
1. Primary qualities are essential to the existence of
the object, and are involved in every conception of it.
To think them away is to destroy all thought of the
object. They fall into two general classes, Exten-
sion and Resistance.
a. Extension, which may be called the mathematical
quality, gives rise to the two subordinate attributes of
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. J\
Form and Size ; the first resulting from the kind of
extension, the second from the degree of extension.
These relations unify the other attributes to the senses,
as purpose does to thought. The weight, color, taste,
and odor coincide within the same form and limit.
These attributes give the empty form of the object,
which the other attributes fill out.
Position, form, and size are, after purpose, most
commonly used to distinguish objects. They even
serve to distinguish spiritual objects in a figurative
sense. We speak of a large-minded man; of a man
"four square to all the winds that blow " ; of a straight
man ; of a right and a wrong headed man ; of men
superior and inferior ; of high-minded men ; of men
above or below a certain plane of conduct, etc.
b. The other class of primary qualities, the different
forms of resistance, add to the idea of a mere extended
form that of a power which resists, either as an active
or passive force. A resisting, as well as an extended,
something is essential to our notion of an object, whether
it be a conception of a material or a spiritual object.
The general attribute of passive resistance manifests
itself in particular objects as hard, soft, firm, fluid,
tough, brittle, rigid, flexible, rough, smooth, light, heavy,
compressible, incompressible, elastic, non-elastic, etc. —
the physical properties of matter, as the others were
the mathematical. It is obvious that these attributes
are given primarily by the muscular sense, the lowest
sense giving the most fundamental quality. This
sense, through these primary qualities of resistance,
brings us into a knowledge of external existence.
72 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
While the spatial relations condition the existence of
matter as such, these are the inner forces which de-
termine and distinguish all objects as objects. They
are not determined from without, but are themselves
the shaping and conditioning forces. These forces
reveal themselves only in reaction against a force
within ourselves, and with them we begin our struggle
with the outer world. These physical attributes, which
are manifested in the struggle with the material world,
are the ones attributed to spirit in its struggle in the
moral world, such as firm, rigid, resisting, flexible, stern,
unyielding, stable, resolute, strong, lenient, persistent,
austere, rigorous, etc. More important than passive
resistance is the active outgoing of the object to en-
counter the world about it, reaching its most significant
form in self-activity and will. Objects reveal their
true nature in action, and for this reason attributes of
action must be employed in description. The river
flows, the bird sings, the mind thinks; this is their
nature. A man's character is always described by
giving his actions. While the actions are fleeting,
they point to some permanent quality from which they
arise. In fact attributes of action often signify only
the power to act; as when we say that a bird sings.
This does not mean that it is in the active process of
singing, but only that it has the power to sing.
A spiritual object can be described only through
attributes of action. The primary attribute of mind is
activity. We infer its nature from its acts. A man's
specific acts and utterances are the key to his inner
life. To show that patriotism was one of the traits of
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 73
Washington's life, is to bring before the mind what he
said and did. When the novelist or dramatist creates
a character, he causes the character to reveal himself
in speech and action. The writer endows him with
some life principle at the outset, and then contrives
occasions and opportunities for him to say and do what
is in keeping with a man thus endowed. After the
character has once in him the breath of life, a real
controlling principle, he passes from under the control
of his creator, doing those things which it is fitting for
one thus constituted to do. The delineator has only to
watch how his hero conducts himself under all the
circumstances of life. " People think an author makes
his characters and moves them at his will, like so many
jumping-jacks, controlled by hidden strings. If that
were so each character would be a repetition of the
author himself, and nobody would read the book. An
author's characters are beyond his control ; they do as
they please, and if anybody thinks the men of Drum-
tochty are to be easily handled he does not know them." 1
Biography, in setting forth the growth of character,
is a most efficient means to character description. This
in process is narration ; yet the narration, if the purpose
be to arrive at the essential elements of the man's life
as a completed product, is subordinate to the process
of description. This, too, gives the best opportunity
for showing the reaction of the environment on the
character. While the individual moulds his age he is
moulded by it. His traits and habits are partially
accounted for in the life from which he sprang.
1 Ian Maclaren.
74 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
2. The secondary attributes are less essential to the
object. They are felt to be affections of the senses
rather than qualities of the object. Sound is felt to be
subjective, while firmness, given by the muscular sense,
is felt to be in the object. The muscular sense gives
an objective, resisting something, which as cause pro-
duces a subjective effect on the sense of touch, taste,
smell, hearing, and sight, giving rise to the various
tactile sensations, tastes, odors, sounds, and colors.
These senses cannot reveal to us the objective world,
unless the sense of sight be an exception, cooperating
with the muscular sense to give externality and form.
With this exception, these secondary attributes produce
their effect on the senses through an active condition
of the body to which the attributes belong. The
object to be tasted or smelt must be in a state of disso-
lution, and to be heard, in a state of motion. Sight
and touch are more nearly like the muscular sense, in
that they present the body in its normal condition; yet
here light is conveyed to the eye through the vibrations
of the particles of the body, and the same is true of
some form of tactile sensations.
These attributes are secondary only in the sense that
they are less essential to the existence of the object.
If the basis were the effect on the mind, the order
would seem reversed; for sight and hearing stand first,
in that they minister to the wants of the soul, while
taste and smell minister to the wants of the body; and
the other attributes to the wants of the object.
Thus the muscular sense stands at one extreme of
the sense scale, giving that which is of first importance
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 75
to the object; and hearing and sight at the other, giving
that which is of first importance to the mind.
The terms used to name secondary physical qualities
are freely used metaphorically to name spiritual quali-
ties, as was found to be the case in primary qualities.
In fact, all words descriptive of spiritual objects origi-
nally signified physical attributes. Those that seem
now to be applied literally, as calm, candid, pure,
sincere, bright, dull, etc., have simply lost their physi-
cal analogy by constant use. It thus appears that a
copious vocabulary of words expressing physical quali-
ties is essential to the description of spiritual objects.
The presentation of an object as a whole under the
relation of substance and attribute prepares the way for
its presentation under the relation of whole and part.
This process is called Partition, or
Partitive Description.
Whether it be a physical or a mental object, it can-
not be conceived without parts. It must at least have
a top and a bottom, a right and a left side, a beginning
and an end, an inside and an outside. Whole and part
are correlative, for neither can be conceived without
the other. Thus grasping a whole is the grasping of
attributes and parts. Without both of these ideas not
even a start can be made in the description of an
object; and a description can involve nothing else than
the presentation of attributes and parts.
Parts, as we have seen, differ from attributes in be-
ing mutually exclusive. Each part must occupy a space
?6 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
of its own, and each part taken by itself constitutes
a new individual. The old individual from which the
new is derived is but a part of a larger whole. This
fact further distinguishes parts from attributes, since
an attribute cannot exist or be thought of as an attri-
bute apart from the object to which it belongs. Each
part has the same distinguishing attributes as the whole,
and must be presented as if it itself were a whole, with
the further step of unifying the parts in the whole.
The attributes given of the parts must, therefore, be
such as will unify them in the whole.
What this means has already been largely indicated
under the discussion of the organic unit as distin-
guished from the class unity. The parts in the lowest
phase of the organic unit are simply aggregated in space.
In this, mere position is the unifying attribute; an
object appears as a whole to the senses or to the im-
agination. It is a mere external unity, and the whole
is simply the sum of its parts. The parts cooperate
simply by addition, as people collected make a multi-
tude or a mass, or as a number of oranges make
a pile of oranges. If the oranges were built into a
pyramid they would then cooperate a little more
definitely to form the whole; and other attributes of
each individual besides mere aggregation must be
given. Now it is not simply the fact of being together,
but of being together in a specified way. And rising
still higher in the scale of organic unity, as in the tree
or a school in which the parts actively cooperate, still
other and more complex attributes of each part are
involved in showing the unity of each part with the
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. fj
whole. This requires always a statement of the
function of the part, together with the attributes of
the part which adapt it to its function. But in all
cases such attributes of a part must be given as make
it a member of the whole. If the whole is a mere
aggregate, it is necessary to give only the position of
each part with reference to the whole; but. if there is
active cooperation, the attributes which adapt the part
in the cooperation must be given. Thus parts, as
wholes, are presented through attributes, but only by
means of those attributes which bind them into the
unity of the whole.
The law of unity in Partition requires that the parts
be so presented that the receiving mind may readily
and correctly organize them into the whole. This can
be done only
i. When the farts are made on the same basis of
division.
In dividing an individual there is choice of bases,
permitted by the nature of the object, and determined
by the purpose of the description. It may serve the
purpose best to follow some accidental basis, as the
order in which the parts appear to the eye, or
the relative position in space. Such obvious and
superficial bases are always used in the lower order
of description — descriptions in which the sensuous
phases of the object are made prominent. The more
scientific the description the more fundamental the
basis. This is a question of adaptation to a purpose.
On the basis of separation in space, the child readily
divides the human body into head, trunk, and limbs.
78 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
This is the best basis for the child, but the physiologist
would insist on a basis more intimately connected with
life processes. The ordinary description of a landscape
would require the mention of such parts as appear at
different places, or as occur at different moments of
time. But for geographical purposes, the basis must
have some -fundamental relation to life. Every change
in the basis gives a new set of parts.
Not only does this law require the basis to be chosen
which is best adapted to the purpose of the writing,
but it requires that all the parts be determined on the
same basis.
If a writer should present a tree as composed of
roots, bark, trunk, woody substance, branches, and pith;
or the human body as composed of flesh, blood, nerves,
muscular tissue, vital organs, adipose tissue, bones, and
the mechanical system, using two or more bases of
division, utter confusion would arise in the mind of the
interpreter. The division should be such as could be
made of the actual object. The tree can be actually
parted into root, trunk, and branches, and each part
put in a different place. So with bark, woody sub-
stance, and pith. But if one should attempt to make
an actual division of the tree on both bases at once, he
would have a practical illustration of what the law of
unity means in requiring the division to be made on
the same basis.
And further, the mind can organize the parts into
unity readily
2. When the parts are named in the order determined
by the basis.
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 79
If ignorant of a tree, as the recipient in a description
is supposed to be, to present the parts as roots, leaves,
trunk, and branches would cause the mind to form an
object wholly different from the one to be described.
The basis of partition used determines the order of
presenting the parts. It is not necessarily an order
of nearness in space or succession in time. It may be
an order of functional relation. When the basis of
division is that of space, the parts must be named in
spatial order. When the basis of division is the order
of observation in time, the parts must be named in the
order of occurrence. When the basis is some deter-
mining principle, the parts must be named in their
functional relation, without regard to their position or
succession. Thus the parts of the eyeball may be
named from without inward, or from within outward,
following an order in space; or following the operation
of the law of optics, there would be an entirely differ-
ent method of procedure, — as first, the retina; second,
the crystalline lens, with the parts about it which aid
in refracting light; then those parts which regulate the
light, followed by those which adjust and protect
the image-forming parts.
But after the proper basis is selected and adhered
to, and the parts given in the order determined by the
basis, the object cannot be readily and correctly unified
except
3. When all the parts which determine the basis
are named.
To present a tree as composed of trunk, branches,
and leaves, or a flower as composed of calyx, corolla, and
80 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
pistil, is to present the mind with an incomplete unit,
and therefore a violation of the general law of unity.
Thus the basis being determined by the purpose, if
all such parts as the basis gives be presented in the
order of their relation as determined by the basis,
the mind will the most readily and correctly organize
them into the unity they were in before their separa-
tion in the process of presentation.
The process of description may now be presented
in one view by the following outline, which forms
a general scheme for all descriptions. Not that a de-
scription conforms to the outline, but every description
moves within the outline as modified in adaptation to
the end sought.
The object to be described, —
I. As a whole, by means of its attributes.
1. By means of relations.
a. Purpose and means.
b. Cause and effect.
c. Time and space.
d. Likeness and difference.
2. By means of properties.
a. Primary.
(i) Extension — form and size.
(2) Resistance — passive and active.
b. Secondary — color, sound, odor, taste, and touch.
II. As made up of parts.
1. Analysis into parts by the laws of partition.
2. Synthesis of parts by the foregoing attributes.
the thought in discourse. 8 1
The Process Illustrated.
Construction. — Suppose we choose for our theme a
particular human eye.
i. The primary law requires that we fix at the out-
set a definite aim. Let this be to instruct. More
specifically, let it be to produce a full and accurate
knowledge of the object chosen, — not a mere picture
or general conception of it. This presupposes on the
part of the hearer or reader a mind so fully developed
that there need be but little concern about adapting
to its method of thought, with the exception that
the person addressed is supposed to have but a vague
knowledge of the object. His knowledge of the eye,
in the case assumed, is not sufficient to warrant a
strictly logical method of procedure.
2. That the law of unity may be followed, the next
step is a statement of the unifying idea. The purpose
being to instruct under the conditions named, the uni-
fying idea is found in the intellectual relations of the
object. The aim stated above requires us to choose
the highest bond of union, which is that of the purpose
of the eye.
3. The third step is to present this eye as a whole
by means of its attributes, under the laws of selection,
completeness, and method. The attributes selected,
their number, and their arrangement are determined
by the purpose of the description already fixed, and
also by the unifying idea chosen for the eye itself.
The attributes must be united into the whole by
showing how each adapts the eye to its purpose.
82 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
4. The fourth step is the presentation of the parts
of the eye, as they adapt it to its purpose. This
involves two steps : —
a. The basis on which the eye is to be divided must
first be selected. This has already been determined by
the unifying idea chosen for the eye, — namely, that
of its purpose. The parts given must be made on
their fundamental relation to the whole. The purpose
of this eye is to form an image so as to produce the
sensation of vision. The relation of the parts to this
purpose must determine the parts selected, and the
completeness and method of their presentation.
b. The second step is the organization of the parts
into the whole out of which they have just been made.
This requires that the attributes of each part must be
given according to the laws for presenting the attri-
butes of the whole, — that is, that all those attributes
be selected which adapt each part to its use in the
object, and that they be presented according to the
general law of presenting attributes of a whole.
For the purpose of testing our description by the
laws, the matter may be formulated as in the following
outline. For the sake of brevity, much is omitted
which can readily be supplied. Only two parts are
given, leaving the others to be filled out by these ex-
amples. The outline, however, is sufficiently full and
accurate to illustrate what an outline of this eye should
be, and what is better than a full description for test-
ing the organization of the matter under the laws of
thought.
Purpose — an organ of vision.
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 83
I. Attributes of the whole adapting to the purpose.
1 . Position — In cavity of orbit in upper front part of head ;
thus securing (1) range of vision, and (2) protection.
2. Form — spherical; thus securing (1) ease of adjust-
ment, and (2) firmness.
3. Size — about one inch in diameter. (Why?)
4. Firm and hard, to maintain the proper adjustment of parts.
II. Parts of the whole which adapt to the purpose.
1. The outer coat of the eye.
a. Sclerotic coat.
(1) Purpose — to give form and protection, and
to furnish means of attachment for the
muscles.
(2) Attributes adapting to its purpose :
(a) Position — external posterior part, thus
enclosing the other organs and admit-
ting light in front.
(b) Form — a hollow sphere, with an ante-
rior opening to admit light, and a
posterior one for the optic nerve.
(c) Size — five sixths of globe, as required
by openings named ; and one twenty-
fifth of an inch thick in posterior part,
but thinner in middle portion.
(d) Dense, hard, firm, and fibrous, to pre-
serve form, support inner parts, and to
furnish attachments for the muscles.
(e) White and smooth on outer surface, ex-
cept at point of insertion of muscles ;
inner surface brown and grooved.
b. Cornea.
(1) Purpose —
(a) with sclerotic coat, protect ;
(b) but while protecting must transmit light ;
(c) incidental to its other functions, to re-
fract light.
84 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
(2) Attributes adapting to its purpose.
(«) Position — front part of eye continuous
with sclerotic coat. (Why ?)
(£) Form —circular, and concavo-convex.
(Why ?)
(c) Size — one sixth of outer surface of eye,
one thirtieth of an inch in thickness.
(Why ?)
(</) Hard, dense, fibrous, unyielding. (Why?)
(^) Transparent, to admit light.
c. Choroid coat, and ciliary processes. (Fill out as
above.)
d. Retina. (Fill out as above.)
e. Aqueous humor, crystalline lens, and vitreous
humor. (Fill out as above.)
2. The inner parts of the eye. (Treat as the outer coat is
treated above.)
After filling out the remainder of this outline, it
should be tested systematically by all the preceding
laws. For example, under the law of method, the
reason for presenting the attributes and parts in the
order as outlined should be given. The parts are not
presented in a strictly logical order, for the retina and
not the sclerotic coat is the functional center of the
eye. And that the work of the retina may be done,
refracting media are required ; and these again call to
their aid the light-regulating parts ; and the whole of
the image-forming parts require protecting outer coats.
The retina is most immediate to the purpose of the
eye ; and each part, in the order last named, is removed
in that order one degree further from the immediate
purpose of the eye. Such an order would be the
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 85
strictly logical order of presentation, but this would
not be the easiest order for the mind's movement
under the circumstances specified at the outset. A
strictly logical order is from within outward, but the
mind assumed to be addressed in this case requires
the reverse procedure, — a procedure in the order of
observation, which would be first an observation of the
external coat of the eye, when, removing the external
coat, the next coat would be examined, and so on till
the retina is reached. This may be called the chrono-
logical, as over against the logical, order. This illus-
trates clearly how the two factors, mind and object,
determine the method of procedure.
The other laws should be tested as above.
The end sought in the preceding example is that of
instruction. Suppose the end be changed to that "of
moving the will ; for instance, to induce to proper care
of the eye ; what change would be made in the fore-
going outline, in respect to selection, completeness, and
method of presenting attributes and parts, — changes
in obedience to the new end, and the new unity set up ?
With this in view let the outline be rewritten. Now
rewrite the outline for the purpose of making a poetic
description.
For further illustration choose an autumn scene,
and make an outline of it for the purpose of mere in-
struction. Now change the purpose to that of arous-
ing a sense of melancholy. The unifying idea will
now be this particular feeling. The attributes, ob-
jects, and relations chosen must be such as to contrib-
ute to this effect, — must be unified in this effect,
86 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
with which the more fundamental attributes of position,
form, size, etc., may have little to do. Sober colors
and melancholy sounds fill the requirement under
selection ; and these, with the dull objects enumerated,
are presented in the order of their power to excite the
desired emotion, without regard to their logical relation.
The precision, rigidity, and fullness of the preceding
examples would here violate every law of discourse.
If the writer desire to move the will, the means of
securing unity through selection, completeness, and
method are further changed. Then he must select as
many and such points as will have power to control
the choice, and present them in such an order as will
progressively influence to action. In order to stir the
feelings to the point of action, the writer may have
to delay the movement with otherwise unimportant
and minute details. His skill will be measured by his
power to hold the mind in contemplation of exciting
details and stimulating circumstances.
Thus, with every change in the purpose of the de-
scription, there must be a change in the means of secur-
ing unity through selection, completeness, and method.
Purpose in the intellect, in the sensibility, in the will
requires, respectively, unity in thought, unity in emo-
tion, unity in volition; and in each case, the law of
unity makes a different demand on the kind, number,
and arrangement of attributes and parts.
Interpretation. — Suppose the " stronghold" (a coun-
try home), in " The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," be
selected for analysis. The selection must first be
perused to find the purpose of the author, or the effect
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 87
which the selection produces on the reader. This is
the reverse of construction, for in this the attributes
and parts selected must first be observed in order to
infer the purpose. This step having been taken, we
are ready to organize the description under the pur-
pose and principle of unity discovered, which may be
shown as follows : —
I. Purpose. — To touch the emotions for their own sake, spe-
cifically, pleasure in contemplating physical comfort and
security.
II. Unity. — The scene in its attributes and parts must be so
presented as to stimulate this particular emotion.
III. The Scene as the author presents it.
Purpose of Scene. — Physical security and comfort, given
by the author in the word " stronghold," as if a defence
against an enemy. This word is the key-note to the
selection.
1. Attributes of the whole, adapting to the purpose.
a. Spatial relations.
(1) Position — on bank of the Hudson. (Rela-
tion to purpose and unity ?)
(2) Form — a recess, "a nook," a nest-like
place. (Relation to purpose and unity?)
(3) Size — small. (Relation to purpose and
unity ?)
b. Qualities.
(1) Sheltered. (Relation to purpose and unity?)
(2) Fertile. (Relation to purpose and unity?)
(3) Green. (Relation to purpose and unity ?)
2. Parts with their attributes which adapt to the purpose.
a. The broad branching elm making shade ; spring of
softest and sweetest water; sparkling rivulet; bub-
bling brook. Each object with its attribute sug-
gesting comfort and pleasure.
88 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
b. The barnyard — the barn, large and bursting with
treasures ; constant sound of flail ; lively swallows
and martins, and pigeons enjoying sunshine; un-
wieldy porkers; troops of pigs; squadrons of snowy
geese; fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys; guinea
fowls ; chickens. An abundance of objects with
attributes contributing to comforts of life.
c. The house — spacious ; piazza closed in bad weather,
under which flails, harness, utensils of husbandry,
spinning-wheel and churn, and benches for sum-
mer use ; the hall with resplendent pewter, huge
bag of wool, quantity of linsey-woolsey, ears of
corn, festoons of apples, peaches, and peppers ;
the parlor with claw-footed chairs, mahogany
tables ; irons, shovels and tongs, glistening through
asparagus tops ; mock oranges and conch shells ;
strings of bird's eggs, a great ostrich egg ; an
open cupboard displaying immense treasures of
silver and china — taste added to comfort —
refined abundance.
Purpose and unity are here well carried out, since, —
i. Those attributes of the whole, and those parts,
with such attributes of each part as cause a solid sense
of comfort in living, are always chosen, thus obeying
the law of selection.
2. Enough of such attributes and parts are given to
produce a highly wrought feeling of the kind sought,
thus obeying the law of completeness.
3. The elements are presented in the order of effec-
tiveness ; and also, in the natural order of observation.
(1) The general background of the whole, producing a
vague sense of comfort ; and, also, that upon which the
eye viewing the scene would first rest ; (2) the spring
4-
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 89
and the tree being less essential to physical comfort
than what follows, but prominent to the eye encom-
passing the scene ; (3) the barnyard, the raw material
of comfort in abundance ; (4) the house in which com-
fort is realized, and also neatness and good taste are
manifested. Thus the law of method is followed.
Exercises. — Skill in description comes from much
and varied practice under the laws above set forth.
And thus too will come a fuller realization of the theory
for its own sake. In the following exercises, whether
of construction or interpretation, let always the exact
effect to be produced, and the conditions under which
it is to be produced, be first stated. This must be
followed by a statement of the unifying principle, after
which the secondary laws are to be systematically
applied. Let it be noted in each case also that while
the law of completeness must be obeyed, a descrip-
tion consistent with the purpose must be as brief as
possible.
I. Analyze the following brief descriptions: —
1. "A mild, meek, calm, little man."
2. "A rough-looking, sunburnt, soiled-shirted, odd, middle-aged
little man."
3. " A mosquito — a horrid, pungent, satanic little particle."
4. " Randall — round-shouldered, bulky, ill-hung devil, with a
pale, sallow skin, black beard, and a sort of grin upon his face."
5. "The blue jay, that noisy coxcomb, in his gay, light-blue
coat and white underclothes, screaming and chattering, nodding
and bobbing and bowing and pretending to be on good terms
with every songster of the grove."
6. " It was a fine autumnal day, the sky was clear and serene,
and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always
90 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on
their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer
kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange,
purple, and scarlet. Streaming files of wild ducks began to make
their appearance high in the air; the bark of the squirrel might be
heard from the grove of beech and hickory trees, and the pensive
whistle of the quail at intervals from the neighboring stubble,
fields."
7. " He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders,
long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves,
feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most
loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with
huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that
it looked like a weather-cock perched upon his spindle neck, to tell
which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile
of a hill on a windy day with his clothes bagging and fluttering
about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine
descending upon earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield."
8. " Brussels, a city, capital of Belgium, on the river Senne, 27
miles S. of Antwerp; pop. (with suburbs) 391,000, or about two
thirds as large as Brooklyn, N. Y. It is the most important city
of Belgium, and one of the finest in Europe. It was once sur-
rounded by walls, but they have been made into broad boulevards,
lined with double rows of shade trees. Brussels is noted for
splendid public buildings, palaces, and churches, and its libraries,
museums, galleries, botanical gardens, and observatory. It is also
famous for the manufacture of Brussels lace, and for fine linens,
damasks, jewelry, porcelain, and glass."
9. " Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,
Fair as the garden of the Lord
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde."
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 91
II. Select and analyze other examples which flash
quickly but vividly beautiful or picturesque objects on
the mind. In the daily reading mark descriptions of
exceptional merit.
III. Practice, orally and in writing, impressing viv-
idly but quickly, pictures of objects, having fixed in
mind the purpose and the conditions. Analyze the
examples thus made.
IV. Present the following by merely analyzing each
into its parts, having first decided on the purpose and
the basis of division.
1. A heart. 2. A door. 3. A watch. 4. A thermometer. 5.
An apple. 6. A house. 7. A ship. 8. A steam-engine. 9. A
human body. 10. A bird. 11. Greece. 12. South America.
13. A landscape. 14. A school. 15. A literary society. 16. A
legislature. 17. Select and present many objects quickly, as they
appear at once to the eye.
V. Present the following by comparison and con-
trast, assuming sometimes one of the pairs to be
known and used as a means of presenting the other
which is the theme, and sometimes assume both to be
equally well known. Sometimes also present all the
likenesses first, and then the differences, and some-
times present likenesses and differences alternately.
1. An orange and an apple. 2. The Mississippi and the
Amazon rivers. 3. Chicago and New York. 4. The earth and
Jupiter. 5. South America and Africa. 6. Demosthenes and Cic-
ero. 7. Washington and Lincoln. 8. Grant and Napoleon. 9.
The government of England and that of the United States.
10. The civilization of ancient Greece and that of the United
States at present.
92 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
VI. In a more elaborate way, having chosen a
definite purpose and specified definite conditions, de-
scribe the following objects and analyze the following
descriptions, making outlines as that given for the
eyeball and the " Stronghold."
i . A lead pencil. 2. A penknife. 3. An apple. 4. An orange.
5. A heart. 6. An umbrella. 7. A river. 8. A mountain. 9.
A ship. 10. A steam-engine. n. A real landscape. 12. A
scene suggested by a picture. 13. An imaginary scene. 14.
The village of Grand Pre", in "Evangeline." 15. A scene from
" Snow Bound." 16. An invented scene to illustrate private life
in some locality. 1 7. An invented scene of sublimity and gran-
deur. 18. An invented scene of the picturesque. 19. An invented
scene of simple beauty. 20. Lowell's description of the brook in
" The Vision of Sir Launfal." 21. Johnson's description of the
Happy Valley in " Rasselas." 22. Mark Twain's description of
the Coyote.
NARRATION.
Narration is the process by which one mind presents to
another, through language, an individual as changing in
time — as having successive attributes and parts.
Narration and description are alike in that both deal
with individuals; they differ in that narration presents
the individual as it exists at successive moments of
time, while description presents the individual as it
exists at a single moment of time. Both processes
present the same object, but each presents it under
different relations. Description presents it as a whole
with its attributes and parts coexisting, fixed in their
relation to each other and the whole — the statical
relation; while narration presents the object as a
whole with its attributes and parts changing in time
under some force — the dynamical relation. Narration
is truer to the object, for it is the nature of things to
change. Every object, in " fulfilling its own nature,
passes out from its own nature." Hence, the process
of narration brings us more closely into the real nature
of the object — into the moving force which is its life
and being.
A striking contrast between narration and descrip-
tion is found in the relation of each to language. It
was observed in description that words succeed each
other in time, while the attributes and parts of the
object coexist; and that language is not so well adapted
94 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
as painting or sculpture to present the outer unity of a
fixed object. But this is reversed in narration, for
words follow in order of time as do events; and thus
in narration language has an advantage over painting
and sculpture, corresponding to the advantage which
these have over language in description.
Narration and description are alike in their primary
laws. While the leading conception in description is
that of a fixed unit, in narration it is that of a changing
unit. Yet the object must still be presented as a unit,
and the law of unity prevails in narration as in descrip-
tion. The unity is found in the changes of the theme,
and the problem is to present the changes so that they
will be unified in the object narrated. When the object
is presented for its own sake, the law of unity is found
in the necessary relations involved in the change; but
when the object is presented to please or to move the
will the changes must be unified in their effects to
those ends. Thus purpose and unity, controlling the
thought relations under which the theme is presented,
are the primary laws in narration, as they are in
description.
While the object is changing, it still has coexisting
attributes and parts, and these must be held in mind
while the object is viewed as changing. There can be
no conception of a changing unit without involving the
conception of the unit as fixed at successive moments
in the process of change. The object, at any mo-
ment, must consist of such attributes and parts as were
given in description. At this moment the growing
orange consists of a given form, size, flavor, odor, and
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 95
parts; and without conceiving these as coexisting it is
impossible to think the next change it may undergo.
An object cannot be presented in the act of change.
The change is inferred from a comparison of the object
at a given moment with itself at a succeeding or a pre-
ceding moment. It is presented to the mind at a given
moment by a process of description, and then at the
succeeding moment by the same process. It thus
appears that description is an essential part of the
process of narration. But so intent is the mind on
the changes which the object is undergoing, that the
descriptive phase of narration is carried on uncon-
sciously and informally; and it does not necessarily
rise to the rank of a subordinate process. In most
narrations, however, there are prominent descriptive
parts, many of which are of great length. In the story
of one's travels, a description of the scenery may con-
stitute the larger part; yet the story is narration, for
the scenery is given to present the changes in the
traveler's experience. "Childe Harold," as a whole, is
a narration, while it is chiefly composed of descriptive
parts. In the narration of a battle, it is necessary to
state how things appear to the eye before the onset.
Irving' s story, " The Widow and Her Son," is neces-
sarily interspersed with distinct descriptive parts.
This element is so prominent in some narrations that
it requires a second thought to decide to which class
the discourse belongs. This cannot be decided by the
relative amount of space given to description ; but only
by ascertaining whether the writer intended to leave
the impression of a fixed or of a changing object.
g6 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
The first step in narration is that of presenting
The Change as a Whole.
It has already been observed that the conception of
change in an object is the fundamental conception
in narration. The idea of the change as a whole
involves the following conceptions; and the presenta-
tion of these conceptions is the first step in the
narration of an object.
Purpose. — A conception of change involves the idea
of end, or purpose, which the change is to accomplish.
Purpose, prompting and guiding every movement, is
both the beginning and the end of every movement.
The need of a reaper is felt, and this prompts the
purpose to satisfy the need through an invention. This
purpose institutes a series of changes in the object to
meet the need which prompted to the purpose. Hence,
it may be said that purpose is the moving force in
a series of changes, and that in narration, as in de-
scription, it is the most fundamental thought relation.
Because it determines and explains every change, it
is usually the first relation presented. Even when
there is no conscious purpose we understand that
there is some force moving to an end, in which the
moving force is satisfied.
Time. — A conception of change involves also the
idea of time, as a conception of attributes and parts in
the fixed object involves the idea of space. A change
cannot take place except in time, and cannot be pre-
sented to the mind without its time relations. There-
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 97
fore time, answering the questions when and how long,
is one of the fundamental thought relations in narration.
Time is necessary not only to explain the relation of
each event to every other in a series, but also to ex-
plain the entire change with reference to other events.
An event in history may be accounted for by its rela-
tion in time to preceding or succeeding events. In
fact, it cannot be explained without this relation. The
relations of preceding, succeeding, and during, one or
all, are absolutely essential to the explanation of an
event.
Cause and Effect. — The changes in objects are
produced by causes ; and the changes themselves pro-
duce effects. Every conception of a change involves
the idea of cause and effect. To think the manufac-
ture of a lead pencil, the growth of a tree, the devel-
opment of character, or the progress of civil liberty,
requires, as an element in the conception, the forces
operative in each case to produce the changes, and
also the results produced. Therefore the ideas of
cause and effect must be employed in the narration
of an object.
Likeness and Difference. — Every conception of a
change involves a comparison and contrast of the
object with itself at a preceding or a succeeding
moment. This relation is not only essential to the
conception of a change, but it is used, as in descrip-
tion, to facilitate the thought processes under all the
other relations. Well-known events may be used to
explain events under discussion. This not only
shortens the narrative process, but it deepens the
98 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
impression. For this reason two events equally well
known may be compared and contrasted with great
advantage. Changes may be compared under all the
foregoing relations — purpose, time, cause, and effect ;
and also the parts. Which relation shall be selected
to be thus presented is determined by the purpose of
the narration as a whole. Whether two battles be
compared as to purpose, time, cause, effect, or parts,
is determined when it is decided whether the purpose
is to instruct, — and what the grade of instruction, —
whether to excite the emotions, or to stimulate to
action. The law of purpose and unity requires such
relations to be chosen in the comparison and con-
trast as will best accomplish the end sought in the
narration.
The second step in narration is that of presenting
The Change in its Parts.
The parts in narration are the changes which con-
stitute the change as a whole. They fill out the time
whole, as the parts in space fill out the space whole
in description. This is the most prominent relation
in narration. Changes thrust themselves on the at-
tention. They may be seen and heard, in most cases,
while the other relations reveal themselves only to
thought. It is easy to picture the panorama of events
in a battle ; but the causes, results, and purposes can
be ascertained only by reflection.
It is more difficult to obey the law of unity in parti-
tive narration than in partitive description, from the
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 99
fact that time is a continuous quantity, while a space
object is discrete. Hence, the divisions in time are
more or less arbitrary, while in space objects nature
makes the divisions. The shifting of a dividing line
in time one hundred years in history will often do no
violence to the purpose of the narration. Because
there are no distinct separations in time, which the
mind requires for convenience in thinking, an artificial
system is adopted ; and the divisions of time by the
calendar, satisfying in the sharpness of its boundaries,
stand ready made to cut events into parts of definite and
convenient length. But whether this arbitrary exact-
ness or some inner moving principle be adopted as the
basis, will be determined by the purpose of the narra-
tion. If the history of England be narrated to show
the course of civil freedom, the law of purpose would
be violated in choosing the reigns of kings as the
basis of separation. This is a proper basis if, instead
of their inner life, the external phase of the movement
is desired. For common purposes of narration, the
external separation of events by some accidental
accompaniment, as the above, is desirable and proper;
but for the highest purpose, those phases which mark
the progress of the moving principle in the realization
of itself must be chosen as the basis. In such a move-
ment there are no definite boundaries, and to make
the arbitrary distinction of date or king control the
presentation is to do violence to the purpose. The
picturesque phases of things may well mark the divi-
sions of a child's history ; but in tracing for the
mature the movement towards spiritual freedom, the
IOO THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
division must be made on the basis of the relation of
occurrences to that end.
Not only is the law of unity difficult to obey
because the parts are vaguely and indefinitely marked,
— because all are as unfixed and restless as the
waves of the sea, — but because the changes are infi-
nitely complex ; and yet all must be seen as organic
parts of one complex whole. When there is but a
single line of events in the movement the law of unity
presents but little difficulty. The difficulty arises
when there is a complex series of events to be ex-
hibited in their interrelations, — " when concurring
streams of events have to be exhibited as contempo-
raneous in order to show their actual relations." In
carrying up each line to unite it into the general
movement, some events will necessarily be named
after those before which they occurred. In the
Revolutionary War, a series of events were happening
in the South parallel with another series in the North ;
and both were parts of the same movement. Both
series cannot be narrated at once ; yet that they are
parallel must ever be kept before the mind, together
with the purpose and cause-and-effect relations of
each to the other. Especially difficult is the narration
of a conflict. The narrator must be careful not to
shift carelessly from one party to the other. The
movement is in neither party, but in the conflict
between the two. To stand above this conflict and
hold steadily the attention on both parties at the same
time in the movement is the requirement of unity.
To this end the narrator may have to locate the
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. IOI
attention in one party, as in the aggressive one, and
hold it there while drawing the other party into the
movement. If the attention needs to be shifted, it
must be done so that the reader or hearer will be
aware of the change.
The law of unity further requires that the changes
in the theme be presented in the order of their occur-
rence — in the chronological order. Sometimes it
may be desirable to violate the actual order of events.
Irving introduces the reader to the funeral of the
" Pride of the Village," and then narrates her life.
Thus also in "The Widow and Her Son." This
method serves as a kind of introduction to enlist the
reader's interest in what is to follow. But in such
cases the writer really follows a chronological order ;
for he presents the events in the order of learning
them.
It is a common fault, especially in ex tempore narra-
tion, to reverse the order of events, even when there
is only a single line ; thus making it necessary to
correct by retracing. The movement should be con-
stantly forward ; otherwise the mind of the interpre-
ter is kept on a strain readjusting the parts. But
when there is a large complex whole, with lines run-
ning parallel, yet related to each other, to obey the
law of unity requires a conscious effort on the part of
the writer. If language permitted all the lines to be
carried along together, there would be no more diffi-
culty than there is in narrating a single line of events.
But this cannot be done, and the only question is,
How far shall each be followed up before another is
102 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
begun, and how can their parallelism be indicated ?
Each line may be carried through, and then all related
into the whole; or one line may be followed out for a
short distance, and then dropped to take up another,
fixing the relations as the parts progress. Which is
better the circumstances will determine. In either
case the reliance must be in a firm grasp on the rela-
tion of the parts to each other and to the whole ; so
that whatever course is pursued, the unifying idea
may be held constantly and steadily before the mind.
The foregoing thought movement constitutes a uni-
versal outline for the process of narration.
The. object to be narrated: —
I. As a whole under the relations of
i. Purpose.
2. Time and place.
3. Cause and effect.
4. Likeness and difference.
II. As composed of parts.
1. Analysis into parts by the laws of partition.
2. Each part presented under the relations of the whole.
To narrate an object is to set it forth under these
relations. Which of them to choose, and the order
and completeness with which they shall be presented
are determined by the purpose and the conditions
under which the effect is to be produced.
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. IO3
The Process Illustrated.
Construction. — Suppose we are to construct a narra-
tion on the subject, " The Stamp Act."
1. First applying the law of purpose, let it be deter-
mined to give definite instruction ; not simply popular
information, but accurate, systematic knowledge of the
subject, — the scientific grade of narration. Only so
far here, hov/ever, as necessary to illustrate the
process.
2. The law of unity requires the process to be
bounded, and the unifying idea determined upon. The
time, the place, or the means to the changes might
be selected, but our purpose requires the most funda-
mental unifying idea, — namely, that of the purpose of
the changes. This must be followed by the relations
of time, place, cause and effect. These define the
process as a whole, as conditioned by the determining
purpose.
3. Next, the parts of the whole must be given as
determined by the relation of the changes to the pur-
pose. The parts must be the changes in the one
change which the purpose manifests in the progress of
its realization.
4. Lastly, the parts must be shown in their organic
relation to the whole change. This will involve for
each part the thought relations under which the whole
process was viewed.
Formulating for the purpose of testing the process
it stands thus : —
104 TH E SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
i. Purpose of the Stamp Act. — To secure a revenue from
the colonists ; to make the colonists help pay the expenses
of the government of England because it had helped them
fight against other nations.
2. Time — spring of 1 765.
3. Place — British Parliament.
4. Cause.
a. Desire to establish the right of taxing the colonists.
b. Knowledge of the disposition of the colonists to resist
any attempt to collect a tax in the ordinary way.
5. Effect.
a. On the part of the Americans.
(1) Made them want representation in the parlia-
ment.
(2) Aroused indignation because they were not given
representation.
(3) Colonists refused to use the stamps.
(4) Expressed their indignation in many ways.
b. On the part of the British.
(1) Were compelled to repeal the act.
(2) They sought other ways of taxing the colonists.
6. Parts.
a. The discussion of the plan of taxation.
( 1 ) The necessity of the revenue from the colonists.
(2) The belief that the colonists should be taxed
without the consent of their legislatures.
(3) The advantages of putting the tax in the form
of stamps.
(a) The ease and certainty of its collection.
(b) The difficulties of resisting its collection.
(c) The low price of the stamps.
b. The passage of the act. (1 ) Time ; (2) place; (3) effect.
c. Enforcing the act.
( 1 ) Time.
(2) Place.
(3) Effect, (a) In America ; (b) in England.
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. IO5
It will be readily observed that the course pursued
is true to the purpose of writing stated at the outset.
If the points were amplified, as they should be in a
regular treatment of the subject, the reader would gain
accurate, systematic knowledge of the subject. The
intellect would be informed, rather than the emotions
aroused or the will moved.
Unity is secured by choosing the adequate unifying
idea of purpose. This gives a definite current to the
movement at the outset. Unity is further secured by
giving the space and time boundaries of the whole.
Unity is further secured by presenting the changes
in the order of their occurrence, and by organizing
each change into the whole. The relations of the
whole define the whole, and the subordinate parts are
shown in their subordinate relations. Unity in this
case is difficult to maintain, for there are parallel, co-
ordinate movements, also, coordinate purposes, times,
places, causes, and results. This difficulty is always
found in narrating a conflict. Each of the parallel
movements must be kept distinct from the others, and
due notice must be given when the attention is to be
transferred from one to the other of the coordinate
relations or parts.
Purpose and unity are obeyed by giving all the
changes in the series. How far to carry out the
changes into minute detail can be determined only
by a more specific statement of the purpose and the
conditions.
Let the purpose in the above example be changed
from instruction to emotional experience, and the use
106 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
of the material given in the outline would vary greatly
from the above. The unifying idea would then be
found in the emotions, and logical coherence would
be largely disregarded. The thought relations would
be left incomplete, the matter would be presented in
the progressive order of its power over the emotions,
exciting incidents would take the place of cause and
effect, and completeness would be given to features
now only touched upon.
Interpretation. — Let the selection be " The Miller
and His Son," in " Aesop's Fables."
i. The purpose of the selection must first be ascer-
tained. By a perusal of the selection it will be readily
found that this purpose is to move the will, - — to cause
the reader not to shape his conduct to suit the whims
of other people. At first thought it may appear that
the author intended only to instruct, — to teach the
truth that he who tries to please everybody pleases
nobody, and besides, loses something himself. But
every one knew this before, and the full concrete form
in which he presents an already well-known truth
makes it clear that he wishes to impress a lesson to
the end of resolution and action.
2. The example by which the writer sought to ac-
complish his purpose is the mind of the miller. This
he presents as changing ; hence he accomplishes his
purpose by means of narration, but by the narrating of
a fictitious event. The unity of the theme must be
found in the changing mind of the miller. The other
changes, as the mounting and alighting of the son and
father, and the attempt to carry the donkey, are subor-
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 107
dinate and external to the internal changes which ex-
hibit the theme. The real changes are spiritual ;
hence this belongs to the class of spiritual narrations.
The attention in reading must rest in the series of
spiritual changes, and if the writer obey the law of
unity he must hold the attention to the spiritual series.
This narration may be tested by casting it in the
following form : —
I. The changes as a whole.
1 . Purpose (in the miller) — to please those addressing
him.
2. Place — on the road to market. This furnishes op-
portunity for the causes of the changes.
3. Time — while going to market. This furnishes an-
other opportunity for the change.
4. Cause — the miller's desire to please everybody.
5. Effect — pleases nobody and loses his donkey.
II. The parts of the change.
1. The miller decides that his son ride.
a. Purpose — to please the girls addressing him.
b. Cause — a knowledge of what the girls thought.
2. The miller decides to walk and that his son ride.
a. Purpose — to please the old man addressing him.
b. Cause — a knowledge of what the old man thought.
3. The miller decides that both shall ride.
a. Purpose — to please several who sympathized.
b. Cause — a knowledge of what the sympathizers
thought.
4. The miller decides that he and his son carry the donkey.
a. Purpose — to please another group of sympa-
thizers.
b. Cause — a knowledge of what the group thought.
IOS THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
This outline shows at once that unity is maintained,
in that everything is subordinated to the one change in
the miller's mind. And this, too, obeys the law of pur-
pose, for it is the impression of these changes, with
their results, by which the author seeks his purpose.
The law of unity would have been violated in this if
the physical changes had been made prominent, or if
there had been a confusion of the two lines of changes.
The author has kept the physical changes subordinate,
since he presents them as mere signs, or effects, in
the mind of the miller. In making the analysis, it
would not have been true to the selection if there had
been given as the first happening the mounting of the
boy, etc., or the other external series on the part of
those addressing the miller. In the analysis of every
selection, there must be found and stated in clue form
its unity of thought.
Unity is further secured in first presenting the op-
portunity for causes to produce the changes ; and then
having purpose, cause and effect, and parts follow in
their necessary order. This the anaylsis, if true, will
properly set forth.
Unity to the end sought further requires that
enough changes be presented to accomplish the pur-
pose, — enough to show that the miller would change
to please anybody. The changes are invented, and
the question for the writer was, How many are
needed to produce the desired effect on the reader ?
Four changes are presented. First, the change
caused by the girls, who sympathized with the son ;
second, that made by the old men, who appreciated
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. IO9
respect for old age ; third, the change caused by a
miscellaneous group, whose sympathy is touched by
the effort of the son to keep up ; and fourth, that
caused by the townsmen, whose feelings were touched
by the overburdened beast. What each caused the
miller to do was that which led to some extreme, and
called forth rebuke from the next group met. Being
moved to change by such diverse classes of people and
for such contradictory reasons makes it absolutely
certain that the miller would change to please any one
for no other reason than to please him. Note also
that each decision of the miller was more foolish than
the preceding. This continually increases the strength
of the impression ; otherwise the last point would be
useless, and the law of unity broken.
Exercises. — I. Treat the following themes as wholes,
either by construction or by analysis, as the case may
require : —
I. The Civil War. 2. Paul Revere's ride. 3. The Boston
Tea Party. 4. Johnson's " Rasselas." 5. The battle of Bala-
klava. 6. The history of the United States. 7. The Norman
Conquest. 8. The World's Fair. 9. The conquest of Mexico.
10. The Lisbon earthquake.
II. Treat the following by partition, being careful
to note whether the basis chosen is in harmony with
the purpose, and whether the law of unity is main-
tained in the partitions made on the basis chosen: —
1. The manufacture of a pen. 2. The writing of an essay.
3. Whittier's " Snow Bound." 4. Longfellow's " Keramos." 5.
The history of slavery in the United States. 6. The American
Revolution. 7. England's acquisition of territory in the United
IIO THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
States. 8. The formation of the earth. 9. The building of a
ship. Also, Longfellow's "Building of the Ship." 10. The
making of steel.
III. Set forth briefly the following by comparison
and contrast : —
1. The settlement of the Jamestown and Plymouth colonies. 2.
The construction of the Pacific Railroad and the Suez Canal. 3.
The election of the President of the United States and of France.
4. The manufacture of cotton and of silk goods. 5. The growth
of a plant and an animal. 6. The history of the English and the
American governments. 7. The writing of a discourse and build-
ing of a house.
IV. In a more complete and systematic way, defin-
ing the purpose and testing by the law of unity, con-
struct narrations, or analyze those already constructed,
in the following themes. Make outlines : —
1. The circulation of the blood. 2. The "History of a Mouth-
ful of Bread." 3. The story of an iceberg : (a) to instruct, (b)
to touch the emotions. 4. The campaign of Burgoyne. 5.
" The Wreck of the Hesperus," by Longfellow. 6. " King Vol-
mer and Elsie," by Whittier. 7. The life of Franklin. 8. The
changes of the seasons : (a) to instruct, (b) to excite the feeling,
(c) to move the will. 9. A grape from the seed to a raisin.
10. Political freedom in England and America. 11. A story in-
vented from a picture, to awaken pleasurable emotions. 12. A
story invented to move the will. 13. The story of " Feathertop,"
by Hawthorne. 14. The process of learning the science and
the art of narration. 15. "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," by
Irving. 16. The great Spanish Armada. 17. The story of a
drop of water from its change into vapor in the ocean to its re-
turn, — first to give instruction, and then to address the feelings.
icS. The Sepoy rebellion. 19. The decay of Feudalism. 20.
Shakespeare's " Hamlet." 21. Holmes' " One-Hoss Shay."
EXPOSITION.
Exposition is the process by zvliich one mind presents
to another, through language, a general idea.
The preceding processes hold the attention to par-
ticular individuals, but exposition directs the attention
to the unity of individuals through their common na-
ture — their general idea. A description or a narra-
tion of individuals may be made for the purpose of
presenting their common element, and this is exposi-
tion. But so long as the thought is organized in the
individuals as such, the process is description or narra-
tion. In the first case they become subordinate pro-
cesses of exposition. Exposition may also be a subor-
dinate process in description and narration. Whenever
there is to be described a complex object, as the earth,
it is necessary to treat the classes of objects on the
earth; and this is exposition. In narrating the history
of the United States, there must be an exposition of
the classes of colonies that were established. But a
description or a narration may be made without expo-
sition, while an exposition cannot be made without in-
volving, in some way, description or narration.
It has already been shown that the theme in exposi-
tion is a unit, a whole, consisting of parts; as is the
case in description and narration. The whole is the
number of individuals which the common idea, or gen-
erative activity, binds together, or brings into existence.
112 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
As we have seen, a certain specified energy in a given
form of activity produces individual triangles. The
number of triangles thus produced form the whole, and
the individual triangles are the parts. The producing
activity, the common nature, of the individuals is
called the content of the class, or general notion ; while
the number of individuals thus produced and thus uni-
fied is called the extent of the class, or general notion.
Thus the content of a general idea is the sum of attri-
butes common to a number of individuals, whose sum
forms the extent of the idea. The content of the class
quadruped is the sum of the attributes, sensation, vol-
untary motion, vertebral structure, peculiar nervous
and circulatory system, quadrupedal, etc., including
whatever else may be found in each animal of that
class. The number of animals containing this sum
of common attributes forms the extent of the class
quadruped. The mind, in thinking the content of a
class, must at the same time think the individuals in
which the content finds its concrete being, — must
think the extent of the class.
The content of a class determines its extent. One
bears an inverse ratio to the other. If the class ani-
mal has for its content the sum of the two attributes
sensation and voluntary motion, and a third attribute
be added, say warm-blooded, thus increasing the con-
tent, the extent is decreased by having to drop from
the idea animal the cold-blooded animals. With each
addition of a new attribute to the content, there is a
subtraction from its extent, — a subtraction of the
number not having the attribute added. Continuing
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. I 1 3
a
this process the richest content would be reached in
the least extent, which is the individual. The content
thus determines the class whole or the class unity, and
the first step in exposition corresponds to that in de-
scription and narration, — namely, the presentation of
the theme as a whole by means of its attributive
content.
The Content of the Theme.
The content of a general idea consists of two rela-
tions — the universal and the particular, or its like-
nesses to and its differences from other ideas.
If we take from this particular book all the attri-
butes it has in common with other books, or in com-
mon with any other class of objects, we have destroyed
our thought of the book. If we should take from the
class book all the attributes common to books only,
our thought of book is likewise destroyed. Again, if
we should take from this particular book all the attri-
butes peculiar to it, or from the class book all the
attributes peculiar to it as a class, we have destroyed
our thought of this book and the class book. Thus
every object or idea has its being in the union of the
two relations of particular and universal. Therefore,
exposition, in presenting the content of a class, or
general idea, must do so through these two relations.
These two relations are formally presented by the pro-
cess of
Defitiition. — Definition is the process of presenting
to another mind the content of a class by a statement
of the universal and the particular truth of that class.
114 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
The universal truth is presented in definition by re-
ferring the class to be defined to the known larger
class of which it is a part. Whenever an object or a
class is said to be in a larger class, however small the
larger class, a connection is established with the uni-
verse. To say that a noun is a substantive is to say
that it is the arbitrary expression of an object, and to
say this is to say that it is the arbitrary expression of
an idea, which further implies that it at least is the
expression of an idea. Now this last fact is true
of every object in the universe. All express thought.
Nothing can be correctly defined without connecting
it with the sun, moon, and stars, and the definitions
which have power to the student are those in which he
can feel his way back to, is conscious of, the universal
element. This reference of an idea to a larger whole
is only a concise and an abbreviate form of giving the
universal. Otherwise the universal elements would
have to be enumerated.
It follows from what has been said that the larger
class to which reference is made must be a known
class, and such as will give the clearest and fullest no-
tion of the class defined. Reference is made to the
known class to abbreviate the process ; but if this class
need explanation, the purpose is defeated. For the
same reason, the class to which reference is made
should have the greatest content, and therefore the
least extent of any class to which reference can be
made. Reference is made to the larger class to save
enumerating and explaining common attributes of the
class defined ; and the greater the number found in the
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. I I 5
larger class, the greater is the economy. For instance,
in defining a pronoun it may be referred to the class
words or to the smaller class substantives. The
choice will be determined first by which is better
known ; second, by which has the greater content. If
the substantive has been previously defined, it must be
selected, because it contains one more attribute in
common with the pronoun than does the class words.
In saying that a pronoun is a word is saying only
that it expresses an idea ; but in saying that it is a
substantive is saying that it expresses an idea of
an object.
There is no exception to the rule that the class de-
fined must be referred to a larger class ; yet nothing is
more common than for statements which look like defi-
nitions to lack this quality : as, " A preposition shows
relation." Not what a thing shows, how it looks, or
what it does, but what it is, must be the form of every
definition; what are its connections with the universal
truth out of which it springs.
The universal truth having been presented, the
truth which gives to the class its particular, separate
being must follow. This truth consists of the sum of
the particular, but common, attributes of the indi-
viduals in the class to be defined. It will be readily
seen that these common attributes which bind the in-
dividuals into a class are also those which separate the
class- defined from the whole to which it is referred.
If these common attributes had been found in the
larger class, they would have been exhausted in the
reference to that class. So that the attributes here to
Il6 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
be given both unite the individuals of the class and
separate them from all other individuals.
Summing up, we have the following rule for making
a definition: —
First, present the universal nature of the class by
referring it to the smallest known class of which it is
a part.
Second, present the particular nature of the class by
stating the common, essential attributes which bind
the individuals together, and which, at the same time,
distinguish the class from the whole of which it is a
part.
Definition being a statement of unity among indi-
viduals, the law of unity here is exacting, and its vio-
lation can be definitely detected. This law requires
that, in defining, none but common attributes be given.
If an attribute be given which belongs only to a part
of the class, two classes are presented instead of one.
For instance, " A verb is a word that expresses
action, state, or being." Action does not belong to
all verbs, neither does state or being. If all the verbs
of the language be taken and placed before us in
groups as the foregoing definitions require, there
would be three distinct groups. The attributes named
in the definition should belong to each and every verb
in the language, but to no other part of speech. When
it is said that a verb expresses action, state, or being,
other parts of speech are included, for other parts of
speech may include the same ideas. But if it be said
that a verb is a word that asserts, all other words are
excluded. By giving an attribute which extends be-
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. WJ
yond the theme defined the theme is not unified in
itself, but is unified in a larger whole, which should
already have been done in giving its universal attri-
bute by reference to some larger whole. A definition
must unify the theme both in itself and with a larger
whole. The former is done by specifying the attribute,
or attributes, which unify the theme in itself. And in
doing this the mark given must extend through all
members of the class defined, but not to a single other
object. The definition must be neither too narrow nor
too broad. The ultimate test of every definition is
whether it unify the theme defined, — unify it both in
itself and with a larger whole.
Since this double unity of the class is through its
likenesses to and its differences from other classes, the
class as a whole is also presented by means of
Comparison and Contrast. — This is a double process
of uniting the parts of the class into the whole, and of
uniting the class with a larger whole. This process
either follows and explains definition, or precedes and
prepares the way for the definition. In the order of
learning, comparison and contrast precedes definition.
Classes can be formed in the mind only by comparing
and contrasting the individuals which are to compose
it. Comparison and contrast is the initiative process
in classification. By it, the likenesses and differences
are sifted out, and thus the mind arrives at the unity
of the class in itself, and its unity through common
attributes with larger wholes.
The law of unity in comparison and contrast re-
quires the choice of only such attributes of the objects
Il8 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
compared and contrasted as will exhibit the common
attributes of all the individuals of the class. This law
would be violated if in comparing and contrasting verbs
with prepositions, verbs should be contrasted with pre-
positions in the fact that some verbs express attributes,
while prepositions do not. This violates unity because
the verb is thus divided into two classes, and only one
part contrasted with prepositions. There would be
the same violation of unity in saying that verbs and
adverbs are alike in that both express attributes, since
only one class of verbs do so. Therefore, whenever
two classes are to be compared, the attributes chosen,
in respect to which the comparison is made, must be
common to all the individuals of the class in which
they are found.
It has already been suggested that description and
narration are subordinate processes of exposition. They
aid definition and comparison and contrast in present-
ing the content of the class. In this service description
and narration present only such attributes of the indi-
vidual as are common to the class to which the individual
belongs. To this extent in exposition these processes
are modified, and when thus modified are called
Exemplification. - -Exemplification is the process of
exposition by which the content of a class is presented
through one or more individuals of the class.
The class steamship may be presented by describ-
ing the "Great Eastern"; suspension bridges, by the
suspension bridge across the Niagara River; patriotism,
by a particular example of the virtue in Lincoln ; the
class triangle, by a particular triangle.
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 119
This is the point of confluence of description and
narration with exposition, and at this point it is some-
times difficult to distinguish between them. When
describing the eyeball, the purpose may be to present
only what is true of the class, as is the case in a work
on anatomy. Such is exposition by exemplification,
and not a description of the individual for the sake of the
individual. The process may seem identical with that
of the description of the capitol at Washington, but in
the first case the process, while it may hold the atten-
tion to some particular eyeball, the end sought is
knowledge of the class, for only that which is general
is given in the particular ; while in the second case,
the capitol, with all its peculiar attributes, is presented
for its own sake. The capitol is not given as an ex-
ample of anything, but is itself the thing given.
Exemplification is the most common form of exposi-
tion, because it has the advantage of presenting the
general and the abstract in the concrete. Much that
is usually classed under description and narration is
exposition under the guise of these other processes.
The novelist seems to be telling the story of a par-
ticular character, but he is always expounding general
truth. Shakespeare narrates the events in Shylock's
conduct only to expound the profoundest law of life.
Hawthorne's story, "The Bosom Serpent," is to set
forth the universal effect of egoism in the human
heart. When Aesop tells the story of " The Fox and
the Grapes," he is revealing the universal nature of
man. When a particular Australian is described we
may expect to learn of an unfamiliar race, but a de-
120 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
scription of the President of the United States would
probably have for its purpose a knowledge of the Presi-
dent.
Thus exemplification presents real or fictitious ex-
amples. The fictitious example is made necessary
from the fact that no real example is adequate to the
ideal content to be presented. The real content or
nature of a thing or person is hampered in the thing
or person, and to present the real thing or person
would necessarily fail to present the ideal and poten-
tial nature of the class to be expounded. The real
world of individual objects does not adequately reveal
the world striving to manifest itself through the indi-
vidual objects. This thought introduces another and
the last process of setting forth the extent of a general
idea, — namely, that of
Idealization. — Idealization is the process by which
an individual object is made adequate to an ideal con-
tent or is harmonized with a universal content. We
thus arrive at the peculiar phase of exposition which
presents ideal truth as contrasted with matter-of-fact
truth. The creative imagination now takes the place
of the logical judgment, converting the real into the
ideal, thus gratifying man's craving for the perfect,
out of which arises poetic truth as distinguished from
scientific truth. The poet's truth is created by the
imagination from what is shadowed forth imperfectly
in the real. The imagination in its passion for the
perfect penetrates the object, and satisfies itself by
adding, subtracting, and rearranging the elements until
it contemplates the perfect, thus realizing the truest
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 121
truth. Let no one be disturbed by the statement that
fiction is truer than truth, i.e. matter-of-fact truth. Let
it be emphasized that the only thing fictitious in fiction
or poetry is the individual in which the universal truth
is embodied, and that in this process the content or
meaning becomes more real because there is a closer
approach to the essential truth. Poetic truth is not to
be considered airy, fanciful, and unreal, while scientific
truth is solid and substantial.
Hence the poet idealizes to give his theme greater
reality, intensity, and power. First he does this by
omissions. For instance, patriotism, an emotion
suitable for poetic purposes, when found in the indi-
vidual, has elements which conflict with our idea of
patriotism. To idealize is to omit them, and thus
form a truer and a more pleasing idea. Love, a choice
theme of the poet, does not receive a truthful, in the
sense of true to the real, handling; whatever sensuous
elements are found in the individual are omitted or
toned down. The real pleasures of life have their
alloy, but the poet strips them of their disenchanting
element and we revel in the full fruition. We hold
the poet responsible for high ideals: his power as a
poet is largely measured by his power to idealize.
Each of the emotions may have an element which
clashes with our ideal of that emotion, as in the case
of love with its gross and carnal element. Some poets
use the carnal side, but in doing so sin against the
laws of poetry and fine art in general. Each of the
emotions arises by degrees out of the instinctive sen-
suous emotions, and carries to some degree the lower
122 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
elements along with it. Friendship, in its earliest
form, is instinctive and self-interested, and arises by
degrees toward the ideal of a pure spiritualized virtue.
The poet must give each emotion freedom from disen-
chanting elements, that it may find a response from
the reader's craving for the ideal.
Not only by omissions does the imagination of the
poet form the ideal, but by additions also. "Excep-
tional states of elation " are made the rule, and what
only has a momentary existence in fact is filled out
and given a permanent place in the mind. The poet
has the license of exaggeration, and may exalt the emo-
tion to the highest power of imaginative conception.
Circumstances may put limits to the exaggeration; it
must not be carried to the degree of offensiveness, for
it would then be opposed to poetic effect. The exag-
gerations in the fictions of fairyland and mediaeval
romance are pushed to the limit of the powers of the
imagination without offending proprieties of taste; for
they are understood to be indulgences of the imagina-
tion, — freedom of the imagination, — sportful moods
trampling down the laws of existence for the pleasure
of its own free activity. When traits of a people are
to be idealized, truth must be respected; but in the
idealizing of the spiritual emotions, such as love,
friendship, spiritual joy, philanthropy, or duty, no
danger is likely to come from the strongest effort of
the imagination. The evil passions may be idealized
as well as the virtuous emotions, but in this case the
poet adds insult to injury, unless done by way of con-
trast. Any degree of idealization here is more offen-
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 1 23
sive than the actual, either because it produces a
stronger stimulant or because it renders more decep-
tive by a goodly appearance the evil communicated.
The laws of morality take care of this offense. The
true poet needs only to guard himself against creating
ideals which stimulate expectation which cannot be
realized. It is dangerous to create ideals out of all
relation to actual life to which we are chained, so that
one breaks with his conditions and desperately and
lawlessly strives to realize the unattainable. Ideals
which are to inspire and to guide must not create
despair or stimulate to the reckless methods of hope-
less attainment. The overstimulation of expectation is
only less dangerous than false ideals of life. Another
form of dangerous exaggeration is that of making amiable
and desirable certain weaknesses of human nature.
The imagination selects and recombines elements
into new wholes, thus adapting to the requirements of
taste. As the parts of various landscapes may be
brought by the painter into one more beautiful than
any from which parts were selected, so the poet may
select from various characters the most perfect ele-
ments and recombine them into one more perfect than
those out of which it was formed. In this way ideal
characters are formed.
The Extent of the Theme.
As we have seen, the extent of a general notion is
correlative to its content; either implies the other.
The content, or germinant idea, must pass out into
124 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
the diversity of individuals, while the individuals, to
be members of a class, must inhere in the unity of
a single principle. It is only a difference of emphasis.
One emphasizes the unity and the other the diversity
of the theme being considered. In one the thought
moves from the individuals to their unity, in the
other the thought moves from the unity to the
individuals.
Classes may be divided continually into classes of
decreasing extent until the individual is reached, thus
moving out from the unified conception of the whole,
as given by the foregoing processes, to the complete
diversity of the individuals which compose the class.
The greater this variety the richer the concept.
As the leading process of presenting the content of
a class is definition, so the leading process of present-
ing the extent of a class is
Division. — This corresponds to the process of par-
tition in description and narration, inasmuch as it pre-
sents the parts of the whole. Ultimately the parts of
a class arc the individuals which compose it; but divi-
sion does not present the individuals as such, but the
species and subspecies in classes, until the individual
is arrived at. Thus division is like partition in that it
presents the parts of the theme; it differs from parti-
tion in that it presents the parts of the class, while
partition presents the parts of the individual. They
are further alike in that both are not merely processes
of separation; both processes must bind the parts into
the unity of the whole. Each part must, in both cases,
be unified in the process of separation.
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 125
The nature of the process requires the same unify-
ing idea for each of the smaller classes into which the
larger class is divided. It is unifying the individ-
uals on a content less general than the whole class
which makes the divisions of the class. Hence the
basis on which the class is divided is also the basis on
which each subclass is united. It is impossible to
unite each subclass on a different basis, as well as im-
possible to make the separation on different bases.
For instance, let the class apples be given for subdi-
vision. The individuals of one subclass cannot be
bound together on the basis of color, those of another
on the basis of size, and those of another on the basis
of taste, etc. Let the effort be made with the actual
apples, and it will readily be perceived why it cannot
be clone in thought. But the class may be separated
and the subclasses united on the one basis of color, or
of taste, etc.
Hence the law of unity in division requires that
the same basis for separating the class and for uniting
the individuals in each subclass be used. This main-
tains the double unity of the whole and of each part.
This law would be violated in dividing man into men,
women, white, brown, black, savage, and civilized. It
may be necessary to divide the class first on one basis
and then on another. This may be done by notifying
the reader of the change of basis, — as, on the basis of
sex, man is divided into men and women ; on the basis
of color, into white, brown, and black; and on the basis
of culture, into savage, half-civilized, and civilized. But
each division on the new basis destroys the division on
126 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
the preceding basis. Trie mind cannot conceive the
race as divided into men and women, and at the same
time into white, brown, and black. The second divi-
sion necessarily unmakes the first. This, however,
does not violate the law of unity, for by stating the
change in the basis, the mind is notified to destroy its
old division. Thus, without violating the law of unity,
the class may be divided on as many bases as the pur-
pose may require. Divisions on different bases give
variety and wealth to the concept. What basis to
choose, and whether one or more, is determined by the
purpose of the exposition. For political purposes, the
states should be divided on one basis, for agricultural
purposes on another, for ethnological purposes on still
another. For some purposes, as that of definite, scientific
instruction, the basis should be an essential attribute
of the class ; but for giving popular information or for
emotional purposes, the basis might have to be chosen
from superficial and sensuous aspects of the theme.
Comparison and contrast, and exemplification, aid
division in setting forth extent as they do definition in
setting forth content. The subclasses must be sepa-
rated by differences and the individuals in each sub-
class united by likenesses. Comparison and contrast
is the formal process of doing this. The basis of di-
vision determines the point of view from which to
determine the likenesses and the differences. Thus,
too, are the attributes of the individual to be given in
exemplification determined.
After the division is made and followed by compari-
son and contrast, and exemplification, the way is pre-
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 127
pared for a new definition, for each subclass becomes
a new whole, — a whole just as the first class in the
process is a whole, yet a part of a larger whole. Thus
the process of exposition is an ever-recurring circle,
which may be begun at any point and which will
return to the point of beginning. The process may
begin with definition and be followed up by comparison
and contrast, and exemplification, until the class as a
whole is clearly bounded and connected with some
larger class. But examples may come first; these be-
ing described or narrated, comparison and contrast pre-
pares the way for definition. This latter process is
the order of learning — the chronological order, while
the former process is the logical order. Which shall
be the method of procedure must be determined by
the purpose of the exposition and the condition of the
mind addressed. After one or the other of the forego-
ing movements has been made, division will come next
in order. Yet division may precede, reserving defini-
tion for each of the subclasses. Definition must
always follow division. Besides, exemplification, and
comparison and contrast may precede, and prepare the
way for, division, instead of following it. In fact, all
processes move together until by necessity of formula-
tion they must be thrown in a circle. It must be
noted, however, that the movement is always back and
forth from the individuals to the common principle
which constitutes the individuals. This is the unity
sought, and the foregoing describes the necessary
movement of the mind in relating the two, — in seeing
diversity in unity and unity in diversity. Neither can
128 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
be seen without the other. When the emphasis is on
one the mind moves in one direction, and when on the
other it moves in the other direction.
We may now formulate the movement in exposition
thus: —
The General Notion to be Expounded.
I. The content presented.
1. By definition.
2. By comparison and contrast.
3. By exemplification.
4. By idealization.
II. The extent presented.
1. By division.
2. Each part treated as " I."
The Process Illustrated.
Construction. — Given the theme " Attributive
Words."
1 . Let the purpose be to give instruction — defi-
nite, scientific knowledge of the theme.
2. The unity of the individuals in the class is found
in the content of the class, and this is set forth by
definition, comparison and contrast, and exemplification.
Definition. — Attributives are words which express
attributes. The universal nature of attributives, that
they express ideas, is given by referring them to the
already known class, words. Thus the first law of defi-
nition, which requires that the universal nature of the
class to be defined be presented by its reference to the
whole of which it is a part, is obeyed. Let it be ob-
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 1 29
served that this is the smallest class to which it can be
referred. To refer attributives to objects would be a
violation of the law of unity, since attributives are
more closely unified with a smaller known class.
The particular nature of the class is given by stating
what is expressed — attributes. This mark of attribu-
tives uniting with the mark which connects attribu-
tives with words forms the content of the class
attributives. The first part of the definition — refer-
ence to the whole — presents the idea of a symbol ex-
pressing an idea; the second adds to the first the kind
of idea — attributive. Symbols expressing attributive
ideas is the full content.
Unity is secured by the choice of one common attri-
bute, instead of choosing two or three, some including
one part of the class and some another. Suppose it
had been said that attributives are words that modify
nouns or verbs, and are used as predicates. While
this is true, it is not a definition, for it does not present
the nature of the class under discussion. It is not es-
sential to the nature of attributives that they modify
nouns; if so, all attributives would have to do so, which
they do not do. Thus with the other two marks given.
Besides, instead of unifying the parts of the class, it
distributes them, thus violating the law of unity.
Comparison and Contrast. — This class can be com-
pared and contrasted with only two others — substan-
tives and relatives, for these, with attributives, consti-
tute the whole class called words.
Attributives are like substantives and relatives in
that they express ideas; they differ from substantives
I30 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
in that substantives express objects, while attributives
express attributes ; they differ from relatives in that
relatives express relation, while attributives express
attributes.
In this comparison and contrast, the same mark of
distinction is kept before the mind as presented in the
definition, thus maintaining the unity of the whole,
and further impressing the content of the class. Let
it be observed that this process in its double form
emphasizes both phases of the content — the universal
in the comparison, the particular in the contrast.
Exemplification. — In the sentence, " A timely sug-
gestion was very kindly received," " timely," " kindly,"
and "was received" are attributives; each of them ex-
presses an attribute. To call attention to the fact that
"timely" expresses an attribute of an object, that
" kindly " expresses an attribute of an attribute, and
that " was received " expresses an attribute of an ob-
ject and also asserts, would be to violate the law of
unity, for it breaks the class by giving marks that be-
long to different parts of it. None but the mark in
each word which belongs to the class as a whole should
be given.
Under other conditions of instruction the order of
employing the three foregoing processes might have
been reversed. First, several words of this class
might have been observed and described, then com-
pared and contrasted, and then the contrast thus de-
termined presented in a formal definition.
Division. — Next the content of the class must be
presented by the process of division. This must be
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. I 3 I
done so as to bind the parts together in the unity
already established, - - that is, the unity of the class
must be preserved in the process of division.
The purpose being to give scientific knowledge of
this subject, the basis of division must be the most
fundamental attribute of the class. This, as stated by
the definition, is expression. If there are subclasses
they must be made on the basis of expression, if classes
differing in this respect can be found. If not, some
lower basis must be used.
Observing many attributive words, some will be
found which express attributes of objects, others
which express attributes of attributes, and still others
which express attributes and also assert the attribute.
While attributives are united in what they express,
they are separated by some special phase of that ex-
pression. Thus there are three classes of attributives:
(i) those which express attributes of objects, called
adjectives ; (2) those expressing attributes of attri-
butes, called adverbs ; (3) those expressing attributes
and which assert, called attributive verbs.
The unity of the class is here maintained (1)
through the selection and use of one essential basis of
division ; (2) through the giving of parts in the order
of their relation, the attributive verb being farther
removed from the adjective than is the adverb ; (3)
through the enumeration of all the parts which the
basis determines.
This, followed with a treatment of each subclass as
the whole was treated, completes the exposition of the
class attributives.
132 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
However elaborate the exposition, the above, sim-
ple as it is, presents its universal forms and laws.
Whether the student is constructing the science of the
adjective or of the animal kingdom, the process is the
same.
Interpretation. - — Suppose Whittier's " Maud Mul-
ler " be selected for interpretation.
1. The selection must be read carefully to ascertain
the purpose of the author, for his purpose pervades
and controls everything that follows. The purpose in
this is to touch the emotions — specifically, the uni-
versal regret of the human heart, expressed in the
words : —
" For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these : ' It might have been.' "
2. The theme, which sums up the unity of the whole,
is the emotion of regret. The theme is general, not
particular. He wishes to express the regret in every
individual. Hence the process is that of exposition.
The author does not proceed by the scientific pre-
cision of logical definition and division. His purpose
not only does not require this, but would be defeated
if he should thus proceed. He follows the more con-
crete method of exemplification.
He chooses two examples from the class to be pre-
sented — Maud and the Judge. This choice enables
him to emphasize the extent of his theme, and yet pre-
sent the extent in its unity; for he has chosen from the
extremes of life, and represents each as passing over
to find happiness in the conditions of the other. If
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 133
such regret is experienced by the extremes of life, it
will the more certainly be found in the intermediate
grades. This regret arose from a remembered vision
of better things than had been attained. In this case,
each dreams of happiness in the condition of the other.
To give to this vague longing of each for the condition
of the other specific point and poetic interest, each is
represented as desiring to wed the other — to become
one with the other. This desired union that each may
secure his happiness in the condition of the other is a
logical necessity of the situation. Thus the author
does not simply present the extremes of life in order
to carry with them the intermediate grades, but that
he may express a phase of the general truth, namely,
that each individual imagines happiness in the extreme
of life farthest removed from himself, and if each could
lose his identity in the other, happiness would follow.
The bright dreams of each of the extremes not having
been realized, and regret following from the contrast
of the after life with the dream of youth, show the
universality of regret arising from a contrast of the
ideal with the real.
The exemplification is carried on by the process of
narration. The poem appears to be a narration, yet
the narration is subordinate to the generalization,
which modifies the narration to the end of exposition.
The changes selected and the method and complete-
ness of their presentation are determined by the gen-
eral truth which the changes are to exemplify.
a. The first change is the longing and the anticipa-
tion of each for the condition of the other. To pro-
134 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
duce this in the Judge, Maud is pictured in beauty,
health, and joy, with the background of the poetry of
haymaking. This further serves to make it seem un-
wise for Maud to long for better things. To produce
this feeling in Maud, the far-off town, with its seeming
busy life, and the Judge with his wealth and life of
luxury, are brought before her. This serves to make
it seem unwise in the Judge to long for better things.
The vague longing in each takes the form of a definite
wish of each to wed the other.
b. The second change is the feeling of regret on the
part of each arising from the contrast of their real life
in later years with their former dreams of what life
might be.
In this narration each change is essential to illus-
trate the theme. Only two are given, — joy in antici-
pation, and regret in retrospection. To have chosen
any other changes in their lives would have violated
the law of unity, they having nothing to do with the
purpose. Unity requires the changes in each to be
given simultaneously, since they so happen. But lan-
guage will not permit this. Instead of tracing each
line of changes through separately, unity is better
maintained by giving the longing of one and then of
the other, and the regret of one and then of the other.
And since each is the object the other longs for, and
since the regret of each is produced by a remembered
dream of the other, unity is as perfectly maintained as
if the changes could be related in parallel lines.
Exercises. — I. Construct, analyze, and test defini-
tions of the following: —
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 135
I. A sentence. 2. A table. 3. A house. 4. A church.
5. A school. 6. A plant. 7. An animal. 8. A preposition. 9. A
phrase. 10. A factor. 11. A state. 12. A river. 13. A pyra-
mid. 14. Rhetoric. 15. Discourse. 16. Prose. 17. Poetry.
18. Oratory. 19. Description. 20. Partition. 21. Purpose in
discourse. 22. Unity in discourse. 23. Method in discourse.
24. Completeness in discourse. 25. Definition.
II. Compare and contrast the following: —
1. The adjective and the adverb. 2. The sentence and dis-
course. 3. Poems and orations. 4. Monarchic and Democratic
governments. 5. The Northern and Southern colonies of America.
6. The horse and the ox. 7. Plants and animals. 8. Steamships
and railway trains. 9. Waves and ocean currents. 10. Planets
and satellites. 11. Pyramids and cones. 12. Spoken and written
language. 13. High schools and colleges. 14. Politeness and justice.
15. Professions and occupations. 16. Vocations and avocations.
III. Exemplify the following : —
1. Exemplification. 2. Politeness. 3. Patriotism. 4. Treason.
5. Design in nature, using the heart. 6. Egyptian art, using the
Great Pyramid. 7. Roman manners and customs, by a descrip-
tion of an imaginary family. 8. What general truth does the
story of the Prodigal Son exemplify ? The parable of the Sower ?
9. Point out in text-books and in literature many examples of ex-
emplification.
IV. Treat the following themes by the process of
division : —
1. Rivers. 2. Winds. 3. Ships. 4. Firearms. 5. Books.
6. Orators. 7. Ministers. 8. Teachers. 9. Religions. 10.
Governments. 11. Languages. 12. Arts. 13. The senses. 14.
Schools. 15. Sentences. 16. Parts of speech. 17. Activities
of the mind. 18. The pupils in your school. 19. Money. 20.
Commerce. 21. Man. 22. Nations. 23. Select and test by the
laws examples of division found in text-books.
136 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
V. Write complete expositions of the following or
analyze those already constructed. Note what proc-
esses are employed, and whether the law of unity is
obeyed.
1. The noun — either a construction or a criticism of the ex-
position in some text-book. 2. The planets — construction or
analysis. 3. A criticism of this chapter by the laws developed in
it. 4. Friendship, as found in the " Merchant of Venice " or in
" The Courtship of Miles Standish." 5. Grammar, as treated by
some particular text. 6. Orations.
ARGUMENTATION.
Argumentation is the process by which one mind pre-
sents to another the connection between some concrete
individual fact and the general principle which deter-
mines that fact.
We have already seen that a general idea or force
or principle produces individual objects, and that ex-
position presents the unity of individuals in the gen-
eral. Argumentation seeks to establish the unity
which exposition assumes. To expound ocean cur-
rents is to exhibit a connection between the individual
currents and a common nature or principle which gen-
erates them, when such connection is supposed to be
established and unquestioned. But to argue touching
the same subject-matter is to strive to establish such
connection. In all argumentation a relation of unity
is under question. Hence, while in exposition the
starting-point is a concept, in argumentation the start-
ing-point is a judgment.
A judgment is the decision of the mind in regard to
the unity between some particular object and a gen-
eral truth. The relation of a general idea to some
concrete reality, affirmed or denied as actual, is the
world's battle ground of thought and arms. To say " a
beautiful landscape " or " developing man " presents a
general conception which challenges neither denial nor
support. But if it be said, The landscape is beautiful
I38 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
or Man has developed from a monkey, we have at
once entered the arena. The moment we establish a
relation and make an assertion, we become personally
responsible. The tree, the planets, government, com-
merce, are not ours ; we may only think them. But
the relations we establish are our relations; we our-
selves give the sanction of our thought and identify
our lives with the relation established. For this rea-
son argumentation enters so largely into the affairs of
men. In social, industrial, or political life, man regu-
lates his conduct by the relation of truth to things, and
this relation each establishes and asserts for himself,
and thus brings himself into harmony or conflict with
others, accordingly as his assertions agree or disagree
with those of his fellowmen.
The most obvious relation involved in argumenta-
tion is the same as that in the other processes,
namely, —
The Relation of Whole and Part.
Argumentation strives for the unity of the individ-
ual and the general, and thus unites the part in the
whole. In arguing the mind moves from the whole to
the part or from the part to the whole, accordingly as
the one or the other is the known term of relation.
One may know the general laws of planetary motion,
and from this may reason to some new fact concerning
an individual planet; or knowing some fact about one
or more of the planets may reason to some new truth
about planets taken as a whole. Either from a knowl-
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 1 39
edge of the whole class a knowledge of a part is
gained, or from a knowledge of a part of a class a
knowledge of the whole is gained. Thus on the basis
of direction of movement arguments are divided into
two classes, deduction and induction.
Deduction. — As the word indicates, deduction is
the downward way of knowing, as induction is the
upward way. Deductive argument- descends from
general principles to particular facts. Some known
truth of the whole class is carried down to increase a
knowledge of the individuals of the class. The known
term is the whole, and a knowledge of the part is
sought. This process brings the part into further
unity with the whole — makes a more complete iden-
tification.
The truth of the whole is united with the part
through an intermediate whole, — a whole which in-
cludes the part and which is included in the larger
whole. All reasoning is the unification of two ideas
through a third. To judge is to connect two ideas
directly; to reason is to connect two ideas indirectly
through a third. An act of judgment is expressed by
a proposition; but an act of reasoning is expressed by
a syllogism which means a " reckoning all together."
The deductive syllogism stands thus: —
All apples grow on trees;
This is an apple;
Therefore, it grew on a tree.
This syllogism connects this apple with things grow-
ing on trees, through the intermediate whole, apples.
I4O THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
Apples contain the attribute, growing on trees, and
also contain this apple. Since growing on trees and
this apple are both found in all apples, then growing on
trees must be found in this apple or this apple must
be found among things growing on trees. This sug-
gests the
Law of Deductive Inference. — Conviction is carried
by deduction through the axiom that whatever is com-
mon to the individuals of the whole class must be found
in each part of the class. It is impossible to believe
that all horses have four feet and at the same time be-
lieve that there is a horse which has not four feet. The
law is that if the whole and the part are united in an
intermediate term, one may be affirmed of the other;
if not so united, the affirmation cannot be made. If
one term is included and the other excluded from the
intermediate term, then one may be affirmed not to be
the other. If both are excluded from the interme-
diate term, no affirmation can be made.
Thus reasoning by deduction is largely a matter of
imaging the terms in relation to the term through
which they are to be united. For instance, using the
syllogism before given, image all things growing on
trees ; now image all apples, and this image will be
found to fall within the first one. Next image this
apple; it will fall in the second group. Now, since
this apple appears in the second group and the second
group falls within the first, there can be no mistake as
to this apple's falling within the first ; and this apple
can confidently be said to belong among things growing
upon trees. But suppose this syllogism be tested: —
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. I4I
All apples grow on trees;
This fruit grows on trees ;
Therefore, this fruit is an apple.
As before, picture all things growing on trees, and
within these things picture all apples. Now picture
also this fruit among things growing on trees. While
both apples and this fruit are among things growing
on trees, this fruit need not be pictured as among
apples. It may fall outside of apples and yet be in-
side of those things which grow upon trees, as cherries,
peaches, etc. It cannot be affirmed, therefore, that
this fruit is or is not an apple, and the syllogism proves
to be false. Thus fallacies are readily detected by
noting whether the major and the minor terms are
united in a middle term.
A shortened form of the syllogism is used, called
enthymeme, meaning to keep in mind, one of the judg-
ments not being expressed. Thus, this apple grew on
a tree because all apples grow on trees. The en-
thymeme is commonly used, it being expanded into a
syllogism only for the purpose of testing the argu-
ment.
Induction. — While deduction moves from whole to
part, or from principle to fact, induction moves from
part to whole, or from fact to principle. Some apples
are observed growing on trees, and it is inferred that all
apples grow on trees. No one has observed all apples
growing on trees, yet that they do so grow is a firm
belief, and this belief came from observing compari-
tively a very few cases of apples growing on trees.
One may believe that all crows are black from having
142 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
observed only one, and having tasted one orange a
notion is formed as to how oranges taste.
Thus induction ends with the general principles from
which deduction begins. If induction has not estab-
lished sound principles, deduction lias no assurance of
safe conclusions. A well-formed deductive syllogism
admits of no doubt in its conclusion, provided the
premises are well established. Because of the con-
vincing force of the syllogism in itself, the mind is too
often satisfied without raising a question as to its foun-
dation in the premises. Deduction cannot increase the
certainty of truth beyond the warrant of the induction
on which it rests. At best, it can only be said that
what it affirms is true provided something else is true.
The ignoring of well-established premises and relying
on the precision and strength of the deductive syllo-
gism is a leading source of fallacy in argumentation.
The two movements of induction and deduction are
but the two arcs of a circle, which begin in the indi-
vidual object and, moving out to the general, return
to the individual.
Law of Inductive Inference. — Conviction through
induction is based on the belief that what is essential
to the part must be common to the whole. This is
based on our faith that nature is an organic^ ^systematic
whole. If this faith were removed, all induction would
be impossible. To carry on an argument by induction
is to present such matter and in such a way as to make
the strongest appeal to this faith.
A single act of deduction permits no further discus-
sion, but a single act of induction may create only a
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 1 43
probability. What the single act lacks in convincing
power must be made good by the repetition of induc-
tive acts. At first thought this would seem a very
unsatisfactory process of reasoning, but there comes a
point in the accumulation of examples at which the
feeling of probability becomes certainty. The number
of examples given may range from one to complete
enumeration. Other things equal, the certainty in-
creases with the increase of the number to the point
of complete enumeration, wherr "absolute certainty is
reached. If it be observed that each state has a public
school system, then it is absolutely certain that all
states have such a system. But this is generalization,
and not induction proper; the unknown being reached
by the logical judgment rather than by the faith of
reason. Induction proper does not reach demonstra-
tion. If each state except one had been examined and
found to have a school system, it is still possible to
think that that one has no such system. But at this
point induction ceases, for if the last one had been
examined there could be no room for the exercise of
inductive faith. Induction is to do service when an
examination of all the individuals is impracticable or
impossible.
i. Induction from one example is called analogy.
An object or a class which resembles a known object
in some respects will be expected to resemble it in
others. The more complete the resemblance observed,
the greater the assurance that they will resemble in the
point under question. If it be known that a piece of
chalk is light, white, brittle, and can be used to make
144 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
a mark, on seeing a second object having the first three
marks, the presence of the fourth mark in the second
object would be inferred. If, in this case, the sec-
ond object resembled the first in only two respects,
as lightness and brittleness, the tendency, if any, to
make the inference would be much weaker. To argue
by analogy is to present as many points of resemblance
as possible between the known and the unknown terms
of comparison.
The number of attributes, however, is not the safest
basis of inference. Much more depends on the causal
connection in the points of resemblance. If a strange
animal were found to have a peculiar structure of the
skeleton, it would be safer to infer that all of the class
had the same structure than to infer that all of the
class had the same color as the specimen examined,
even if they resembled in many other superficial points.
In arguing by analogy the points of comparison must
be shown to be essential to the object. When this
cannot be done, the mere accumulation of the number
of points of resemblance must be resorted to. If it is
to be proved, by its analogy to the earth, that Jupiter
is inhabited, the accumulation of all the points of
resemblance would have weight; but to show that
Jupiter is like the earth in those points that condition
human life, would be far more convincing.
2. The lowest phase of induction proper is based on
the force of accumulated examples. The first orange
observed being yellow does not justify the assertion
that all oranges are yellow. But by repeated observa-
tions, the mind confidently extends this attribute to all
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. I45
oranges, and does so without perceiving any necessary
connection between the color and the orange. We
believe only on the ground that if there had been
oranges of other colors we should have chanced upon
them. As the number increases, probability grows into
certainty. Not that this ever becomes the certainty of
demonstration, for the opposite of what is affirmed may
always be conceived ; but the mind rests satisfied in its
conclusion. As in the lowest phase of analogy the
force of the argument is in the number of points of re-
semblance, so in the lowest phase of induction the con-
vincing power is in the mere number of examples.
The highest phase of induction seeks a causal con-
nection as the basis of inference. The more funda-
mental the attributes observed, the fewer the examples
needed. It is sometimes impossible to discover an
essential relation of the attribute under question to the
object in which it is found; as, why an orange is yellow.
In such cases there is no appeal from the mere force of
accumulated examples. But in most cases arguing by
induction consists in pointing out the essential relation
of the property under discussion to the others in the
examples produced. When the manner of the working
of a cause is obvious, there is little difficulty in the
process; as, in the rain wetting the ground. We see
in the nature of rain why this effect is produced, and
have no hesitancy in saying that rain will always pro-
duce this effect. The relation the valves sustain to
the function of the heart is easily determined, and that
all hearts have such parts is confidently inferred. But
the manner of the working of a cause cannot in all
I46 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
cases be detected; as, the cause for a tree's growing
more rapidly in one kind of soil than in another. We
may not be able to see how two objects are connected,
but to know that they are necessarily connected is safe
ground for induction. The difficulty is in deciding that
there is really a cause and effect relation. Especially
is this true in complex phenomena, for in this case
the essential is entangled with the accidental. For the
methods of testing the presence of this relation, see
Mill's "Logic," pages 278-291.
This introduces us to the real basis of all argu-
mentation, namely, —
The Relation of Cause and Effect.
The primary reason for asserting a relation between
two objects is not that of whole and part, but that of
the causal connection in the objects themselves. We
have seen that a general idea or force produces an
individual, and that it is this connection which argu-
mentation seeks to establish. All argumentation rests
at bottom on the connection of a productive energy
in the phenomena produced. To prove that a certain
word is a noun is to prove that it arises under the same
mental impulse which produces other words classed as
nouns. To prove that the free coinage of silver would
improve the condition of the country is to find in free
coinage a causal energy which would produce the effect
affirmed.
In establishing such causal connection all the
thought relations previously discussed are involved;
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. I47
for the causal connection appears from the connection
of the objects that the judgment connects, which
nature is disclosed by the discourse processes already
discussed. Therefore, all the preceding processes may
be involved as subordinate processes in argumentation.
The greater part of an argument may consist of one or
more of the subordinate processes. To prove that a
railroad through a certain part of the country would be
profitable might require an elaborate description of the
country through which the road would pass and of
the parts to be connected. To prove that the hanging
of John Brown was, or was not, good for the country
would require a narration of the preceding and the
succeeding events. To prove whether sponges are
animals would require an exposition of both the general
ideas, sponges and animals. All the attributes in an
object which bring it into real connection with another
are involved in giving the reasons for connecting them
in a proposition ; hence, the constant employment of
the other processes in argumentation. But argumen-
tation pays the debt in becoming a subordinate process
in each of the other processes. In a description of the
earth, it may be necessary to prove that it is round; or
in narrating a course of events, it may be necessary
to prove that something happened, or why it happened;
or in expounding the idea man, it may be necessary to
prove that he has certain qualities.
But an argument is something more than the explana-
tion of the subject and predicate of a proposition. It
must show why one is affirmed of the other — must
present their causal connection. In doing this the
148 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
argument must start from the cause to establish its
effect, or from the effect to establish its cause.
This fact gives rise to two kinds of arguments,
based on the relation of cause and effect. The argu-
ment which moves from the cause to the effect is called
an a priori argument, or an argument from antecedent
probability; the argument which moves from effect to
cause is called an a posteriori argument, or an argu-
ment from experience.
A Priori Arguments. — The a priori arguments are
arguments from cause to effect, explaining either what
has happened or what will likely happen. Thus we
may prove that with the increase of popular education
there will be a decrease in crime; education having in
itself a nature, a force, a cause, such as to produce this
as an effect. That a certain candidate will be elected
may be predicted from his high character or from the
principles which he embodies. That prosperous times
are, or are not, produced by a change in governmental
administration is to be proved by determining whether
there is in the nature of the case a sufficient causae.
Tourgee urges, in his " Appeal to Caesar," that there
will arise trouble with the South from the cause now
present — the rapid multiplication of the negro popula-
tion. The guilt or innocence of an accused person
may be largely established by the a priori argument. It
is difficult to convict a person whose character is such
as to furnish no antecedent probability for the crime
alleged. If the man accused of murder is shown to
have hated the murdered man intensely, and would
gain great riches by committing the crime, there
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 1 49
would be strong motive to the deed. This, how-
ever, would not prove his guilt, but would show why-
he may have committed the murder. To give such
evidence its greatest force, it must be shown that
there is nothing in the accused person's character to
oppose the free action of the motive, as fear of the law
or high moral character.
Laiv of Inference from Cause. — Whenever there is
a known cause, its full effect must be inferred, provided
there are no hindrances. When there are hindrances,
the effect is decreased in proportion to the hindrance
to the point of prevention. The degree of probability
depends on the strength of the cause after the hin-
drance is overcome. To prove the absence of cause or
that the cause is neutralized by opposing forces is to
destroy all probability whatever. If a man has no
motive to theft or is confined so that the act would
be impossible, he would not be charged with such
a crime.
Physical causes are more certain to be followed by
their effects than moral causes. The warmth of the
sun and the moisture in spring will clothe the earth
in verdure; but whether a nation at enmity against
another will bring war is not so certain. In the realm
of volition, so many and so complex are the motives,
and so many of them hidden from view to all except
the person choosing, that the connection of cause and
effect cannot be ascertained with certainty. If all mo-
tives could be taken -into account, the resulting effect
in action could be as certainly inferred as the effect of
a cause in the physical world. The uncertainty of pre-
I 50 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
vision in history arises from the fact that the forces
are so diffused and complex that their result is difficult
to estimate ; besides, there are many latent forces in
human character which must be left out of the account
altogether.
A common fallacy in argumentation under the law
of inference from cause is the assumption that one of
two or more effects which may seem to have equal
connection with the cause is the effect which is to
follow. Which of these effects will follow is the very
point in question. Or, of two or more causes which
may equally well account for the effect, one is assumed
as the cause. Which of these is the real cause is to be
proved by the argument. This fallacy is called "beg-
ging the question." One writer may urge the system
of landholding as the cause of the discontent of the
country, while another finds the cause in foreign immi-
gration, and a third is sure that railroad monopolies
are responsible. Each assumes one cause, and finding
that it tends in the desired direction, expects his
readers to infer it to be the sole cause, while other
causes may be shown to bear with equal force; and all
of them, or some cause fundamental enough to include
all the minor causes, might be a better basis of infer-
ence than any one presented. Another form of this
fallacy is the assumption that one circumstance is the
cause of another, when it is only a concomitant. Sta-
tistics are presented to prove that illiteracy is the
cause of crime; while both illiteracy and crime may be
common effects of the low character of the persons
enumerated in the statistics. People do not read, and
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. I 5 I
it is observed that they have no libraries, and the
second fact is thought to explain the first. Yet
the absence of reading and the library may be con-
comitant facts of a common cause; as, hard manual
labor, sensual indulgence, sluggish state of mind, etc.
A fruitful source of such fallacies as the above is the
prejudice of the one who makes the argument. To a
greater extent than one is consciCus will he select from
probable causes the one which he desires to be the
cause. The heart has arguments which the head
knows not of. A bad motive is generally assumed to
explain the actions of those to whom we are opposed;
and good motives to explain the actions of those with
whom we agree. No candidate for office expects just
inferences from the opposite party. Even the philan-
thropist, in carrying out some benevolent enterprise,
is gratuitously supplied with selfish motives. When
many good reasons will readily account for an action,
the mind is too often determined in its choice, not by
the careful estimate of the relation of cause and effect,
but by the wish that a certain motive be the cause.
The President may favor or veto a certain measure, and
his course be explainable by a desire for the general
good or for some selfish gain. Party affiliations will
cause one party to praise him for his disinterested
loyalty and justice, while with the other party preju-
dice finds in the position taken nothing but selfishness
or cowardice. When the advantages of either free
trade or protective tariff are to be proved against
the other, many beneficial effects are assumed that
could as easily be explained by other conditions, and
152 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
which would be so explained if the case had not been
prejudged — prejudiced — by the desires. The caution
needed here is that in estimating an argument the pre-
judices of the writer or speaker be taken into account;
and that, in making an argument, those assumptions
which prejudice intrudes be excluded. The remedy
for this fallacy is to love truth more and victory less.
The man who wishes to be really, not apparently, suc-
cessful in debate must come to the question with an
earnest desire to find the real relation of cause and
effect involved, solely for the sake of the truth. A
debating club in which a question is discussed for the
sake of victory is not conducive to that attitude of
mind necessary to effective argument. The hypocrisy
of the judgment in its pretense of reasons blinds to the
real reasons when engaged in an actual contest for
truth. Much of the so-called drill in debating is only
a drill in fluency of words and deftness in manipulat-
ing fallacies.
A Posteriori Arguments. — These are arguments
from effect to cause, explaining why something is or
why something has happened. The effect is known,
and the cause which produced it is sought. In the
a priori arguments known causes point to unknown
future events or to some known effect which the
known cause explains; while in the a posteriori argu-
ments the effect is known and the cause sought.
Inference of cause from effect is based on the differ-
ent thought relations involved in thinking. The whole
may be inferred from the part; the substance from the
attribute, or the attribute from the substance; from
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 1 53
likenesses, other likenesses, or from differences, other
differences; from effect, its adequate cause; from adap-
tation may be inferred purpose. From the presence of
the whole of a steam engine certain parts may be
safely inferred ; or with a part of it present, the whole
will be suggested. The attribute yellow being present
in a distant field, some substance, as wheat or clay, will
be suggested; and the substance, wheatfield, will
suggest some accompanying attribute. Likeness in
color, form, texture, and parts of two kinds of fruits
will suggest likeness as to flavor and odor; and differ-
ences in the first respect named will suggest differences
in the second. From the moving train, the steam as an
adequate cause of the motion may be inferred. From
the adaptation of an anchor to grapple in the bed of
the ocean, the inference is readily made that some one
designed it. But in all these cases the inference is
based on the relation of cause and effect. The adapta-
tion in the anchor is caused by its purpose; that in the
nature of the fruits which caused them to be alike in
certain respects will cause them to be alike in other
respects; that which usually conditions or causes the
presence of the yellow color under the conditions
observed is still the cause; and whatever there is in
the nature of the engine to necessitate the relation
of whole and part is permanent in causing that re-
lation.
The so-called signs and resemblances, so often
spoken of in argumentation, are only other names for
effects. The tolling of a bell is a sign that some one
has died; but it is a sign of this because it is an effect
154 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
resulting from death. A weapon in possession of the
accused man is a sign that he is a murderer; but it
is a sign because the carrying of such a weapon is an
effect produced by the intention of killing some one.
The bridge is a sign that men have labored, for it is an
effect produced by such a cause. Two objects resemble
each other in certain respects, and reasoning by re-
semblance, some unknown attribute of the one will
be like some known attribute of the other. Yet this is
reasoning from a known effect to a cause, for it is a
belief that whatever caused the similarity in the points
observed will cause it in the point with reference to
which the inference is made. Signs and points of re-
semblance are always effects of which the cause is
to be inferred.
Laws of Inference from Effect. - - The degree of
force in the a posteriori argument varies with the cer-
tainty of the causal relation on which the inference
is based. This depends on (i) the number and com-
plexity of the causes which may produce the effect,
and (2) the efficiency and reality of the cause.
1. A cause may be inferred from an effect with
certainty when the effect is such that only one cause
can produce it. We may argue conclusively that the
oak is produced from an acorn; that steam is caused
by heat ; that the burned house has been on fire ; there
being no other cause for each phenomenon. The
train is moving, and steam may be inferred as the
cause; but not conclusively, for there may be other
forces moving it, as men, horses, electricity, gravity,
etc. When there are many causes, either of which or
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 155
a combination of which may produce the effect, the
inference becomes less certain as the number and com-
plexity increase. As a rule, the number and complexity
of causes increase in passing from the physical to the
spiritual world. Especially is it difficult to assign
causes to social phenomena, so manifold and subtile
are the moving forces. And nowhere are fallacies
more common.
2. In an argument from resemblance a cause may
be inferred with certainty when the resemblances are
essential. On the ground that Caesar was selfish and
a tyrant, it might safely be inferred that another ruler
who was selfish was also a tyrant, there being a causal
relation between selfishness and tyranny. Glass is
transparent and brittle; but it does not follow that be-
cause water is transparent it is also brittle, there being
no essential relation between transparency and brittle-
ness. In such cases the burden of proof consists in
showing that the rjo_LQls.-of--resemblance are so related
to the nature of the object that they are constant
marks of it. This may be done by establishing directly
a causal relation, as in the case of selfishness and
tyranny; or by an accumulation of examples till the
uniformity establishes a belief in a constant cause.
Attributes and objects are so often accidental ac-
companiments of each other without causal relation
that arguments from example are fruitful sources of
fallacies. The immature and the untrained mind,
in their tendency to hasty conclusions, generally infer
a causal relation where there is only an accidental
existence; as, —
156 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
Some intemperate man lives to a great age; there-
fore, intemperance is conducive to longevity. It
rained on Monday and the two succeeding days of the
week; therefore, when it rains on Monday it will rain
three days in the week. A great man smokes; there-
fore, smoking is manly. Byron was licentious and
a great poet ; therefore, licentiousness is favorable to
poetic inspiration. A man who believes the doctrines
of a certain church is immoral; therefore, the. doc-
trines of that church tend to produce immorality.
This kind of argument is much used by the sophist.
The demagogue finds it an effective means of carrying
conviction to the minds of unthinking people. By
means of it, he accounts for the dull or the flourishing
condition of the times; the high or the low price of
crops and merchandise; the scarcity or the abundance
of productions; the demand for labor or the difficulty
with which it is obtained; and gives the credit or the
blame, as suits his purpose, to the party in power,
when the coexistence of the facts may be purely acci-
dental. To prove the value of a classical over a scien-
tific etkrcation, or vice versa, some eminent scholar is
instanced who has pursued one of these courses;
while his eminence may be accounted for by a large
number of causes; as, natural endowment, more thor-
ough discipline on account of superior teachers, social
opportunities, combined effect of various studies, etc.
The proof would be absolutely convincing if the same
person could be the subject of each course, for then
the conditions would be identical; or, if many examples
under similar conditions from each course could be
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 157
furnished. Through every phase of life, reasoning
by example is a fruitful source of error in the lower
order of thinkers, and hence an effective means of
deception in the hands of the unprincipled.
Arguments from example may be either invented or
real. An argument against the majority determining
the laws which govern a city might be made by invent-
ing the example of a majority determining the best
method of performing a difficult surgical operation,
rather than leaving the case to one skillful surgeon.
The argument derives its force from the fact that
knowledge and skill bear the same relation to the
making of laws that they do to surgery. The example
taken must be true to experience, else it has no con-
vincing power. Every one knows the relation between
knowledge and skill, and a successful operation in sur-
gery. If a fictitious city had been presented as having
been ruled disastrously by the majority, the example
could have had no force whatever, because the ex-
ample assumes the fact to be proved. The invented
examples in the allegory, the fable, the parable, are
used to make a general truth clear, and not as argu-
ments to establish it.
A prominent form of argument from effect to cause
is that of testimony. The fact in the mind of the wit-
ness is produced by the cause sought, and the conviction
is produced through the belief that the witness will
speak the truth rather than a falsehood. In such
proof there can be only a probability of the fact
testified to because all men do not always speak
the truth. The degree of probability depends on
158 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
f
(1) the power, and (2) the desire of the witness to
speak the truth.
1. There is a wide difference as to the value of the
testimony of two witnesses equally honest. One may
have powers of observation which enable him to see an
object or an occurrence more distinctly, clearly, and
fully than another, or superior powers of inference,
that he may interpret correctly what he sees, or greater
skill in expressing what he sees, that others may
receive the correct impression of the matter under
question. Two persons seldom see and report things
exactly alike, however much they may desire to be true.
The impression made on the mind by the senses are
the same; the divergence begins with the facts ob-
served. Hence, in cases of proof by testimony, the
witness is confined to a statement of what the senses
report. But this is only a question of degree, for un-
conscious inferences are a part of almost every act of
sense perception. When the witness reports that he
heard a certain object or that he saw an object
of a given form, size, and at a given distance, he
reports more than the senses give. In all the acquired
sense-perceptions, that which is literally given by the
senses and that given by the judgment cannot be sepa-
rated, except by a conscious process of analysis. The
conscious element is the act of sense-perception, and
not the act of inference. Therefore, statements of the
truth gained by acquired sense-perceptions are taken in
testimony as matters of fact rather than as matters of
inference or of opinion. The one shades off into the
other so gradually that no definite boundary can be fixed.
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. I 59
Therefore, it would seem that too much emphasis is
often placed on the difference between statements of
facts and statements of opinion. Practically, a matter
of fact must be limited to an individual concrete object,
while a matter of opinion consists of a general truth.
2. The convincing power of a witness not only de-
pends on his power to comprehend the truth accurately
and fully, and to state it clearly, but also upon his
desire to state the truth, the whole truth, and nothing
but the truth. Even when the witness has no special
prejudice in the case under trial, his narrow-minded-
ness, his general prejudices, his confirmed habit of
taking partial views of questions, seriously invalidate
his testimony. If the witness has some personal
interest involved in the trial, it is expected, in the
weakness of human nature, that he will consciously or
unconsciously color the facts and opinions to accord
with his own interests. But if the witness testifies
against his own interest, the testimony has greater
value than if he were without bias; for in so doing he
proves his adherence to truth. Thus it is when a can-
didate for office testifies to the high character of his
opponent; a man in business recommends the methods
of his competitor; one who disbelieves in evolution
assents to facts and conclusions which tend to sup-
port that theory; or one friend bears witness against
another in favor of a common enemy.
The value of a witness depends on his knowledge and
veracity, as explained in the foregoing. If his charac-
ter is sufficiently high, a single witness will establish
the truth under question. Other things equal, the
*>*"*- ML,
l60 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
greater the number of witnesses, the more effective is
the testimony produced ; but one competent witness, as
a physician testifying to some point of practice in medi-
cine, would carry conviction against any number of
illiterate and non-professional men. One able and
honorable statesman is more competent to bear wit-
ness on the value of a measure for general good than
the mass of voters who may be called upon to testify
at the ballot. Whatever the character, the number of
witnesses has great force when, without the opportu-
nity for collusion, they bear concurrent testimony. In
this case their agreement could not be accounted for
on any other ground than the truth of what they say.
Authority is a kind of effect from which valuable
arguments may be produced. It differs from testi-
mony in that testimony respects a matter of fact, while
authority, a matter of opinion. In authority we accept
the conclusions others have reached after an investiga-
tion of the question at issue. This is often the most
forcible proof that can be produced, for the conclusions
may be of an expert, or many such, involving a wider
investigation of facts than would be possible for the
immediate occasion. In law, opinions delivered by
courts of justice are taken as unquestioned proof
in cases which the opinion covers.
General Laws of Argumentation.
The Law of Purpose. - The practical value of an
argument is not measured by its absolute logic, but
by the progress from one mental condition to another,
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. l6l
made in the mind of those addressed. Such progress
may require the closest logical articulation of the sub-
ject-matter; as, when the purpose is to present the
logic of the subject for its own sake. In this case
those addressed are supposed to be seeking the reason
involved in the question for the sake of that reason.
The mind desires the whys and the wherefores of
things, and it appeals to argumentation to gratify this
desire. In this case the argument has no end beyond
the logic of the argument itself; hence, the logical con-
tinuity in the argument measures the progress desired
in the mind addressed. The arguments in geometry
are of this class. It is possible to argue questions of
free trade and protective tariff in the same spirit;
that is, not as an advocate who has an ulterior end, but
as one investigating truth for truth's sake. In such
cases the mind addressed is supposed to be in search
of the truth, and needs no rhetorical device to stimu-
late it to active appropriation. Such arguments are
supposed to fall outside the subject of rhetoric into
that of logic; yet the strictest logical argument must
form the basis of adaptation to minds in other con-
ditions than that above described; just as the logical
arrangement of subject-matter in description, narration,
and exposition forms the basis of adaptation to the
various conditions and changes to be produced by those
processes of discourse.
The rhetorical argument is called into exercise in the
stress and art of producing volition and action; espe-
cially when the mind is indifferent or hostile to the
truth advocated. The will must be moved under one
1 62 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
or the other of three mental conditions, which must
be taken into account as modifying factors of the logi-
cal argument ; that is, the mind is open to instruction
and disposed to the line of action when the truth is
perceived, indifferent to a knowledge of duty and the
line of action proposed, or actively opposed to the truth
and measure proposed.
When the mind is in the third condition named, a
counter argument arises, and the two arguments con-
stitute a debate. This fact modifies the procedure in
the individual arguments, in the fact that the burden
of proof rests on him who affirms, and that the pre-
sumption of truth is in favor of the one who denies.
In courts of law the one who charges another with
guilt must prove the fact of guilt; the one who denies
the charge has only to offset the argument. In consid-
ering the case, the judge and the jury assume innocence
until guilt is established. Likewise, a presumption of
truth holds in favor of certain opinions, customs, and
institutions which an argument seeks to change, since
they are supposed to have been established for good
reasons. This presumption has such weight in many
cases as to support opinions, customs, and institutions
long after the reasons that gave them birth have passed
away. The one who argues to maintain established
things has the sanction of ages on his side, and it
requires all the patience and enthusiasm of a bold
reformer to overcome precedents and usages. He who
has presumption in his favor should not assume the
burden of proof unnecessarily; for the one on whom
the burden of proof rests must overcome all the proba-
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 1 63
bilities which gave rise to the presumption. It is
much easier to offset an argument to prove crime
than to assume the burden of proof and try to estab-
lish innocence.
The formal debate is not the most promising way of
arriving at truth; and, therefore, not the most effective
process of discourse. It is apt to weaken sincerity of
purpose, in that it prompts stubborn adhesion to one-
sided truth, and perverts the argument to personal
victory as against a disinterested and universal good.
The Law of Unity. — It has already been observed
that the very nature of an argument is to establish the
unity between the general principle and the individual
fact which the principle determines. The different
processes of argument are only so many forms of doing
this; rather, all the processes taken together is one
complex movement to this end; they are all organically
one in the process of argument, and are all necessary
to establish fully the desired connection. The a pos-
teriori argument must support the probability raised by
the a priori argument; and deduction must test the
conclusions of induction which furnish the deductive
premise. And further, the former pair of arguments
must be carried on by means of the latter; induction
and deduction are the means of establishing the causal
connection sought by the a priori and a posteriori argu-
ments. So that argumentation is a unified organic
movement having various phases and parts.
But such is only the logical unity inherent in the
argument itself. The argument must have unity, not
only in itself considered, but in relation to the mind
1 64 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
addressed, — must have rhetorical as well as logical
unity. Everything must progressively tend to estab-
lish belief in the truth asserted, and this is subject to
other conditions than those imposed by the laws of
thought alone; namely, by the capacity, beliefs, and
prejudices of those in whom the new belief is to be
established. The argument, to have unity, must
be presented from the standpoint of the audience's
present knowledge, interests, and desires. The most
closely unified and logical argument in itself considered
may have no unity with the mind addressed. A pro-
gressive argument toward belief is the law of rhetorical
unity in argumentative discourse.
This law requires that no matter be chosen which
does not bear on the proposition to be proved. Irrele-
vant matter is often introduced to divert the attention
from the real point at issue, or to ensnare by the belief
that proof has been offered when there has been none.
This certainly would be an effective rhetorical device
if rhetoric did not have to square itself by ethical
standards. Rhetorical art must not resort to logical
fallacies.
This law also requires that such proof shall be
offered as can be grasped by the capacity of the hearer,
and such as will assimilate readily with already exist-
ing beliefs. The most valid proof that a youth should
be obedient to his parents might completely lack unity
with him, because of his incapacity to comprehend the
ground of the argument. An effort to convert one
from a belief in monarchy to a belief in democracy,
although perfectly unified and logical in itself, would
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 1 65
have no effect in the monarchist's mind unless such
argument should take its rise from the monarchist's
present beliefs. Due regard must be had in this case,
also, to the selection of proofs that will not antagonize
by arousing inveterate prejudices. That the mind may
yield itself to the line of proof, the argument must be
conciliatory.
When the mind is indifferent or opposed to the
proposition to be argued, some preparatory statements
must be made by way of arousing interest in the ques-
tion or to conciliate the opposition. When the mind
addressed is opposed, the first step of the speaker is to
put himself in sympathy with the opposition. It may
be necessary for the speaker to veil his purpose, even
to the suppression of the proposition to be proved.
The beginning of Mark Antony's oration is a fine
example of this. On this point A. S. Hill has the
following : —
" We have already seen how important it is that a
reasoner should himself, at the outset, clearly under-
stand the- proposition he is to maintain; but it by no
means follows that he should hasten to announce the
proposition to those whom he would convince of its
truth. His first object should be to secure their favor-
able attention.
" Now, to engage attention at all, it is desirable to
appear to be saying something new. If then the prop-
osition is a truism to the persons addressed, it will
usually be judicious to awaken their attention by be-
ginning with what is novel in the proof. Regarded
from a new point of view, approached by a new path,
1 66 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
the old conclusion will acquire a fresh interest, except,
indeed, for those unfortunate persons whose minds are
accessible to nothing but commonplace, and for whom,
therefore, even a novelty must be presented in a com-
monplace dress.
" If the proposition, whether well known to the
persons addressed or not, is likely to awaken their
hostility, it should not be announced till steps have
been taken to procure for it a favorable reception.
Often the best course to this end is to state at the out-
set the question at issue, but not espouse either side
until after the arguments for each have been canvassed.
It may also be possible to secure assent to general
principles from which the conclusion can be logically
deduced. In pursuing this course, the reasoner seems
to invite his readers or hearers to join him in an
inquiry for truth. This inquiry results, if it be suc-
cessful, not so much in convincing them as in leading
them to convince themselves of the justness of the
conclusion, if he is successful in inducing them to give
some weight to reasons which they would not have
considered at all, had they known to what conclusions
they led.
" Another method of disarming hostility is for a
speaker to establish pleasant relations with the audi-
ence by adverting to opinions (irrelevant ones it may
be) which they hold in common with him, before pro-
ceeding to points of difference."
Under ordinary circumstances, the proposition should
be stated as soon as favorable attention is gained and
before proofs have been examined. A clear statement
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. 167
of the point at issue is essential to unity in the discus-
sion; for the mind cannot follow the bearing of the
proofs unless the point on which they bear is known.
It would be useless to attempt to prove that Massa-
chusetts contributed more to civilization in America
than did Virginia unless it be made clear what meaning
is put into the term civilization. By the explanation
of the meaning attached to the terms of the propo-
sition, and to the proposition as a whole, arguments
are often rendered unnecessary. Debates sometimes
run to great length and are carried on with great
vehemence only to discover at last that the opponents
hold substantially the same views. Hence, an exposi-
tion of the proposition may be the first step in the
argument. Whether or not the proposition is an-
nounced and explained at the outset, a clear concep-
tion of it is the first step in the preparation of the
argument.
The arrangement of the parts of the argument has
much to do with its effectiveness. The law is that
they should be so arranged that they will be cumulative
in their effect. Each argument in its place should be
such as to permit no rebound ; at least, from any posi-
tion which had been gained by the preceding argument.
From this view it may be inferred the weakest argu-
ment should come first, and that the others follow in
the order of strength. Yet the law of unity may not
permit this; for sometimes a strong argument is needed
at the outset to gain confidence in the line of argument.
"The Nestorian arrangement of troops, with the weak-
est in the middle, suggests an advantageous order of
1 68 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
arrangement. It avoids anti-climax, and at the same
time opens the discussion with a strong argument.
An inverse recapitulation of the arguments also obvi-
ates the effect of anti-climax, when in the original
order the weakest comes last. A mere mention of the
weak arguments at the beginning, with the statement
that you do not rely upon them or mean to use them,
may often prove effective." *
Exercises. — I. By the suggestions on page 140-1,
test the following syllogisms from Jevons' " Primer
of Logic." In doing so, train the imagination to image
quickly the relations of the three terms involved; and
from the relation of the major and minor to the middle,
or connecting, term decide what may and what may
not be affirmed: —
1. All English silver coins are coined at Tower Hill ;
All sixpences are English coins ;
Therefore, all sixpences are coined at Tower Hill.
2. All electors pay rates ;
No paupers pay rates ;
Therefore, no paupers are electors.
3. All animals consume oxygen ;
Some animals are flesh-eating ;
Therefore, some animals consume oxygen.
4. Some animals are flesh-eating ;
Some animals have two stomachs ;
Therefore, flesh-eating animals have two stomachs.
5. Brittle substances are not fit for coining ;
Some metals are brittle substances :
Therefore, no metals are fit for coining.
ID. J. Hill.
THE THOUGHT IN DISCOURSE. l6g
6. Every city contains a cathedral ;
Liverpool does not contain a cathedral ;
Therefore, Liverpool is not a city.
7. All minerals are raised from mines ;
All coals are raised from mines ;
Therefore, all coals are minerals.
II. I. Make several illustrations of induction.
Analyze them.
2. Select several illustrations of induction. Ana-
lyze them.
3. Select a theme and write an argument by anal-
ogy. Show that the reasoning in Butler's " Analogy "
is by analogy.
III. Prove either the positive or the negative of the
following by the a priori method : —
1. Free trade, or protection, is conducive to the general good.
2. Intemperance leads to misery.
3. Education lessens crime.
4. Faith in God is conducive to morality.
5. Games of chance are hurtful to morals.
6. Railroads threading the United States north and south
would have prevented the Civil War.
7. Intellectual education tends to morality.
8. Science promotes Christianity.
9. The study of history is a more efficient means of culture
than the study of Latin.
IV. Prove either the positive or the negative of the
following by the a posteriori method : — -
1. A prohibitory liquor law decreases drunkenness and crime.
2. Massachusetts has been a greater civilizing force in America
than has Virginia.
3. Wealth is favorable to morality.
I70 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
4. Popularity is not a sure index to true worth.
5. The Crusades were beneficial to civilization.
6. The exile of the Acadians was not justifiable
7. Longfellow was a greater poet than Chaucer.
8. America has produced better orators than Greece.
9. Argumentation is a more common process of discourse than
exposition.
V. In a more complete way, using all the methods of
argument necessary to the purpose, treat the follow-
ing ; first having decided upon the exact state of mind
supposed to be addressed, and whether the argument
is to instruct, move to action, or rouse esthetic
pleasure: —
1. The English language is a more perfect means of communi-
cation than the Latin.
2. Capital punishment is, or is never, justifiable.
3. The relation between the North and the South are such as
to warrant the continuance of peace and harmony.
4. Morality is essential to a high state of civilization.
5. The multiplication of religious sects has been favorable to
Christianity.
6. The state should compel the education of children within its
jurisdiction.
7. The state should support a university.
8. "Truth crushed to earth shall rise again. The eternal
years of God are hers."
9. The banishment of Roger Williams was, or was not, justifi-
able.
10. Should the right of suffrage be extended to women?
i 1. Analyze Burke's speech on American Taxation.
12. Analyze Webster's reply to Hayne.
13. Analyze the argument of the Little Cottage Girl, in Words-
worth's " We are Seven " ; or the argument in Tennyson's " Two
Voices,'' or in " In Memoriam."
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE.
Its Fundamental Law.
The first phase of discourse study is the purpose for
which thought is uttered; the second, the thought as
a means of securing the end sought; the third, the
language conveying the thought to the mind in which
the effect is to be produced. This chapter is, there-
fore, a language study, but a language study in a
restricted sense.
A complete study of language requires it to be
viewed from two opposite directions : the one as
an organized means of communication, the other as
organized in the process of communication. The first
discusses the origin, the development, and the present
structure of language as such, or language in itself;
the second, language in living unity with thought,
bearing its message to accomplish the end for which
the thought in any given case is communicated. This
is not a difference in the extent of the view taken, but
a difference in the phase on which the attention rests.
In both cases language is viewed in its entire extent,
but not in its entire content. From this side we see
the whole as a body of thought symbol, empty of con-
tent, except in so far as necessary to explain the sym-
bol; on that side, the whole as the living body of
thought manifesting the soul of an author to the soul
of the reader or hearer. In the one, thought is used
I72 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
to explain the language symbol — thought the means,
language the end; in the other, language is used to
convey 'thought — language the means, thought the
end: that is, language considered in the process
of communicating thought.
In order to make thought a means to gain a knowl-
edge of language as an end, there is required a con-
scious process of separation between the language
form and the content. This conscious separation of
form and content, in order to discern how language
is adjusted to thought, is the characteristic feature of
all true grammatical study. But language in discourse
is necessarily viewed in 'living unity with the thought
which it communicates. Neither the composer nor the
interpreter is conscious of the relation of language
to thought. Language and thought grow into one
in the process of communication; and the words be-
come so tinged and flushed with the life of thought
that language itself includes, not merely language sym-
bols as shown by grammatical dissection, but whatever
life the thought imparts to them. Language as a
means of expression includes the life, the richness, the
fullness, and the power with which words are charged
by the mind, stimulated and exalted into new and un-
usual conceptions of the matter under consideration.
When we speak of one's clearness, charm, and vigor of
language, we include not merely choice of words and
structure of sentences, but a certain illumination of the
subject by the mind, — the grace and delicacy of
its conceptions, and the striking forms and imagery
with which it clothes its thought to make it effective.
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 1 73
Hence, it is not correctness of language form in rela-
tion to thought, but effectiveness in securing the end
sought which constitutes the rhetorical quality of
language. That quality of language which makes it
effective is called Style. As usually defined, style is
the peculiar manner in which an individual author ex-
presses himself. If this is style no science can be
made of it; for then there are as many styles as
speakers and writers. That individuality of an author
which one readily detects in reading a new selection
from a familiar author, and which constitutes a part of
his charm, is for that author only, and can no more be
explained and utilized by another than can the author's
peculiar voice, bearing, and facial expression. What-
ever the individual peculiarities of the writing, whether
it be Tennysonian or Johnsonian, it must have those
common properties which make language effective.
Style, as here to be understood, is the common, essen-
tial, and fundamental quality of language which adapts
it to the ends for which language is uttered, — which
makes it an instrument to the effective communication
of thought.
Hence, the fundamental law of language in discourse,
which is the organizing principle throughout the fol-
lowing discussion, may be formulated as follows: —
That language,- or style, is best which communicates
thought most effectively to the end sought by the dis-
course.
174 the science of discourse.
Qualities Required by the Law.
Language must be adapted to the three ends of
discourse; hence there must be three qualities of lan-
guage, one quality adapting it to communicate thought
to the intellect, one to present thought to the end of
volition, and one to the end of esthetic pleasure.
Since thought is presented in each case, there is one
fundamental quality of style growing out of the rela-
tion of language to thought in the process of language
interpretation; namely, Clearness, or Perspicuity. This
is the fundamental quality of all discourse, whatever its
purpose, and the only quality uniformly required when
the purpose is to instruct. But if the author seek to
move the will or to impress the thought, he must add
to Clearness, Energy ; and if to please or to touch the
emotions for their own sake, he must add to Clearness,
Elegance. The language of prose should be clear; of
oratory, energetic; of poetry, elegant. Each should
be clear as a condition of delivering the thought to the
intellect; but oratory, to impress the truth, to stimu-
late the indifferent, to convince the perverse, must be
full of vigor and power; and poetry, to please the taste,
must have beauty of conception and expression. In
addition, therefore, to the fact that language must be
clear in order to deliver its truth to the intellect, under
some circumstances, it is required also to stimulate
the energies of the mind to appropriate the truth
presented, to enjoy it, or to live in obedience thereto.
Thus style has not only its indifferent phase of passive
transmission, but its active phase of stimulation.
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 1 75
While Clearness is the characteristic quality of prose,
it may be necessary to stimulate it with beauty and
force of diction and conception in order to dispose the
mind to receive the truth, and that the truth may be
impressed upon it. To instruct those of mature age
and those who are active seekers of truth requires only
the utmost Clearness; but to instruct children or those
who are indifferent to the truth which the author
wishes to convey requires a degree of Elegance in style
to interest the attention, and a degree of Energy to
impress the thought presented. Hence, Elegance and
Energy do not belong exclusively to poetry and oratory.
Elegance and Energy in prose, as in oratory, are a
means. In poetry, Elegance is an end. The style
constitutes the poem. Prose takes upon itself the
qualities of poetry and oratory when it adds to its ordi-
nary work of instruction that of influencing the mind
to appropriate the instruction given. Prose influences
to instruct; while oratory instructs to influence.
To influence, however, is not the characteristic func-
tion of prose, and Elegance and Energy are not the
characteristic qualities of its language. Prose and
poetry communicate truth and beauty for all time,
and assume eager minds in search of them. There-
fore, the language is not required to bear the burden
of conveying thought or pleasing the taste, and at the
same time of stimulating the reader or hearer. The
scientist and the poet cast their books to the public,
knowing that those will read who find there what the
mind and the heart crave. The book of prose or poetry
determines the reader; the audience determines the
I76 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
oration. Given the audience with a definite change of
will to be produced, and the orator assumes the aggres-
sive. He cannot wait till they, desiring to change
their opinion or conduct, search out motives to influ-
ence themselves. This would remove the necessity
for the oration. His thought and language cannot be
passive, but must be energized to stir the indifferent,
sluggish, or perverse wills to some definite course of
action.
While all these qualities of language are essential,
under certain conditions, to each kind of discourse,
yet, beyond a given degree, they are incompatible.
Prose may gain such beauty and force of expression as
to defeat perspicuity. Clearness, accuracy, and force
of statement may be carried so far as to defeat poetic
beauty; and the terse vigor essential to the oration is
inconsistent with prosaic clearness or poetic finish.
Each kind of production must be characterized by its
own quality of language, or its identity will be lost and
its purpose defeated. If it be necessary to infuse the
clearness of prose with the life of poetry and oratory,
it must be so tempered that the intellect will be stimu-
lated only to seize the truth, not so as to be absorbed
in the beauties of conception. Here, Clearness must
prevail over Elegance and Energy. While poetry is
marked by Elegance, yet Clearness and Energy are
essential. That accuracy and fullness which are best
adapted to the expression of thought are inconsistent
with the finer workmanship of poetry; and so is the
rigid tension of forcible utterance in oratory. The
orator with due care must present his thoughts clearly
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 1 77
and elegantly; yet strength must be secured, even if
the strokes be rough and sinewy.
Thus effectiveness, the law of language in discourse,
requires language to be clear, energetic, or elegant,
accordingly as the purpose is to instruct, to move the
will, or to gratify the taste.
Clearness. — Clearness, then, is that quality of lan-
guage which adapts it to instruct or to communicate
thought to the intellect, whether in prose, oratory, or
poetry.
This quality is essential in prose. If mind could
communicate directly with mind, the communication
would be perfect, for nothing would be lost in the
process. But language is necessarily an impediment.
The receiving mind must not only think the speaker's
or the writer's thought, but must, at the same time,
interpret the medium through which the thought is
transmitted. This divides the attention between the
thought and the language, — the thought, which
the author wishes the reader or hearer to attend to
with all his energy that he may fully realize the con-
tent, and the language, which the writer or speaker
uses only as a means of causing him to think the
content. Since the receiving mind has only a given
amount of energy, so far as the attention is required to
the medium of communication it is withdrawn from the
thought to be conveyed. Hence, the chief problem
of language in discourse is to reduce to the minimum
the effort of the mind in the interpretation of the
medium. The medium must be so transparent that
the interpreting mind will not be conscious of its pres-
iy8 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
ence, but will feel itself in immediate communication
with the mind of the writer or speaker. While lan-
guage necessarily requires some attention, it may be so
perfect that the interpreter is unconscious of it ; so far,
at least, as not to have a double consciousness in gain-
ing the thought. In learning a foreign language, the
student at first is conscious only of language form,
and does not read. Later, he begins to interpret the
thought of discourse, but realizes feebly the content,
being painfully conscious of the language medium.
Finally, after many years of study, when the language
has passed into identity with thought, the student
reads with only a consciousness of the thought and
spirit of the author. Not that language and thought
are identical, but that the mind in seeing the language
immediately grasps the thought without a second act
of attention.
Effectiveness in communicating the thought has
already been given as the fundamental law of language.
The preceding prepares for the statement of the fun-
damental law of effectiveness in terms of the law of
Clearness.
That language is most effective which) to the reader or
hearer, is identical with the thought. Or, that language
is most effective which requires the least possible amount
of attention from the reader or hearer.
Whatever be the end sought, whether instruction,
pleasure, or volition, Clearness must be found in every
word and in every sentence of every prose discourse,
poem, or oration ; for if the author is not to be under-
stood it were as well that he remain silent. Clearness
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 1 79
has been denned as that quality of expression by virtue
of which it communicates the contained thought with-
out diverting the attention from the thought to the
symbol of thought. That language is clearest which
requires the least attention in the process of its inter-
pretation. A truly transparent medium through which
reader and hearer meet without interruption, mind to
mind with writer or speaker, is the standard of perspi-
cuity in the expression of thought.
Clearness is not a quality that can belong to language
as such; it becomes a quality only when organized by
thought in adaptation to a stated purpose to be accom-
plished under given conditions. It is, therefore, a
relative, not an absolute quality; a rhetorical rather
than a grammatical quality. Language can be said
to be clear or obscure only for those to whom it is
addressed. Language must be as clear as the subject-
matter permits and as the capacity of those addressed
requires. The same language will not be clear to the
man and to the child, to the literate and to the illiter-
ate. That the reader does not understand what he
reads may not, however, be the fault of the expression ;
the difficulty may be in the thought itself. The ex-
pression may be clear to those to whom such thought
is addressed. Assuming that the matter is adapted to
the level of the experience of the given audience, the
expression should be such as to enable that audience
to realize without effort, so far as the expression is
concerned, the matter presented.
Energy. — Energy is that quality of style which im-
presses the matter of discourse.
l80 THE SCTENCE OF DISCOURSE.
Energy is an active, clearness a passive quality. So
far as the medium is concerned, clearness permits the
reader to gain the thought without effort. Clearness
assumes an eager mind seeking the truth, — a mind
already stored with the necessary stimulus for acquisi-
tion. Energy has for its purpose the stimulation of
mental activity; either to impress the truth on the
intellect when the purpose is to instruct, or to excite
the sensibilities when the purpose is to please as an
end, or when it is desired to affect an action of the
will. Hence, the quality of style now to be considered
is common to all classes of discourse. But while it is
secondary in prose and poetry, it is a primary quality
in oratory. Prose and poetry may assume a mind
active in seeking the truth or the pleasure communi-
cated; but in the oration, the hearer is not already
choosing in the line proposed. This would remove
the condition which gave rise to the oration; and this
condition requires Energy as the primary quality of
style.
That Energy is necessary in prose is obvious from
the fact that a truth may be expressed clearly to the
intellect, yet so feebly that it makes no lodgment
in the mind addressed. Such a statement may often be
infused with sufficient life and force to imbed the
thought effectively. That is, the truth is not only
expressed but impressed by the quality of the statement
itself. When Lowell wishes not only to express but
to impress the fact that a large number of authors be-
gin their career with promise and even notoriety, but
that only a few of this number have an enduring fame,
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. l8l
he says: " Many a light, hailed by too careless observ-
ers as a fixed star, has proved to be only a short-lived
lantern at the tail of a newspaper kite." The same
author, in speaking of the influence of Swift's humor
on Carlyle, after it had filtered through Richter, says:
" Unhappily, the bit of mother from Swift's vinegar
barrel had strength to sour all the rest." These are
not examples of clearness, for this could have been
secured by ordinary language. They are not elegant,
for they do not appeal to the taste. The purpose be-
ing to instruct, the secured energy is not to move the
will. When Chaucer, in speaking of the Clerk's horse,
says, " As lene was his horse as is a rake," he did not
express the truth more clearly nor more elegantly than
he might otherwise have done, but he forcibly impressed
the image of that horse. When we are told that a
certain pastor was so faithful that he watched over his
flock while they slept, we receive the plain truth that
he preached sleep-producing sermons with multiplied
power and lasting effect. Fortunate is that writer
who not only can express his truth clearly, but can
impress it by the power of the statement in which it is
expressed.
When emotions are presented, either to the end
of esthetic pleasure or to new resolution, they must be
made to have their full power in the mind addressed.
If pity is the theme, the object awakening it must be
made to stir the heart to its depths with that emotion;
when grief is to be experienced, the feeling must be
made as intense as the purpose requires and the truth
permits. With reference to the effective handling of
1 82 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
the emotion, we often speak of passages of literature
as having great power. Such are well illustrated in
many of Tennyson's poems; as, " Break, Break, Break,"
"Enoch Arden," " The May Queen," "Ode on the
Death of the Duke of Wellington."
Thus Energy, in whatever kind of discourse, has
reference to the power with which the end is reached,
— to whatever the writer adds to clearness of expres-
sion to carry the matter with strength, force, or vigor
to the end sought.
Elegance. — Elegance is tliat quality of expression
which adapts the discourse to please. It is the essen-
tial quality in literary composition; but in prose, Ele-
gance is subordinate to Clearness, being permissable
only to stimulate and open the mind to receive the
thought expressed; while in oratory, Elegance serves
to charm and win assent to propositions of duty and
action. As Clearness, while the characteristic quality
of prose, is essential to poetry and oratory, so Ele-
gance, while the characteristic quality of poetry, is
essential, under certain conditions, to prose and to
oratory. A degree of Elegance may be said to be
essential to all prose and to all oratory. At least,
the style of these must be in good taste to the degree
of having nothing disagreeable or offensive in them.
The elements of style thus mutually condition each other.
Clearness economizes the intellectual effort of inter-
pretation; Elegance economizes the energies of the
mind in the feelings, or by exhilarating the faculties
enables them to do the work with greater ease.
Thus not only to the degree of avoiding offense, but
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 1 83
to that of giving buoyancy to the faculties, Elegance
is required in all discourse, and truth presented in
the oration is often most deeply impressed by being
clothed in forms of beauty.
In Clearness, the laws of style are deduced from the
necessary intellectual acts of language interpretation.
In Elegance we are to deduce the laws wholly from an
appeal to the sensibilities; and to them as the sense
of the beautiful. Elegance appeals to the esthetic
sense, and its laws must be determined by the general
laws of beauty. Here style, in the highest form of
Elegance, becomes the end of expression; not style as
mere language, but the complete embodiment of the
thought. It is not the purpose for the attention to
rest in the mere matter communicated, as in prose;
but the attention is diverted to the conception of the
matter; the emotions are enlisted by it. The method,
not the matter, is the chief concern of the writer and
the source of interest to the reader. This does not
mean that Elegance arises from mere external work-
manship; but rather that the matter itself becomes a
part of the method —becomes one with the expres-
sion. Matter and form coalesce into a new and living
product, which- as a whole pleases the taste. Thus,
while style is subordinate to the end of thought and
volition in prose and in oratory, in poetry it becomes
an end in itself, existing in and for itself, as does any
other beautiful object.
An object is said to be beautiful when it is felt that
the idea, or energy, which it manifests has its free-
dom. A moving train is beautiful when it is felt that
1 84 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
the energy which moves it is not in bondage to the
train, — when the energy manifests itself with ease and
freedom. When the observer is conscious, through
the purring, straining, and slipping of wheels, that the
energy is straining to move the train, he pronounces it
ugly. The electric car is felt to be beautiful because
it seems to be the free manifestation of its own inner
life; while a car drawn by external force seems to be
helpless and in bondage to its own nature, and hence
felt to be ugly. A column is beautiful — well propor-
tioned — when it supports its weight without effort, —
when not so small that it seems in a strain to support
weight above it, or when not so large that it has to
support unnecessary weight in itself ; that is, when it
is free in relation to the end it accomplishes. A tree
is beautiful when the energy which creates it has fully
and freely manifested itself. If the tree is lopped and
twisted so that the creative energy suffers opposition
and violence, the tree is felt to be ugly. Thus beauty
is the manifestation of free, creative energy.
Language is beautiful, therefore, when it gives free-
dom to the energy which produces it ; and this in the
twofold respect of its being the product of a physical
force and of the idea which calls it forth. Such lan-
guage causes esthetic pleasure in the process of inter-
pretation. Clearness and Energy are also beautiful.
One cannot help admiring perfectly transparent lan-
guage, and this is because of the sense of freedom felt
in coming directly in touch with the idea. Obscure
language is necessarily ugly because it awakens a
sense of bondage. Energetic language is felt to be
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 1 85
beautiful because tbe purpose of the speaker or writer
is fully and freely realized. The reader cannot help
rejoicing in the effective expression of a thought. In
reading a good style of writing one often exclaims,
That's the way to say it! because it brings to the
reader an idealized sense of his own freedom of effort
in giving his expression to thought.
To put the case differently, every one has an abiding
sense of bondage in expressing his thought so that it
may produce the desired effect. When the reader
reads an effective style of writing, his sense of bond-
age is removed in a sense of freedom of expression
awakened by the style. A writer may wish to arouse
a feeling of sadness or of charity or of philanthropy,
and his whole effort must be expended in producing
the desired effect. When the language is fully ade-
quate to the desired end, the reader rejoices in the
idealized freedom of expression awakened in the proc-
ess of interpretation.
Thus in one sense Elegance is only the bloom of
Clearness and Energy. It cannot be added to lan-
guage; it is intrinsic and organic, and consists in what-
ever awakens the sense of language freedom.
Conditions for Securing the Qualities.
Conditions for Securing Clearness. — Thought cannot
be clearly embodied in language by any mere study of
diction as such. Perspicuity of expression has its
foundation in perspicuity of thought. The style grows
out of the thought. The relation is an organic, a
1 86 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
vital one. Style is not mechanism; it is organism.
It is built from the inside out, by the vital force which
urges to expression. Thought is the soul; expression,
the incarnate form, vitalized and moulded, not by ex-
ternal pressure, but by the inner impulse of thought.
True, Clearness depends on the right use of words
and forms in which thought is embodied; but this
must be ordered from within and not from without.
Clearness of thought, therefore, with all that this
implies of accurate discipline and thorough furnishing
of the mind, is the general primary condition to clear-
ness of expression. He who would seek this quality
of style must subject himself to whatever discipline
will secure power of distinct conception and clear
insight, and the habit of methodical, thorough, and
complete mental activity; to whatever will multiply the
resources of his mind and increase the scope of his
mental vision. Confused and obscure thinking cannot
result in other than confused and obscure language,
and only clearness of thinking can clothe itself in
clearness of expression. It must not be understood
that because the writer thinks clearly that he will
necessarily write clearly. He is yet under the limi-
tations of the laws of expression, to which he must
render conscious obedience. There may be clear think-
ing without clear expression, but not clear expression
without clear thinking. It is here intended to empha-
size only the fundamental importance of a mind trained
to realize distinctly, vividly, and thoroughly, whatever
it wishes to body forth in language form; and that to
cultivate a perspicuous style implies not only the study
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 1 87
of the laws of expression, but a thorough culture of
all the powers of the mind. Accordingly, a student
who wishes to form a good style must not expect too
much from direct means, but must rely chiefly on what-
ever quickens intellectual life into thorough work.
And not only is there needed thorough intellectual,
but thorough moral habit as well. The attitude of the
mind toward the truth to be presented may determine
whether the truth be made obscure or obvious. If
truth be presented in the interest of passion or preju-
dice, it necessarily becomes partial, distorted, and
blurred, and the phraseology can only disguise the
truth which it should express. An earnest desire to
present the truth for its own sake is the only impulse
that can force the writer into obvious expression.
Truth, sincerity, and simplicity in the writer are
always transferred, consciously or unconsciously, to
the writing, and the expression becomes true, simple,
direct, and plain. Even when one writes with only
a degree of self-consciousness, not yielding himself
wholly to the thing he has to say, the unnatural fit
of the expression to the thought betrays his insin-
cerity, and impedes the reader. Whenever there is
found a stilted, unnatural, pompous, high-sounding
style as the garb of plain truth, it comes from the
fact that the writer concerns himself more with the
way in which he says it than with what he says. He
wishes you to understand, not what he says, so much
as that he is saying it, and saying it well. This desire
to cultivate a style for its own sake leads to servile
imitation of literary models. These should be used to
1 88 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
perfect one's expression; but to use them to form ex-
pressions for the sake of the expression means hypoc-
risy in the writer and weakness and obscurity in the
writing. Let us, therefore, put down, in style as in
morals, sincerity as the first desideratum.
The general conditions of perspicuity, honesty and
discipline, prepare for the more immediate conditions
and special limitations of the writer's or the speaker's
actual work of construction.
In the first place, he must put himself under the
limitations of a specific end, which his particular dis-
course is to effect, and the means by which he is to
reach the proposed end. The preceding chapters on
Purpose and Thought have dealt with the ends and
means with a view to effective expression. Since it is
the province of rhetoric to treat of the effective utter-
ance of thought, it must not omit the conditions to that
end. It was stated in the chapter on Purpose that the
first act of the mind in the construction of a discourse
is the fixing of a definite aim. It now remains only to
insist that a definite conception of the end, whether
to instruct the intellect, please the emotions, or stimu-
late to resolution, and of the specific character of each
of these to be reached, is absolutely essential to Clear-
ness. The end determines and organizes the means;
and nothing less than a definite, vivid apprehension of
the end can bring to bear suitable matter or embody
it in intelligible forms. The end gives form to the
composition, and the form must be clear in relation to
that end. What is clear for one purpose may not be so
for another. A thought presented clearly enough for
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 1 89
poetical purposes may be obscure for intellectual pur-
poses; and matter presented clearly as individuals to
the imagination may not be clear for purposes of thought.
A definite aim rejects irrelevant ideas, puts in order
confused ones, determines the right word and turn of
phrase, and gives method, precision, and accuracy to all
the movements of the mind. Without this special con-
dition, it is impossible to give unity and symmetry to
the theme — both essential to an easy and a correct
understanding of the matter presented.
After the writer has defined to himself the purpose
and the special condition in the mind addressed under
which the purpose is to be realized, a thorough mastery
of the thought by means of which the purpose is to
be realized is the last condition to clear expression.
This is to be mastered under the relations and laws
presented in the several chapters under thought — De-
scription, Narration, Exposition, and Argumentation.
To attempt to put in language what has not been
clearly thought is the most prevalent source of ob-
scurity. The first requirement under this head is that
of a definite conception of the theme. The exact object,
event, or thought must be so clearly apprehended as
not only to give order and unity to the parts, and the
mind free and easy movement in their arrangement,
but that the mind may be so stimulated that it will
clothe its thought in living forms. The theme should
be studied till it becomes a part of the writer's being,
and strives for utterance. Sidney Smith, in a criticism
of Dr. Samuel Parr (quoted by Phelps), says: "He
never seems hurried by his subject into obvious Ian-
I9O THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
guage." And Phelps continues (speaking in reference
to sermons): "This hits the mark of defect in many
sermons. A preacher's subject, if he have one and has
so mastered it as to have clear thought upon it, will
force him into an obvious style. He cannot help it if
the subject fall within the range of the hearer's compre-
hension. He must speak the plain truth, as we call it,
like a plain man talking to plain men." It is well to
remember, then, that in order to have perspicuity the
subject should be so definitely bounded and clearly
conceived that the writer or speaker will be " hurried
by his subject into obvious language."
This thorough mastery of the theme essential to
" obvious " expression includes its analysis and syn-
thesis by means of all the relations involved in thinking
it. This will require at the outset a classification of the
theme — whether individual or general; and if indi-
vidual, whether fixed or changing; if general, whether
in itself considered or applied to test truth. After the
classification of the theme follows its mastery under all
the relations which define and constitute it. Such a
mastery alone can secure for that particular theme
that definite, accurate, methodical, complete, and or-
ganic thought essential to the clear and truthful pre-
sentation to the mind of another.
We are led to observe again the unity of the three
phases of discourse, — purpose, thought, language.
Purpose is limited by the nature of thought and lan-
guage; thought conditioned by the purpose and the
means of its expression; and language conditioned by
both purpose and thought.
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 191
Conditions for Securing Energy. - - 1 . Energy springs
immediately from the desires and the will of the
speaker. The force with which the speaker is urged
on to the end he seeks measures the strength of his
utterance. If he has truth which he wishes to commu-
nicate, or if he feels deeply some soul-stirring senti-
ment, or is restless under some ethical impulse, he
will, without thought of his style, express himself with
vigor and power. Truth which will not stay unsaid
will be said forcibly. The more earnest the desire to
plant a truth in another mind, for the sake of the other
mind, the more strength will the speaker impart to the
means he uses. Weakness is the most noticeable fea-
ture of one's style who is not really in earnest.
Energy in oratory requires of the speaker, more than
anything else, a strong ethical impulse. Especially
here does Energy spring from the desires and the will.
The strength of these are the measure of the strength
of the expression. So fundamental is this condition
that often the speaker, without elegant or even correct
expression, is thoroughly effective. Energy rests in
the will's resolution to go forth and execute what the
desires prompt. Much depends, however, on the de-
sires which prompt to expression. A man's action
is under the same law of energy as his style; but energy
of action may result from special interests and private
ends, while only the most disinterested and highest
moral sentiment can impel to forcible utterance. Says
Bascom : "The speaker who pursues private ends must
either appeal to selfish impulses, which make a poor
appearance, or he must go out of the range of his own
I92 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
desires in finding the means of persuasion, and thus
lose much of the zeal and energy with which the topic
ought to be urged; or he must disguise and misrepre-
sent the motives of action, and involve himself in all
the tortuous, perplexing paths of evil. Those desires,
therefore, which are fitted to infuse life into oratory,
to inspire and impassion poetry even, must have
breadth, philanthropy, and virtue in them, or they
cannot address common interests or enkindle common
feelings. The great ideas of justice, the public weal,
liberty, and virtue must fully penetrate the mind,
arouse the heart, and furnish the desires those objects
fitted to call forth and nourish speech. According to
the intensity of the desire with which common ends,
the interest of public and private well-being, are pur-
sued will be the energy of discourse. Virtue must rely
chiefly on persuasion, and has ever at hand the means
and also the motives to employ it. That training which
deepens and strengthens virtuous desires and brings
the will under its steady government gives to the man,
in its most reliable form, all the working power of his
nature, impresses all his words with his own life,
his own energy." x
A definite conception of the immediate end and of
the relation of means to that end are essential to
Energy. The discipline in thoroughness and accuracy
and directness of thought, insisted on under Clearness,
are equally important here. "While feeling impels, it
cannot take the place of clear, explicit guidance.
Nothing but a definite aim can arouse and concentrate
1 Bascom's "Philosophy of Rhetoric."
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 1 93
the mind; and nothing but a full knowledge of the
thought to be presented and faculties trained to wield
thought with rapidity, precision, and power can warrant
a high degree of energy." 1 << Discourse which has an
object — a palpable object, an object incessantly pres-
ent to the speaker's thought, to which he hastens on
for the hearer's sake — is sure in some degree to be
energetic discourse." 2
2. The immediate condition for securing Energy is
Clearness and Elegance. Obscure thought cannot be
presented with force ; and without a certain degree of
Elegance, the mind will not readily receive the truth
presented. But when Elegance rises to esthetic ends,
Energy is sacrificed. Much feeling and interest may
be thus aroused, but of no avail to the purpose. "The
imagination has free scope, the heart is feasted, but
the will is not nerved. The emasculated oration does
the work of the novel. This error of discourse arises
from the vanity of the speaker, and nourishes the indo-
lence of all parties. It becomes fatal according to the
greatness and urgency of the end proposed. It is,
therefore, in pulpit oratory especially, the most inex-
cusable of faults." Elegance must subordinate itself
to the purpose of the speaker. If it does not submit
itself to the purpose and to the theme, it ceases to be
elegant ; for an object not nicely adjusted to its end
cannot be beautiful. Oratory must be in earnest ;
and being so prevents all indulgence of poetic taste, all
display of workmanship, all reveling in poetic delights.
1 Bascom's " Philosophy of Rhetoric."
2 Phelps' " English Style."
194 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
Conditions for Securing Elegance. — i . The first in
order is culture on the part of the writer. As Clear-
ness of style is conditioned by clearness of thinking,
so Elegance is conditioned by richness and delicacy of
feeling and beauty of conception. Rules of Elegance
will avail little with a coarse and uncultivated writer.
Longfellow is distinctively artistic in discourse, because,
to a naturally refined soul and delicate taste, he added
all the refinement of a rich and varied culture. Exces-
sive faith in short processes, without the patience to
wait the fruit of legitimate labor, often leads the youth
to seek literary accomplishment by some special course
in language training. Again, it must be insisted that
style is not something externally formed, but the natu-
ral growth of an inner impulse. The style of the man
is the quality of the mind manifesting itself in external
form ; and the form will necessarily assume the deli-
cacy, grace, and color of the soul from which it receives
its vitality. No painting can add to the cheek the
crimson flush of life ; no mechanism can give to the
artist's material the charm of life and beauty. " Noth-
ing mounts into the region of art without undergoing
some transformation, receiving buoyancy and color
from the mind that wings it for its flight." Elegance
results from the infused life and character of the artist.
Accordingly, he who aspires to artistic merit in style
or to the fullest appreciation of the beautiful in dis-
course must discipline and enlighten the mind; purify,
refine, and intensify the emotions, by the most thor-
ough culture of which he is susceptible. Whatever,
therefore, cultivates the taste, giving grace, buoyancy,
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 195
and delicacy of movement to the mind ; whatever
makes the emotions sensitive and diversified ; what-
ever gives the emotional chords tone, intensity, and
harmony is an indispensable part of the composer's
schooling in the art of elegant writing, and no less
essential to appreciative reading. So much does Ele-
gance depend on the quality of the mind that rules for
securing it are almost worthless. Rules may do much
toward securing Clearness, but Elegance is too diffused
and volatile to be formulated.
2. The more immediate condition of Elegance is
Clearness. In Elegance the language still remains a
means of communicating the thought ; and imperfect
adaptation to that end, as with any other instrument,
clashes with the pleasant emotion of the beautiful.
The obscure is necessarily the ugly. Clear expression
gives perfect freedom to the idea which seeks to develop
itself in an external form ; and such freedom is of the
nature of beauty. Wherever there seems to be a
struggle of the idea, the essence, the soul within an
object, to free itself, we have the sense of the false
and ugly. Expression which cramps the idea — obscure
expression — is, therefore, inelegant. Tautology is not
simply obscurity ; it is deformity. A series of long
sentences means not only exhausted faculties in grasp-
ing the ideas, but offended sense of harmony. Bun-
gling work offends the taste, but that expression which
so perfectly bodies forth the idea as to seem to be one
with it is essentially elegant. This does not mean
that Clearness can rise to the plane of positive pleas-
ure ; it is only the negative side of beauty in expres-
I96 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
sion, having rather the absence of offensive elements
than positive sources of pleasure.
The Rhetorical Qualities Secured.
With such preparation as the preceding, — in general,
through honesty and discipline ; in particular, some
definite, specific aim fixed upon, and a thorough mas-
tery of the thought which is to serve as a means to the
end, — the writer comes to the immediate process of
putting his thoughts in language.
This process is controlled by the process of interpre-
tation, for it is in this process that language appears
clear, becomes impressive, and appeals to the taste.
The process of giving the thought and that of receiv-
ing it are opposite in method ; the first being by a
process of analysis, the second by a process of syn-
thesis. Before beginning to embody his thought, the
writer must grasp his matter as an organic whole, in
which act he analyzes and presents part by part in the
light of the whole. But the reader receives part by
part, and constructs the whole as he proceeds. The
writer sees the whole from the beginning ; the reader
not till the end. The reader begins where the writer
quits — with individual ideas. But the writer must be
conscious of the interpreting process of the reader ;
else the writer cannot economize and stimulate the
mental energies in that process. The first thing the
writer needs to know, therefore, is the mental process
of interpreting the language of discourse. Only such
knowledge can enable the writer to move with ease
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 1 97
and self-assurance ; because it brings, instead of the
bondage of dead arbitrary rules of style, the freedom
of the reason that underlies them. All rules of style
are based on laws of discourse interpretation — on the
necessary activity of the mind in realizing thought
from language. Yet they are too often studied as the
arbitrary, abstract dicta of the rhetorician, and in such
cases are of questionable utility. We are told that a
short word is better than a long one ; that a Saxon
word is better than a foreign one ; yet to follow these
rules rather than the principles underlying them would
frequently lead to serious error, and thus impede rather
than help the writer.
Language interpretation involves the activity of all
the faculties, — sense-perception, memory, imagination,
judgment, and reason; and also feeling and volition.
The specific forms of these activities through which
language becomes clear, strong, and beautiful is deter-
mined by the nature of the language to be interpreted.
This nature has a threefold aspect : —
First, language may be viewed as a material thing,
without reference to its content. As such it must be
apprehended through sense-perception. The body, or
vehicle, of thought must be matter of observation
before it can have significance ; and this through the
eye and ear, and most prominently the latter. Through
this act of sense-perception certain language qualities
are conducive to clearness, energy, or elegance; and
frequently of all at once.
Second, but language would not be language without
expressing thought. And first it bears a direct rela-
I98 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
tion to thought, which relation is twofold. There is
the direct back-and-forth relation of words and phrases
to the ideas expressed, and also the relation of the
language parts to the organization of the ideas in the
thought. This twofold direct relation of language to
thought requires certain specific forms of interpreting
activities — of memory, imagination, and judgment. It
is in and through these activities that the writer makes
his language efficient — clear, forcible, and beautiful.
Third, language not only bears a direct relation to
the thought in discourse, but also an indirect rela-
tion. The thing directly expressed is a means, or
language, for expressing something else. When Lowell
speaks of opening the portals of the future with the
blood-rusted key of the past, the objects presented by
the words "portals" and "blood-rusted key" are not
the objects of consideration, but only a more effective
statement than could be secured by direct language.
This indirect relation of language to thought requires
peculiar interpreting activities, chiefly in the form of
the creative imagination and the intuitive reason. The
direct relation of language form to thought constitutes
literal language ; while the indirect relation constitutes
figurative language. Through figurative language, in
addressing the creative power of the mind, language
reaches its highest power of efficiency.
LANGUAGE AS AN OBJECT OF PERCEPTION.
Language as a mere object of perception must be
such as not to arrest the attention in an act of sense-
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. I99
perception, and, with this negative mark, it may be
such as to impress the thought or please the taste.
The composer must take full advantage of these acts
of sense-perception in order to secure the three
phases of effective utterance.
To this end his language must be (i) Correct, (2)
Distinct, (3) Brief, (4) Euphonious, (5) Harmonious,
and (6) Rhythmical.
Correctness. — Misspelled words, not only by diver-
sion of attention through the eye, but by the train of
thought they suggest, are distracting. For the same
reason typographical errors should be avoided.
The correct pronunciation of a word attracts no
attention ; at least, should not. In fact, the test of a
speaker's pronunciation is that an educated audience
do not notice how the words are pronounced. Any
affectation or seeming effort to be correct is distract-
ing to the hearer. Economy of effort in the process
of interpretation is the reason for a uniform standard
of pronunciation, as set forth in the dictionary. Ideas
which now pass freely from mind to mind would be
clogged in their passage by a multiplicity of strange
forms for the same meaning. Accordingly, the speaker
who aspires to effective utterance should see to it that
he has a faultless pronunciation.
Distinctness. — It requires an extra amount of effort
to perceive a word that is not clearly written in itself
or made to stand out distinctly from others. This
may not be a question of style, for it lies beyond the
control of the writer ; but if the printed discourse is
to have its full effect, the size and clearness of the
t'H- S
. - .uul th. . a .-.■•.•.■ •• must '•.
- • . . . minimum the . - .■ to
. thf wvtds.
- '. . • words should be dist h . '\
enu". • s . •
> the w .- . •• \
It is that q f which if we . to > to the
miud and . . e the tv.v >•• from stu>
guish and se e . i the e
.-. . - .- . • the » • . sei w '••'■• the)
.. . ' l< . . . . . '
when thf \\ 9 -■ lot ■•-■ '. * . • &uffr
■. •• u ith
I - eceh @ full) the ee
bis i been « asted •■• $< -. the
wea ds insl
..■ « i • .••-. •' i the hat the
mind bed - - it. Often
m well chosen we i so
the sense ■• '•••.-. \ innd,
This b es thf
\ . « effort simp!)
\ • eq\ •• .• a pi cm ess ■■• anal)
syllabi • - distinguish it from < . words
which it close!) resembles When, however, onf
s s the • >i §e\ era! &h< ifs, thf use ••'
thf ' ••• . woi d ctconom] >- tention Short
the i -■■ . and
e thus nied b\ a sense ol freedom and
her. ->••• illei • slmplei thf Insti ument
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 201
which does a given piece of work, the greater our
admiration for it.
Passing to the sentence we find the thought en-
veloped in a form which must be perceived part by-
part. Whatever is unnecessary in this form occasions
a waste of effort on the part of the recipient of the
thought. The compression of the bulk without lessen-
ing the weight of the content enables the composer to
send the message with such precision and effect that
the hearer is unconscious of effort to receive it. Just
as words with the fewest letters and syllables reserve
the full energy of the mind for the appropriation of
the idea, so a sentence with the fewest words for a
given thought does not divert the power of the mind
into the channel of sense-perception, which should be
reserved for the full realization of thought. Therefore,
the sentence, for the sake of clearness, should contain
the fewest words consistent with the other require-
ments of sentential structure. And as secondary
qualities energy and elegance are secured through
such brevity.
As in words and sentences, so in discourse taken as
a whole ; the shorter in proportion to the content the
greater is the economy of sense-perception. The com-
poser's problem is to compress the bulk without dimin-
ishing the weight. Lowell says that Shakespeare
squeezes meaning into a phrase with an hydraulic press.
This should be the composer's effort in the entire dis-
course. This, however, is limited by the strength of
the interpreter to appropriate concentrated food. Yet
one must not speak an infinite deal of nothing which
202 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
requires the interpreter to search as if for a grain of
wheat in a bushel of chaff, and which if found would
scarcely be worth the search. Discourse which is
especially offensive in this respect is called bombast,
the remedy' for which lies beyond cautions in the use
of language ; for an inflated style can be remedied
only by removing the inflation of the writer.
Eup ho ny.-- Euphony — literally sound and well —
is that quality of a word which makes it pleasant to
the ear. Strictly speaking, euphonious sounds are free
sounds, — sounds made when nothing obstructs the
emerging column of breath. Hence, euphony is more
closely allied to elegance than to clearness or energy.
All words difficult to speak are rough, harsh, and un-
pleasant to the ear. This property belongs strictly to
oral words ; yet by association, the written word sug-
gests the sensation of its sound, and thus becomes a
diverting and unpleasant element. Euphony depends
on (i) the choice of the word and (2) on the way it is
spoken.
1 . The pleasant sounds include the vowels and the
liquid consonants /, m, n, r ; and the unpleasant sounds
are especially the gutterals g and x and the sibilants
s and s.
This classification depends on the degree of freedom
in the emergence of the sound, which strictly followed
would not put letters in classes, but would mark each
letter as differing from every other in respect to the
beauty of its sound. Suppose that in the emergence
of the column of breath every obstruction be removed
as fully as possible, there will be produced the most
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 2C»3
beautiful sound in language — long Italian a ; the
first sound in every language. By slightly closing
the mouth horizontally the modified as and «?'s and i's
are produced, which are less beautiful because there is
a sense of obstruction in the sound. By closing the
mouth partially laterally the sound of o and kindred
sounds are produced. The consonants are produced
by completely shutting off the column of breath, and
are ugly because their sound is obstructed. In the
liquid consonants there is still an easy flow of the
breath ; hence, liquid sounds. The different sounds
in the alphabet are produced by different kinds and
degrees of obstruction, and there is a constant increas-
ing of bondage of sound from the long Italian a to the
gutterals and sibilants. The chief fault in English is
its hissing s and z sound, represented by five letters,
— c before e and i ; s, z, x(= ks), and / before ion ; as,
cessation, science, Xerxes, exactly.
When all the individual sounds are pleasant only the
right proportion of vowels and consonants will secure
euphony. An excess of liquids or vowels is not
euphonious ; as, " Tho' oft the ear the open vowels
tire." Harshness is produced by the union of too many
consonants; as, form'dst, splutters, stretched, church,
smoothedst, inextricableness, excogitation, twitches,
sarcastical.
Long words accented on the first syllable, as per-
fectness, peremptorily, disciplinary, expiatory, are diffi-
cult to utter and unpleasant to hear. Euphony is
violated in words in which a syllable is immediately
repeated; as, holily, lowlily, wilily. Vowels coming
204 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
together in the middle of a word or between two words,
as hiatus, idea, idea of, you unto, produce an unpleas-
ant effect. The same consonant ending one word and
beginning the next, as, his son, keep people looking,
is not euphonious. The repetition of the same word
causes an unpleasant sensation; as, Whatever is, is
right, How it was was not explained, He perceives that
that sentence is not euphonious. It is obvious here,
as in all the preceding, that the utterance is made with
difficulty ; hence, the lack of beauty.
Words impress the idea by means of the sound
which they signify. Such words are called Onomato-
poetic ; as, buzz, crackle, hiss, crash, rub-a-dub-dub.
Hawthorne describes the rain thus: — -
" All day long, and for a week together, the rain was drip-drip-
dripping and splash-splash-splashing from the eaves into the tubs
beneath the spouts."
Milton, in describing the opening of hell's gate, uses
this kind of energy with good effect: —
" On a sudden open fly
With impetuous coil, and jarring sound,
The infernal doors ; and on their hinges grate
Harsh thunder."
Words not imitative, but whose sound is suggestive
of the feeling to be expressed are impressive, as may
be observed in the closing lines of each stanza of Poe's
"Raven," which repeatedly employ the long sound of
<?asa fitting sound for the refrain of sadness: —
" Then this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 205
'Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, 'art sure
no craven;
Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly
shore,
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian
shore ? '
Quoth the Raven, ' Nevermore.' "
The same art of impression is employed effectively
in the following stanza from Tennyson's " Ode on the
Death of the Duke of Wellington ": —
" Lead out the pageant ; sad and slow,
As fits an universal woe,
Let the long, long procession go,
And let the sorrowing crowd about it grow,
And let the mournful martial music blow;
The last great Englishman is low."
Words which prolong emphasis, as " nevermore,"
favor energy. Words whose magnitude of sound are
suggestive of the magnitude of the idea lend force to
expression. When an important truth is pushed to
the end of the sentence to give it prominence, a full,
round cadence is essential to its emphasis.
Words that require energy of utterance contribute
to energy of impression, as may be observed by con-
trasting the following: bent, bended; burnt, burned;
spelt, spelled.
2. Not only the selection of a word, but the manner
of uttering it is subject to the law of euphony. The
word most euphonious in itself may be pronounced dis-
agreeably, and the harsh ones may be softened by a
pleasant voice. A pure, pleasant tone is indispensable
206 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
to him who would communicate thought orally. The
most musical composition is often marred or obscured
by a shrill or husky voice. Some speakers have the
offensive habit of giving prominence to rough sounds,
especially the hissing sound of s or z, while euphony
requires that these be slurred and prominence given
to the full, round, musical tones.
It must not be supposed that a euphonious word
which will exactly fit the idea to be expressed can
always be found. The sound must not interfere with
the sense. Of two words otherwise equal, the pleas-
ant sounding one should be chosen ; and here the obli-
gation to euphony ends, except what aid pronunciation
can bring.
These oral qualities, except to a certain extent in
euphony, are under the control, not of the writer, but
of the reader or speaker. At this point the art of
oral expression arises out of the science of discourse.
Elocution which has for its purpose the effective oral
delivery of thought is only a pushing out into a more
complete form and fixing in habit of speech the princi-
ples of oral expression which here begin to rise to the
surface.
Not only are individual discourses, but languages
are marked by their difference in euphony. The most
euphonious languages are Greek and Latin, and the
modern languages derived from the Latin, Italian,
Portugese, Spanish, and French. Teutonic languages
are harsh. In respect to euphony, the English lan-
guage is intermediate, having a mixture of both Teu-
tonic and Latin elements. Byron's exaggeration of
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 20"J
the rough quality of the English well illustrates and
emphasizes the truth of its harshness : —
" Our harsh, northern, whistling, grunting gutteral,
Which we 're obliged to hiss, and spit, and splutter all."
Here Byron makes good use of the sound to impress
the sense. His statement is perfectly transparent and
admirably forcible.
Harmony. — The eye and the ear follow words in
their succession. The succession of form to the eye
produces no effect different in kind from that produced
in observing single words. The accumulated effect by
the addition of words is an appreciable quantity, and
can only be reduced as stated above. But the succes-
sion of sounds to the ear produces an effect different
in kind from the effect of the individual sounds — an
effect depending wholly on the character of the succes-
sion. The sounds themselves may be smooth and
pleasant, yet the total effect be jarring and unpleas-
ant ; and when unpleasant, the sound becomes an ob-
struction to the thought instead of its perfect vehicle.
That quality of the sentence by which the energies of
the mind are not wasted because of the character of
the succession of sounds is called Harmony.
Harmony is the adjustment of the sounds of words
to each other in their successions so that they will fall
smoothly and pleasantly on the ear. Or, harmony is
that structure of the sentence which permits its utter-
ance with the natural rise and fall of the breath, i.e.,
when it permits free utterance. Harmony as a means
of clearness need not reach the degree of positive
208 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
pleasure as in music and poetry, but only the degree
which secures the absence of its opposite — negative
harmony. Harmonious sounds stimulate the faculties
to appropriate the truth, while inharmonious sounds
repel from such appropriation. Unless one write poetry
of pronounce an oration, he seldom thinks of construct-
ing his discourse with reference to the sound. But
harmony is not a matter of elegance or energy only.
The experience of every one has convinced him that the
smooth onflowing of the sentence which sets well to
the ear is an essential condition to ease of interpreta-
tion. This results chiefly from the clearness given to
the medium; but the stimulation of the pleasant sound
to the faculties, when not so great as to enlist the
attention, enables them to do their work with greater
ease and more thoroughly. This energizing power of
language over the mind belongs to force of expression
rather than to clearness.
Unpleasant combination of words cannot always be
avoided without obscuring the sense. While sound
must not be ignored, it must never be allowed to modify
or obscure the meaning. The more rigid requirements
of exact truth and genuine sentiment must check any
temptation to use words merely to round out a musical
period.
No definite rules on the subject of harmony can be
prescribed. The reliance must be in the ear made
susceptible by training to harmonious discourse. Some
general suggestions, however, may be helpful.
As in words ease of pronunciation is the test of
euphony, so in sentences, ease and agreeableness to the
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 2CX)
organs of speech is the test of harmony. It is, there-
fore, essential to harmony that the parts of the sentence
be so arranged that the connection between them will
fall at the proper intervals to make the breathing easy
and natural. The following sentence from Tillotson,
quoted by Blair, illustrates the lack of harmony arising
from the number and distributions of the rests: —
" This discourse concerning the easiness of God's commands,
does, all along, suppose and acknowledge the difficulties of the
first upon a religious course ; except only in those persons who
have had the happiness to be trained up to religion by the easy
and insensible degrees of a pious and virtuous education."
Concerning this sentence, Blair says: " Here there is
no harmony; nay, there is some degree of harshness
and unpleasantness; owing principally to this, that
there is, properly, no more than one pause or rest in
the sentence, falling betwixt the two members into
which it is divided, each of which is so long as to
occasion a considerable stretch of the breath in pro-
nouncing it."
The following paragraph from the same author con-
tains a sentence which, with the comments upon it,
makes clear the distinction between the harmonious
and the inharmonious sentence: —
" But, God be thanked, his pride is greater than his ignorance,
and what he wants in knowledge, he supplies by sufficiency.
When he has looked about him, as far as he can, he concludes
there is no more to be seen ; when he is at the end of his line, he
is at the bottom of the ocean; when he has shot his best, he is
sure none ever did, or ever can, shoot better, or beyond it. His
own measure he holds to be the certain measure of truth; and
his own knowledge of what is possible in nature."
2IO THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE
" Here everything is at once, easy to the breath, and
grateful to the ear ; and, it is this sort of flowing meas-
ure, this regular and proportional division of the mem-
bers of his sentence which renders Sir William Temple's
style always agreeable. I must observe at the same
time, that a sentence with too many rests, and these
placed at intervals too apparently measured and regu-
lar, is apt to savour of affectation."
The parts separated by pauses should have harmoni-
ous proportion; not only rests at easy intervals, but
variety in quality and length of parts; yet, with all,
unity of flow in the sound, — the fuller swell of sound
alternating with subsidence, each merging gradually
into the other in an undulation of pleasant proportion.
The longest and most sonorous member should be put
last, and the others arranged according to the principle
of climax. This sentence from Irving illustrates well
the proper division into members, and how the sound
may increase to a full and harmonious close: —
" But the sorrows of the poor, who have no outer appliances to
soothe, — the sorrows of the aged, with whom life at best is but a
wintry day, and who can look for no after-growth of joy, — the
sorrows of a widow, aged, solitary, destitute, mourning over an
only son, the last solace of her years; these are indeed sorrows
that make us feel the impotency of consolation."
The weakening of the sound at the close by gradu-
ally shortening the members and closing with a short
word is both inharmonious in sound and feeble in
thought. This may be illustrated by reversing the
order in the foregoing sentence.
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 211
Harmony in discourse requires not only variety
and unity of movement in the single sentences, but
also variety and unity in their succession. If the
conditions of harmony are all met in a sentence, a
repetition of the same arrangement in each succeeding
sentence becomes monotonous and offensive. Sen-
tences constructed on a similar plan should never follow
one another. Short sentences and long ones should
be intermixed. It may be necessary to violate har-
mony in the single sentence to secure harmony when
connected with others. Monotony is incompatible with
harmony. Variety, with the suggestion of unity by
the easy, uninterrupted movement of voice, is the secret,
the soul of harmony. The strained, monotonous
humdrum of a speaker or reader, even when the sen-
tences in themselves and in their arrangement favor
harmony, often prevents the effective delivery of
thought. Modulation in the discourse as a whole, like
modulation in the sentence, is an essential condition
to effective delivery.
RhytJim. — We now arrive at what is strictly known
as poetic form — measured, musical utterance. There
maybe poetry in spirit and thought — in essence —
without metrical form, yet the most intense poetic
spirit naturally clothes itself in musical utterance. The
rhythmical sound itself may, as in music, symbolize
the emotion, without the necessity of articulate speech;
but aside from this the sound itself is so pleasing as to
become an end in itself. Thus at this point the sense
qualities of language arise out of the servitude to
thought — - realize their freedom from thought, and
212 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
take their place wholly in the realm of the beautiful.
The sound still serves to convey the thought, but it
here thrusts itself on the attention as a pleasing, sen-
suous element to the ear. Of so much value is this
element of beauty that the poet has license to constrain
the sense for the sake of the sound. In fact, metric
utterance is so much of bondage to thought as not
to be admissible when the thought is expressed for its
own sake.
The chief fact about poetic form is that of Rhythm.
This has reference to a certain flowing, wave-like move-
ment of voice, which, to a certain extent, obscures the
stiff requirements of articulate speech. This wave-like
movement is highly complex, and is divided into parts
within parts. The simplest element in this movement
is the syllable. This enters into elementary combina-
tions with other syllables; this new combination into
still more complex combinations ; and so on till the
stanza or the poem is reached.
The simplest order of rhythm consists of one strong
and one or more weak impulses of the voice. One move-
ment of the voice from the stress to the remission or
from the remission to the stress is called a Foot. A
Foot is a single compound movement of the voice.
The strong impulse of the voice which falls on a certain
syllable is called the Rhythm-accent. The syllable
not only receives more stress but more time in its pro-
nunciation. In Latin and Greek, the Rhythm-accent
falls on a long syllable; hence, the rhythm in these lan-
guages is said to be based on quantity. English rhythm
is said to be based on accent ; but in giving the accent,
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 21 3
more time is required in its pronunciation, so that the
two are inseparable. The syllable that is accented in
prose is used for the Rhythm-accent, thus speaking the
sense of the word and at the same time securing the
music of the verse.
A single compound movement of the voice never
extends over more than three syllables. Accordingly,
afoot will always consist of either one, two, or three syl-
lables, giving one accented and one or two unaccented
syllables to each foot. The accent may fall on
either syllable in the foot — first, second, or third.
Falling on the last, we have, if two syllables, the Iam-
bic foot; if three syllables, the Anapaestic foot. Fall-
ing on the first, we have, if two syllables, the Trochaic
foot; if three syllables, the Dactylic foot. When the
middle of the three syllables is accented, the foot is
called the Amphibrach. The following are examples
of each in the order named above: —
i . The mel' an chol' y days' are come', the sad' dest of the
year'.
2. There 's a smile' on the fruit', and a smile' on the flower'.
3. Tell' me not' in mourn' ful num'bers.
4. Wist' ful ly wan' der ing o' ver the wa'ters, she
Sought' for the land' of the bless' ed.
5. The wa'ters are flash' ing,
The white' hail is dash' ing.
Seldom will the verse be made up of the same kind
of feet. Yet one kind must prevail, and this one gives
character to the verse. There is great gain in substi-
tuting a foot for the regular one, for thus variety is
secured. There is, however, a limit to such substitu-
214 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
tion. Two accented syllables or three unaccented
syllables should not occur together, because such an
arrangement prevents free, easy movement of the voice.
One accented syllable cannot be pronounced after an-
other accented syllable without a pause, thus causing a
jerking movement and an unpleasant sensation. Hence,
a foot accented on the last syllable, an Iambus or an
Anapaest, should not be followed by a foot accented on
the first syllable, a Trochee or a Dactyl. And since
three unaccented syllables standing together interfere
with rhythmical effect, an Anapaest must not follow a
Trochee; neither an Iambus, an Amphibrach, or an
Anapaest follow an Amphibrach. At the beginning or
at the end of a line, more freedom of substitution is
permitted. A Trochee may begin a line of Iambic feet,
since nothing precedes the accented syllable and only
two unaccented syllables are brought together. The
end feet, not standing between other feet, make possible
a great variety of combinations not permitted within
the line. The principle stated is a safe guide. Two
accented syllables or three unaccented syllables stand-
ing together cannot be pronounced with rhythmic move-
ment of voice. Within this limit the poet has all
possible freedom, and the highest rhythmical beauty
is attained by variety in the kinds of feet. One kind
of foot, however, must characterize the verse; and the
variety must be secured by substituting for the regular
feet others that will not interfere with the free onflow-
ing of the voice.
It will be observed that the substituted feet are pro-
nounced in the same time as those for which they are
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 21 5
substituted, thus giving variety in the rate of utterance
as well as in the quality. The so-called Monosyllabic
foot occupies the same time as the other feet of the
stanza in which it occurs. This gives, when required,
a slow and stately movement, as if borne down with
grief or by dignity of sentiment, as in the first line
of this: —
" Break, break, break,
On the cold, grey stones, O sea;
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me."
The poet has great power of adjustment in the move-
ment of the verse to adapt it to the sentiment he wishes
to express. This may be pointed out in the examples
at the close of this topic, and the method of securing
the suitable movement explained. It will be interest-
ing to note, also, what kind of foot is most commonly
employed, and which is seldom met with.
The simplest order of Rhythm has been stated to be
that of the foot. These feet are again grouped into
higher orders of Rhythm --grouped by the sense
into phrases, making convenient stages of rest for the
voice, and marked by what is known as the Caesural
pause; or grouped by Alliterative rhythm or by some
Emphatic word. This second order of groups is again
grouped in the line or the verse, marked by some nat-
ural pause required by the sense or by ease of utter-
ance or by Rhyme. Only the last grouping of the
elementary rhythmical movement need here be noted.
A Verse is the coordination of several elementary
rhythmical movements into one compound movement,
2l6 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
bearing a definite relation in number to the primary
movement. The verse is characterized, therefore, by
the number of its primary movements. A verse con-
sisting of one foot is called a Monometer; of two feet,
Dimeter; of three feet, Trimeter; of four feet, Tetram-
eter; of five feet, Pentameter; of six feet, Hexameter.
The number of feet in the verse may vary in the poem,
but there is a prevailing number which gives character
to the poem.
As already stated, the grouping into feet is sometimes
indicated by Rhyme, giving rise to the distinction of
Rhyming verse and Blank verse. Rhyme is the recur-
rence of the same sound at the close of each of two
or more lines. These sounds must not be identical
throughout, but only so from the accented syllable
to the close. When the accented vowel and the sound
or sounds which follow are identical, the rhyme is
said to be perfect; provided the sounds which precede
the accented vowel are different. Thus dreary rhymes
perfectly with weary; day with pay ; and tenderly with
slenderly. In the imperfect rhyme, the sounds, which
in the perfect rhyme are identical, differ; yet they are
sufficiently alike to suggest similarity, as poor and
door; wrong and tongue; afternoon and love-tune.
Rhymes are also single, double, and triple, illustrated
respectively in day and pay ; dreary and zveary; tenderly
and slenderly. Rhymes are further classified on the
basis of their manner of succession. Some are succes-
sive, some alternate, and some occur at variously con-
trived intervals; yet usually with a regularity which
becomes the more beautiful in proportion as it breaks
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 2\J
the constraint of obvious regular recurrence, and dis-
plays ingenuity on the part of the writer.
Verses are coordinated into the larger and more com-
plex group of rhythmical units, called Stanzas. A stanza
is a group of any number of verses, and is named from
the number of verses it contains. A grouping of stan-
zas into a poem constitutes the most complex rhyth-
mical unit.
Another phase of rhythm should not be overlooked,
for it has great poetic charm; and that is, what is known
as rhythmical fullness. This is the formal characteristic
feature of Hebrew poetry, and is illustrated by almost
any verse from the Psalms; as, "The heavens declare
the glory of God; and the firmament showeth His
handiwork." In this it will be observed that the last
half is a restatement of the meaning of the first. It is
a kind of swinging movement of thought. This is a
marked source of beauty in both Tennyson and Long-
fellow. Note it in these: —
1. "Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early
morn;
Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the
bugle horn."
2. " The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary."
Still another form of rhythm is Alliteration, which is
the repetition of a sound at the beginning of two or
2l8 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
more successive words; as, "Apt alliteration's artful
aid." The following examples illustrate its nature and
value to style : —
" That would his rightful ravine rend away."
" With hideous horror both together smiffht
And souce (strike) so sore, that they the heavens affray :
The wise soothsayer, seeing so sad sight."
" Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to
city ;
From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas."
" A pilgrim wanting a pin or a pistol, a cucumber or a camel,
a house or a horse, a loan or a lentil, a date or a dragoman, a
melon or a man, a dove or a donkey, has only to inquire at
the Joppa Gate."
There should be such variety in all the points of the
poetic form as not to suggest constraint on the part
of the writer or the spirit within the writing. There
should be variety in the kinds and the number of feet,
and in their arrangement ; in the kinds and succession
of rhymes; and in the number and kinds of verses in
the stanzas. There must seem to be no constraint to
set form, but the greatest variety within the limit
of rhythmical movement. The theme itself demands
such variety. The varying sentiment sometimes re-
quires a quick, sprightly movement, and sometimes
the slow, heavy tread of the stately march.
Let the following be tested and explained in all the
points of poetic form, noting carefully the means of
securing variety and adaptation to the varying senti-
ment : —
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 2\()
1. " Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward
All in the Valley of Death
Rode the six hundred."
2. " Build me straight, O worthy Master,
Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel,
That shall laugh at all disaster,
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle."
3. " There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,
There 's a titter of winds in that beechen tree,
There 's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea."
4. " So live that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."
5. " I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground,
With his cane."
6. " A little lowly heritage it was,
Down in a dale, hard by a forest's side,
Far from resort of people, that did pass
In travel to and fro ; a little wide
There was an holy chapel edified,
220 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
Wherein the hermit duly went to say
His holy things each morn and eventide ;
Thereby a crystal stream did gently play,
Which from a sacred fountain welled forth alway."
7. " And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days :
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays.
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ;
Every clod feels a stir of might,
An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers."
8. " I wooed the blue-eyed maid
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade
Our vows we plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest,
By the hawk frighted."
9. " Fear death ? — to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face,
When the snows begin and the blasts denote
I am nearing the place,
The power of the night, the press of the storm,
The post of the foe,
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form ?
Yet the strong man must go ;
For the journey is done and the summit attained,
And the barriers fall,
Though a battle 's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,
The reward of it all."
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 22 1
10. " Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses
ring,
And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the fullness of
the spring."
ii. "Ye who believe in affection, that hopes and endures and
is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's
devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of
the forest ;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy."
THE DIRECT RELATION OF LANGUAGE TO THOUGHT.
As already observed, this phase of language has two
aspects : one that of the direct back-and-forth relation
of expression to idea, and the other the relation of the
language to the organization of the ideas into a thought
whole. Thus there are two phases in the process of
interpreting language under the present heading: one
that of gathering the material of thought from the
vehicle of thought, and the other that of organizing
the material gathered into a thought whole. Of course
all the interpreting acts move simultaneously; but logi-
cally they are conditioned in the order named. Ob-
serving the language form conditions the gathering of
the ideas which constitute the material of the discourse;
which material must be gathered before it can be
organized. Yet these acts move simultaneously
through the discourse. Thus we are brought next to
the discussion of the language qualities which make
language effective through the association of language
form with ideas.
222 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
ASSOCIATION OF LANGUAGE FORM WITH IDEAS.
Language form is associated with ideas by three
acts: that of the memory, of the imagination, and of
the judgment. The memory associates the word
with the idea; the imagination realizes the idea in
imagery; and the judgment decides from the context
as to the fitting idea. These acts require, respec-
tively, language to be Familiar, Concrete, and Precise.
Familiarity. - - Economy of memory in the act of
interpretation requires the use of words that, in the
process of interpretation, have passed into identity
in consciousness with the idea which they express.
These consist of such words as have become familiar
by their intimate association with the experience of
life. Unfamiliar words may be inferred from the con-
text, but this requires extra labor from the reader.
The mind of the reader should pass directly and un-
consciously to the content of the word. One strange
word in a sentence renders useless all the others,
puzzling not only the memory in trying to call up its
meaning but also the imagination and judgment in
their effort to organize the ideas.
The vocabulary with which anyone is familiar differs
from that used by any other, and is small when com-
pared with the whole vocabulary in general use. The
writer or speaker cannot adapt his words to the special
limitation of each individual addressed, but must as-
sume familiarity with the words in current use. In
addressing a special audience, special adaptation can
be made; but in addressing the general public, he is at
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 223
liberty to use only words that are at present used every-
where by intelligent and educated writers.
That quality of a word which gives it a right to usage
in the language is called Purity. Purity in an English
discourse means that there are no words in it that have
not the sanction of contemporary literary usage. A vio-
lation of Purity is called a Barbarism; and the word in
which the violation occurs might be called a Barbarian,
because it is outside the kingdom of English. A Bar-
barism may be committed by using a word from either
of the two following classes: (i) those not in the lan-
guage at present — Barbarism in Time; (2) those not
in general use over the territory in which the language
is spoken — - Barbarism in Place.
1. Barbarisms in Time are of two classes: (a) those
that have passed partly or wholly out of use — rare and
obsolete words; {b) new words which have gained only
a partial currency in the language.
Language has life and growth. A word is born; it
flourishes; it dies. Language is constantly absorbing
and assimilating new elements and casting off the worn
out and useless. Growth of ideas is constantly render-
ing old words useless and new ones necessary. The
greater the vital activity, the larger the class of new
words that have gained only a partial hold upon the
language, and of old words that are dropping out because
rarely used. These transitional words constitute the two
classes in which Barbarisms in Time may be committed.
a. Obsolete words are those which, having a good
standing in one age, are no longer used, because the
ideas themselves have no place in men's thoughts, or
224 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
because superseded by some fitter expression. Through
this process, the author of one age becomes unintelli-
gible to the readers of the next. This is not only
because the words themselves have ceased to be used,
but because the grammatical forms have become obso-
lete; as, en, the plural ending used by Chaucer and
contemporary writers. Words are sometimes obsolete
in only some of their meanings, as in the word scant-
ling (not plentiful, small). Almost any page of the older
English writers or of the dictionary will furnish abun-
dant illustrations of all varieties of obsolete and obso-
lescent words. The following may suffice: eke, wist,
twain, scarce-fire, sickerness, silentiary, tumultuate,
revoke (to recollect), revile (reproach), erst, yea, verily,
choures, veyne, beholden, afeared, obleeged, withouten,
otherwhere, ycleped, whilom.
The use of obsolete words is allowable in poetry and
in certain kinds of fiction. When fiction attempts to
present an earlier age, the words of that age, though not
used at present, are a means of giving verisimilitude to
the story.
b. The growth of new words is more rapid than one
would suspect. What is a barbarism in one age is pure
English in the next. Every year a multitude of cant
phrases, slang and colloquial expressions, and ephemeral
words spring up to meet some temporary purpose, and
then die, unless it happen, which is seldom, that one of
them can survive on the ground of real need. Every
one has observed the phenomenon of a word coming
into life, struggling for existence, and giving way under
some fitter form of expression, or making good its own
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 2Z$
claim to a place in the language. Says Genung: " The
wretched word enthuse seems to be fighting for a place
in standard usage, and as yet no one can tell what the
sequel will be; at present it is a word to be shunned.
A few years ago the word telegram was new and much
talked of; but it filled a needed place in the language
and soon came to be used by all. The invention of the
telephone brought with it the suggestion of a corre-
sponding word ' telephem ' ; but it is doubtful whether
this will ever become current."
The writer is not prohibited from the use of new
words, for some one must use them, even coin them.
He needs only to be cautioned in coining and using
them. Since language was made for man, and not man
for language, an author has a right to coin words when
some new juncture of thought has no fitting form of
expression already. But the ordinary writer will seldom
meet with such a juncture, and may well leave to com-
manding genius the coining of such circulating media
as the race needs. The only rule is to beware of new
words. " Be not the first by whom the new are tried."
The law of purity simply forbids the use of vulgar sub-
stitutes for good expressions already in current use.
The following given by A. S. Hill are good examples
of the class to be avoided: —
" He availed of, instead of availed himself of an opportunity;
how does he like? for like it; how do you like ? for like them; a
steal for a theft; Lord Salisbury's wander through Europe; the
case was referred; he deeded me the land; the skatorial phenome-
non; Speaker Randall's retiraey; clothes Iaundried at short notice;
walkist, agriculturist, educationalist, speculatist, and the like; B
suicided yesterday; the house was burglarized; since the issuance
226 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
(for issue) of the President's order; the conferment of a degree;
his letter of declinature; cablegram, reportorial, managerial, con-
fliction (for conflict); in course (for of course); tasty (for taste-
ful); he was fatigued by the difficult climb; L was extradited;
dispeace; informational; to juxtapose. Firstly, illy, are used for
first, ill, in apparent ignorance of the fact that, being adverbs
already, they do not require the adverbial termination ly. On
yesterday, come around (for come round, in the sense of revive or
recover), are similar errors."
2. Barbarisms in Place are of two classes: (a) those
words not belonging to the territory in which the lan-
guage is spoken — foreign words; (b) those belonging
only to a part of the territory in which the language is
spoken — provincial words.
No abuse of language is more prominent than bar-
barisms in foreign and provincial words. The illiterate
class are more given to the latter; but the former is
most frequently committed by persons of literary at-
tainments. In a few pages of a literary work these are
found : a madam and a felo-do-se ; the principle of esse
quani videri; the rule of shunning tanquam scopulum
and insolent verbum; malaprop picturesqneness; tcmpora;
mutantura; their beaux esprits ; the metier of a profes-
sional talker; during the bravnras and tours de force of
the great musical arts; etc. The following are less
offensive because more frequently used: They have
reached the ne plus ultra, — He is subject to ennui, —
He is a connoisseur in art, — She belongs to the elite,
— The entertainment went off with e'clat, — She made
her de'but last evening.
These are offensive to good taste and are violations
of the law of economy in style. All foreign expressions
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 227
which have not become naturalized in our language
should be shunned. While foreign words, after they
have become a part of our language, are good English,
yet such must not be sought out when the more simple,
homely, native word stands ready to do service. Often
there is an offensive affectation displayed in seeking
out words of foreign origin, especially from the Latin,
when the short, simple, Saxon word would carry the
idea more directly and forcibly to the head and the
heart. After the foreign words are naturalized, it is
not a question of native or foreign origin, but of effec-
tiveness in conveying the idea. In guarding against
the false taste which gives a preference for them, we
must be careful not to form a prejudice against words
of classical origin. " Seek to use both Saxon and
Classical derivatives for what they are worth, and be
not anxious to discard either."
Technical terms are not considered a part of the
language, and should not be used except in addressing
the class to which such words belong. In writings in-
tended for some particular department of thought or
industry, the terms peculiar to the class addressed are
the most effective that can be selected; but they must
be discarded when such subjects are treated in general
literature, although with great loss in directness and
precision.
Provincial words include those that are merely col-
loquial — employed in common conversation; and slang,
the low, vulgar colloquialisms of some especial class in
society. Some words that are proper in conversation
are improper in formal, continued speech. Unfortu-
228 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
natcly slang needs no illustration. There are times
when it seems the most compact, spirited way of saying
a thing, and it may serve some immediate necessity,
and in some cases find a permanent place in the lan-
guage; but as a rule it is offensive, and indicates a
poverty of words that would make the user blush if he
were conscious of his necessity.
Within the limit of purity there is ground for a
further choice. Economy of memory not only requires
the use of pure words, but of these such as will be most
familiar to those addressed. Some words, on account
of early association, have passed into identity with the
idea; and in such cases the idea follows the word with-
out effort. Others are in a state of transition; and
still others exhaust the attention because the association
is new. Mark the difference of force between these:
fire, conflagration; pay, remunerate; did, performed;
hang, suspend; little, diminutive; see, witness; burned,
consumed; answer, rejoinder; died, deceased. The
more economical words are usually Saxon, but they
are not more economical because they are Saxon; it is
because they have become a part of our mental life
through early, constant, and long association. This is
why Saxon words go " strongest and straightest to
men's heads and hearts." A Latin word is as expres-
sive as a Saxon word if it be brief, familiar, and well
charged with meaning. Saxon words are the original
words in the language, and denote the names of things
known to our ancestors, and to all classes of people.
In accounting for the greater economy secured by the
use of Saxon words, Herbert Spencer says: "The most
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 229
important of them is early association. A child's vocab-
ulary is almost wholly Saxon. He says, I have, not I
possess; I wish, not I desire; he does not reflect, he
thinks; he does not beg for amusement, but for play;
he calls things nice or nasty, not pleasant or disagree-
able. The synonyms which he learns in after years
never become so closely, so organically connected with
the ideas signified as do these original words used in
childhood, and hence the association remains less
strong. But in what does a strong association between
a word and an idea differ from a weak one ? Simply in
the greater ease and rapidity of the suggestive action.
It can be in nothing else. Both of two words, if they
be strictly synonyms, eventually call up the same image.
The expression — It is acid, must in the end give rise
to the same thought as — It is sour; but because the
term acid was learnt later in life, and has not been so
often followed by the thought symbolized, it does not
so readily arouse the thought as the term sour. If we
remember how slowly and with what labour the appro-
priate ideas follow unfamiliar words in another lan-
guage, and how increasing familiarity with such words
brings greater rapidity and ease of comprehension, and
if we consider that the same process must have gone on
with the words of our mother tongue from childhood
upwards, we shall clearly see that the earliest learnt
and oftenest used words will, other things equal, call
up images with less loss of time and energy than their
later learnt synonyms."
The most familiar words are usually the shortest and
simplest, and economize not only memory in the asso-
23O THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
ciative act, but also perception in the presentative act.
Thus the word pay has two economical values over the
word remunerate. Short, simple, and familiar words
are indispensable to a clear style.
While all the foregoing discussion is made in terms
of clearness, that is, in terms of economy of attention,
it is quite obvious that perfectly transparent language is
beautiful. Language which obstructs the movement
of the mind toward the meaning cannot be beautiful
language, for it awakens the sense of bondage.
Also the most familiar word is the most energetic,
through the fact that no energy is wasted in the inter-
preting act. But the positive phase of energy under
this head consists in the use of such expressions as
will, while expressing the idea required, suggest emo-
tions to arouse the mind into active reception. The
mind may be kept aglow with emotions awakened by
ideas skillfully selected along the train of thought.
Some ideas have so long been associated with life and
its interests, with its weal and its woe, with its trials
and triumphs, — have become so deeply rooted in senti-
ment and conviction that they carry with them a com-
plex volume of rich and varied emotion. The mere
reference to these in passing enriches the thought and
stimulates the mind through the associations of memory
to a fuller reception and realization of the matter pre-
sented. The orator instinctively draws such ideas into
the current of his thought.
Concrctcness.- -The mind must represent to itself the
idea expressed. Even when general or abstract ideas
are expressed, the mind represents to itself the individ-
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 23 I
uals of the class, or the concrete objects in which the
abstract as an attribute is found. When an abstract
or general term is used, the mind conceives the con-
crete and specific to which the general and abstract
belong. Words are translated into thoughts through
images; and this requires an effort beyond that of
merely recalling the meaning of words. When the
concrete and specific can be directly named instead of
the abstract and general, the mind is relieved from
the necessity of choosing from its store of concrete and
specific ideas those which may represent the general or
embody the abstract. In the expression, " Consider
the lilies of the field, how they grow," a general truth
concerning all plants is implied ; and with what economy
as compared with, "Consider plants, how they grow! "
In the last statement the mind is necessarily busy with
figuring to itself this or that type of plant, and finally
choosing one or holding a great number vaguely in
mind. But in the first, the mind is put at ease with a
definite species, without losing anything of the general
truth expressed. For the writer's purpose, the lily has
all the attributes of the class. If an individual could
have been mentioned here, the gain would have been
still greater.
Abstract objects are made from attributes, and have
no objective existence except in connection with objects
as their subjects. If the mind searches for honesty, it
finds not honesty, but an honest man. If, therefore,
instead of naming the abstract truth, thus requiring
the mind to busy itself with its concrete embodiment,
the concrete be named, the labor of transforming the
232 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
abstract into the concrete is avoided; just as in the
preceding case the labor is avoided of transforming
the general idea into the individuals of which it is
composed. Spencer says, we should avoid such
sentences as this: —
" In proportion as the manners, customs, and amusements of a
nation are cruel and barbarous, the regulations of their penal code
will be severe."
And in place of it we should write: —
" In proportion as men delight in battles, bull-fights, and com-
bats of gladiators, will they punish by hanging, burning, and
the rack."
The second sentence loses nothing of the abstract
truth expressed in the first, but is an immense saving
of the recipient's effort to realize the abstract thought
presented. How much does Emerson gain for the
reader in ease of interpretation in these concrete state-
ments of abstract truths: —
"Wealth has its source in the rudest strokes of spade and
axe." — " Coal makes Canada as warm as Calcutta." — " Will man
content himself with a hut and a handful of dried peas? " — " No
matter whether lie makes shoes or statues or laws." — "A dollar
in a university is worth more than a dollar in a jail." — "His
bones ache with the day's labor he has earned."
Such expression gives the composer, also, an oppor-
tunity to present a strong and impressive idea instead
of a weak one; and thus concrete expression is more
forcible, not only because it reserves the energy of the
mind for the idea conveyed, but because it stimulates
the mind to activity in appropriating the idea. In
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 233
this way, too, the mind may be kept moving through
pleasing, as well as stimulating, imagery; as when
Tennyson says : —
" Were this not well, to bide mine hour,
Tho' watching from a ruined tower
How grows the day of human power."
Certainly the picture of the tower stimulates and
delights the mind in the process of interpretation.
The highest effect in the beauty of style cannot be
secured except there be free use of fresh and glowing
imagery. The literary writer dare not speak in abstract
terms. The incidental imagery in discourse may be so
rich and varied as to become an end in itself, and thus
largely, if not wholly, justify the discourse without rela-
tion to the theme presented. Just as the music of
language may be its own excuse for being, without
considering the sense of the selection, as in the case of
Poe's " Bells," so concrete expression may rise through
charming imagery into more than mere economy of
interpretation, and become an esthetic object in itself.
But for whatever purpose, a style rich in imagery is
a means to effective utterance. The more fully the
writer can put his abstract thought in imagery, the
more effective will be his presentation. The chief
difference between speakers in addressing popular
audiences lies chiefly in their power to throw their
thought into pleasing and expressive imagery. On
one side this is a necessity, for most minds think in the
sensuous forms of the imagination. But the point here
to be emphasized is the stimulation of the faculties by
means of pleasing sensuous forms.
234 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
There is still another element of efficiency in con-
crete language. The imagination delights in its own
free activity, and this is stimulated by suggestive
imagery. The beautiful part of the painting is not
the part directly seen, but the part beyond the jutting
headland or far down the dim vista. The picture is
most pleasing which gives only hints, leaving the
imagination the pleasure of its own free activity. The
pattern of carpet or wall paper that constrains the mind
to definite figures soon wearies the observer; it permits
no freedom. Whether a reader return again and again
to a selection with increased delight, is not so much
determined by what is strictly given as by what is
indirectly suggested. The permanence of a piece of
literature depends largely upon its power of suggestion
to the imagination.
Precision. — A word usually expresses several ideas.
The one intended to be expressed in any given case
must be ascertained through inference by the judgment,
based on the relation to accompanying ideas. The
word compass standing alone may express equally well
any one of a dozen ideas; but standing in discourse, it
is limited to one of this number; and the judgment
must, by the accompanying words, infer which idea
the author intends to express. When the writer uses
a word which expresses an idea that does not harmonize
with the context, the judgment must perform unneces-
sary labor in selecting the true idea, and also in organ-
izing the thought as a whole. There is no way to avoid
the constant activity of the judgment in realizing the
idea expressed by a word in discourse; yet care must
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 235
be taken to avoid unnecessary labor, by selecting the
exact word for the idea in the mind of the writer. The
quality of the word which economizes the judgment is
called Precision.
Precision — literally to cut off — is that quality of a
word by which it expresses " no more, no less, and no
other" than the idea which the writer intended to con-
vey. It is a synonym for exactness — the exact fit of
the word to the idea. If the word does not express
accurately the idea intended, the recipient must labor
to gain that idea. If it should be said, " Virtue alone
makes us happy," meaning that nothing else can do
it, we should miss the meaning of the writer or waste
effort to find it. Or, if it should be said, " Virtue only
makes us happy," meaning that virtue by itself is suf-
ficient to do so, the idea would be falsely conveyed. If
the host should say to his guest, " Do not be in a hurry
to depart," the guest should think that he was requested
not to be excited to leave so quickly, when perhaps it
was only intended to request him not to leave so soon
— not to hasten. In this case too much is expressed,
and the judgment, taking into account the circum-
stances, makes the correction, but this costs effort.
The term hasten would express too little, if it was
intended to express not only rapid movement, but, with
it, a disturbed state of mind causing abrupt and irregu-
lar movement. Sometimes the writer, by confounding
two words which resemble in form, commits the awk-
ward blunder of missing the idea entirely; as, when
the writer closes his letter with, "Yours respectively."
The connection in which the word is used will generally
236 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
prevent a misconception; but to require a reader to
make out the correct meaning for himself is to impose
on him labor that belongs to the writer.
Precision is secured by using words in their proper
sense, or with propriety. Whatever the derivation or
history of words, they must be used with their current
meaning — with the exact meaning stamped upon them
by the masters of expression. While in general a
knowledge of the derivation and history of a word is
essential to its intelligent and accurate use, yet because
of the capricious changes in the language, the present
application of a large number of words seems to have
no connection with their radical meaning. Often two
words from the same root and having nearly the same
sound have widely different meanings; as, respectively
and respectfully. At one time it would have been a
compliment to have spoken of a " painful sermon."
A clerk is no longer a clergyman. We build a house
rather than edify it.
This divergence in meaning of words from the same
radical often leads to the expression of a different idea
from the one intended. If one should speak of the
observation of the Fourth of July — confounding the
word with observance — the hearer would be puzzled
as to the method of the performance. Yet the words
are radically so near alike that we can say, The man
observes the landscape, or, the Fourth of July. The
words falseness and falsehood are both derived from
the word false, yet falseness can be applied only to per-
sons, while falsehood is affirmed of statements. Words
having the same radical signification are called Paro-
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 237
nyms. These include also words that have the same
sound but different meaning. Sometimes ludicrous
blunders are made by not distinguishing between words
that have the same or nearly the same sound; as, when
it was said that " She was as headstrong as an allegory
on the banks of the Nile."
Precision is secured chiefly by the discriminating
use of synonyms. Synonyms are words which, while
expressing shades of difference, have substantially the
same meaning. They are not referable to the same
root, as are paronyms, but are distinct classes of words
derived from different sources. The English language,
composed of elements from so many different languages,
is rich in synonyms. While synonyms, by the various
shades of meaning they express with substantially the
same idea, are a means to exact expression, yet because
their likeness is more prominent than their difference,
they are a source of inaccuracy. If synonyms are to be
a means of accuracy to the composer, he must discrim-
inate between their meanings, and apply them with a
consciousness of their difference. Hence, the distinc-
tion between synonymous expressions becomes an im-
portant study for him who would write with precision.
There must be a constant use of the dictionary and a
book of synonyms in testing the exactness of the word
selected. The writer should not fall into the slovenly
habit of thinking that the word is not quite right, but
nearly enough so. If he would cultivate accuracy he
must constantly seek to say precisely what his thought
requires. The interest of truth demands this, for there
is no way in which a statement is made to diverge from
238 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
the truth more frequently than by the careless use of
synonymous expressions. The turn of thought which
depends on the choice of a particular word may be the
most significant distinction expressed.
It is not only important to discriminate among syno-
nyms in order to choose the fit word, but that, in the
elaboration of an idea, it may be presented under its
different phases; and yet, in the repetition of the idea,
the same word need not be chosen. The reiteration of
the same idea in the same term is clumsy and monoto-
nous; and there is a constant effort to find words that,
in the repetition of the idea, will preserve substantially
the same meaning. There is no need more constantly
felt by the writer than that of many expressions for
the same thing. " Not that several forms of expression
are in every case to be employed; this, of course, is a
matter that must be determined by the occasion. But
it often happens that if the writer has not thought
broadly and deeply enough to have more than one
expression for his idea, the one that he has will be
meager. The one apt word is very generally the result
of long cogitation and debate between alternative locu-
tions. Recognizing this fact, eminent writers have
often cultivated as a private discipline the habit of
putting things in many different ways, ringing changes
in expression, softening and strengthening, formalizing
and colloquializing, condensing and expanding, making
severely accurate and making freely loose. Such a
habit is untold value as means of familiarizing the
literary workman with his tools."
Thus while synonyms are employed in their different
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 239
shades of meaning to denote delicacy and precision, used
for their likeness they secure freedom and flexibility.
It should not be forgotten that the choice of a pre-
cise word is conditioned by a clearly defined idea; and
that to the careful study of synonyms as a means of
securing accuracy in expression must be added discipline
in forming clear, distinct, and vivid conceptions. Vague
and definite ideas cannot clothe themselves in close-
fitting words. Whatever trains the mind to bound
ideas accurately and to conceive them clearly makes
possible the choice of an exact word. And, further-
more, the mind, impressed with a sense of accuracy in
the idea itself, will be sensitive to the form in which
it is put — will instinctively light upon the right word.
As introductory to the habit of observing synonyms,
let the likenesses and unlikenesses be stated in the
following groups, and each applied in its distinction: —
Invent, discover; abhor, detest; haste, hurry; alone, only; clear,
distinct; calm, peace, tranquillity; custom, habit; equivocal, am-
biguous; avow, acknowledge, confess; industrious, laborious, dili-
gent; in, into; two, couple; proud r vain; faculty, capacity; bonds,
fetters; abdicate, desert; character, reputation; occasion, oppor-
tunity; sick, ill; pity, sympathy; stay, remain; jealousy, envy;
tolerate, permit; lack, want, need; candid, open, sincere; cautious,
wary, circumspect; combination, cabal, plot, conspiracy; shall,
will.
Distinguish, also, between the following paronyms : -
Expect, suspect; healthy, healthful; sensuous, sensual; construe,
construct; predict, predicate; contemptible, contemptuous; neglect,
negligence; ingenious, ingenuous; subtle, subtile; artist, artisan;
womanly, womanish; emigrant, immigrant; human, humane;
benevolence, beneficence,
24O THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
The purpose has been not to catalogue the precepts
of diction, but to illustrate the basis of all precepts in
the fundamental principle of the interpreting process.
Arbitrary rules confuse, discourage, and enslave; while
principles give freedom, guide, inspire confidence, and
command respect. With these principles fixed, the
student's knowledge will crystallize about them through
the necessity of his experience with language, both in
construction and interpretation. Whatever the treat-
ment, it could not take the place of such experience.
With the principle of diction in words to guide, the
student who aspires to clearness of expression must
hope to secure it by constantly realizing the principles
in himself as he reads, writes, or speaks. Especially
must he observe the usage of the best writers. The
dictionary and book of synonyms, while helpful in
their way, cannot take the place of the diligent study
of words as they are organized in the life of discourse.
The dictionary cannot impart to words the life and
delicacy that come from the touch of an author.
" Words are the vehicle not only of thought but of
sentiment and emotion ; but this they can be only as
interwoven with other words. Thus alone can they get
beyond the merely intellectual side of language, and
from its defined meanings provided for its often far
more vital undefined associations. No fineness of usage
can be acquired from the dictionary alone ; the grace
and power, the subtilities and flexibilities of words, are
seen fully only as they are fitted together, in actual
literature, by the masters of expression." Without
such intimate acquaintance with the best literary usage,
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 24I
without a large, pure, literary vocabulary to choose
from, the principles of choice will be of little avail ;
and without principles of choice the composer could
not consciously wield the words at his command.
ORGANIZATION OF THE IDEAS INTO THOUGHT.
The primary language quality required to facilitate
this process is that of unity ; and the prominent
activity is that of the judgment, which acts, however,
upon the constant activity of the memory and the
imagination. The memory must hold the materials
gathered till the judgment can organize them ; and
the imagination must represent in images the thought
whole presented.
The first requirement under the general law of lan-
guage unity is that there be no unnecessary material
presented for organization. Such material requires
useless effort in the organizing process ; and many
times it becomes so burdensome as to defeat, in a
large measure, the purpose of the discourse. Hence,
the law of unity requires of language first, —
Conciseness. — Only the words essential to the full
and accurate expression of the thought should be used.
The proper number can be only relatively determined.
Immature minds require fuller expression than mature;
an oral statement may need fuller expression than a
written one; a familiar thought needs only to be sug-
gested, while the features of an unfamiliar one must
be brought out by a great number of words. Thus
the proper number of words is determined by a great
242 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
many considerations. It is perhaps a greater error to
use too few words than too many; yet the use of too
many is the more common error, and so serious as to
demand careful attention.
It has already been noted that an unnecessary word
prevents clearness by the useless burden put upon
sense-perception. Still greater is the burden imposed
on memory; for there is not only the unnecessary act
of associating the word with its idea, but the memory
is required to carry the useless idea, only to puzzle the
imagination and judgment in their effort to organize it
in with the other ideas. Thus, too many words inter-
fere with all the interpreting acts, but chiefly with
memory.
The general fault of wordiness is called Verbosity.
Verbosity arises generally from either a diffused or
confused mode of thinking, or the desire to seem to
be saying more than the concise expression would con-
vey. It has its origin, therefore, in the condition of
clearness, stated at the outset; namely, in moral habit
and in discipline of mind. The lack of precision in
the expression is the natural result of a lack in the
precision of thought, or of regard for the truth ex-
pressed. Verbosity is an overgrowth of words from
an untamed thought, nourished by the care of expres-
sion for the sake of expression as distinct from thought.
Says Phelps: " Diffuseness, repetition, bombast, result
inevitably from the study of expression as distinct from
thought." When there is no self-consciousness in-
volved, the excessive care for expression as something
in itself is a leading source of looseness in style;
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 243
Those who expect to cultivate conciseness in style
need hope for little from the mere study of language.
Verbosity is often so diffused throughout the expres-
sion that it cannot be located in any definite form of
language. So far as the different ways have been
classified and named there are three: Tautology,
Redundancy, and Circumlocution.
Tautology is saying in other words exactly what has
just been said; as, —
" A writer should not waste his words for nothing." — " He re-
vises all the while." — " It lacked the power of engaging attention
and of alluring curiosity." — "Pupils should obey the rules and
regulations."
Tautology is the form of wordiness most easily
detected and, therefore, the least excusable.
Redundancy is the addition of ideas not necessary
to the sense. Redundancy does not repeat the idea,
but adds that which the idea already expressed renders
unnecessary; thus, —
" The laws of nature are uniform and invariable." — "I wrote
to you a letter yesterday." — " I went home full of a great many
serious reflections." — "There is no writer so concise in style as
not sometimes to use a redundant expression." — " There is noth-
ing that disgusts us sooner than the empty pomp of language." —
" There can be no doubt but that newspapers at present are read
altogether too much." — " Being content with deserving a triumph,
he refused to receive the triumph that was offered him."
Circumlocution is a much more subtile form of ver-
bosity than tautology or redundancy, and hence is a
fault more easily committed and less easily detected.
It is an unnecessary multiplication of words by some
244 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
roundabout mode of statement. When there is a pur-
pose in such indirect statement, it becomes an allowable
figure of speech, called Periphrasis; but when resulting
from carelessness or affectation, it becomes a serious
and inexcusable fault. Circumlocution is characteristic
of "fine writing," the dressing out in high-sounding
terms commonplace ideas; as, —
" The shining leather which encased the limb," — a boot. The
explosion of " the leveled tube," — a gun.
Lowell, in his introduction to the Biglow papers,
gives some good examples : —
" Called into requisition the services of the family physician,"
— " Sent for the doctor."
" I shall, with your permission, beg leave to offer some brief
observations," — "I shall say a few words."
" The progress of the devouring element was arrested," —
" The fire was got under."
" The conflagration spread its devastating career," — " The
fire spread."
Circumlocution is usually more difficult to detect
than appears in these examples. It is hidden from the
first view in this often-quoted sentence: —
"Among the eminent men who figured in the eventful history
of the French Revolution was M. Talleyrand ; and whether in
that scene, or in any portion of modern annals, we shall in vain
look for one who represents a more interesting subject of
history."
D. J. Hill, in commenting on this, says: "In addi-
tion to beating out the sense to the thinnest possible
film, his lordship makes Talleyrand figure in the his-
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 245
tory instead of the scene, then confounds scene and
annals, and finally tells us that Talleyrand represents
an interesting subject of history. The idea may be
more clearly expressed in twenty-four instead of forty-
four words: Among the eminent characters of the
French Revolution was M. Talleyrand, and, in modern
times, we shall find no more interesting subject of
history."
The remedy for tautology and redundancy is to cut
off the superfluous part, — in the first, the useless
expression; in the second, the useless idea. Circum-
locution is remedied, not by leaving out parts, but by
reforming the sentence in terser language. In the fol-
lowing exercises, used by Swinton and Kellogg, let the
verbosities be classified and removed: —
1 . Every man on the face of the earth has duties to per-
form.
2. Another old veteran has departed.
3. Thought and language act and react mutually on each
other.
4. Emma writes very well for a new beginner.
5. The time for learning is in the period of youth.
6. Whenever he calls, he always inquires for you.
7. The ocean is the great reservoir for receiving the waters of
the rivers.
8. The world is fitly compared to a stage, and its inhabitants
to the actors who perform their parts.
9. " Pope professed to have learned his poetry from Dryden,
whom, whenever an opportunity presented itself, he praised
through the whole period of his existence with a liberality which
never varied; and perhaps his character may receive some illus-
tration, if a comparison be instituted between him and the man
whose pupil he was."
246 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
10. Redundancy sometimes arises from a want of thought,
which leads the author to repeat over and over again his little
modicum of sense at his command.
1 1. He received divine help from God.
12. The annual anniversary of the landing of the Pilgrims,
celebrated yearly, took place a few days since.
Prune to concise language the following quotation : —
"Importance of Habits of Attention. — The importance of
habits of attention cannot be overrated. The power of controlling
one's own mental faculties, of directing them at will into whatever
channel the occasion may demand, of excluding from the mind all
irrelevant ideas, and concentrating the mind on the one object of
thought, is a power of the highest value. It is in this that we
find the principal difference between one mind and another in the
realm of thought and knowledge. Mental power is, to a great
extent, the power of attention.
" One of the principal elements of genius is strength of will to
control the mind and command the mental energies.
" To all the Faculties. — Attention is of great value to all the
faculties. It is involved in and inseparably connected with the
exercise of these faculties, giving them their direction and in-
creasing their power. It conditions their activity, and is a meas-
ure of their strength and attainments. Its value in relation to
each one of the different faculties will be briefly noticed.
" To Perception. — The power of perception is mainly due to
the power of attention. In an act of perception we need not only
the open senses, but also the attentive mind. Mere gazing is not
sufficient ; we need the concentration of mind in order to per-
ceive. Too many persons have eyes and see not, ears and hear
not, fingers that touch and yet communicate no knowledge. A
large share of the perception of the world is inattentive and
careless.
" Attention, in relation to perception, is like a microscope to the
eye. I look at a flower and perceive many things concerning it;
I place a microscope to my eye, and thus see points of interest I
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 247
never dreamed of before. So attention seems to concentrate the
rays of perceptive power, revealing thereby that which was previ-
ously unperceived. In its relation to perception, attention may be
called a mental microscope.
"To Memory. — Attention gives power to the memory. It
gives clearness of conception, which is a condition of remember-
ing. That which the mind has clearly apprehended, which it has
carefully discriminated from other things, takes firm hold of, and
thus retains it in its mental grasp. Continuous attention also
enables us to fix the idea, to give permanence to the impression.
It acts like a kind of die which stamps the picture upon the tablet
of memory. Without it, the greater part of what we hear or see
would fade from the mind, as a shadow flits across the summer
landscape."
Besides the sins of commission against brevity, in
the form of Tautology, Redundancy, and Circumlocu-
tion, there are the sins of omission, in which the com-
poser fails to use all legitimate means of condensation.
These means are various, some of which are as fol-
lows: —
Often what is expressed by a compound sentence
may be more compactly put in a complex or a simple
one ; thus : White garments are cool in summer, be-
cause they reflect the rays of the sun, — White gar-
ments, which reflect the rays of the sun, are cool in
summer, - - White garments, reflecting the rays of the
sun, are cool in summer.
The omission of an essential part of the sentence,
when it can be readily supplied, is an effective means
for securing brevity; as, the omission of a subject,
verb, object of a verb, conjunction, or other parts more
readily supplied than interpreted. Thus: Mirth should
be the embroidery of conversation, but it should not be
248 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
the web of it, — Mirth should be the embroidery of
conversation, but it should not be the web, — Mirth
should be the embroidery of conversation, but not the
web, — Mirth should be the embroidery of conversa-
tion; not the web. The copula, preceding a series of
details, is omitted with good effect; as, A beautiful
flower is the lily — sweet, graceful, and delicate.
A word may often be substituted for a phrase; thus:
His writing is such that it cannot be read, — illegible.
Participles are frequently used for brief equivalents of
phrases and clauses.
In many such ways the writer may condense his ex-
pression to the least compass of the thought. Yet
clearness must be the first consideration. The com-
poser should not risk obscurity for brevity. The exact
nature of the thought and the knowledge and capacity
of the mind addressed must determine each case ; and
if there be error, let it favor clearness.
What has been said touching the qualities of the
sentence which burdens the memory and tries the judg-
ment with useless material applies to the discourse
as a whole. As the sentence must contain the fewest
words consistent with clearness, so the discourse as a
whole should contain the fewest sentences consistent
with the purpose of the discourse.
The positive offense at this point is Prolixity.
Prolixity is the enumeration of unimportant things,
or things which the reader, from his general knowl-
edge, would readily supply from the context. Prolixity
gives to incidental and subordinate parts the promi-
nence of essential ones. It is avoided by holding the
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 249
attention to the leading idea ; by presenting suggestive
characteristics and leaving the imagination to supply-
such minutia as it may need. " A prolix writer de-
lights in circumlocution, extended detail, and trifling
particulars." A concise writer suggests much in saying
little. No fault is more directly opposed to the law of
economy than is prolixity. The mind often antici-
pates in a moment all that a writer narrates in pages ;
and then an effort of the will is required to hold the
mind in readiness for the needed thought, which may
happen along by and by. Examples of this fault are
too lengthy for quotation. They are abundantly illus-
trated by the conversational bores, who vex, tire, and
perplex by endless talk of irrelevant minutia, and
personal details which they assume are as interesting
to others as to themselves. Literary bores are less
numerous and more polite, for they do not hold one
fast to listen whether he will. Yet the pleasure of
reading such an author, even such as Dickens, would
be greatly increased if he were less prolix.
Not only must the mind not be burdened with use-
less material, but too much material must not be given
it for a single organizing act. This makes it necessary
to consider
The Proper Length of the Sentence. — As shown in
the preceding, the memory may be required to carry
both unnecessary words and unnecessary ideas. Of
essential ideas, it may be required to cany more, or to
carry them longer than is possible without conscious
effort. This puts a limit to the length of the sen-
tence. A sentence may be long without being ver-
25O THK SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
bose. Instead of breaking the truth up into several
distinct statements, each expanding and correcting
what is said in the first, the whole may be given in one
long, involved, complex sentence. The one long sen-
tence may be shorter than all the short ones out of
which it is made. There is a gain to the memory up
to the point of conscious effort in carrying the parts.
The greater the amount carried at once, the better, so
long as the effort to lift the burden is less than that
required in repeating the carrying act. While the
short sentence is always less burdensome in itself than
the long one, the long sentence is always more eco-
nomical than the several short ones out of which it
is made, provided the effort to carry the parts is less
than the effort through the repetition required in short
sentences. Were it always known how many ideas
could be carried without conscious effort, the length of
the sentence might be absolutely determined. No rule
can be given for drawing this line. While it may be
said absolutely that no tautological word should be
used, the principle controlling the length of the sen-
tence must be applied to test anew each case. Some
long sentences, owing to their arrangement, are less
taxing to the attention than others. The culture of
the mind addressed is a determining factor as to the
length of the sentence. The trained mind can hold
a great many qualifying circumstances without the
necessity of depositing them in the principal idea. For
the immature, the truth must be presented in short,
simple sentences, item by item. The long sentence
presents the thought as a whole better than several
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 25 I
short ones, and, therefore, requires less effort on the
part of the imagination and judgment to organize the
material given. It thus appears that as much as pos-
sible should be expressed in the single sentence, the
limit being the point at which the burden to the
memory exceeds the gain to it and to the other
faculties.
The requirements of the subject itself has much to
do with the length of the sentence. Phelps says : "You
cannot express the rising and the expanding and the
sweep and the circling of eloquent thought, borne up
on eloquent feeling, in a style resembling that which
seamen call 'a chopping sea.' For such thinking, you
must have at command a style of which an oceanic
ground-swell or the Gothic interweaving of forest
trees is the more becoming symbol. You must have
long sentences, involved sentences, magnificent sen-
tences, euphonious sentences, sentences which invite a
rotund and lofty delivery. This diction is often cen-
sured by critics as ' fine writing.' But you must have
such a style for the most exact utterance of certain
elevated and impassioned thought."
The error is usually on the side of long sentences ;
sometimes by making complex, involved sentences,
and sometimes by connecting a series of sentences by
colons and semicolons. The writer should not hesitate
to use periods. A. S. Hill says : " Even when the
distinction between a long and a short sentence con-
sists chiefly in punctuation, the mere substitution of
colons or semicolons for periods makes a world of dif-
ference to the reader. In unbroken succession, long
252 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
sentences fatigue the eye and the mind; short sen-
tences distract them. The skillful writer alternates
the two, using the former for the most part to explain,
the latter to enforce his views." Certain habits of
thought give the mind a tendency toward long or short
sentences. It is natural for some to express them-
selves in short, simple statements, while others uncon-
sciously pack the sentence with all the incidental ideas
which accompany the leading thought; others, without
having distinct thought, as in the case of children, run
statements together by short pauses and conjunctions.
Nations, too, have their characteristic type of sentence.
The French use short, simple sentences ; the Germans,
long, involved, complex ones ; the English, being a
mixture of Norman-French and German, naturally pre-
fer sentences of intermediate length, with a tendency,
however, to the German type. De Quincey, comparing
the English sentence with the French and German,
says : —
" In French authors, whatever may otherwise be the
differences of their minds or the differences of their
themes, uniformly we find the periods short, rapid, un-
elaborate. One rise in every sentence, one gentle
descent - - that is the law for French composition, even
too monotonously so ; and thus it happens that such a
thing as a long, involved sentence could not be pro-
duced from French literature, though a Sultan were to
offer his daughter in marriage to the man who should
find it.
"The character of German prose is an object of
legitimate astonishment. Whatever is bad in our own
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 253
ideal of prose style, whatever is most repulsive in our
own practice, we see there carried to the most out-
rageous excess. Lessing, Herder, Richter, and Lich-
tenberg, with some few beside, either prompted by
nature or trained upon foreign models, have avoided
the besetting sin of German prose. Among ten thou-
sand offenders we would single out Immanuel Kant.
A sentence is viewed by him, and by most of his coun-
trymen, as a rude mould or elastic form admitting of
expansion, to any possible extent ; it is laid down as a
rude outline, and then, by superstruction and episuper-
struction, it is gradually reared to a giddy altitude
which no eye can follow. Yielding to his natural im-
pulse of subjoining all additions or exceptions or modi-
fications, not in the shape of separate consecutive
sentences, but as intercalations and stuffings of one
original sentence, Kant might naturally enough have
written a book from beginning to end in one vast
hyperbolical sentence."
The demand which the truth makes upon the sen-
tence cannot always be reconciled with the law of the
economy of memory. On this point D. J. Hill remarks:
" The most frequently recurring and perplexing problem
of style is to adjust the equilibrium between these two
forces, the contracting and the expanding. Condensing
the sentence too much, we violate truth by omitting
details and ignoring limitations. Expanding too much,
we render the interpretation of the sentence impossible
by forcing upon the mind more labor than it can per-
form. A reader may, indeed, recur to the beginning,
if he be conscious of failing to grasp the thought fully,
2 54 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
while a hearer has not this privilege. On this account
the expansion of sentences is more allowable when they
are written than when they are spoken; but readers
generally are not willing to read a sentence more than
once."
To impress the nature of this error, let the following
long sentences be broken into shorter ones, and the
greater ease of interpretation be observed : —
"Although they were all known as Saxons by the Roman peo-
ple who touched them only on their southern border where the
Saxons dwelt, and who remained ignorant of the very existence of
the English or the Jutes, the three tribes bore among themselves
the name of the central tribe of their league, the name of English-
men."
" Each little farmer commonwealth was girt in by its own border
or 'mark,' a belt of forest or waste of fen which parted it from its
fellow-villages, a ring of common ground which none of its settlers
might take for his own, but which served as a death ground where
criminals met their doom, and was held to be the special dwelling-
place of the nixie and the will-o'-the-wisp."
" They found, in fact, a crushing answer in the ' Ecclesiastical
Polity ' of Richard Hooker, a clergyman who had been Master of
the Temple, but whose taste for the controversies of its pulpit
drove him from London to a Wiltshire vicarage at Boscombe.
which he exchanged at a later time for the parsonage of Bishops-
bourne, among the quiet meadows of Kent."
" They sent Tallien to seek out a boy lieutenant, Napoleon
Bonaparte, the shadow of an officer, so thin and pallid that, when
he was placed on the stand before them, the President of the
Assembly, fearful, if the fate of France rested on the shrunken
form, the ashy cheek before him, that all hope was gone, asked:
' Young man, can you protect the Assembly ? ' "
Having rejected all useless material, and having given
the mind only the number of ideas which it can easily
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 255
organize in a single act, the next concern of the com-
poser is with the placing of the elements so that they
may the most easily and effectively be organized into a
whole.
The Proper Arrangement of the Sentence. — That is, as
determined by the respective claims of the memory and
imagination. The idea expressed by the principal part
of the subject, is the organizing idea of all the others
expressed in that subject, while the idea expressed by
the whole subject is the organizing idea of the predi-
cate. All ideas in the predicate are organized into the
principal one, and the completed idea of the predicate
is organized into the completed idea of the subject.
As the result of the interpreting process, one concep-
tion is formed. The memory must hold each subor-
dinate idea until a principal idea is reached. The
question here is, In what order should the constituent
ideas of the subject, including the predicate, be pre-
sented so that the memory will have the least possible
labor to perform ? The memory must bear each attri-
bute and object until an idea is presented in which they
can be organized. At this point the imagination and
the judgment relieve the memory by attaching the
attribute or object to the leading idea. In the sentence,
"A few dilapidated old buildings still stand in the
deserted village," all the ideas are organized in the one
expressed by the word " buildings." The ideas ex-
pressed by the words "A," "few," "dilapidated," and
"old " are borne in memory until the idea "buildings"
is suggested, and then the memory is relieved by the
imagination, which constructs the picture of building,
256 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
containing the attributes that the memory has been
holding for that purpose. The idea " still " is borne
but a short distance, for the idea " stand," in which it
is organized, is immediately suggested. The idea "still
stand is a constituent idea of " A few dilapidated old
buildings," already pictured by the imagination, and
need be carried no further, for the mind at once has
the conception of these buildings as standing. The
idea of a certain kind of buildings as standing is already
in the mind to receive the idea of place expressed by
the phrase "in the deserted village." In two of the
acts of interpretation, the organizing idea is already in
the mind to receive the additional idea as soon as inter-
preted; and in the other cases the ideas are almost
instantly deposited in their subject. Reversing the
order, In the deserted village still stand a few dilapi-
dated old buildings, and the memory is required to bear
all of the accessory ideas to the close. The effect of
this in a single sentence is so slight as not to be felt;
but a series of such will soon exhaust the energies of
the mind, and leave it without the power to realize the
thought conveyed. The tiresome effect is perceptible
in a single long sentence arranged with the organizing
idea at the close; as, —
•' Farther than it is connected with the high intellectual and moral
endowments when public bodies are to be addressed on momen-
tous occasions, when great interests arc at stake, and strong-
passions are excited, nothing is valuable in speech."
Or this: —
" In the Old Colonial days in Plymouth, the land of the Pilgrims,
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 257
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish, the Puritan Captain."
Sentences in which the organizing idea is suspended
till the close are called Periodic sentences; those in
which the sense and the grammatical structure are
complete before the close — the organizing idea given
before the close — are called Loose sentences. The
periodic sentence favors the imagination, but the loose
sentence is required to bring relief to the memory.
The economy of memory requires that each idea be
placed as near as possible to the one to which it
belongs. This order is the subject followed by its
modifiers, and then the predicate followed by its modi-
fiers. On the whole, this is not the most economical
arrangement. Subject and predicate should stand in
the midst of their modifiers. What is called the natural
order, the order that has grown up under the instinct
of the mind for ease of interpretation, is the best guide
to arrangement; at least so far as the memory is con-
cerned. And this is subject, copula, predicate, with the
modifiers grouped closely about each.
But the claims of the imagination must be more dis-
tinctly recognized. We have seen that the imagination
pictures the single ideas in the process of word inter-
pretation. It, with the judgment, also combines the
separate ideas into a single picture or conception. To
secure ease in the formation of the picture out of the
separate elements, these elements must be supplied in
the order in which the imagination most readily and
correctly combines them into the new product.
In the interpretation of the sentence, " A few dilapi-
258 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
dated old buildings still stand in the deserted village,"
the imagination constructs one picture out of the
objects and attributes named. The process would
have been different had the sentence been arranged
thus: In the deserted village, still stand a few dilapi-
dated old buildings: Or thus: Buildings, a few, old,
and dilapidated, still stand in the deserted village. In
the second, all the attributes which characterize the
object to be pictured are presented before the object,
buildings; in the third, the concrete object is first pre-
sented, and then the attributes added, one by one.
The second being the reverse of the third, the law of
the imagination in the process of the interpretation
will be determined by ascertaining which of the two
requires the least effort in the picture-constructing
process.
As shown in Herbert Spencer's " Philosophy of
Style," the third has decidedly the preference. While
the law of memory requires the organizing idea to be
presented first, the law of the imagination requires it
to be presented last. When the concrete image is
given at the outset, as in the last sentence, a complete
and, most certainly, an incorrect image is formed; and
when the succeeding elements are named, the imagina-
tion must reform the picture by removing the incorrect
attributes and adding the correct ones. The first
impression is apt to persist in the mind to the exclu-
sion of the correct one. Thus we frequently carry
away from a conversation what we imagine a person
said for what he really did say. In the last sentence,
when buildings are expressed, the imagination makes
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 259
a complete picture of them, anticipating their number,
condition, color, position, and surroundings. But as
the sentence continues, it first limits the number to "a
few," requiring any previous conception of number to
be changed and a new one to be substituted. The few
buildings now in mind may be new; and this attribute
must be removed and the picture changed to include
the old. And so on, at each successive step. But in
the second sentence, in which all the abstract elements
are first presented, i.e., the attributes named, without
any subject to which they may be attached, the imagi-
nation brings them all at once to the concrete image of
buildings; again illustrating how labor is imposed on
the memory, and how it is compensated by the gain to
the imagination.
The requirements of the memory and the imagina-
tion are antagonistic; and the two forms of the sen-
tence, the loose and the periodic, growing out of the
requirements of each, stand in reverse relation to these
faculties. One of these forms cannot be said to be
better than the other. The tension between them
gives rise to an intermediate form, a compromise, which
is better than either, as in the first sentence. Each
form has its advantage and its disadvantage. The loose
sentence rests the mind, the sense and the grammatical
structure being complete at the points before the close
is reached. But this is a double source of error: (i)
the mind may be satisfied with the partial truth and
withdraw attention before all the modifying circum-
stances correct and amplify what precedes them; (2)
the habit of the imagination to fill out the picture when
26o THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
a concrete object is named and of anticipating what
the writer is to say makes necessary a series of correc-
tions. The periodic sentence, in bringing the mind
directly to the correct conception, relieves the imagina-
tion from the necessity of readjusting its work. It
also prevents error in another way. In the very nature
of the case the attention is compelled to the close, and
no error can arise by the omission of qualifying circum-
stances. With all of this, it imposes a burden on the
carrying power of the mind, and requires a higher
tension of activity, which soon exhausts the energies
of the mind to such a degree that the thought will be
entirely lost. What is called the natural order of the
sentence is a compromise between the periodic and
the loose sentence, with the difference in favor of the
loose. Both the natural and the loose sentence require
this order: subject, copula, and predicate, and certain
modifiers, as the explanatory, the objective, and phrase
and clause modifiers to follow the part modified; while
adjective and possessive modifiers, and in most cases
the adverb, precede the part modified. The natural
order should not, however, be considered as opposed
to the periodic order. For some moods of mind, the
periodic, or what is often called the inverted order, is
the only form natural. The habitual use of either form
in a single discourse characterizes the style of the whole
as natural or inverted — loose or periodic. Spencer
suggests that, " A more appropriate title would be the
direct style, as contrasted with the other, or indirect
style; the peculiarity of the one being, that it conveys
each thought into the mind step by step, with little
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 26 1
liability to err; and of the other, that it gets the right
thought conceived by a series of approximations."
Since one style is economy to one faculty and a bur-
den to the other, and since the other style reverses the
economy and the burden, an intermediate sentence,
which combines as far as possible the merits of the
others, is preferable.
Let the following sentences be arranged in the
different ways and the relative ease of interpretation
tested : —
1. " The live thunder leaps far along from peak to peak, among
the rattling crags."
2. " And this our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in
trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good
in everything."
3. " At last, after no small difficulty, and after much fatigue, we
came, through deep roads and bad weather, to our journey's end."
4. " Endowed with a rare purity of intellect, a classic beauty of
expression, a yearning tenderness toward all God's creatures, no
poet appeals more tenderly than Shelley to our love for the beauti-
ful, to our respect for our fellow men, to our heartfelt charity for
human weakness."
5. "No nobler feeling than this of admiration for one higher
than himself dwells in the breast of man."
6. " As long as you have the wisdom to keep the sovereign
authority of this country as the sanctuary of liberty, the sacred
temple consecrated to our common faith, wherever the chosen
race and sons of England worship freedom, they will turn their
faces towards you."
7. " At Attri in Abruzzo, a small town
Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown, —
One of those little places that have run
Halfway up the hill, beneath the blazing sun,
262 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
And then sat down to rest, as if to say,
' I climb no farther upward, come what may,' —
The Re Giovanni, not unknown to fame,
So many monarchs since have borne the name,
Had a great bell hung in the market-place."
We come now to what is more strictly called the
quality of unity in the language. While the preced-
ing qualities are essential to it, the very structure of
the thought and the language must enforce unity.
Unity of Sentence Structure. — This is required to
economize the interpreting activity of the imagination
and judgment. Every sentence expresses but one
object of thought. About this object all the words
are organized. The sentence is an organic unit, and
should be so arranged as to bring the mind readily
and correctly to the organizing idea. Unity is that
quality of the sentence by which the central idea is
kept obvious while the elements of the thought are
being presented one by one. Either the loose or the
periodic sentence may have this quality, but the periodic
sentence is the more conducive to it. Unity is also
more readily secured in short sentences than in long
ones. In fact, the chief objection to the long sentence
is the difficulty of arranging its parts so as to keep
the leading idea before the mind. But whatever the
length or the kind, there can be no compromise in the
matter of unity. " Some one object must reign and
be prominent." It may consist of parts indeed; but
those parts must be so closely bound together as to
make the impression of one object on the mind, not of
many.
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 263
Distinctness of conception is the prime condition
to unity of thought. If the composer, having decided
what one idea the sentence is to exist for, holds clearly
and organically the elements of the complex idea which
he wishes to express, he will unconsciously obey the
law of unity. That confusion and unsteadiness of
mind which mingle ideas having little connection, and
which turn to a new subject by every idea suggested,
will necessarily confuse the reader by incoherency of
ideas in the sentence.
Lack of unity in thought appears in two forms: (i)
the change of subject or scene in the course of a com-
pound sentence; (2) the crowding of things which
have little connection into one sentence.
1. The mind should not be hurried by sudden tran-
sitions from subject to subject, as in the following: —
" After we came to anchor, they put me on shore, where I was
welcomed by my friends, who received me with the greatest
kindness."
Here there are four subjects : we, I, they, who.
While the objects themselves are closely enough re-
lated in the matter under discussion, yet in shifting
the subject of thought from one to another, the con-
nection is almost lost. The difficulty would have been
avoided had it been written thus : —
" After we came to anchor I was put on shore, where I was
welcomed by all my friends, and received with great kindness."
2. Ideas which have little connection should never
be confused and crowded into one sentence. Such
often arises from an effort to express as much as pos-
264 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
sible in a single statement. But although they be
short, clearness requires separate statements for dis-
connected ideas, rather than to have them condensed
into one overloaded and embarrassed sentence. The
following used by Blair illustrates the nature of this
error : —
" Archbishop Tillotson died in this year. He was exceedingly
beloved both by King William and Queen Mary, who nominated
Dr. Tennison, Bishop of Lincoln, to succeed him."
The last part of this sentence would not have been
expected from the first. In the first part, the mind is
resting in the love of King William and Queen Mary
for Tillotson, and expects other matter connected with
this love; but it is abruptly turned to an event wholly
disconnected.
Closely connected with this violation of unity is that
of the use of parentheses in the middle of sentences.
Such expressions often indicate a lack of art on the
part of the writer. He has a thought which he does
not know how to dispose of. Not having skill to
organize it in the line of thought, he drops it in the
midst of a statement, with the certain effect of divert-
ing the attention from the main subject. In some
cases parentheses may be unavoidable; but the writer
should beware of them.
The footnote is only less objectionable than the
parentheses because it is easier skipped by the reader.
"Such excrescences," says D. J. Hill, "are omnipres-
ent reminders of the limitations of language as a
medium of expression. Just in proportion as an author
allows this sign of weakness to exhibit itself, in that
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 265
proportion he confesses his own insufficiency or that
of his medium. Yet insufficiency is likely to show
itself somewhere. He who always writes short sen-
tences, and puts his whole thought into them, must
take a very short sweep of view. He who writes long
ones must tax the interpreting power of his readers.
He who constantly lets his thoughts overflow his sen-
tences and drip down into footnotes virtually abandons
an artistic solution of the great problem of style for a
coarse expedient."
Point out the nature of the error in the following:,
and reconstruct so as to give unity : —
1. "In this uneasy state, both of public and private life, Cicero
was oppressed by a new and cruel affliction, the death of his
beloved daughter Tullia; which happened soon after her divorce
from Dollabella; whose manners and humors were entirely disa-
greeable to her."
2. "In summer reindeer feed on various kinds of plants, and
seek the highest hill to avoid the gadfly, which at that period
deposits its eggs in their skins, from which cause many of them
die."
3. "The march of the Greeks was through an uncultivated
country, whose savage inhabitants fared hardly, having no other
riches than a breed of lean sheep, whose flesh was rank and un-
savory, by reason of their continual feeding on seafish."
4. " The Britons, daily harassed by the Picts, were forced to
call in the Saxons for their defense, who, after having repelled the
invaders, turned their arms against the Britons themselves, drove
them into the most remote and mountainous parts of the kingdom,
and reduced the greater part of the island under their dominion,
so that in the course of a century and a half the country became
almost wholly Saxon in customs, religion, and language."
5. " At last the coach stopped, and the driver, opening the
door, told us to get out; which we did, and found ourselves in
266 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
front of a large tavern, whose bright and ruddy windows told of
the blazing fires within; which, together with the kind welcome
of the hostess, and the bounteous supper that smoked upon the
board, soon made us forget the hardships of the long, cold ride."
6. " The quicksilver mines of Indria, in Austria (which were
discovered in 1 797, by a peasant, who, catching some water from
a spring, found the tub so heavy that he could not move it, and
the bottom covered with a shining substance which turned out
to be mercury), yield, every year, over three hundred thousand
pounds of this valuable metal."
Unity of ideas avails little without unity of sentence
structure to indicate the relation of the ideas. The
sentence, in expressing a thought, must express the
relation of the ideas which constitute the thought.
When the thought has unity, as above stated, and the
sentence is so constructed as to express that unity, the
sentence itself is said to have that quality. In one
sense this quality may be called precision — the exact
fit of the words to the thought.
The relation of ideas in the thought is indicated in
four ways: (1) by the position of words in the sentence;
(2) by relative words; (3) by grammatical inflection;
(4) by punctuation.
Therefore, unity is secured by the correct placing of
words, the correct use of relative words, correct syntax,
and correct punctuation. Thus we arrive at the ques-
tion of correctness in its relation to effectiveness — at
the point of dependence of Rhetoric upon Grammar.
Accordingly, this matter should be referred to Gram-
mar for treatment. There is, however, a phase of " I '
and " 2 " that falls to Rhetoric, because the questions
that arise are answered by the law of clearness which
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 267
applies to the particular case, rather than by fixed
rules of sentence formation.
1. Since English words have lost most of their
inflections, the relation of ideas is generally indicated
by the position of words expressing them. The gen-
eral law of position may be stated thus:-
The position of words in the sentence should be such as
to indicate clearly the relation of the ideas in the thought.
This requires words which express ideas most closely
related in thought to stand as nearly together as pos-
sible in the sentence. Close connection in position
indicates close connection in meaning.
The wrong placing of words gives rise to Confusion,
Ambiguity, or Obscurity. In all cases this error
engrosses the attention and weakens the effect. The
two following sentences criticised by G. Washington
Moon, in "The Dean's English," illustrates the nature
of the error: —
" The great enemies to understanding anything printed in our
language are the commas. And these are inserted by the com-
positors without the slightest compunction."
The meaning intended was, that the commas are
inserted without compunction; but by the order of
the words, they describe the character of the com-
positors, — the compositors are without the slightest
compunction. The context prevents ambiguity or
obscurity, but not the confusion and the unnecessary
effort in the organizing act. In realizing the thought,
as the ideas are here presented, the mind gains a wrong
conception of compositors; and, observing the relation
they sustain to the other ideas, the notion must be
268 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
corrected by transferring the idea " without compunc-
tion " to the manner of insertion.
" A man does not lose his mother now in the papers."
This means that, according to the papers, a man
does not now lose his mother. The arrangement of
the sentence leads to a grotesque conception, which is
readily corrected by the context. But why should the
labor of correction be exacted from the reader ?
The following sentence illustrates ambiguity by a
misplaced modifier: —
" Rome once more ruled over the prostrate nations by the
power of superstition."
This means either that Rome had once ruled over
the nations by the power of superstition, and now
ruled them thus again, or that she has formerly ruled
them by some other means and now ruled them by the
power of superstition.
Point out the burden that each of the following
imposes on the interpreting mind, and correct so as to
remove the obstruction: —
i. " The dexterity of the Chinese juggler almost appears mirac-
ulous."
2. " It is folly to pretend to arm ourselves against the accidents
of life by heaping up treasures, which nothing can protect us
against."
3. " There is a cavern in the island of Hoonga, which can only
be entered by diving into the sea."
4. " Thos. W. Coke put an end to the American war by moving
its cessation in the House of Commons,"
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 269
5. " A straight line can only cut the circumference of a circle
at two points."
6. " I shall neither attempt to palliate it nor deny it."
7. " The journals not only spoke in high terms of Mr. Moon's
powers as a critic but also as a writer."
8. " He is to speak of the landing of the Pilgrims, at the
Academy of Music."
9. " Sewal refused to accept of inexperienced persons recom-
mended by the pontiff of beneficies, on the ground of their
ignorance of the English language."
10. "The Greeks fearing to be surrounded on all sides,
wheeled about and halted, with the river on their backs."
11. "He advanced against the fierce ancient, imitating his
address, his pace and career, as well as the vigor of his horse, and
his own skill would allow."
12. "A man can only attain to distinction in one line by
devoting his whole life to that line."
13. " But the effect is not alone seen in the drunkard."
Energy, through unity of structure, further requires
that the words be so arranged as to give emphasis
to the prominent idea. In oral speech emphasis is
given to the principal idea by the manner of speak-
ing; but in written speech emphasis is marked by itali-
cized words, and by the position of words. Usually
italics indicate a lack of skill in forcible arrangement.
Words must be so placed that they will emphasize
themselves. This is an essential condition to leading
the mind of the interpreter correctly and without loss
of effort to the unity of the thought expressed.
The arrangement of language is a most effective
means of securing energy. Ideas may be so organized
in the expression as to secure stress of attention on
those ideas which need to be most thoroughly im-
27O THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
pressed; or, so that a constant stress of attention will
be required on the thought as a whole. This gives the
energy of emphasis, which directs attention to the idea
which the writer desires to make prominent; and the
energy of suspense, which compels attention to the
close. Both are secured by arrangement.
a. Emphatic ideas seek prominent places. " Sweet
are the uses of adversity." Change this to, The uses
of adversity are sweet, and the weakness is at once
felt. In this case, the emphatic word stands at the
beginning of the sentence. The end of the sentence
is a still more emphatic position. It is important that
the significant word gather up the meaning at the close.
If this word is such as to give the sentence a full ca-
dence, Energy is still further secured. For this reason,
unless the connection gives it emphasis, a small word
should not close a sentence. The arbitrary rule, so
often laid down, that a preposition should never close
a sentence applies only to pleasant cadence. Emphasis
may require such a closing; at any rate, the best
writers do so close their sentences, and with good effect.
The only rule that applies when Energy is to be se-
cured is that an insignificant word should neither begin
nor close the sentence.
Energy through emphasis may require the inverted
order of the sentence; and the order itself contributes
to Energy. Not only because it is unusual, but because
the energy of feeling, when it accompanies thought,
naturally tends to invert the sentence — feeling revers-
ing the order of thought.
Note in the following sentences how Energy is
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 27 1
secured through inversion and the placing of the
significant ideas : —
1. " Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil."
2. " Now all is to be changed."
3. " In no country, perhaps, in the world is the law so general
a study."
4. "In large bodies, the circulation of power is less vigorous at
the extremities."
5. " Slavery they can have anywhere."
6. " But until you become lost to all feeling of your true interest
and your natural dignity, freedom they can have from none but
you."
The beginning or the end are the emphatic places
of the sentence; and a word, to be emphatic, must
stand in one or the other of these places. Which of
the two it shall occupy is determined by its usual
position. If the word usually stands first, it is made
emphatic by removing it to the close; and if it usually
stands at the close, it should be removed to the begin-
ning. Emphasis reverses the grammatical order, and
attracts attention to ideas by expressing them out of
their accustomed places. The verb, adjective, and noun
as predicate gain special distinction by standing in the
place of the subject; modifiers, by changing places with
the objects which they modify; and subjects, by being
driven to the close of the sentence.
The anticipative expressions it is, there is (or there are)
are frequently used as means of giving the subject an
emphatic place at the close. These words stand pro-
visionally for the subject, leaving it free to seek the
most distinctive position. This is a double source of
272 THE SCJENCE OF DISCOURSE.
emphasis; for, besides securing emphatic position,
expectation is aroused, and more mental energy is
expended on the idea when reached. This fact brings
us to another principle of the periodic structure of the
sentence. This, as already noted, reverses the ordi-
nary arrangement, and so fulfills the law of emphasis.
In this the leading idea is kept back till the close;
thus stimulating the mind by anticipation and curiosity,
it is prepared to receive the idea with its full force
when presented.
Explain the arrangement by which emphasis is
secured in the following, and examine selections from
authors, noting their method of emphasis: —
1. " Now is the accepted time." 2. Had I known of the acci-
dent, I should have gone. 3. " Flashed all their sabres bare." 4.
He left the room quickly. 5. Insolent though he was, he was silent
at last. 6. It was Lincoln who freed the slaves. 7. " We ought
not to bestow the reverence that is due to the great benefactors of
mankind upon a mere conqueror." 8. " Jesus I know, and Paul
I know; but who are ye?" 9. " Military courage, the boast of
the sottish German, of the frivolous and prating Frenchman, of the
romantic and arrogant Spaniard, he neither possesses nor values."
10. " On whatever side we contemplate Homer, what principally
strikes us is his wonderful invention." 11. " Slowly and sadly we
laid him down." 12. " Certainly the spread of religion will ele-
vate the morals of a country if anything will." 13. " Fain would
I pause to dwell upon the world of charms that burst upon the
enraptured gaze of my hero as he entered the state parlor of Van
Tassel's mansion."
14. " It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee."
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 273
15. " In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace —
Radiant palace — reared its head."
b. Attention through suspense is secured through
the periodic structure. This arrangement throws for-
ward emphasis to the end, excites expectation, and
compels attention to the close. This structure is essen-
tial to dignified and lofty thought. The following from
Burke's speech on " Conciliation with America " are
good examples of Energy through this means: —
1. "While we follow them among the tumbling mountains of
ice, and behold them penetrating into the deepest frozen recesses
of Hudson Bay and Davis Strait, whilst we are looking for them
beneath the arctic circle, we hear that they have pierced into the
opposite region of polar cold."
2. "When I contemplate these things; when I know that the
colonies owe little or nothing to any care of ours and that they
are not squeezed into this happy form by the constraints of watch-
ful and suspicious government, but that, through a wise and salu-
tary neglect, a generous nature has been suffered to take her own
way to perfection, — when I reflect upon these effects, when I see
how profitable they have been to us, I feel all the pride of power
sink, and all the presumption in the wisdom of human contrivances
melt and die away in me."
Not only the sentence, but the entire discourse may
have the periodic structure. In this, as in the sentence,
the point to be brought out is suspended till the close,
thus exciting expectation and compelling attention
throughout. The recipient is made to feel that if his
attention at any time should relax he would miss
something important to follow. And this attention is
^^LA
274 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
intensified by curiosity aroused by the suspense. If this
structure is not skillfully managed, however, the com-
poser loses more than he gains. Unless curiosity can
be greatly excited, or there is habit of prolonged atten-
tion on the part of the recipient, there is danger of
losing attention altogether. The element of curiosity
must not be relied on as the chief source of the inter-
est, as is usual in the lower grade of novels. Mere
curiosity to know the outcome is not a legitimate
means of sustaining the interest and holding the at-
tention. Shakespeare, feeling that there is a deeper
source of interest than curiosity, keeps back no secrets,
but reveals the truth as rapidly as the development
permits. But under certain conditions and within cer-
tain limits, the chief thought may be withheld until
the mind is opened and well prepared by circumstan-
tial truths and a general background of thought and
sentiment.
2. Not only is the relation of ideas indicated by the
position of words, but also by the use of relative words,
as already stated. These words include such as refer
to an antecedent for their meaning; namely, pronouns
— personal, relative, and demonstrative-- conjunctive
adverbs, prepositions, and phrases of reference.
Either (a) the incorrect use of these or (b) their
omission or the omission of some word to which they
refer confuses the mind, and often leads to obscurity
or ambiguity.
a. Relative words refer to some antecedent term ;
and error arises when they are so used that it is not
clear which of several apparent antecedents is the real
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 275
one. Accordingly, the simple rule is to use relative
words so that their antecedents are obvious and unmis-
takable. In the case of pronouns, they should follow
the nouns to which they refer without the intervention
of another noun. And further, as stated by Campbell:
" It is but seldom that the same pronoun can be used
twice or oftener in the same sentence, in reference to
different things, without darkening the expression."
But in short, whatever the relative word, its reference
must be so certain that the reader or hearer need give
no attention to making out the connection intended.
In the following, show how the mind is unnecessarily
engaged by uncertain reference of relatives to their
antecedents: —
1. " Her home was near the village church, and this seems to
have had great influence on her religious character."
2. " Thus patriotism begets patriotism and makes the Republic
a nation of patriots, which becomes evident when the occasion is
presented."
3. "I saw my old schoolfellow again by mere accident when I
was in London at the time of the first Exhibition, walking down
Regent Street and looking at the shops."
4. " The laws of nature are truly, what my Lord Bacon styles
his aphorisms, laws of laws. Civil laws are always imperfect, and
often false deductions from them, or application of them; nay
they stand in many instances in direct opposition to them."
5. " When a man considers the state of his own mind, about
which every member of the Christian world is supposed at this
time to be employed, he will find that the best defense against
vice is preserving the worthiest part of his own spirit pure from
any great offense against it."
6. " The general told him that he thought he had come none
too soon."
276 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
7. " This hill forms a very pleasing part of this picture, but the
most pleasing part of it is the trees that surround these houses."
8. " Are our schools so conducted that the poor can and must
attend ? Any one who has visited American cities will answer that
they do not, on account of their poverty."
9. " And since at least a part of the emigrants are provided with
specie it brings a considerable amount of money to this country."
10. "One may have an air which proceeds from a just suffi-
ciency and knowledge of the matter before him, which may natur-
ally produce some motion of his head and body which might
become the bench better than the bar."
11. " The sharks who prey on the inadvertency of young heirs,
are more pardonable than those, who trespass upon the good
opinion of those, who treat with them upon the foot of choice and
respect."
12. " They were persons of such modern intellects, even before
they were impaired by their passions."
13. " While treating of pronunciation of those who minister in
public, two other words occur to me which are very commonly
mangled by our clergy. One of them is covetous, and its substan-
tive covetousness. I hope some who read these lines, will be in-
duced to leave off pronouncing them covetious and covetiousness.
I can assure them that when they do thus call them, one, at least,
of their hearers has his appreciation of their teaching disturbed."
b. The omission of words necessary to make the
connection clear is a common violation of the law of
economy of attention; thus: —
Cardinal Richelieu hated Buckingham as sincerely as the
Spaniard Olivares — as did the Spaniard Olivares.
Here the omission of did obscures the meaning. A
good illustration of undue attention required by omis-
sion is found in what is called " splitting particles."
As, " He heard of, and went to see the man," instead
of this: He heard of the man and went to see him.
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 277
Both are grammatically correct; but the first requires
effort to hold the abstract relation till the object is sup-
plied. The greater the number of words intervening,
the greater the effort. The omission of any part of
speech, when necessary to give distinctness and promi-
nence to the idea expressed, causes undue attention in
fixing the relation of the ideas expressed.
The value of this law will appear in pointing out the
source of undue effort in the following, and in others
that may be selected: —
1. " Lovest thou me more than these ? " 2. Smith has traveled
more, but is not so well educated as his friend. 3. He might
have been happy and is now fully convinced of it. 4. Industry
has always been the way to succeed, and it will so long as men
are what they are. 5. " He professes to be helping the nation,
which is in reality suffering from his flattery, and will not permit
any one else to give it advice." 6. There is a great difference
between the French and English. 7. Platinum is heavier but is
not so useful as iron. 8. The error has and will again be ex-
ploded. 9. He has worn to-day a silk and felt hat. 10. "It bears
us back eighty-two years, when the eyes of the whole world were
turned toward France." n. "Any country can afford to get rid
of its lawless and mischievous subjects by a small fare." 21.
" With this ambition was a will that, uncontrolled, made him stub-
born and disagreeable." 13. "Occasions were quite frequent
when the goodness of his heart and tender sympathies were
needed." 14. " When we study the character of a man, we
naturally turn to his childhood for the influences that have the
most lasting effects upon his life." 15. " All the pleasing illusions
which made power gentle, and obedience liberal, harmonized the
different shades of life, and, by a blind assimilation, incorporated
into politics the sentiments that beautify and soften private
society, are to be dissolved by this new conquering empire of
light and reason."
2^8 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
Unity in the Discourse Structure. — As soon as
the mind has interpreted two sentences, it organizes
the two thoughts into one. This new thought
combines with a third into a new product. Thus
the drift of thought is soon discerned, and the series
of thoughts begin to crystallize about the central
theme. The mind establishes a tentative theme at
the outset. As thoughts succeed each other, this
theme is modified and filled out till one thought — the
true theme — is found in which all the others will
organize. Thus the immediate work of the imagination
and the judgment is to search out the theme. If the
interpretation be made for the sake of the content of
the discourse, the process ends when the theme is se-
cured; but if the purpose be to make a critical estimate,
another step is required; namely, that of estimating
the workmanship, the effectiveness of the discourse,
in the light of the purpose, the theme, and all the other
determining factors.
It is obvious from the preceding examples that energy
of utterance is secured through arrangement. Thought
which is compactly and logically organized, which is
strong in its cohesion of parts, has power to impress
itself on the recipient's mind. This requires such
selection, method of arrangement, and completeness of
parts as to give the theme obvious unity.
It ought to be observed, also, that as well as obvious
unity, the thought should have obvious parts; or,
rather, that in having unity it will have such parts.
There can be no strength through unity without dis-
tinct parts unified. The theme must be brought out
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 279
in definite features. Nothing is weaker than a dead
level in the succession of thoughts. The mind can
gain no foothold in monotonous thought, and is
offended by it as the ear is by monotonous delivery.
Only the highly articulated organism can have vivacity
and vigor of movement. Ease of interpretation and
Energy both require that the phases of the theme be
given distinct outline and striking prominence. The
most noticeable and the radical failure of the young
composer is in not, while holding his theme with a
steady hand, pressing on the attention clearly and fully
the phases of the truth which organize into his
subject.
Strength through unity includes not only strength
of organization in the thought itself, but the organiza-
tion which gives it definite and direct movement to
the end sought — unity in the purpose. The thought
must have a definite, progressive movement controlled
by some central, ordering principle, — a movement
which carries the mind along irresistibly to the issue
of the discourse. Only the one end proposed must be
consulted; and to this the thought must move in a
straight line. No undue enlargement, no attention to
unnecessary details, no tarrying by the wayside to
gather flowers when the head is to be convinced and
the heart won. When the purpose is to instruct,
every temptation to indulge in the pleasures of taste
must be withstood. When the purpose is to arouse to
action, care must be taken not to elaborate truth for
its own sake; not to spin out subtile distinctions; not
to lose the aim in the rounding out of logical processes.
28o THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
Nothing must stand in the way of the direct motives to
action. Everything must submit itself to the purpose
of the speaker; must be held in equal balance and just
proportion to that purpose.
This quality of strength through the organization of
thought requires strict obedience to the laws of thought
in the discourse processes ; that is, the strength of
unity can be secured only under a definite purpose to
give the thought directness and precision, aided by
the laws of selection, method, and completeness to
give such parts and such arrangement of parts as will
give the strength of unity to the whole. The student
is, therefore, already supplied with the chief means of
securing Energy in the thought, and needs most to be
referred to the laws of the discourse processes for
specific guidance.
i. The first means which the writer employs to aid
in realizing the theme is its general statement in the
heading. There are reasons for suspending the theme
and concealing the purpose; but these reasons are not
found in the requirement of Clearness. When the will
is to be moved, it may be necessary to conceal the real
intent and meaning until the mind is opened to a favor-
able hearing, and when the feelings are to be stirred,
suspense may be necessary to arouse curiosity and to
exhilarate by surprise. But when the purpose is to
instruct, when the only requirement is that of Clear-
ness, the theme must be stated at the outset. The law
which requires the theme to be stated at the outset also
forbids any hidden, fanciful, or figurative expression of
it, so often indulged in by young writers. The effort
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 28 1
should be to state in the heading of the discourse, as
nearly as possible, the exact idea which the discourse
is to embody.
2. The second means to facilitate the interpretation
of the discourse as a whole is the relation which the
sentences bear to each other. Unity in their arrange-
ment is the chief requirement. As unity in the sen-
tence is required in order to keep the leading idea
prominent before the mind, so unity in the whole of
language in the discourse is required to hold it like-
wise constantly before the mind. As in the sentence,
too, this unity is primarily in the thought and second-
arily in the language structure. The law of unity in
the thought has already been treated under the law of
unity in the thought processes of discourse, and needs
no further statement here. As to language structure,
there is nothing to be added except the means of in-
dicating the relations between sentences.
a. How to get from one sentence to another so that
the mind of the reader will naturally flow from one
thought to another without waste of effort is always
an important question with a writer. Each sentence
must seem to arise out of the preceding; each must
seem to " ctow out of the last and into the next."
The life of the composition is in this vital juncture of
thoughts; and the labor of composing is scarcely begun
when each separate thought has found its own state-
ment. Says De Ouincey: "Every man as he walks
through the streets may contrive to jot down an inde-
pendent thought; a short-hand memorandum of a great
truth. . . . Standing on one leg, you may accomplish
282 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
this. The labor of composition begins when you have
to put your separate threads of thought into a loom; to
weave them into a continuous whole; to connect, to
introduce them; to blow them out or expand them;
to carry them to a close." No rule can be given for
this process further than this: Each sentence must
express an idea different from the preceding, and at
the same time bear such a close relation to it as
naturally to arise from it. Frequently sentences are
thrown in for no other purpose than that of making
an easy and natural transition from one thought to
another.
b. Sometimes the transition is effected by repeating
a word or by the use of a conjunction or some other
phrase of reference. But these formal connectives
avail little unless there is the inner connection men-
tioned above. Thoughts so ordered as to suggest in
themselves their connection, so that the preceding
directs the mind toward the succeeding, need no formal
introduction. Whatever means the writer uses, he
should so vary them and introduce them as not to
betray the process. This gives rise to what is called
an "easy and flowing style," than which nothing is
more effort-saving or agreeable in ordinary discourse.
The student will here find profit in making a study
of graceful transition as illustrated by some master of
it, as Irving or Addison.
c. The paragraph is a valuable aid in making the
transition to a new division or phase of the theme, and
of indicating the connection of thoughts with the new
idea. The law of unity which pertains to the sentence
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 283
and to the discourse as a whole controls the formation
of the paragraph.
The foregoing has already suggested that each
thought should be a step forward. Each in rising out
of the preceding gives an upward and an onward
movement to the discourse as a whole. The whole
should be continuous and cumulative, compact and
organic.
3. The theme, to be clearly apprehended by the
reader or auditor, must be held before the mind long
enough to secure the necessary attention. The theme
must not only be given its distinct features and full
outline, as required by the law of completeness in the
thought processes, but it must be variously turned to
the light, and viewed over and over again in new turns
of thought and phrase, in order to gain the requisite
amount of activity on the part of the interpreter.
Perhaps no point of skill is more essential to the com-
poser than that of artful amplification and fullness of
expression by which the thought moves no faster than
the interpreter can think. Much greater must be this
art in oral than in written speech ; for in the latter,
the reader may review at pleasure, while in the former,
the expression vanishes with the utterance. Care is
needed, however, that fullness does not become pro-
lixity. The speaker, in addressing an audience com-
posed of people of different grades of culture, finds
himself constrained, on the one hand, by the necessity
of full elaboration lest his thought be missed; and, on
the other hand, by the necessity of brevity lest prolixity
defeat the purpose of his utterance.
284 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
4. The last condition to economical interpretation
of discourse is, that the thought be embodied in lan-
guage in obedience to the laws of Unity, Method,
Selection, and Completeness of the thought, as already
considered under the discourse processes. These laws
were there discussed as a means of enabling the recip-
ient to appropriate the thought in itself considered,
without special reference to the expression of it. But
thought thus organized gives that form and organi-
zation to the language which makes it the easiest
approach to the thought.
Let the expression, therefore, be moulded by the
laws of Unity, Method, Selection, and Completeness,
as the most fundamental condition to economical
interpretation.
THE INDIRECT RELATION OF LANGUAGE TO THOUGHT.
The interpretation of indirect, or figurative, language
requires a peculiar act of the mind; namely, that of
grasping an idea through indirect relations. Through
this peculiar activity the qualities of Clearness, Energy,
and Elegance are most effectively secured. It is
through such activity that the mind has its deeper
insights and visions of whole truth. It is the penetra-
tive act of the mind which reaches the hidden mean-
ing of things, as well as the supreme organizing act
which finds the meaning of the whole in each of the
parts.
Literal language is language which has an estab-
lished relation between its form and its content. Fig-
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 285
urative language is any variation from this established
relation for the purpose of effective utterance. The
dictionary and the grammar treasure up current and
established usage; but a writer, under the higher law
of discourse, removes the boundaries thus set, and
orders language to his own peculiar necessity.
Hawthorne, in describing Thoreau to Longfellow,
said that Thoreau had iron-poker-stickisJuicss in his
make up. This is no part of our established language;
but it is made out of literal language forms to meet
the exigencies of Hawthorne's peculiar conception.
Victor Hugo says, " Pleasing a bishop is a foot in the
stirrup for a sub-deaconry." "Foot in the stirrup"
here has not the established relation to its idea. The
dictionary knows nothing of this meaning. The writer
puts this language form in a new relation — one of his
own creating — for the purpose of communicating more
effectively his idea of how to gain a sub-deaconry.
The peculiar and original turns of thought and the
necessities of utterance cannot be provided for in lan-
guage beforehand. The individual writer, in the stress
of composition, must order to his own necessity the
materials furnished him in the form of literal language.
The greater the creative power of the writer and the
higher the tension of his thought, the more will his
language diverge from literal statement.
A figure, since it results from the bending of literal
language into more effective forms of utterance, is not
a mere ornament, but a necessity. It gives to an
otherwise limited and abstract vocabulary richness,
fullness, and power. From a few literal root words,
286 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
through the necessity of using them figuratively to
express shades of meaning for which no form of ex-
pression was supplied, our language has grown to its
present compass and flexibility. While the number of
ideas and thoughts are unlimited, the language forms
are limited; and necessarily so by the law of economy
in learning and using language. How to express the
infinite number of ideas and thoughts in all their
variety and shades of meaning by means of a compara-
tively limited vocabulary is the great problem in lan-
guage; and the effort to solve this in practice has been
the force that has shaped language in every phase of
its growth. When a literal word is used in seventeen
different figurative applications, as the dictionary shows
to have been the case with the word head, it is equiva-
lent to a seventeen-fold increase of the vocabulary. By
the frequent use of the word in the same figurative ap-
plication, its figurative meaning becomes literal. Thus
the increase in the vocabulary. Most words have a
figurative origin. All words expressing mental opera-
tions were at first figuratively employed ; i.e., these
operations were expressed through their relation to
material forms and processes. The gain is not solely
in the increase of the literal vocabulary, but in the
wider extent of application of the figurative words
themselves, before they become literal. The literal is
constantly encroaching upon the figurative, but dis-
charging its obligations to the figurative by making-
possible new applications when the necessity arises.
The extent of the figurative application of words is
much wider than that of the literal. The dictionary
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 287
does not exhaust the scope of language; the latent
force is greater than that which is manifest. The
skillful writer shapes and fits the literal established
language to suit his own necessity, limited only by the
suggestive resources of his own mind. " The heavy
preponderance of the weight of language is in the scale
of its figurative uses. Analogies connect all words
with all words. By means of figurative speech, all
departments of thought illumine each other. Origi-
nality in style appears chiefly in the discovery of
analogies, and fitting them to use." 1
Thus the advantage of figurative language does not
wholly nor chiefly lie in the economical increase of the
vocabulary, but in the greater clearness, elegance, and
energy secured by expressing one thing in the form of
another. By this means, general and abstract truth
can be expressed in vivid, definite, concrete forms.
Familiar, beautiful, and striking objects may be used
as expressions of unfamiliar, uninteresting, and com-
monplace matter, thus contributing to effectiveness, as
no literal and abstract word forms could possibly do.
This gain is shown by the fact that when the figurative
use of a word becomes literal the word loses much of
its expressiveness. When the word tribulation ceased
to call up the old Roman tribulum, the threshing sledge
which separated the wheat from the chaff, it lost both
in beauty of suggestion and in the power to express
forcibly the truth that afflictions serve to separate the
evil and worthless from the good and worthy in the
human soul.
J Phelps' " English Style."
288 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
As already noted, figurative language is language in
which the relation between the form and the content
of language is varied from established usage. Figure
signifies form. A new form of language may be made
to stand for the same idea as the established form; or
the established form may be used to set forth some
idea other than that to which usage has fixed it. In
one case the language form is changed; in the other
the form of conception associated with the language is
changed. In either case it is a change of form, and
therefore figurative. At the same time there is a
change of relation between form and content.
Since language has both form and content there
arise two kinds of figures, — figures of form and figures
of content. A change in the form of the language
itself is illustrated by the following: "'ghast"; " Do-
the-boys"; "aerial cities of joy and affection and
freedom." In the first example, the first part of the
word is omitted; in the second, a word is made for a
special purpose out of three others; in the third, more
ands are used than the grammatical structure requires.
There is no accompanying change in the conception,
yet there is increased power of expression.
But when Longfellow says, —
" And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away,"
he changes the form of the conception of cares, think-
ing of them, not as the literal word would require,
but as infesting tribes of Arabs, and as imperceptibly
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 289
passing away under the charm of music like the tribes
folding their tents and stealing away in the darkness.
The change in the form or in the content gives rise
to the two classes of figures known as Figures oj
Speech and Figures of Thought.
So vital is the relation of the form to the content of
language that no sharp line of distinction can be drawn
between them. Many figures may properly be put in
either class. This explains the seeming confusion and
contradictions in books treating them. The varieties
of each are so great that a complete classification is
both impracticable and undesirable. Only the leading
ones need be given ; enough, however, to explain their
nature and use, and thus enable the student, as he
reads, to observe them in their manifold variety and to
extend his classification as far as he may desire.
FIGURES OF SPEECH.
A figure of speech is indirect language, since the
figurative form expresses its idea through the literal
form from which it is made. These figures have little
value as compared with figures of thought, yet they
deserve a brief treatment. Because formal, they must
not be supposed to have no relation to content ; for they
arise from the free inner impulse of a mind breaking
the fetters of an established language form. They are
not dead things, formed by external chiselling accord-
ing to the rules of the rhetorician; but instinct with
life, because struck off by the impulse of the soul,
which they serve the reader to interpret.
29O THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
Language as form consists of words and sentences;
hence, there may be a change in the form of the word
or in the form of the sentence. The first is called a
Figure of Spelling, or Etymology ; the second, a Figure
of Syntax.
Figures of Spelling} - - Figures of spelling are formed
in four ways: (1) by the omission of some part of the
word necessary to its correct spelling; (2) by the in-
sertion of some unnecessary part; (3) by the inten-
tional misspelling of words; (4) by the combination of
words.
1. The first are classed and named from the part
omitted.
Aphaeresis, the taking of a letter or a syllable from
the beginning of a word; as, 'ghast for aghast, 'mazed
for amazed, 'fore for before, what 's for what is,
she'll for she will, you '11 for you will, I'm for I am,
I'd for I would, thou 'rt for thou art, 'Frisco for San
Francisco.
Syncope, the omission of a letter or letters or a
syllable from the middle of a word; as, e'er forever,
don't for do not, ne'er for never, ev'ry for every, de'il
for devil, sick'd for sickened.
Apocope, the omission of a letter or syllable at the
end of a word; as, yond for yonder, Mexic for Mexican,
morn for morning, suit for sultry.
2. The other figures of spelling, rarely met with,
are formed by prefixing, inserting, or affixing a letter
1 A large and interesting collection of figures may be found in Mac-
beth's " Might and Mirth of Literature," from which some of these ex-
amples have been taken.
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 29I
or syllable, called respectively Prosthesis, Epenthesis,
and Paragoge.
2 . Intentional Misspelling is so prominently employed
in the service of wit and humor as to need no illustra-
tion. Such tricks with words, however, do not serve
the highest grades of wit and humor; and while Ameri-
can humorists have distinguished themselves in this
line, they, perhaps, have not done so to their perma-
nent credit.
4. Combination, the forming of a word out of others,
to secure greater force or to meet the emergency of
some new turn of thought, as in Lowell's " First Snow
Fall," "the good All-Father." Some one speaks of
the " How-do-you-do-George-my-boy " sort of style, and
the " biggest-river-and-tallest-mountain " recipe. Dick-
ens calls, with multiplied effect, Squeers' seminary
"Do-the-boys Hall," for there the boys were done.
This figure is frequently used, and contributes to
energy of expression.
Figures of Syntax. — Figures of Syntax are devia-
tions from the ordinary construction of words in sen-
tences. These are formed in three ways: (i) by
omitting parts necessary to grammatical structure; (2)
by the insertion of parts unnecessary to grammatical
structure; (3) by the substitution of one grammatical
part for another.
1. The first method forms a very common and im-
portant figure called Ellipsis. An Ellipsis is the
omission of a part necessary to complete the grammati-
cal structure, though not necessary to the meaning.
This figure is characteristic of energetic and impas-
292 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
sioned speech, and may be classed as a figure of
Energy. By it tone and vigor may be given to other-
wise clear but feeble expression.
Expand the following from Carlyle, who uses this
figure freely and with good effect, into the full gram-
matical form, and note the loss: —
"It is well said, in every sense, that a man's religion is the
chief fact with regard to him. A man's or a nation of men's.
By religion I do not mean here the church creed which he pro-
fesses, the articles of faith which he will sign, and in words or
otherwise assert; not this wholly, in many cases not this at all."
Ellipsis is more common in poetry than in prose.
Note the omission of a subject and two verbs in this,
from Whittier: —
" Christ's love rebukes no home love, breaks no ties of kin apart;
Better heresy in doctrine, than heresy of heart."
One special form of the Ellipsis, the omission of
connectives, is called Asyndeton; as in these: —
1. " Must I relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the illusion ?"
2. " Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, expand-
ing." 3. " I came, I saw, I conquered."
2. The repetition of parts not necessary to the
grammatical structure gives rise to the figure called
Pleonasm.
Pleonasm is a figure formed by the use of more
words than the grammatical expression of the thought
would require. Some part already expressed is re-
expressed for the sake of giving it greater prominence.
It differs from Tautology in that there is purpose in
the repetition. It contributes to Clearness through
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 293
emphasis. The following will illustrate both its nature
and its use : —
" The Lord he is God." " Thy rod and thy staff they comfort
me."
"The blood of our fathers, let it not have been shed in vain;
the great hope of posterity, let it not be blasted."
The following paragraph from Gilmore's " Outlines
of Rhetoric " contains further illustrations with a valu-
able suggestion: —
" For example, in the sentence, ' Marshal your argu-
ments as a skillful general does his forces, so that they
may mutually support each other,' I should regard the
introduction of the word ' mutually ' as a case of justi-
fiable pleonasm, since it serves to clarify and enforce
the author's meaning. Again : in the sentence, ' His
anticipations of the future were as gloomy as his recol-
lections of the past,' I should not strike out the
italicized words, since they serve to make more clear
and impressive the contrast intended. I should, how-
ever, strike out the italicized words from the sentence:
' His anticipations of the future were of the gloomiest
nature,' since in the sentence they serve no useful
purpose."
The special form of Pleonasm in which a part is
repeated after intervening matter is called Epanalepsis,
meaning to take up again ; as in these : —
" He came to the city, at last, after long and tedious wander-
ings — to the city which had, for years, been the shrine of his
devotions."
"Health, virtue, industry — these are the elements of happi-
294 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
"But the thing a man does practically believe; the thing a
man does practically lay to heart, and know for certain; concern-
ing his vital relations to this mysterious universe, and his duty and
destiny there, that in all cases is the primary thing for him, and
creatively determines all the rest."
Another form of the general figure of Pleonasm con-
sists in the emphatic repetition of a word just uttered,
for the purpose of amplifying or emphasizing the idea
expressed. This variety is called Epizeuxis, meaning
to fasten to or upon; thus: —
" Shall I attempt to describe Rome — Rome, the birthplace of
all that is beautiful and grand? "
"Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide, wide sea."
Polysyndeton, the excessive use of connectives, is the
last pleonastic figure to be noted. This is the opposite
of Asyndeton. Both of these are found abundant in
all literature. The following Polysyndetons from "The
Courtship of Miles Standish " are neat illustrations of
this figure: —
" Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and worshipped in
silence ? "
" Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade and wither and
perish."
" Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the narrow cham-
ber."
" Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers."
Both Asyndeton and Polysyndeton are beautifully
illustrated in the following from Milton: —
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 295
" So eagerly the fiend,
O'er bog and steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare,
With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues the way,
And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies."
3. The figure of syntax formed by the third method
is called Enallage. It consists of the use of one part
of speech for another, or of one grammatical property
for another. The following examples will illustrate its
nature : —
Adverb for noun : —
" Full of all the tender pathos
Of the Here and the Hereafter.
Noun for verb : —
" I '11 queen it no inch farther,
But herd my ewes and weep."
"To out herod Herod."
Proper noun for adjective: —
"A Nebuchadnezzar curse that sends us to grass like oxen."
Adjective for verb: —
" It lanks the cheek, and pales the freshest sight."
FIGURES OF THOUGHT.
A figure of thought is the expression of one thing
in the form of another. What is conveyed by the
language directly is itself a means of expressing some-
thing else. When Longfellow wished to express the
truth that the hopes of youth are destroyed by the
trials and adversities of life, he brings before the mind
296 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
the image of leaves falling in the blast of cold wind
and rain, and then adds: "The hopes of youth fall
thick in the blast." He wishes us to see in the leaves
falling in the blasts of cold wind and rain the hopes
of youth falling in the adversities of life.
Figures of thought are not always easily distin-
guished from literal expression. We have seen that
much of our literal language has grown out of figura-
tive language, and the process is still going on. When
an expression is in the phase of transition it is not
clear whether it is a real or a faded figure. But the
test is always the same : Is one thing seen in the form
of another ? An expression ceases to be figurative the
moment it fails to call up the image through which the
thought to be expressed was at first figuratively seen.
For instance, in the expression " The truth is obvi-
ous," we no longer bring up the image of an obstacle,
as a tree across the road {ob, against, or in front ; and
via, a road or way). That is, the truth need not be
sought, but lies so directly in the path that one cannot
help running against it. In every figure of thought an
idea is contemplated through its image, — an image
which presents the idea under consideration more
effectively, more clearly, elegantly, or energetically
than is possible through direct language. With a
figurative writer an idea springs forth with its image,
which wings the idea for its destination.
Let the following be tested as to whether they are
figurative or literal: —
1. His fortune is dilapidated. 2. The objection is instiperable.
3. The king obliterated the memory of the wrong. 4. The student
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 2Q7
overcame all impediments to scholarship. 5. The merchant has
gone into bankruptcy. 6. A rupture of the friendly relations
between England and America is feared. 7. This exercise is
superfluous. 8. The people congregated for worship. 9. Thor-
ough mastery of this point will expedite our future study. 10. He
is the candidate for the office of governor. 11. She was aston-
ished Tat the news. 12.- He is a desultory reader. 13. The kettle
boils. 14. He has read Homer and Virgil. 15. The harbor is
crowded with masts. 16. The skies are painted with unnumbered
sparks. 17. Their ranks are breaking like clouds before a Biscay
gale.
18. " Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll.
Leave thy low vaulted past,
Let each temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea."
While in every figure two objects of thought are
brought into the same conception, this fact alone does
not make the thought figurative. The thought becomes
figurative only when the imagination presents a relation
between the two objects which the literal judgment con-
tradicts. The imagination substitutes its own relations
for the relations of the understanding. In the state-
ment "The kettle boils," we have the two objects, ket-
tle and water, the former suggesting the latter. The
judgment pronounces this statement untrue --that the
kettle does not boil; whereupon water is suggested and
the judgment satisfied and the truth maintained. The
imagination presents us with " The morning of life";
but the judgment says that life has no morning; this
belongs only to the day. "The buttercup catches the
298 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
sun in his chalice." The judgment is startled at such
announcement, and goes into a dissertation on the
absorption of certain rays of light and the reflection of
others. But the imagination is delighted with the beau-
tiful truth discerned in this action of the buttercup.
The imagination declares that " His hands dangled a
mile out of his sleeves"; whereupon the judgment is
astonished at this bold disregard for truth. Note how,
in the foregoing stanza from the " Chambered Nauti-
lus," the imagination assumes relations which lie outside
those of the understanding. There is no antagonism
in this, no opposition of truths; for the imaginative
relation is simply a higher order of truth, and the judg-
ment must yield supremacy when it comes to the limit
of its own territory.
Thus a figure of thought is produced by the imagina-
tion substituting objects out of the logical relations of
the judgment. Figures must, therefore, divide them-
selves on the basis of the relation which the object pre-
sented by the imagination bears to the object held by
the judgment. These relations are those of association,
of comparison, and of contrast, giving rise to three classes
of figures of the same name. To express an idea more
effectively the imagination substitutes, against the truth
required by the judgment, some more easily grasped or
striking object which customarily forms a part of the
same mental state with the object to be expressed.
Such association is the ground on which the substitu-
tion is permitted, the purpose of it being more effective
expression. Or, the imagination substitutes an object
bearing an imagined resemblance, against the logical
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 299
differences, to the object to be expressed, the judgment
admitting the resemblance when the imagination points
it out. This resemblance is the ground of the substi-
tution, the purpose again being to present more clearly
or more strongly the primary object of attention.
Again, the imagination substitutes for the object to be
expressed an object as if in unity with it, which the
judgment holds to be in utter opposition. In the pre-
ceding, the judgment had not opposed the objects, had
simply not noted their resemblance in the ordinary log-
ical movement of thought, but sanctions it as soon as
the imagination brings it to light. The most strained
substitution and the boldest effort of the imagination
is that in which the objects having irreconcilable differ-
ences are conceived as in unity, one being substituted
for the other. This contrast, however, is the ground
of the substitution, while the purpose is to charge the
language with more power than accompanies literal
speech. The ascending order of activity on the part of
the imagination in making the foregoing substitutions
is obvious. And this falls in fairly well with the
ascending order of figures as to purpose -- figures
promoting clearness, elegance, and energy; the highest
effort of the imagination producing energy, while the
lowest, least diverging from the judgment, securing
clearness.
Figures of Association.
A figure of association is a figure of thought in which
one idea is put in the form of another which is asso-
ciated with it as a part of the same mental state. A
300 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
figure of association is based on the law of association
of ideas under their logical relations. When two ideas
have been associated in the mind as purpose and means,
substance and attribute, whole and part, in time and
place, and as cause and effect, one of them, when men-
tioned, will suggest the other. When one says, " A
sail ahead," the idea sail calls up the idea ship, because
the mind is accustomed to associate the sail with the
ship. "The palace should not spurn the cottage." In
this the idea palace brings to mind the wealthy people
who are commonly associated in the mind with palaces;
the idea cottage, for the same reason, recalls the poor
who inhabit them. When we say that he is a slave to
the cup, the contents of the cup is readily supplied;
and "The pen is mightier than the sword " readily sug-
gests intelligence, on the one hand, and the physical
force of armies, on the other. In each case the imagi-
nation presents, against truth relations, the more defi-
nite, conspicuous, and impressive object, trusting the
judgment to perceive the real intent through the sub-
stitution of the real object in thought.
For practical purposes, the relations under which
objects are associated may be grouped into two:
internal relations and relations of external accompani-
ment. The first gives rise to the figure named
Synecdoche; the second to the figure named Metonymy.
Synecdoche. - -This is a figure of association in which
something more or something less is directly expressed
than is intended to be conveyed. A Synecdoche ex-
presses figuratively what differs "from the original
meaning of the word in degree, and not in kind."
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 3<DI
This figure is based on the inner relations which con-
stitute the object; namely, whole and part, and sub-
stance and attribute.
Most Synecdoches are based on the relation of whole
and part, and usually the part is named to suggest the
whole; as, A sail ahead! conveying the idea of a ship
by the use of one of its parts. In this case there is
given a part of an individual; sometimes an individual
is named instead of a class; as, "A Daniel, a second
Daniel come to judgment! " conveying the idea of the
class of wise interpreters of the law. Also, the species
may be given for the genera; as, "Give us this day our
daily bread," that is, food. By naming apart for the
whole, there is secured the gain that belongs to all
concrete and specific expression. When it is said that
the redcoats are fleeing, the expression is specific and
striking, and the object more easily pictured than if it
were said that the soldiers are fleeing. The part
named may also be more suggestive from some relation
it has to the end in view; as, All hands to the pump. -
She gave her heart and hand. - - " How beautiful upon
the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good
tidings! "
Sometimes the whole is named to suggest the part;
but this is a rare figure, being contrary to the principle
of economy of attention, which requires the concrete
and specific rather than the abstract and the general.
It sometimes happens, however, that the mention of the
whole gives emphasis to the part; as, "the Roman
world " impresses the mind with its vastness and im-
portance more than to say the Roman Empire. The
302 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
whole is used for the part with good effect when the
purpose is to soften the expression; as, He has departed
this life; for, He died. — He has closed up business; for,
He has gone into bankruptcy. Softening of expression
is called Euphemism.
The attribute is sometimes used to suggest the sub-
ject of the attribute, as youth and beauty, for the
young and beautiful. What is classed as giving
" the material for the object ' comes under this head;
as, He bartered his soul for gold. — He killed him with
murderous steel. Here, naming the material sug-
gests the striking attributes, — in the one that which
pleases the eye; in the other, that which adapts the
instrument to its deadly work. The subject of the
attribute may be given to suggest the attribute; as,
There might have been seen the fox in his conduct.
Putting the definite number for an indefinite comes
under this figure; as, "Ten thousand fleets sweep over
thee in vain."
Let the following Synecdoches be explained and
classed as to the kind of association involved: —
i. They saw the city of spires. 2. The skein fell from her sick
hand. 3. '• (live us this day our daily bread." 4. They cut the
solid whiteness through. 5. Flesh and blood hath not revealed
it unto thee. 6. Unfurl the stars and stripes. 7. The Vandals
overran the Roman world. 8. The tired fingers toiled on. 9.
He was a man of influence in his day. 10. He barters his soul
for gold. 11. "They that take the sword shall perish by the
sword." 12. The steel (the sword) glittered in the air.
Metonymy.- -This is a figure of association in which
an object is suggested by naming some object or attri-
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 303
bute externally associated with it. Hence, the use of
the word Metonymy, meaning a change of name. Un-
like Synecdoche, Metonymy directly expresses some-
thing different from its real meaning. The sail is not a
different object from the ship, but a part of it; while
in this, " The hotel sets a good table," the word
table expresses something entirely different from the
food on the table. These two figures, however, are
fundamentally alike, each being based on the same law
of association of ideas. The table recalls the food
upon it for the same reason that the sail recalls the
ship. Both, too, have the same value to style, in that
each names some accessory idea which recalls the
principal idea more clearly or more forcibly than its
direct naming would do.
There are different kinds of Metonymies, as deter-
mined by the different laws of association: —
1. Relation of purpose and means; as, The ballot
governs the country. — " The pen is mightier than the
sword."
2. Relation of cause and effect; as, Gray hairs
should be respected. — Mr. Snyder is a student of
Shakespeare.
3. Relation of place; as, The palace should not scorn
the cottage.
4. Relation in time; as, "Remember March, the
ides of March."
Point out the Metonymy in each of the following,
and state the relation on which it is based : -
1. His wit set the table in a roar. 2. We have prostrated our-
selves before the throne. 3. Strike for your altars and your hres.
3O4 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
4. Who steals my purse steals trash. 5. Too much red tape does
not expedite business. 6. He is a slave to the bottle. 7. In the
sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat thy bread.
8. " We plant upon the sunny lea,
A shadow for the noontide hour,
A shelter from the summer shower,
When we plant the apple tree."
9. " The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white."
10. " Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth,
Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth."
Figures of Comparison.
A figure of comparison is a figure of thought in
which the imagination brings to view some resemblance
between the primary and the secondary object, which
does not fall under the categorical relations of the judg-
ment. By this means the writer throws the unfamiliar,
the abstract, and the inner things of spirit into the
form of the concrete individual. He is thus permitted
to speak in the language of the sensuous imagination,
and thereby to give definiteness and to illuminate what
would otherwise be dim, vague, and unfamiliar to the
understanding. And of more importance still, a figure
of comparison serves to give to an object some quality
which it has not by nature, and thus elevates or de-
grades it.
Figures of comparison are based ultimately on the
fact that there is a fundamental quality common to all
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 305
objects. " All are manifestations of one force." The
imagination penetrates objects and brings to view their
inner nature. Figures of comparison arise from the
exercise of the imagination as it interprets the inner
identity of things; as it perceives the spiritual truth of
which physical facts are symbols. Hence, they are
profoundly significant, bringing to view the very life
and being of common material things, or clothing ideal
qualities of spirit in pleasing forms of beauty.
Figures of comparison differ from those of asso-
ciation in two essential particulars: (i) in figures of
association there is no illustrative power or transfer-
ence of qualities, as in the others; (2) the imagination
required to construct of interpret them is the literal,
picturing imagination; while in figures of comparison
it is the poetic, the intuitive imagination. In figures of
association one idea suggests another because the two
have been previously associated in consciousness; in
figures of comparison one object suggests another
by some resemblance, subtile and new to the mind dis-
cerning it. Figures of comparison express ideal rela-
tions, — relations which the mind creates for itself and
which can be found in the mind only; while figures of
association express real relations; that is, relations
which are felt to be in the external object, the actual
relations, as substance and attribute, time and space,
whole and part, cause and effect, and purpose and
means.
Figurative comparison is not always easily discrimi-
nated from literal comparison. Literal comparison,
which occupies so prominent a place in the presenta-
306 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
tion of thought, is between objects which are essen-
tially alike, and in respect to such points as logical
analysis can present ; while figurative comparison is
between objects which are essentially unlike, except in
respect to what the penetrative imagination alone can
find. In figurative comparison there must be an actual
likeness, which the mind does not ordinarily detect,
because of the prominent and essential unlikeness of
the objects compared, — a likeness which cannot be
found by any amount of analysis by the judgment, and
which only the intuitive imagination can feel. The
terms in figurative comparison lie in different worlds
— the spiritual and the material ; hence their absorb-
ing difference and their hidden resemblance. But
there must be some point of identity between them,
else the spiritual could not be presented in terms of
the material. To explain a figure is to put the finger
on the point of identity between what seems contrasted
terms. All figures of comparison, like all processes in
mathematics, are based on the fact that one thing is
identical, at some point, with another. When Long-
fellow speaks of his thoughts clinging to the moulder-
ing past as the vine to the mouldering wall, he must
have discerned that clinging is identical with clinging.
And when he says that the hopes of youth fall thick in
the blast, having already suggested the falling leaves
in the blasts of wind and rain, one readily, by simplify-
ing the equation, discerns that falling in blasts equals
falling in blasts. Leaves and hopes are conspicuously
different, — different in color, form, size, parts, use,
structure, etc.; so different that the mind in its regular
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 307
movement of logical thought does not discern the point
of identity.
By the foregoing suggestions, which of the following
are figurative? In which case do the objects com-
pared belong to different worlds? Point out the
conspicuous differences between the objects in the
figurative expressions, and then state precisely the point
of identity: —
1. The steamer sweeps along like a lightning train. 2. The
snowbird comes whirling down like a leaf. 3. "His russet beard
was already flecked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in
November." 4. " This he said with a smile, that danced in his
eyes, as the sunbeams dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish
again in a moment." 5. The lion fights like the tiger. 6. The
man fights like a tiger. 7. His airy fancy flits about, like a hum-
ming bird from flower to flower. 8. The humming bird hums
like a spinning top. 9. The eagle soars aloft till he looks like a
speck in the sky. 10. The imagination, as the eagle, soars aloft
to dizzy heights. 11. "Pleasures are like poppies spread; you
seize the flower, the bloom is shed." 12. The bare feet of the
boy must soon be "hid in the prison cells of pride." 13. The
anchor of the vessel is a thought controlling the vessel's move-
ment. 14. Man's life is a rainy day.
On the basis of explicitness, figurative comparisons
are divided into Expressed Comparison and Implied
Comparison, with subdivisions under the second.
Expressed Comparison. — The expressed comparison
is called a Simi/e, from simi/is, like. This figure is
peculiar in that the ideas compared and the comparison
are all expressed. The word like is generally used to
denote the comparison ; but the words as, so, just as,
similar to, and other expressions of comparison may be
308 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
used. Sometimes the word expressing the comparison
is understood. The finding of these words of compari-
son is no assurance that the expression is figurative.
The Simile serves chiefly to illustrate truth to the
intellect or to please the emotions by transferring from
one object to another some quality more pleasing than
naturally belongs to the object under discussion. They
may be enlisted in the service of all the esthetic emo-
tions — wit, humor, beauty, and sublimity. While less
energetic than implied comparisons, they, because ex-
pressing the resemblance more fully, may be used to
express resemblance which would be obscure in the
other forms.
To explain a Simile is to point out the identity
between the objects compared, and then to show how
the identity is expressed. So explain the following,
and then change each figure to literal language and
note the gain in the ease of interpretation: —
1. " He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of waters."
2. " Their lives glide on like rivers that water the woodland."
3. " It (mercy) droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven upon
the place beneath."
4. " The Kingdom of God is like a grain of mustard seed."
5. " With oaken brace and copper band,
Lay the rudder on the sand,
That like a thought, should have control,
Over the movement of the whole."
6. " And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck."
7. " How far that little candle throws his beams :
So shines a good deed in a naughty world."
8. " For there are moments in life when the heart is so full of
emotion.
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 309
That if it by chance be shaken, or into its depths, like a
pebble,
Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret
Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered to-
gether."
9. " And my ear with the music impregnated may be,
Like the poor exiled shell with the soul of the sea."
10. "As seeds lie dormant in the earth for hundreds of years,
and then when brought to the influence of air and light, exhibit
their vitality, so the germ of the soul may lie concealed and un-
developed during the whole term of human life."
Implied Comparisons. — In implied comparisons the
resemblance is never expressed, and often one term of
the comparison is omitted. They vary as to the degree
of implication, and on this basis fall into two classes;
namely, the Metaphor and the Allegory, with varieties
under each.
Metaphor. — This figure, instead of expressing a
resemblance, asserts or assumes an identity; thus:
"Judah is a lion's whelp." "A cloud of sorrow dark-
ened his face." Every Metaphor may be expanded
into a Simile. Judah is like a lion's whelp. Sorrows,
like a cloud, darkened his face. It would thus seem
that the only distinction between the Metaphor and
Simile lies in the form. But this distinction in form
arises from a distinction under the form. The Meta-
phor arises from a greater degree of animation and a
bolder effort of the imagination. It thus becomes not
only shorter, but stronger, flashing the thought upon
the mind. The Metaphor ventures to exaggerate the
resemblance, as the more cautious Simile would give
it, into total identity. The exaggeration does not
310 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
deceive, for it is understood that only resemblances
are meant ; but it excites the mind to a more vivid
realization. The reason for the greater force of the
Metaphor over the Simile is explained by A. S. Hill in
the following: —
" According to Dr. Whately, who adopts the idea
from Aristotle, the superiority of the Metaphor is
ascribable to the fact that ' all men are more gratified
at catching the resemblance for themselves than at
having it pointed out to them'; according to Herbert
Spencer, ' the greater economy it achieves would seem
to be the probable cause ' ; but neither explanation is
altogether satisfactory. On the one hand, the Meta-
phor, though shorter than the Simile, usually makes
the mind do more work; on the other hand, the mind
is rendered more able to work, — not, however, because
it is gratified, but because it is stimulated to exertion."
The Metaphor, because of its stimulating power, is
classed as a figure of Energy. Yet it contributes
largely to Clearness, and is more often elegant than
the Simile. No other figure is so common or con-
tributes so much to effective expression. The Meta-
phor, real or faded, is met with in almost every
sentence that drops from tongue or pen. This figure
more than any other has increased the power and
scope of language; and this it has done by multiplying
meanings without increasing words. Language has
been designated by Richter "a dictionary of faded
metaphors."
In some Metaphors the identity is asserted, in others
assumed. Macbeth applies the name Metaphor to the
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 3 1 I
first only, reserving the second for a distinct class,
which he names Implication. "The metaphor," he
says, " lies wholly in the copula or verb, which asserts
something of the subject that is not literally proper to
the nature of that subject." He defines Implication as
an implied Metaphor or an implied Simile, giving these
examples : —
" No palm grove islanded amid the waste."
" Rising above the deluge of years," in speaking of Persepolis.
" The vales are surging with the grain."
There is certainly a clear distinction here, these be-
ing briefer and less explicit than the preceding. The
term Metaphor, however, is usually applied to both;
and this seems justifiable, since the objects compared
are always viewed as identical. I think there is not a
resemblance assumed ever, but an identity, making the
Implication, at most, always an implied Metaphor.
From the nature of the Metaphor it is easy, when
more than one figurative conception is given of the
object under discussion, to confuse the mind by con-
tradictory representative images. Such a confusion of
figures is called a mixed Metaphor, and is one of the
most common faults of a loose and careless speaker.
Says Genung: "It arises from giving too little atten-
tion to the successive images that crowd upon the
brain, and is avoided by simply surrendering one's
thoughts to the picture suggested until it is wrought
out as far as needed." The following examples illustrate
this error: —
1. "He is swamped in the meshes of his argument."
2. " His bosom was swollen with the flame of patriotism."
312 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
3. " The discord will burst forth into a conflagration which will
deluge the sea of politics with an earthquake of heresies."
4. " Virtue alone can save us from the hosts of evil when they
roll in upon us."
5. " He alone can manage the storm-tossed ship of state on its
march."
Addison's rule for testing Metaphors will be found
serviceable: "Try and form a picture of them." "If
the parts," says Macbeth, "when pictured out by a
painter, be incongruous, put your Metaphor in the fire,
lest there should stand before you a goddess, horse, and
ship, all in one."
The mixing of literal and figurative language pro-
duces the same confusion as the mixing of metaphors,
and sometimes a ludicrous descent from the elevated to
the mean, called Bathos. These three examples used
by De Mille will illustrate the nature of this error: —
1. "The fiend Intemperance is marshaling his hosts, so as to
poison the minds and bodies of poor inebriates."
2. " Sailing on the sea of life, we are often in danger from the
temptations around us."
3. " If we put on the whole armor of righteousness, we shall be
less likely to yield to the allurements of sin."
In " i " the image of an armed body of men is inter-
mingled with the literal effect of poison — an effect the
mind did not expect from marshaling hosts. In "2 "
literal temptations are not the clangers which a mind
occupied by the image of a voyage would expect. In
" 3 " the image of an armed man is confused with lit-
eral allurements -- confused because allurements are
not expected to be met with arms. Here, as in the
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 3 I 3
mixed Metaphor, the law which requires unity of
impression is violated; and, as a result, the mind is
interrupted and its energies diverted in the process of
interpretation.
Let the following Metaphors be expanded into Simi-
les, and then explained as were Similes. Test each as
to the unity of impression, the gain over literal expres-
sion, and over the corresponding Simile: —
1. " The clouds of adversity soon pass away."
2. " Choate was one of the brightest luminaries of the age."
3. " All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride."
4. " All hearts confess the saints elect
Who, twain in faith, in love agree,
And melt not in an acid sect
The Christian pearl of charity."
5. " For gentleness and love and trust
Prevail o'er angry wave and gust;
And in the wreck of noble lives
Something immortal still survives."
6. " Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless
discomfort,
Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of
existence."
7. " They (my observations) have convinced me that, however
the surface of character may be chilled and frozen by the cares of
the world, or cultivated into mere smiles by the arts of society,
still there are dormant fires lurking in the depths of the coldest
bosom, which, when once kindled, become impetuous, and are
sometimes desolating in their effects."
8. " She sends forth her sympathies on adventure; she embarks
her whole soul in the traffic of affection; and if shipwrecked, her
case is hopeless — for it is a bankruptcy of the heart."
3 '4 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
9. " Her lithe mind winds itself with surprising grace through
the metaphysical and other intricacies of her subject."
10. " Dante's opinions have life in them still, because they were
from living sources of reflection and experience, because they
were reasoned out from the astronomic laws of history and ethics,
and were not weather-guesses snatched in a glance at the doubtful
political sky of the hour."
n. "His (Dante's) is the first keel that ever ventured into
the silent sea of human consciousness to find a new world of
poetry."
12. " He wrote too much to write always well; for it is not a
great Xerxes-army of words, but a compact Greek ten thousand,
that march safely down to posterity."
The Metaphor often assumes inanimate things to
have life; as, the thirsty ground, a pitiless stone, a
raging storm, a frowning precipice, winged words.
In these, some quality of living things is attributed to
inanimate objects; but sometimes there is a more com-
plete identification of human attributes, endowing the
object with personality — sex, speech, thought, emotion,
and purpose; as, "Good-bye, proud world. I 'm going
home. Thou 'rt not my friend, and I 'm not thine."
When the personal element becomes prominent the
Metaphor is called Personification. Arising by such
imperceptible gradations from the Metaphor, there is
a broad and very indefinite boundary to which either
the name Metaphor or Personification is applied with
equal propriety. Personifications of the lowest degree,
which consist in merely attributing some quality of
living beings to things inanimate, are usually classed
under Metaphors also. But Personification, even of
the highest degree, may be explained and classed as
Metaphor, for it assumes identity of attributes.
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 315
The foundation of this figure is obviously in the
intuition of the mind which feels a community of life
with all objects about it. The mind naturally animates
inanimate things. The child elevates into a companion
of its life the most common and trivial object; and in
the lower phase of the mind's development every object
and every phenomena is explained by attributing to it
intelligence, feeling, motive. Man never, perhaps,
entirely frees himself from the impression that the
most common object has personality like himself.
Although in his cultured state he does not thus
explain them, yet whatever touches him with emotion,
he, for the moment, unconsciously bestows upon it the
idea of life.
The nature of this figure suggests the source of its
efficiency. It gives concreteness and animation to style.
It makes all objects our companions, and touches us
with the joy of human sympathy by the life with which
the object is endowed. This figure thus serves to please
and to impress.
Let the following be explained, stating why they are
both Metaphors and Personifications. Note also the
grade of Personification, whether they attribute some
quality of living beings to inanimate things or entire
personality, — sex, speech, human feelings, or purpose,
— and the gain over literal statement : —
1. " Build me straight, O worthy master,
Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel,
That shall laugh at all disaster,
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle."
2. " With thy red lips, redder still
Kissed by strawberries from the hill."
3 16 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
3. " Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust,
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must."
4. "True it is that Death's face seems stern and cold,
When he is sent to summon those we love."
5. "In vain Faith blows her trumpet to summon back her
scattered troop."
6. " Philosophy is a noble lady, partaking of the divine essence
by a kind of eternal marriage."
7. " Down came the storm, and smote amain
The vessel in its strength ;
She shuddered and paused, like a frightened steed,
Then leaped her cable's length."
8. " Flattery spits her poison at the mightiest peers."
9. " She starts — she moves — she seems to feel
The thrill of life along her keel,
And spurning with her foot the ground,
With one exulting joyous bound,
She leaps into the ocean's arms."
10. " Yonder snow-white cloud that floats in the ether above
me,
Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning me over
the ocean.
There is another hand that is not so ghost-like
Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for
protection.
Float, O hand of cloud, and vanish away in the ether.
Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me; I
heed not
Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil."
The last figure above constitutes the highest degree
of Personification, - -the degree in which the inanimate
object is introduced as speaking or listening. This is
proper only under the most intense feeling. Nothing
but violent emotion can stimulate the mind to conceive
an insensible object as listening to what we say or as
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 317
making any response to us. This grade of Personifica-
tion is frequently, if not generally, called Apostrophe,
meaning to turn away - - " a turning away from the real
auditory, and addressing an absent or imaginary one."
The following are examples: —
" Roll on thou deep and dark blue ocean roll.
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain."
" Sail forth into the sea, O ship,
Through wind and wave, right onward steer."
Strictly, however, Apostrophe is limited to an address
to a real person, but one absent or dead, as if he were
present and listening to the speaker; as, -
" Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.
England has need of thee."
" Great father of your country, we heed your words, we feel
them as if you uttered them with lips of flesh and blood."
In its restricted sense, an Apostrophe is never
Personification; for there is only the supposition that
persons who are absent or dead are present. This
assumed identity between the imagined person and the
real one is the ground for classifying this figure with
those of Comparison. In the highest form of Personi-
fication, the object is both personified and addressed,
giving it a claim to both classes.
Another variety of Implied Comparison, and one
closely resembling Apostrophe, is Vision. Vision dif-
fers from Apostrophe in the fact that Vision merely
narrates or describes, while Apostrophe addresses or
invokes persons. An object or event, in the past or fu-
3 I 8 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
ture, may make so vivid an impression that it seems to
be present, as in this passage from Webster's descrip-
tion of a murder: —
" The assassin enters, through the window already prepared,
into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless foot he paces the
lonely hall half-lighted by the moon; he winds up the ascent of
the stairs, and reaches the door of the chamber."
The last variety of Comparison to be noted here is
the Hyperbole. Hyperbole breaks down the truth
limitations of size and degree; while Vision, that of
time and distance. In Hyperbole, the object, under
excited emotion, is exaggerated beyond the limits re-
quired by sober judgment, and the exaggerated object
presented as if it were the true one; as, "His hands
dangled a mile out of his sleeves." '"His muscles
strong as iron bands."
Allegory. -- An Allegory is usually defined as an
extended Metaphor, both being implied comparisons,
differing only in length. But the more fundamental
distinction is the fact that in the Allegory the compari-
son is more hidden, making the degree of implication
rather than length the basis of its classification. The
Allegory is usually, and it may always be, longer than
the Metaphor, but this is an accident of its more funda-
mental quality. Haven says: "It must not be sup-
posed that allegories are necessarily long. They are
often brief." Our definition must, therefore, contain
some mark of distinction other than that of length.
If it should be said that Israel is like an empty vine,
a Simile would be formed ; both terms of comparison,
" Israel " and " empty vine," being brought before the
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 3 19
mind and their resemblance expressed by the word
"like." If it should be said that Israel is an empty
vine, there would be formed a Metaphor; both terms
of comparison being brought before the mind and their
identity asserted by the copula. But if the vine, the
representative term, alone should be presented, in brief
or at length, in such a way as to make it clear that
Israel was meant, without bringing the two objects
directly together, the figure would be an Allegory.
When Longfellow says, " My life is cold, and dark,
and dreary," the terms of comparison are intentionally
brought together, as in the Metaphor; but when, in
the second stanza, after having described the rainy clay
and his life in terms of it, he says, " It rains, and the
wind is never weary," the secondary, or representative
object, only one is mentioned; thus leaving the mind
to infer the object which the sentence is intended to
describe and forming an Allegory. At first this line
appears to be literal; and reflection is required to dis-
cern that he means to speak of life, and not the rain
and wind. Thus there is a regular graduation from
the Simile to the Allegory, — Simile having two terms
compared; Metaphor having two terms with comparison
omitted; Allegory, expressing only one term, and that
the secondary, with the comparison and the primary
object to be discovered. The Simile is the clearest,
and must be used when the others would be obscure;
the Allegory is most obscure, requiring most labor
from the mind, but yielding the more pleasure through
the greater freedom of discovery which it permits to the
imagination.
320 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
It thus appears that the chief fact about an Allegory
is not its length, but the manner in which it expresses
its truth. It may consist of a single statement, as in
the example from Longfellow; or it may fill a volume,
as in " Pilgrim's Progress." They may vary in length,
but in one point they cannot vary; namely, that the
mind must be left to make out, by its own ingenuity,
the primary object of comparison. Therefore, an
Allegory may be defined as a figure of comparison in
which the representative object only is presented,
leaving the mind to make out, by its own ingenuity,
the primary object. " An Allegory," says Haven, " is a
fictitious narrative or description so constructed as
to suggest thoughts and facts entirely different from
those which it appears to relate." Webster's Dictionary
marks clearly the true distinction: "A figurative
sentence or discourse, in which the principal subject is
described by another subject resembling it in its prop-
erties and circumstances. The principal subject is thus
kept out of view, and we are left to collect the inten-
tions of the writer or speaker by the resemblance of the
secondary to the primary subject."
It is not necessary, in fact not permissible, for the
Allegory to be so hidden as to puzzle the reader. The
meaning should be plain, but must not be pointed out.
Indeed, a few words of explanation at the outset in order
to put the reader on the right track are allowable. This
figure does not prevent the mention of the primary ob-
ject in the course of presentation; yet it must be so
done as to leave the mind to decide that it is the pri-
mary object. One may not read far in "Pilgrim's
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 32 I
Progress" till he discovers the subject of discussion;
but the remainder does not then cease to be allegorical,
because each part has a new application to some phase
of the theme. When Longfellow says,
" Be still sad heart and cease repining,
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining,"
he forms an Allegory in the second line, although the
general theme, life, has been mentioned ; but the thought
of happiness beyond the present trials is left for the
reader to supply.
The Allegory is very extensively used, and often
constitutes the literary embodiment of an entire dis-
course. Many good specimens are found in the Bible,
all the Saviour's parables being allegorical; for example,
the parable of the Prodigal Son. The eighteenth Psalm
contains a neat example: —
" Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt; thou hast cast out
the heathen and planted it. Thou prepardest room before it, and
didst cause it to take deep root, and it filled the land. The hills
were covered with the shadow of it, and the boughs thereof were
like the goodly cedars. She sent out her boughs unto the sea, and
her branches unto the river. Why hast thou then broken down
her hedges, so that all they which pass by the way do pluck her?
The boar out of the wood doth waste it, and the wild beast of the
field doth devour it. Return, we beseech thee, O (iod of hosts;
look down from heaven, and behold, and visit this vine."
The following are distinguished examples of the
Allegory, and may be further studied to impress the
nature, beauty, and force of this figure : —
Bryant's " Waiting by the Gate," Longfellow's " Building the
Ship," Foe's "Raven" and "Haunted Palace," Hawthorne's
322 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
" Celestial Railroad," Addison's " Vision of Mirza," Spenser's
" Faerie Queen," Bunyan's " Pilgrim's Progress, " Chaucer's
" House of Fame," Swift's " Tale of the Tub " and " Gulliver's
Travels," Dante's " Divina Commedia."
Since only the representative term of the compari-
son is given in the Allegory, leaving both the com-
parison and the real subject of consideration to be made
out, sculpture and painting may be allegorical. The
statue of a child clasping a dove to its bosom, but as-
saulted by a snake, represents innocence attacked
by evil; and hope may be allegorically represented by
the picture of youth leaning against an anchor. The
whole course of man's life may be symbolized by a series
of pictures. All the virtues of life, faith, hope, courage,
purity, etc., have their emblems. Even architecture is
said to be allegorical. " The heavy Gothic style is felt
to symbolize mystery, profundity, and to awaken rever-
ence, and is therefore suited to a house of worship;
while the lighter Grecian styles betoken rather cheer-
fulness and social pleasure."
When the allegorical relation takes place among men,
and from which an instructive lesson is to be drawn,
the Allegory is called a Parable. The Parable of the
Prodigal Son and of the Sower are good examples.
This form of Allegory is chiefly used in conveying a
religious truth.
When the Allegory is founded on the supposed action
of brutes or inanimate things, it is called a Fable. The
Fable differs from the Parable in not being confined to
the rules of possibility or probability. The Fable, like
the Parable, is designed to teach some useful truth.
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 323
"Aesop's Fables" are classic examples. The following
from the ninth chapter of Judges is a good type of the
class. Let it be shown first why it is an Allegory,
and then its characteristic mark as Fable should be
given : —
" The trees went forth on a time to anoint a king over them ;
and said unto the olive tree, Reign thou over us. But the olive
tree said unto them, Should I leave my fatness, wherewith by me
they honor God and man, and go to be promoted over the trees ?
And the trees said to the fig tree, Come thou and reign over us.
But the fig tree said unto them, Should I forsake my sweetness,
and my good fruit, and go to be promoted over the trees ? Then
said the trees unto the vine, Come thou and reign over us. And
the vine said unto them, Should I leave my wine, which cheereth
God and man, and go to be promoted over the trees? Then said
all the trees unto the bramble, Come thou and reign over us. And
the bramble said unto the trees, If in truth ye anoint me king over
you, then come and put your trust in my shadow; and if not, let
fire come out of the bramble, and devour the cedars of Lebanon."
Figures of Contrast.
There are two general classes of figures of contrast,
— Expressed Contrast and Implied Contrast.
Expressed Contrast. — The first of these is called
Antithesis. Antithesis is a figure of contrast which
impresses an idea by bringing it into the same concep-
tion with its opposite; as, "A false balance is an
abomination to the Lord: but a just weight is his
delight." The Proverbs are constructed almost wholly
on the figure of Antithesis.
The Antithesis is not always in the form of the bal-
anced sentence as in the above. A part of considerable
324 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
length may be constructed to produce in the mind a
state opposite the one intended in order to intensify
the feeling which the writer wishes to arouse. Whittier
thus introduces " Marguerite " : —
" The robins sang in the orchard, the buds into blossoms grew;
Little of human sorrow the buds and the robins knew."
" Sick, in an alien household, the poor French neutral lay;
Into her lonesome garret fell the light of the April day."
Byron's description of the battle of Waterloo, in
"Childe Harold," bringing before the mind the rap-
turous joy of the music and the dance before the
appalling horrors of the battle broke upon them, is
an example of the effective use of the principle of
Antithesis.
The second and last figure of expressed contrast is
the Climax, meaning literally a ladder. This is a figure
or an arrangement in which a sentence rises, as it were,
step by step in importance, force, or dignity; as, —
" The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages."
"Antithesis contrasts objects by bringing them to-
gether in opposition; Climax contrasts objects by
exhibiting their degrees of difference through a series
of intermediates." 1
Climax, like Antithesis, is not confined to a single
sentence. Its principle controls the arrangement of the
parts of a discourse, which should always rise in force,
1 D. r.Hffl.
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 325
beauty, and dignity to the end. Bryant, in his " In-
scription for the Entrance to a Wood," forms a unique
climax in attributing human feelings to objects in the
following order: birds, squirrels, insects, trees, flowers,
trunks of trees, and mossy rocks. This at first seems
an anticlimax, proceeding from the highest to the low-
est, but the personification necessarily becomes stronger
as the object becomes lower in the scale of being. To
attribute human joy to a bird is more natural and
requires less effort of the imagination than to attribute
human contentment to a mossy rock.
Anticlimax, or Bathos, is a fault in style, unless
intentionally used for purposes of wit. In such cases
the seeming anticlimax is a true climax; for the effect,
while different in kind, is greater in degree. Holmes
uses the anticlimax to good effect in the " One-hoss
Shay," in descending from the important events of the
Lisbon Earthquake and the defeat of Braddock's army
to the completion of the Deacon's Masterpiece: —
" That was the year when Lisbon-town
Saw the earth open and gulp her down.
And Braddock's army was done so brown,
Left without a scalp to its crown.
It was on the terrible Earthquake-day
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay."
Implied Contrast. — These are divided into four
classes : the Epigram, Interrogation, Irony, and Wit
and Humor: —
1. An Epigram has no clear distinguishing mark. It
is the startling expression of a thought by means of
the contradiction between the real and the apparent
326 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
meaning. It is in general any pungent way of saying a
thing. The following are examples of good Epigrams : —
" Language is the art of concealing thought." " Those labori-
ous authors who mistake perspiration for inspiration." " When
you have nothing to say, say it." " The more haste, the less
speed." " One secret in education is to know how wisely to lose
time." " The child is father to the man." " He asked for bread
and received a stone."
" Not louder shrieks to pitying Heaven are cast,
When husbands, or when lap-dogs, breathe their last."
"He went and told the sexton, and the sexton tolled the bell."
The last example is a variety of Epigram called
Paronomasia, or Pun, being a play upon words. An
Epigram plays a conspicuous part in wit, the charac-
teristic element of each being the shock of surprise.
So frequently do some authors use the Epigram that
their style may be characterized as epigrammatic.
Pope belongs to this class.
2. The second figure of implied contrast is Interro-
gation. Interrogation, as a figure, does not seek
information, but challenges the decision of the hearer,
and thus compels his activity; as, —
" Hath a dog money? is it possible
A cur can lend three thousand ducats ? "
The contrast consists in forcing on the attention
the opposite truth to the one presented. This figure
contributes to Energy, as may be illustrated by chang-
ing the foregoing example to a direct statement. It is
an appeal for a silent rejoinder. The Interrogation is a
sign of thorough conviction on the part of the speaker.
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 327
It shows perfect confidence in the truth of what is
uttered, for it implies that the speaker is willing to
leave the decision to the auditor. It is the natural
expression of the vivid realization of truth, and a pro-
found confidence in the acceptance of it by the persons
addressed.
3. The third figure of implied contrast is called
Irony. This figure states in all solemnity the exact
opposite of the truth intended to be conveyed. The
following from Whittier's " Hunters of Men " are good
examples : —
" And woman, kind woman, wife, widow, and maid,
For the good of the hunted, is lending her aid."
" Oh, goodly and grand is our hunting to see,
In this land of the brave and this home of the free."
Irony, with its different forms of Burlesque, Ridicule,
Derision, Mockery, Satire, and Sarcasm, is a most effec-
tive means of impressing truth, and hence, with the
other figures of contrast, must be classed with the
figures of Energy. These forms of contrast have been
cutting weapons in every political and moral reform,
as well illustrated in Whittier's "War Poems," Lowell's
" Biglow Papers," Nasby's editorials, and Swift's "Gul-
liver's Travels."
4. Wit and Humor are also based on contrasts of
mental states. These arise from some new, unexpected,
and pleasing turn of thought. They involve "an exag-
geration, a reversal of ideas, a glimpse of the incon-
gruous or the impossible." Lincoln, on entering the
room in which the proper length of a man's legs was
3 2 ^ THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
being discussed, was unexpectedly called upon to decide
the question. He said that he had given the matter
very little consideration, but had always supposed that
a man's legs should be long enough to reach from his
body to the ground. In this he furnished us with a
good example of wit through the incongruous and the
impossible. At once there arises a picture of a man
walking clear of the earth because his legs are so short
that they will not reach it. The mind is pleasantly
surprised by the fanciful result from such a cause.
Any playful contradiction, reversal, or exaggeration
of the thought relations — any playful violation of the
accustomed movement of thought — produces the feel-
ing of the Ludicrous (ludere, to play) in its different
forms of Wit and Humor.
There is no sharp distinction between Wit and
Humor. Wit is a sudden flash out of the electric
atmosphere called Humor. Humor lingers, — pro-
duces a more gentle and prolonged stimulation; Wit
suddenly overthrows the mental balance with a shock
of pleasant surprise. Besides, Humor has a mingling
of sympathy and good nature, — has heart in it; while
Wit arises chiefly from intellectual surprises. But in
whatever form appearing, they arise from contrasts of
mental states produced by the imagination in playful
exercise on the literal relations of thought.
Wit and Humor are effective means of impressing
thought, and may be classed under the head of figura-
tive energy. They are also productive of pleasure for
its own sake and have an esthetic value. Irving;, Addi-
son, and Mark Twain are read for the Wit and Humor
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 329
contained. Yet Wit and Humor are appreciated most
when in the service of some thought or lesson to be
impressed. The speaker or the writer who proposes
to be witty for the sake of the wit produces far less
pleasure than he who, by means of Wit, clinches a
truth or points a moral. Like Irony, Wit and Humor
have been powerful weapons in the battles of truth and
virtue; and should, therefore, be classed as means of
securing Energy.
EXERCISE IN CLASSIFYING AND TESTING FIGURES.
In the following selections require the student (i)
to point out the figures; (2) to state the kind as to
nature, and explain its structure; (3) the kind as to
effect over literal language : —
1 . " Style is the gossamer upon which seeds of truth float
through the world."
2. " Youth is the morning of life."
3. " The fat earth feed thy branchy root."
4. " My days are swifter than the weaver's shuttle."
5. " Her eyelids dropped their silken eaves."
6. " Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated needs but to be seen."
7. " But when loud surges lash the shore,
The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar."
8. " Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows."
9. " Up the high hill he heaved a huge round stone."
10. "The bishop of Alexandria was not the first triumvir who
came to an untimely end on the banks of the Nile."
11. "I have not the warmest feeling of affection for that
person."
330 THE SCIEKXE OF DISCOURSE.
12. "And there are also many other things which Jesus did,
the which if they should be written every one, I suppose that
even the world itself could not contain the books that should be
written."
13. " Who can number the stars or who can count the sands
on the seashore ? "
14. " Hail, hidden to the knees in fern,
Broad oak of Summer chace."
15. "A sunbeam flutter'd round her lip
Like a golden butterfly."
16. " Who steals my purse, steals trash."
17. "Short lived, indeed, was Irish independence. I sat by
her cradle; I followed her hearse."
18. " It is an outrage to bind a Roman citizen; to scourge him
is an atrocious crime; to put him to death is almost parricide;
but to crucify him — what shall I call it? "
19. "I can tell him, sir, that Massachusetts and her people of
all classes, hold him and his love, and his venerations, and his
speech, and his principles, and his standards of truth in utter —
what shall I say ? — anything but respect."
20. "Can I call you citizens ? Citizens! who have trampled
under foot the authority of the Senate? "
21. "I know the circumstances under which it happened —
circumstances which could not be avoided."
22. " I am the good shepherd and know my sheep."
23. " The pyramids, doting with age, have forgotten the names
of their founders."
24. " The Lord is my song. He is become my salvation."
25. " The scepter shall not depart from Judah."
26. " Caesar leaves Gaul, crosses the Rubicon, and enters
Italy."
27. " Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy
sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"
28. " Though grave, yet trifling, zealous, yet untrue."
29. " Her voice is but the shadow of a sound."
30. " Fair science frowned not on his humble birth,
And melancholy marked him for her own."
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 331
31. " Elijah said, cry aloud for he is a god."
32. "There went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all
the world should be taxed."
33. " Gray hairs should be respected."
34. " He set up parliament by the stroke of his pen, and scat-
tered them by the breath of his mouth."
35. "At length has come the marriage day of beauty and of
strength."
36. " Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest ;
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood."
37. " The English gain two hours a day by clipping their
words."
38. " Now Ben he loved a pretty maid,
Her name was Nelly Gray;
So he went to pay her his devours
When he'd devoured his pay."
39. "I '11 tell you a story that 's not in Tom Moore: —
Young love likes to knock at a pretty girl's door."
40. " His heart kept goin' pity-pat,
But her'n went pity Zekle."
41. " Could we forget the widow'd hour,
And look on Spirits breathed away,
As on a maiden in the day
When first she wears his orange flower !
" When crown'd with blessing she doth rise
To take her latest leave of home,
And hope and light regrets that come
Make April of her tender eyes."
42. " Life is not of idle ore,
But iron dug from central gloom,
And heated hot with burning fears,
And dipped in baths of hissing tears,
And batter'd with the shocks of doom
" To shape and use. Arise and fly
The reeling Faun, the sensual feast ;
332 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
Move upward working out the beast,
And let the ape and tiger die."
43. " The poet, like a delighted boy, brings you heaps of rain-
bow bubbles, opaline, air-borne, spherical as the world, instead
of a few drops of soap and water."
44. " An idea steeped in verse becomes suddenly more incisive
and more brilliant; the iron becomes steel."
45. "Good-by to Flattery's fawning face;
To Grandeur with his wise grimace;
To upstart Wealth's averted eye;
To supple office, low and high."
46. " Language is fossil poetry. As the limestone of the con-
tinent consists of infinite masses of the shells of animalcules, so
language is made up of images, or tropes, which now, in their
secondary use, have long since ceased to remind us of their poetic
origin."
47. " Nature is sanative, refining, elevating. How cunningly
she hides every wrinkle of her inconceivable antiquity under roses,
and violets, and morning dew! Every inch of the mountain is
scarred by unimaginable convulsions, yet the new day is purpled
with the bloom of youth and love."
48. " I hear the tread of pioneers
Of nations yet to be,
The first low wash of waves, where soon
Shall roll a human sea.
" The rudiments of empire here
Are plastic yet and warm;
The chaos of a mighty world
Is rounding into form."
49. •• We have rolled on life's journey, — how fast and how far!
One round of humanity's many-wheeled car,
But up-hill and down-hill, through rattle and rub,
Old true Twenty-niners! we 've stuck to our hub!
THE LANGUAGE IN DISCOURSE. 333
" While a brain lives to think or a bosom to feel,
We will cling to it still like the spokes of a wheel !
And age, as it chills us, shall fasten the tire
That youth fitted round in his circle of fire."
50. " This many-diapasoned maze,
Through which the breath of being strays,
Whose music makes our earth divine,
Has work for mortal hands like mine.
My duty lies before me. Lo,
The lever there! take hold and blow!
And He whose hand is on the keys
Will play the tune as He shall please."
51. " And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling."
52. " The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.
" Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
" I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As the robins the babes in the wood.
" Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, ' Father, who makes it snow ? '
And I told her of the good All-Father
Who cares for us here below.
334 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
" Again I looked at the snowfall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
When the mound was heaped so high.
" I remembered the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar of our deep-plunged woe."
53. " The Puritan revolt had made us ecclesiastically, and the
Revolution politically, independent, but we were still socially and
intellectually moored to English thought, till Emerson cut the cable
and gave us a chance at the dangers and the glories of blue
water. No man young enough to have felt it can forget or cease to
be grateful for the mental and moral nudge which he received from
the writings of his high-minded and brave-spirited countryman."
54. " We have said that the Transcendental Movement was the
Protestant spirit of Puritanism seeking a new outlet and an escape
from forms and creeds which compressed rather than expressed it."
56. " Ah! if our souls but poise and swing
Like the compass in its brazen ring,
Ever level and ever true
To the toil and task we have to do,
We shall sail securely and safely we reach
The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach
The sights we see and sounds we hear,
Will be those of joy and not of fear."
57. " Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
There where your argosies with portly sail,
Like seigniors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
That courtesy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by with their woven wings."
58. " He would be crown'd;
How that might change his nature, there 's the question;
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder."
CONCLUSION.
The first chapter dealt with the Organizing Princi-
ple; and in that chapter, the unity of the whole was
ascertained and the phases of it developed. These
phases, Purpose, Thought, and Language, have been
treated in relation to each other — as organic parts of
discourse. A few statements in conclusion are neces-
sary to bring the phases together in one view, and
thus return our thought to the unity of the whole from
which we started. Besides, this will point the applica-
tion of the science of discourse to the student's use of
construction and analysis. So far, the laws have been
applied separately to each of the phases of discourse.
The student, in his future course of composition and
reading, should consciously apply the theory presented
in the preceding pages. To this end, a brief summary
and general outline are here given, together with one
illustration of their application to a piece of discourse.
Discourse was defined to be the expression of thought
in language with a definite aim; or, the expression of
thought in language for the purpose of communication.
This gave unity to our theme and, at the same time,
the basis for its subdivision into the phases, Purpose,
Thought, and Language. Purpose was found to be
the most fundamental idea; Thought and Language
being organized as means about Purpose as an end.
This gave rise to three kinds of discourse, having dif-
33^ THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
ferent qualities of thought and language in adaptation
to the three ends for which thought is communicated.
The whole may be summarized in the following: —
Universal Outline of Discourse.
1. Prose. — i. Purpose, to instruct, to present truth
for its own sake; (i) to present individuals to the
sensuous or picturing imagination ; (2) to present
classes to the judgment; (3) to present universals to
the reason — Popular, Scientific, and Philosophical
Prose.
2. Thought, matter-of-fact truth presented for its
own sake by the logical laws of thought, — individuals
presented in their statical relations by Description,
and in their dynamical relation by Narration; generals
presented for their own sake by Exposition, and in
their application, to test truth by Argumentation.
3. Expression, Clear, with Elegance and Energy
subordinate.
II. Poetry. — 1. Purpose, to please as an end —
to touch the esthetic emotions — instruction a means.
2. Thought, idealized truth appealing to the intui-
tions, and presented by means of Exposition through
the subordinate process of Exemplification.
3. Expression, Elegant, with Clearness and Energy
subordinate, — the ideal, universal truth presented to
the mind through individual forms.
III. Oratory. — 1. Purpose, to move the will to
some definite action — instruction and esthetic pleas-
ure being means.
conclusion. 337
2. Thought, the entire range presented by all the
discourse processes; yet such thought as bears a defi-
nite relation to the action proposed.
3. Expression, Energetic, with Clearness and Ele-
gance as means.
Transforming the above for the more immediate appli-
cation in construction and analysis gives the following : —
Universal Outline for Practice.
1. Purpose. — 1. What? — to instruct, to please,
or to move the will?
2. To what grade of either is the discourse adapted ?
II. Theme. — 1. By what theme is the purpose
accomplished, or to be accomplished?
2. What kind of theme — individual or general?
If individual, by what process presented, Description
or Narration? If general, by Exposition or Argumen-
tation ? If Exposition, whether matter-of-fact or ideal
truth ?
3. Analysis of the particular process employed into
the thought relations as they are organized in the
presentation of the theme, and their presentation
tested by all the laws of the process — Purpose, Unity,
Selection, Method, and Completeness.
III. Style. — 1. From the purpose, should the
style be Clear, Elegant, or Energetic?
2. How is the particular quality desired secured?
If the quality desired is Clearness, test by applying
the laws of Clearness; if Elegance, by applying laws of
Elegance ; if Energy, by applying laws of Energy.
338 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
From this point the student is ready to proceed con-
sciously and systematically with his general practice of
reading and writing — of interpreting and composing
discourse. One phase of this will develop into and
continue as a special and formal study, called the
study of Literature. It is hoped that the foregoing
exposition of discourse will form the basis of scientific
literary analysis. In conclusion, to point the way in
that direction, and to further impress the general
application of the doctrine of discourse to practice, a
brief outline analysis of a short literary selection will
now be given.
Analysis of "The Rainy Day."
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
The purpose of the poem is to touch the emotions.
This our experience testifies to in reading it. It gives
CONCLUSION. 3 ^ g
no instruction; neither does it stimulate to any definite
volition and action. The emotion does not prompt -to
action, but is entertained and enjoyed by the reader for
the sake of the emotion itself. In reading the poem
the feelings absorb the attention to the exclusion of
both intellectual and volitional consciousness. Hence,
this selection is a poem, or piece of literature.
But the effect is more definite than that of arousing
emotion in general; to be a poem it must arouse some
particular emotion. At the outset there is awakened,
through the image of the rainy day, the vague feeling of
depression. This is the setting for the more definite
feeling of sadness, which is overcome by the hope and
cheer of life. The definite effect of the poem thus
appears to be the rally of life over the trials and tribu-
lations of life; it is a spiritual uprising under the dead-
ening weight of grief and melancholy, — the reclaiming
of oneself when hope and life seem lost; an idealized
resolution to hold on to life in spite of all reverses and
undercurrents which tend to forestall the good and
promise of life.
In this ideal rally of life this selection fills another re-
quirement of literature; namely, in that it must appeal
to the universal interests of life. It is the law of life
that the soul rise upon the dead self to higher things.
This rally of life above depressing influences is one of
the ever-present phases of human life; hence, every soul
is touched by the theme of this poem. It would be
interesting to note how many of Longfellow's poems
have the same theme. To such an extent is this true
that Longfellow is called the poet of consolation. This
340 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
arose from the fact that he was painfully sensitive to
such visitations of sorrow, and equally sensitive to the
bright and cheerful influence of life. He could well
exclaim with Byron: " Man thou pendulum between a
smile and a tear."
All literature seeks to relieve the soul from some
form of bondage, and each selection of literature, as in
the present case, seeks to bring relief from some defi-
nite limiting condition in which man finds his spiritual
nature. In this selection the soul finds itself limited
by sadness or grief, and it must overcome its sadness
or its sadness will overcome it. It is the typical battle
of life — the battle for life. The soul must either
strive to persist and hold its own or to make distinct
advances in self-realization. All literary themes fall
under one or the other of these two forms of striving;
the " Rainy Day " is a type of one, " Excelsior " of the
other.
The theme in this poem is, therefore, emotionally
and universally entertained, as required by all true liter-
ary selections. But literature deals with the ideal in
human life rather than the real. In the present case
the victory over the tribulations of life is more complete
and decisive than is experienced in the regular order of
our lives. That is, the sadness and the cheer are
farther apart ; the sadness is more intense and the
cheer ideally complete. At first Longfellow would
have us feel that there is nothing in life but coldness,
darkness, and dreariness; would produce in us an ideal
condition of sadness, in order to produce an ideal vic-
tory over it. The poem consists in this tension of the
CONCLUSION. 34I
opposite conditions of life. The amplitude and inten-
sity of the vibrating chord measure the poem. If a
poem on the same theme could be written to produce a
greater amplitude and intensity in the vibrating chord
it would be a better poem. This would not be a poem
were not the experience of the soul more prolonged
and intense than is experienced in the ordinary course
of life. Because it is so the theme is an ideal rather
than a real condition of life.
The only further question to be considered is how
the author produces the foregoing effect ; that is, what
in his language, or style, gives the ideal effect desired.
This is accomplished, chiefly, through figurative, or
indirect, language. The primary conception is that of
life in the form of a rainy day. The author assumes
that life is a rainy day ; hence the poem is allegorical,
and more effective than if the comparison were directly
made. In all literature the theme is mirrored forth by
a concrete object. This object has a point of identity
and of difference with the life which it expresses. It
is by means of this likeness and difference that the
theme is expressed. If Longfellow had asserted
instead of assuming he would have said that life is a
rainy day. They differ in all obvious points, but there
is a point in which a rainy day may be truly affirmed to
be human life. In both there are two sides, an upper
and a lower; a polarity, a tension, a warfare. The
rainy day and life are identical in the point of self-
opposition and striving.
But every literary embodiment must have not only
some essential point of identity to human life, but must
342 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
have some essential point of difference. In this case the
difference lies in the fact of the perfect and permanent
victory of the sunshine over the rainfall. The polarity
between the opposing forces in the rainy day is more
definite and stronger than that usually found in life; and
the triumph of one over the other is more signal than in
the other. The day really accomplishes what the soul
is striving to accomplish. What is ideal in life is real
in the day. This is the exact point of difference
between the soul and the day, and when the soul looks
into the day and finds that it has really attained the
freedom which it is striving to attain it rejoices in its
own ideal freedom. Just this is the esthetic freedom
which constitutes the essence of the poem. The soul
looks into the day and finds its ideal self-realized, finds
the freedom from the bondage of its real. This sense
of freedom is the specific feeling which the poem is to
awaken.
Thus the rainy day, through its identity with and
difference from life, makes effective the tension which
the poem seeks to produce. The creative act of the
poet was in discerning ideal life mirrored in the real
day; that the rainy day, in overcoming its own rain,
coldness, darkness, and dreariness, is a type of the
ideal overcoming of the trials and tribulations of life.
The elements of this complex primary conception are
brought out in secondary figures to increase the effect
- the tension. These leading minor figures are as
follows: —
" My life is cold and dark and dreary." The poet
would have us feci that life and the day are identical in
conclusion. 343
being cold and dark and dreary. These are death in
one case as in the other- identical in effect. This
perception sinks life lower, and thus heightens the
effect. The identity is affirmed; hence, the figure is a
metaphor and is more effective than a simile would
have been, since it would have given only resemblance.
" It rains and the wind is never weary." This is an
indirect statement, for the author would have us hold
back of the image the idea that as the rain and the
wind never cease making the day dreary, so the adver-
sities of life continue filling it with gloom and sadness.
Conceiving life in this palpable form serves again to
intensify the effect. Besides, the form of statement
being allegorical — the minor term only given —
increases the effect over the more explicit form of
comparison. Of course there is more risk in the mean-
ing not being discerned, for many in reading this state-
ment have only the concrete image without the idea
symbolized.
"My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past."
He conceives that thoughts cling to the past as the
vine clings to the wall: vine — thought; wall — past.
Here a vine is assumed to be identical with a thought,
while to all appearances there are nothing but striking
differences. They differ in form, size, color, parts, etc.,
but are identical in the point of clinging. Clinging is
clinging, wherever and in whatever it be found. A
vine still clinging after it is stripped of its life and ver-
dure is a fit, an effective, symbol for the tendency of
thoughts to turn to the past after the bitter experiences
of life have saddened and deadened them. The mould-
344 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
ering wall is a fit symbol of the decay and dissolution
of our mental structures as they are disintegrated by
the frosts of bitter experiences. This concrete concep-
tion of thoughts and life further sinks life in sadness
and heightens the tension which the poem is striving
to secure. The figure here used is a metaphor, but it
differs from the other in that the identity is implied,
and is thus a still stronger statement.
"But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast."
Here with all their striking differences hopes are con-
ceived as identical with leaves, and they are so since
falling equals falling. To conceive hopes as passing
away in the concrete form of leaves falling in the blasts
of wind and rain still further intensifies the sadness
and makes stronger the tension. This figure is a meta-
phor, as in the foregoing, and is effective because of
its quick grasping of identity between hopes and leaves
falling in blasts.
Let it be observed that in all these minor figures
there is an increase in the feeling of sadness; that they
are used for that purpose, and not for the sake of the
figure. It is not sufficient merely to classify a figure,
but it must be explained in terms of the effect of the
whole selection.
While the foregoing figures sink life lower and thus
increase the tension, those which follow exalt life and
increase the tension through opposition to the former.
"Be still, sad heart ! ' Emotions personified. Also
faded metaphor in "heart." This is the self-assertion
against the downward tendencies of life. The personifi-
cation is secondary to the imperative command.
conclusion. 345
" Behind the cloud is the sun still shining." As the
sun is always shining beyond the clouds so there may
be permanent cheer even in the present life of sadness.
This is the figure which really brings the victory. The
complete victory of the day is the assurance of the pos-
sibility of the complete victory in life. Here again we
have an allegory, the minor term, or the image, only
being given, while the major term and the comparison
are implied. How much this form of statement con-
tributes to the effect will appear by changing it to some
other figure.
" Into each life some rain must fall; some days must
be dark and dreary." In this conception life and the
day are identical in that both have, by their nature,
the conflict within themselves; that the law of the day
and of life are the same. Each must have its lower
turmoil; and since this is the essential nature of each,
we should not wish to be rid of the darkness and dreari-
ness of either. To do so would be to destroy both life
and the clay. Life is in and through tension, and every
tension must have the terms between which it exists.
Here the identity is implied and the major term given;
hence, a metaphor.
It is well to note here how complete is the concrete
embodiment; the day as a whole typifying life, and then
the elements of the day typifying the phases of life.
This not only gives richness and variety to the concep-
tion, but also organic unity. It would be difficult to
find a poem more pervaded with figurative conception,
and at the same time having the figures so interwoven
and organized into one spiritual type. This adds to the
346 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
beauty of simple figures that of organic beauty — variety
in unity.
In the first line of the first and second stanzas the
polysyndeton is employed with good effect. The
repetition of " ands " emphasizes the accumulation
of the adversities of life. Let these lines be read
omitting the first "and," and then again substi-
tuting it, and the emotional value of this figure will
clearly appear.
While the chief literary value of the poem is in its
figurative language, still much depends on the sensuous
qualities of the language — its euphony and its rhythm.
The mere sound of the first line in the first and second
stanzas awakens a vague feeling of sadness. This is
especially marked in the sound o. This wailing sound
is much used to intensify grief and melancholy.
Especially is the rhythm of the poem an efficient
means of intensifying the feeling. Intense emotion is
rhythmical, and rhythmical language is the natural lan-
guage of emotion, and serves, therefore, to heighten
emotion. The tension in this poem is made slightly
stronger through the alliterations dark, dreary, wind,
weary; and especially since these are repeated in each
stanza. The rhymes have a similar effect. The rhymes
are perfect and successive, the fifth rhyming with the
first and second, except in the last stanza. Thus there
is effective variety.
The most important fact in the rhythm is the meas-
ure of the verses. This is iambic tetrameter, with an
occasional anapaestic foot substituted to give variety
and a quicker movement when needed. Variety is
conclusion. 347
further secured by giving an extra syllable at the end
of the first two lines of each stanza.
Especially effective is the rhythm made by repeating
in a fifth verse in each of the three stanzas the meaning
of the first verse in the first and second stanzas. These
fifth verses repeat the meaning already given, and are
there only for rhythmical fullness. This is character-
istic of Hebrew poetry; the last half of a line in the
Psalms repeats the meaning of the first half. This ele-
ment of rhythm is characteristic of both Tennyson and
Longfellow. The thought becomes so highly emotional
that it tends to recur in rhythmical repetition. By
reading the poem omitting the last line of each stanza,
the value of these lines will become apparent.
And, further, the stanzas bear an organic and rhyth-
mical relation to each other which enhances the beauty
of the poem. The whole poem thus appears as a
complex, organic, rhythmical unit.
Finally, the poem is made still more concrete and
effective by having the personal embodiment of the
author himself — by being lyrical. The universal objec-
tive is made real and vivid in being regarded as indi-
vidual and subjective. Longfellow says " my life,"
but no one supposes he means merely his own life ;
the reader, whoever he may be, must say " my life."
Thus the reader makes it a close personal matter with
himself.
It thus appears that the analysis of this poem consists
in organizing the means by which the specific emotional
effect is produced. Were it a didactic selection, then
all must be shown to have unity in some cognition;
348 THE SCIENCE OF DISCOURSE.
and were it an oration, everything must be shown in
its tendency to move the will.
For a full exposition of the nature of literature and
method of literary analysis, see the author's " Literary
Interpretations."
INDEX
Activity, 55.
Aesop, 119.
Aim, a definite, 16 ; a worthy, 19;
intense, 28.
Allegory, 318.
Alliteration, 217.
Amphibrach, 213.
Analogy, 143.
Analysis, 53.
Anapaestic foot, 213.
Angelus, 1 1.
Antithesis, 323.
Aphaeresis, 290.
Apocope, 290.
Apostrophe, 317.
Argumentation, 59, 137 ; general
laws of, 160; exercises in, 168.
Arguments, a priori, 148 ; a pos-
teriori, 1 52 ; by signs and re-
semblances, 1 53 ; by testimony,
157; by authority, 160.
Arrangement of the sentence, the
proper, 255.
Art of literary criticism, 22.
Aspects, two, 57.
. Association, figures of, 299.
Asyndeton, 292.
Attributes of the theme, 49 ; of
relation, 62.
Attributive description, 62.
Author, 19.
Authority, argument by, 160.
Barbarism, 223.
Bascom, 192, 193.
Bathos, 325.
Biography, 73.
Blair, 209.
Boundary of subject-matter, 1.
Brevity, 200.
Byron, 206, 324.
Carlyle, 181.
Cause and effect, 62 ; the relation
of, 65, 97 ; in argumentation,
146.
Change as a whole, the, 96; in its
parts, 98.
Chaucer, 31, 66, 181.
Cicero, 21.
Circumlocution, 244.
Class unit, 56.
Classification, 38.
Classify, 35.
Clearness, 174, 177; conditions
for securing, 185.
Climax, 324.
Combination, 291.
Comparison and contrast, 117.
Composer, 33 ; chooses a theme,
46.
Composition, art of, 44.
Concept, 56, 58.
Conciseness, 241.
Conclusion, 335.
350
INDEX.
Concreteness, 230.
Construction of description, 81 ;
of narration, 103 ; of exposition,
128.
Content of the class, 112; of the
theme, 1 13.
Correctness, 5, 199.
Critic, 23.
Criticism, standard of, 28; liter-
ary, 38.
Culture, all-sided, 21, 24.
Dactylic foot, 213.
Deduction, 139.
Definition, 113; law of, 114; rule
for making, 116.
Description, 55, 59, 61 ; attribu-
tive, 62; partitive, 75; outline
of, 80; illustrations of, 81; ex-
ercises in, 89.
Didactic discourse, 34.
Difference, no unity without, 48
likeness and, 62.
Discourse, 6, 8 ; definition of, 12
purpose in, 13 ; skill in, 21 ; lit
erary, 34; the thought in, 41
four processes in, 59.
Distinctness, 199; of conception,
263.
Effective speech, 46.
Effectiveness, 18; conditions of,
iq ; laws of, 178.
Efficient means, 13.
Elegance, 174, 182; conditions for
securing, 194.
Elements, the organic, 8 ; order
of, 9; organic relation of, 10;
unities of, 53; organization of,
into theme, 241 ; the proper
order of presenting, 255.
Ellipsis, 291.
Elocutionist, the true, 30.
Emphatic ideas, 270.
Enallage, 295.
End, a worthy, 13.
Energy, 174, 179 ; conditions for
securing, 191.
Enthymeme, 141.
Epanalepsis, 293.
Epenthesis, 291.
Epigram, 325.
Epizeuxis, 294.
Euphemism, 302.
Euphony, 202.
Exemplification, 118.
Exercises in description, 89-92 ;
in narration, 109, no; in expo-
sition, 134; in argumentation,
168 ; in synonyms, 239; in par-
onyms, 239 ; in poetic form,
219; in verbosity, 245; in sen-
tence unity, 265 ; in classifying
figures, 329-334.
Exposition, 59, 1 1 1 ; outline of,
1 28; illustrations of, 128.
Extension, 70.
Extent of a class, 112; of the
theme, 123.
Factor, controlling, 33 ; invariable,
34-
Factors, two, 60.
Fallacy, 150.
Familiarity, 222.
Figures of speech, 289 ; spelling,
290 ; syntax, 291 ; thought, 295;
association, 299; comparison,
304 ; expressed comparison,
307 ; implied comparison, 309 ;
contrast, 323.
INDEX.
351
Foot, 212.
Form and content of language,
172.
Form and size, 71.
Fundamental ends of discourse,
38, 59-
General, the, 58.
General notion, 1 12.
Gilmore, "Outlines of Rhetoric,"
293-
Graduating theme, 32.
Greece, history of, 41.
Guidance, 54.
Habit of reading, 45.
Harmony, 207; in discourse, 211.
Hawthorne, 1 19.
Henry, Patrick, 29.
High-school pupil, 32.
Hill, A. S., 165, 225, 251, 310.
Hill, D. J., 244, 253, 264.
Humor, 328.
Hyperbole, 318.
Iambic foot, 213.
Idea, origin in, 55.
Idealization, 120.
Ideas, association of language
forms with, 222.
Illustrated, the process of descrip-
tion, 81 ; narration, 103; expo-
sition, 128.
Independence, Declaration of, 44.
Individual, 54, 58.
Induction, 141 ; lowest phase of,
144 ; highest phase of, 145.
Inference, 140.
Interpret with efficiency, 45.
Interpretation of description, 86;
narration, 106; exposition, 132.
Interpreter, 19.
Interrogation, 326.
Irony, 327.
Irving, 37, 66, 101.
Judgment, 58, 137.
Language units, 2; in discourse,
171 ; fundamental law of, 173;
qualities required, 174 ; inter-
pretation of, 197 ; an object of
perception, 198; literal, 284;
figurative, 285.
Law of unity in definition, 116;
comparison and contrast, 117.
Laws of partition, 77-79.
Likeness and difference, 62-68;
order of presenting, 69, 97.
Location of an object, 67.
" Logic," Mill's, 146.
Longfellow, 288.
Lowell, 42, 181, 244.
Macbeth, 290, 312.
Maclaren, Ian, 73.
" Maud Muller," 132.
Means, 62.
Mental state, presenting a, 66.
Metaphor, 309; exercises in, 313.
Metonymy, 302.
Milton, 21, 294.
Motive, genuine, 30.
Movements of thought, 53.
Narration, 55-59, 93 ; compared
with description, 93 ; first step
in, 96 ; second step in, 98; out-
line of, 102; illustrations of law
of unity in, 100; exercises in,
109.
352
INDEX.
( )bject, a spiritual, 72.
Objects, individual, 59, 63.
Obsolete words, 223.
Omission of words, 276.
Oration, basis of, 35, 36.
Oratory, 34, 35.
Organic elements, the, 8.
Organization of the elements into
the theme, 241.
Organizing principle, the, I, 12.
Parable, 322.
Paragraph, 282.
Paragoge, 291.
Paronomasia, 326.
Paronyms, 239.
Particular, 1 13.
Partition, law of, 77.
Partitive description, 75.
Parts coexist, the, 54.
Personification, description by, 65,
3 r 4-
Perspicuity, 174.
Phelps, 27, 193, 287.
Phillips, Wendell, 29.
Place, time and, 62.
Pleonasm, 229.
Poetry, 34, 36.
Polysyndeton, 294.
Pope, 31.
Position of words in sentence, 267.
Precision, 234.
Process of description, 61 ; par-
tition, 77; narration, 93; expo-
sition, in; definition, 113; com-
parison and contrast, 117; ex-
emplification, 118; idealization,
F2o; division, 124; argumenta-
tion, 137.
Processes, discourse, 53, 59.
Prolixity, 248.
Properties, 70.
Prose, 34.
Prosthesis, 291.
Pun, 326.
Purity, 223.
Purpose in discourse, 1 3 ; to the
reader, 1 5 ; attributes of, 63, 96.
Qualities, primary, secondary, 70,
71; of language, 174; the rhe-
torical, secured, 196.
Quintilian, 20-22.
Rainbow, the, 42.
Reasoning by deduction, 140.
Redundancy, 243.
Relation, attributes of, 62-68 ; of
language to thought, the direct,
221 ; the indirect, 284.
Relative words, 274.
Resistance, 70.
Rhyme, 216.
Rhythm, 211 ; exercises in, 219.
Rhythmical flow, 52.
Secondary attributes, 74.
Sentence, proper length of the,
249..
Sentences, periodic, loose, 257.
Shakespeare, 17, 31.
Simile, 307.
Simpson, Bishop, 29.
Spencer, Herbert, 238, 258.
Stanza, 217.
Style, affectation of, 26, 173.
Subject-matter, boundary of, 2 ;
arrangement of, 51.
Syllogism, 139.
Syncope, 290.
INDEX.
353
Synecdoche, 300.
Synonyms, 239.
Synthesis, 53.
Tautology, 243.
Testimony, argument by, 157.
Theme, the, 41-49 ; in description,
62 ; in narration, 94 ; in exposi-
tion, hi.
Thought in discourse, the, 41.
Time and place, 62, 96.
Triangle, 55.
Trochaic foot, 213.
Two objects, 63.
Unit, organic, class, 56.
Units, language, 2.
Unity, 43 ; in discourse, 46 ; class,
57; law of, in narration, 100-
105; maintained, 108 ; law of,
in definition, 116; in compari-
son and contrast, 118; in divi-
sion, 125; in argumentation,
138, 163; of sentence structure,
262 ; of discourse structure,
278.
Universal, 113.
Value of a witness, 1 59.
Verbosity, 242 ; exercises in, 245.
Verse, 215.
Vision, 317.
"Vision of Sir Launfal," 44.
Whittier, 37, 324, 327.
Whole, simultaneous, successive,
55 ; changes as, 96.
Wholes, parts bounded into, 57.
Wit, 327.
Witnesses, difference in, 158, 159.
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
Los Angeles
This book is DUE on the last date stamped below.
hmri MAY 2 3 1966
' V'' w :_
t
; 138 J
J$ECft«
MAR 2 9 1984
J
'orm L9— Series 444
3 :iT§ iiii
Si
UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY
AA 000 352 175 4