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William S. Balch - Lectures on Language

W >> William S. Balch >> Lectures on Language




With a brief sketch of the outlines of language, as based on the fixed
laws of nature, and the agreement of those who employ it, I shall
conclude the present lecture.

We shall consider all language as governed by the invariable laws of
nature, and as depending on the conventional regulations of men.

Words are the signs of ideas. Ideas are the impressions of things.
Hence, in all our attempts to investigate the important principles of
language, we shall employ the sign as the means of coming at the thing
signified.

Language has usually been considered under four divisions, viz.:
Orthography, Etymology, Syntax, and Prosody.

Orthography is _right spelling_; the combination of certain letters into
words in such a manner as to agree with the spoken words used to denote
an idea. We shall not labor this point, altho we conceive a great
improvement might be effected in this department of learning. My only
wish is to select from all the forms of spelling, the most simple and
consistent. Constant changes are taking place in the method of making
words, and we would not refuse to cast in our mite to make the standard
more correct and easy. We would prune off by degrees all unnecessary
appendages, as unsounded or italic letters, and write out words so as to
be capable of a distinct pronunciation. But this change must be
_gradually_ effected. From the spelling adopted two centuries ago, a
wonderful improvement has taken place. And we have not yet gone beyond
the possibility of improvement. Let us not be too sensitive on this
point, nor too tenacious of old forms. Most of our dictionaries differ
in many respects in regard to the true system of orthography, and our
true course is to adopt every improvement which is offered. Thro out
this work we shall spell some words different from what is customary,
but intend not, thereby, to incur the ignominy of bad spellers. Let
small improvements be adopted, and our language may soon be redeemed
from the difficulties which have perplexed beginners in their first
attempts to convey ideas by written words.[1]

In that department of language denominated Etymology, we shall contend
that all words are reducible to two general classes, nouns and verbs;
or, _things_ and _actions_. We shall, however, admit of subdivisions,
and treat of pronouns, adjectives, and contractions. We shall contend
for only two cases of nouns, one kind of pronouns, one kind of verbs,
that all are active; three modes, and as many tenses; that articles,
adverbs, prepositions, conjunctions, and interjections, have no
distinctive character, no existence, in fact, to warrant a "local
habitation or a name."

In the composition of sentences, a few general rules of Syntax may be
given; but the principal object to be obtained, is the possession of
correct ideas derived from a knowledge of things, and the most approved
words to express them; the combination of words in a sentence will
readily enough follow.

Prosody relates to the quantity of syllables, rules of accent and
pronunciation, and the arrangement of syllables and words so as to
produce harmony. It applies specially to versification. As our object is
not to make poets, who, it is said, "are born, and not made," but to
teach the true principles of language, we shall give no attention to
this finishing stroke of composition.

In our next we shall lay before you the principles upon which all
language depends, and the process by which its use is to be acquired.




LECTURE II.

FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF LANGUAGE.

General principles of Language.--Business of Grammar.--Children are
Philosophers.--Things, ideas, and words.--Actions.--Qualities
of things.--Words without ideas.--Grammatical terms inappropriate.--
Principles of Language permanent.--Errors in mental science.--Facts
admit of no change.--Complex ideas.--Ideas of qualities.--An
example.--New ideas.--Unknown words.--Signs without things
signified.--Fixed laws regulate matter and mind.


All language depends on two general principles.

_First._ The fixed and unvarying laws of nature which regulate matter
and mind.

_Second._ The agreement of those who use it.

In accordance with these principles all language must be explained. It
is not only needless but impossible for us to deviate from them. They
remain the same in all ages and in all countries. It should be the
object of the grammarian, and of all who employ language in the
expression of ideas, to become intimately acquainted with their use.

It is the business of grammar to explain, not only verbal language, but
also the sublime principles upon which all written or spoken language
depends. It forms an important part of physical and mental science,
which, correctly explained, is abundantly simple and extensively useful
in its application to the affairs of human life and the promotion of
human enjoyment.

It will not be contended that we are assuming a position beyond the
capacities of learners, that the course here adopted is too philosophic.
Such is not the fact. Children are philosophers by nature. All their
ideas are derived from things as presented to their observations. No
mother learns her child to lisp the name of a thing which has no being,
but she chooses objects with which it is most familiar, and which are
most constantly before it; such as father, mother, brother, sister.

She constantly points to the object named, that a distinct impression
may be made upon its mind, and the thing signified, the idea of the
thing, and the name which represents it, are all inseparably associated
together. If the father is absent, the child may _think_ of him from the
idea or impression which his person and affection has produced in the
mind. If the mother pronounces his _name_ with which it has become
familiar, the child will start, look about for the object, or thing
signified by the _name_, father, and not being able to discover him,
will settle down contented with the _idea_ of him deeply impressed on
the mind, and as distinctly understood as if the father was present in
person. So with every thing else.

Again, after the child has become familiar with the name of the being
called father; the name, idea and object itself being intimately
associated the mother will next begin to teach it another lesson;
following most undeviatingly the course which nature and true philosophy
mark out. The father comes and goes, is present or absent. She says on
his return, father _come_, and the little one looks round to see the
thing signified by the word father, the idea of which is distinctly
impressed on the mind, and which it now sees present before it. But this
loved object has not always been here. It had looked round and called
for the father. But the mother had told it _he was gone_. Father gone,
father come, is her language, and here the child begins to learn ideas
of actions. Of this it had, at first, no notion whatever, and never
thought of the father except when his person was present before it, for
no impressions had been distinctly made upon the mind which could be
called up by a sound of which it could have no conceptions whatever. Now
that it has advanced so far, the idea of the father is retained, even
tho he is himself absent, and the child begins to associate the notion
of coming and going with his presence or absence. Following out this
course the mind becomes acquainted with things and actions, or the
changes which things undergo.

Next, the mother begins to learn her offspring the distinction and
qualities of things. When the little sister comes to it in innocent
playfulness the mother says, "_good_ sister," and with the descriptive
word _good_ it soon begins to associate the quality expressed by the
affectionate regard, of its sister. But when that sister strikes the
child, or pesters it in any way, the mother says "_naughty_ sister,"
"bad sister." It soon comprehends the descriptive words, _good_ and
_bad_, and along with them carries the association of ideas which such
conduct produces. In the same way it learns to distinguish the
difference between _great_ and _small_, _cold_ and _hot_, hard and soft.

In this manner the child becomes acquainted with the use of language. It
first becomes acquainted with things, the idea of which is left upon the
mind, or, more properly, the _impression of which_, left on the mind,
_constitutes the idea_; and a vocabulary of words are learned, which
represent these ideas, from which it may select those best calculated
to express its meaning whenever a conversation is had with another.

You will readily perceive the correctness of our first proposition, that
all language depends on the fixed and unerring laws of nature. Things
exist. A knowledge of them produces ideas in the mind, and sounds or
signs are adopted as vehicles to convey these ideas from one to another.

It would be absurd and ridiculous to suppose that any person, however
great, or learned, or wise, could employ language correctly without a
knowledge of the things expressed by that language. No matter how chaste
his words, how lofty his phrases, how sweet the intonations, or mellow
the accents. It would avail him nothing if _ideas_ were not represented
thereby. It would all be an unknown tongue to the hearer or reader. It
would not be like the loud rolling thunder, for that tells the wondrous
power of God. It would not be like the soft zephyrs of evening, the
radiance of the sun, the twinkling of the stars; for they speak the
intelligible language of sublimity itself, and tell of the kindness and
protection of our Father who is in heaven. It would not be like the
sweet notes of the choral songsters of the grove, for they warble hymns
of gratitude to God; not like the boding of the distant owl, for that
tells the profound solemnity of night; not like the hungry lion roaring
for his prey, for that tells of death and plunder; not like the distant
notes of the clarion, for that tells of blood and carnage, of tears and
anguish, of widowhood and orphanage. It can be compared to nothing but a
Babel of confusion in which their own folly is worse confounded. And
yet, I am sorry to say it, the languages of all ages and nations have
been too frequently perverted, and compiled into a heterogeneous mass
of abstruse, metaphysical volumes, whose only recommendation is the
elegant bindings in which they are enclosed.

And grammars themselves, whose pretended object is to teach the rules of
speaking and writing correctly, form but a miserable exception to this
sweeping remark. I defy any grammarian, author, or teacher of the
numberless systems, which come, like the frogs of Egypt, all of one
genus, to cover the land, to give a reasonable explanation of even the
terms they employ to define their meaning, if indeed, meaning they have.
What is meant by an "_in_-definite article," a _dis_-junctive
_con_-junction, an _ad_-verb which qualifies an _adjective_, and
"sometimes another _ad_-verb?" Such "parts of speech" have no existence
in fact, and their adoption in rules of grammar, have been found
exceedingly mischievous and perplexing. "Adverbs and conjunctions," and
"_adverbial_ phrases," and "conjunctive expressions," may serve as
common sewers for a large and most useful class of words, which the
teachers of grammar and lexicographers have been unable to explain; but
learners will gain little information by being told that such is an
_adverbial phrase_, and such, a _conjunctive expression_. This is an
easy method, I confess, a sort of wholesale traffic, in parsing
(_passing_) language, and may serve to cloak the ignorance of the
teachers and makers of grammars. But it will reflect little light on the
principles of language, or prove very efficient helps to "speak or write
with propriety." Those who _think_, will demand the _meaning_ of these
words, and the reason of their use. When that is ascertained, little
difficulty will be found in giving them a place in the company of
respectable words. But I am digressing. More shall be said upon this
point in a future lecture, and in its proper place.

I was endeavoring to establish the position that all language depends
upon permanent principles; that words are the signs of ideas, and ideas
are the impressions of things communicated to the mind thro the medium
of some one of the five senses. I think I have succeeded so far as
simple material things are concerned, to the satisfaction of all who
have heard me. It may, perhaps, be more difficult for me to explain the
words employed to express complex ideas, and things of immateriality,
such as mind, and its attributes. But the rules previously adopted will,
I apprehend, apply with equal ease and correctness in this case; and we
shall have cause to admire the simple yet sublime foundation upon which
the whole superstructure of language is based.

In pursuing this investigation I shall endeavor to avoid all abstruse
and metaphysical reasoning, present no wild conjectures, or vain
hypotheses; but confine myself to plain, common place matter of fact. We
have reason to rejoice that a wonderful improvement in the science and
cultivation of the mind has taken place in these last days; that we are
no longer puzzled with the strange phantoms, the wild speculations which
occupied the giant minds of a Descartes, a Malebranch, a Locke, a Reid,
a Stewart, and hosts of others, whose shining talents would have
qualified them for the brightest ornaments of literature, real
benefactors of mankind, had not their education lead them into dark and
metaphysical reasonings, a continued tissue of the wildest vagaries, in
which they became entangled, till, at length, they were entirely lost in
the labyrinth of their own conjectures.

The occasion of all their difficulty originated in an attempt to
investigate the faculties of the mind without any means of getting at
it. They did not content themselves with an adoption of the principles
which lay at the foundation of all true philosophy, viz., that the
facts to be accounted for, _do exist_; that truth is eternal, and we are
to become acquainted with it by the means employed for its development.
They quitted the world of materiality they inhabited, refused to examine
the development of mind as the effect of an existing cause; and at one
bold push, entered the world of thought, and made the unhallowed attempt
to reason, a priori, concerning things which can only be known by their
manifestations. But they soon found themselves in a strange land,
confused with sights and sounds unknown, in the _explanation_ of which
they, of course, choose terms as unintelligible to their readers, as the
_ideal realities_ were to them. This course, adopted by Aristotle, has
been too closely followed by those who have come after him.[2] But a new
era has dawned upon the philosophy of the mind, and a corresponding
change in the method of inculcating the principles of language must
follow.[3]

In all our investigations we must take things as we find them, and
account for them as far as we can. It would be a thankless task to
attempt a change of principles in any thing. That would be an
encroachment of the Creator's rights. It belongs to mortals to use the
things they have as not abusing them; and to Deity to regulate the laws
by which those things are governed. And that man is the wisest, the
truest philosopher, and brightest Christian, who acquaints himself with
those laws as they do exist in the regulation of matter and mind, in the
promotion of physical and moral enjoyment, and endeavors to conform to
them in all his thoughts and actions.

From this apparent digression you will at once discover our object. We
must not endeavor to change the principles of language, but to
understand and explain them; to ascertain, as far as possible, the
actions of the mind in obtaining ideas, and the use of language in
expressing them. We may not be able to make our sentiments understood;
but if they are not, the fault will originate in no obscurity in the
facts themselves, but in our inability either to understand them or the
words employed in their expression. Having been in the habit of using
words with either no meaning or a wrong one, it may be difficult to
comprehend the subject of which they treat. A man may have a quantity of
sulphur, charcoal, and nitre, but it is not until he learns their
properties and combinations that he can make gunpowder. Let us then
adopt a careful and independent course of reasoning, resolved to meddle
with nothing we do not understand, and to use no words until we know
their meaning.

A complex idea is a combination of several simple ones, as a tree is
made up of roots, a trunk, branches, twigs, and leaves. And these again
may be divided into the wood, the bark, the sap, &c. Or we may employ
the botanical terms, and enumerate its external and internal parts and
qualities; the whole anatomy and physiology, as well as variety and
history of trees of that species, and show its characteristic
distinctions; for the mind receives a different impression on looking at
a maple, a birch, a poplar, a tamarisk, a sycamore, or hemlock. In this
way complex ideas are formed, distinct in their parts, but blended in a
common whole; and, in conformity with the law regulating language,
words, sounds or signs, are employed to express the complex whole, or
each distinctive part. The same may be said of all things of like
character. But this idea I will illustrate more at large before the
close of this lecture.

First impressions are produced by a view of material things, as we have
already seen; and the notion of action is obtained from a knowledge of
the changes these things undergo. The idea of quality and definition is
produced by contrast and comparison. Children soon learn the difference
between a sweet apple and a sour one, a white rose and a red one, a hard
seat and a soft one, harmonious sounds and those that are discordant, a
pleasant smell and one that is disagreeable. As the mind advances, the
application is varied, and they speak of a sweet rose, changing from
_taste_ and _sight_ to smell, of a sweet song, of a hard apple, &c.
According to the qualities thus learned, you may talk to them
intelligibly of the _sweetness_ of an apple, the _color_ of a rose, the
_hardness_ of iron, the _harmony_ of sounds, the _smell_ or scent of
things which possess that quality. As these agree or disagree with their
comfort, they will call them _good_ or _bad_, and speak of the qualities
of goodness and badness, as if possessed by the thing itself.

In this apparently indiscriminate use of words, the ideas remain
distinct; and each sign or object calls them up separately and
associates them together, till, at length, in the single object is
associated all the ideas entertained of its size, qualities, relations,
and affinities.

In this manner, after long, persevering toil, principles of thought are
fixed, and a foundation laid for the whole course of future thinking and
speaking. The ideas become less simple and distinct. Just as fast as the
mind advances in the knowledge of things, language keeps pace with the
ideas, and even goes beyond them, so that in process of time a single
term will not unfrequently represent a complexity of ideas, one of which
will signify a whole combination of things.

On the other hand, there are many instances where the single declaration
of a fact may convey to the untutored mind, a single thought or nearly
so, when the better cultivated will take into the account the whole
process by which it is effected. To illustrate: _a man killed a deer_.
Here the boy would see and imagine more than he is yet fully able to
comprehend. He will see the obvious fact that the man levels his musket,
the gun goes off with a loud report, and the deer falls and dies. How
this is all produced he does not understand, but knowing the fact he
asserts the single truth--the man killed the deer. As the child
advances, he will learn that the sentence conveys to the mind more than
he at first perceived. He now understands how it was accomplished. The
man had a gun. Then he must go back to the gunsmith and see how it was
made, thence back to the iron taken from its bed, and wrought into bars;
all the processes by which it is brought into the shape of a gun, the
tools and machinery employed; the wood for the stock, its quality and
production; the size, form and color of the lock, the principle upon
which it moves; the flint, the effect produced by a collision with the
steel, or a percussion cap, and its composition; till he finds a single
gun in the hands of a man. The man is present with this gun. The motives
which brought him here; the movements of his limbs, regulated by the
determinations of the mind, and a thousand other such thoughts, might be
taken into the account. Then the deer, his size, form, color, manner of
living, next may claim a passing thought. But I need not enlarge. Here
they both stand. The man has just seen the deer. As quick as thought his
eye passes over the ground, sees the prey is within proper distance,
takes aim, pulls the trigger, that loosens a spring, which forces the
flint against the steel; this produces a spark, which ignites the
charcoal, and the sulphur and nitre combined, explode and force the wad,
which forces the ball from the gun, and is borne thro the air till it
reaches the deer, enters his body by displacing the skin and flesh,
deranges the animal functions, and death ensues. The whole and much more
is expressed in the single phrase, "a man killed a deer."

It would be needless for me to stop here, and examine all the operations
of the mind in coming at this state of knowledge. That is not the object
of the present work. Such a duty belongs to another treatise, which may
some day be undertaken, on logic and the science of the mind. The hint
here given will enable you to perceive how the mind expands, and how
language keeps pace with every advancing step, and, also, how
combinations are made from simple things, as a house is made of timber,
boards, shingles, nails, and paints; or of bricks, stone, and mortar; as
the case may be, and when completed, a single term may express the
idea, and you speak of a wood, or a brick house. Following this
suggestion, by tracing the operations of the mind in the young child, or
your own, very minutely, in the acquisition of any knowledge before
wholly unknown to you, as a new language, or a new science; botany,
mineralogy, chemistry, or phrenology; you will readily discover how the
mind receives new impressions of things, and a new vocabulary is adopted
to express the ideas formed of plants, minerals, chemical properties,
and the development of the capacities of the mind as depending on
material organs; how these things are changed and combined; and how
their existence and qualities, changes and combinations, are expressed
by words, to be retained, or conveyed to other minds.

But suppose you talk to a person wholly unacquainted with these things,
will he understand you? Talk to him of stamens, pistils, calyxes; of
monandria, diandria, triandria; of gypsum, talc, calcareous spar,
quartz, topaz, mica, garnet, pyrites, hornblende, augite, actynolite; of
hexahedral, prismatic, rhomboidal, dodecahedral; of acids and alkalies;
of oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen and carbon; of the configuration of the
brain, and its relative powers; do all this, and what will he know of
your meaning? So of all science. Words are to be understood from the
things they are employed to represent. You may as well talk to a man in
the hebrew, chinese, or choctaw languages, as in our own, if he does not
know what is signified by the words selected as the medium of thought.

Your language may be most pure, perfect, full of meaning, but you cannot
make yourself understood till your hearers can look thro your signs to
the things signified. You may as well present before them a picture of
_nothing_.

The great fault in the popular system of education is easily accounted
for, particularly in reference to language. Children are taught to study
signs without looking at the thing signified. In this way they are mere
copyists, and the mind can never expand so as to make them independent,
original thinkers. In fact, they can, in this way, never learn to reason
well or employ language correctly; no more than a painter can be
successful in his art, by merely looking at the pictures of others
without having ever seen the originals. A good artist is a close
observer of nature. So children should be left free to examine and
reflect, and the signs will then serve their proper use--the means of
acquiring the knowledge of things. In vain you may give a scholar a
knowledge of the Hebrew, Greek, or Latin, learn him to translate with
rapidity or speak our own language fluently. If he has not thereby
learned the knowledge of things signified by such language, he is, in
principle, advanced no farther than the parrot which says "pretty poll,
pretty poll."

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