The Philosophy of Style
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THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE.
By Herbert Spencer
PART I.
CAUSES OF FORCE IN LANGUAGE WHICH DEPEND UPON ECONOMY OF THE MENTAL
ENERGIES.
i. The Principle of Economy.
§ 1. Commenting on the seeming incongruity between his father’s
argumentative powers and his ignorance of formal logic, Tristram
Shandy says:--"It was a matter of just wonder with my worthy tutor,
and two or three fellows of that learned society, that a man who
knew not so much as the names of his tools, should be able to work
after that fashion with them." Sterne’s intended implication that
a knowledge of the principles of reasoning neither makes, nor is
essential to, a good reasoner, is doubtless true. Thus, too, is it
with grammar. As Dr. Latham, condemning the usual school-drill in
Lindley Murray, rightly remarks: "Gross vulgarity is a fault to be
prevented; but the proper prevention is to be got from habit--not
rules." Similarly, there can be little question that good composition
is far less dependent upon acquaintance with its laws, than upon
practice and natural aptitude. A clear head, a quick imagination,
and a sensitive ear, will go far towards making all rhetorical precepts
needless. He who daily hears and reads well-framed sentences, will
naturally more or less tend to use similar ones. And where there
exists any mental idiosyncrasy--where there is a deficient verbal
memory, or an inadequate sense of logical dependence, or but little
perception of order, or a lack of constructive ingenuity; no amount
of instruction will remedy the defect. Nevertheless, some practical
result may be expected from a familiarity with the principles of
style. The endeavour to conform to laws may tell, though slowly.
And if in no other way, yet, as facilitating revision, a knowledge
of the thing to be achieved--a clear idea of what constitutes a
beauty, and what a blemish--cannot fail to be of service.
§ 2. No general theory of expression seems yet to have
been enunciated. The maxims contained in works on composition and
rhetoric, are presented in an unorganized form. Standing as isolated
dogmas--as empirical generalizations, they are neither so clearly
apprehended, nor so much respected, as they would be were they
deduced from some simple first principle. We are told that "brevity
is the soul of wit." We hear styles condemned as verbose or involved.
Blair says that every needless part of a sentence "interrupts the
description and clogs the image;" and again, that "long sentences
fatigue the reader’s attention." It is remarked by Lord Kaimes,
that "to give the utmost force to a period, it ought, if possible,
to be closed with that word which makes the greatest figure." That
parentheses should be avoided and that Saxon words should be used
in preference to those of Latin origin, are established precepts.
But, however influential the truths thus dogmatically embodied,
they would be much more influential if reduced to something like
scientific ordination. In this, as in other cases, conviction will
be greatly strengthened when we understand the why. And we may be
sure that a comprehension of the general principle from which the
rules of composition result, will not only bring them home to us
with greater force, but will discover to us other rules of like
origin,
§ 3. On seeking for some clue to the law underlying these current
maxims, we may see shadowed forth in many of them, the importance
of economizing the reader’s or hearer’s attention, To so present
ideas that they may be apprehended with the least possible mental
effort, is the desideratum towards which most of the rules above
quoted point. When we condemn writing that is wordy, or confused,
or intricate--when we praise this style as easy, and blame that as
fatiguing, we consciously or unconsciously assume this desideratum
as our standard of judgment. Regarding language as an apparatus
of symbols for the conveyance of thought, we may say that, as in a
mechanical apparatus, the more simple and the better arranged its
parts, the greater will be the effect produced. In either case,
whatever force is absorbed by the machine is deducted from the
result. A reader or listener has at each moment but a limited amount
of mental power available. To recognize and interpret the symbols
presented to him, requires part of this power; to arrange and combine
the images suggested requires a further part; and only that part
which remains can be used for realizing the thought conveyed. Hence,
the more time and attention it takes to receive and understand each
sentence, the less time and attention can be given to the contained
idea; and the less vividly will that idea be conceived.
§ 4. How truly language must be regarded as a hindrance to thought,
though the necessary instrument of it, we shall clearly perceive
on remembering the comparative force with which simple ideas are
communicated by signs. To say, "Leave the room," is less expressive
than to point to the door. Placing a finger on the lips is more
forcible than whispering, "Do not speak." A beck of the hand is
better than, "Come here." No phrase can convey the idea of surprise
so vividly as opening the eyes and raising the eyebrows. A shrug of
the shoulders would lose much by translation into words. Again, it
may be remarked that when oral language is employed, the strongest
effects are produced by interjections, which condense entire
sentences into syllables. And in other cases, where custom allows
us to express thoughts by single words, as in _Beware, Heigho,
Fudge,_ much force would be lost by expanding them into specific
propositions. Hence, carrying out the metaphor that language is the
vehicle of thought, there seems reason to think that in all cases
the friction and inertia of the vehicle deduct from its efficiency;
and that in composition, the chief, if not the sole thing to be done,
is, to reduce this friction and inertia to the smallest possible
amount. Let us then inquire whether economy of the recipient’s
attention is not the secret of effect, alike in the right choice
and collocation of words, in the best arrangement of clauses in
a sentence, in the proper order of its principal and subordinate
propositions, in the judicious use of simile, metaphor, and other
figures of speech, and even in the rhythmical sequence of syllables.
ii. Economy in the Use of Words.
§ 5. The greater forcibleness of Saxon English, or rather non-Latin
English, first claims our attention. The several special reasons
assignable for this may all be reduced to the general reason--economy.
The most important of them is early association. A child’s vocabulary
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 _disagreeable._ 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 synonymous, 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 that thought as
the term sour. If we remember how slowly and with what labour the
appropriate ideas follow unfamiliar words in another language, 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.
§ 6. The further superiority possessed by Saxon English in its
comparative brevity, obviously comes under the same generalization.
If it be an advantage to express an idea in the smallest number of
words, then will it be an advantage to express it in the smallest
number of syllables. If circuitous phrases and needless expletives
distract the attention and diminish the strength of the impression
produced, then do surplus articulations do so. A certain effort,
though commonly an inappreciable one, must be required to recognize
every vowel and consonant. If, as all know, it is tiresome to listen
to an indistinct speaker, or read a badly-written manuscript; and
if, as we cannot doubt, the fatigue is a cumulative result of the
attention needed to catch successive syllables; it follows that
attention is in such cases absorbed by each syllable. And if this
be true when the syllables are difficult of recognition, it will
also be true, though in a less degree, when the recognition of
them is easy. Hence, the shortness of Saxon words becomes a reason
for their greater force. One qualification, however, must not
be overlooked. A word which in itself embodies the most important
part of the idea to be conveyed, especially when that idea is an
emotional one, may often with advantage be a polysyllabic word. Thus
it seems more forcible to say, "It is _magnificent,_" than "It is
_grand._" The word _vast_ is not so powerful a one as _stupendous._
Calling a thing _nasty_ is not so effective as calling it _disgusting._
§ 7. There seem to be several causes for this exceptional superiority
of certain long words. We may ascribe it partly to the fact that a
voluminous, mouth-filling epithet is, by its very size, suggestive
of largeness or strength; witness the immense pomposity of
sesquipedalian verbiage: and when great power or intensity has to
be suggested, this association of ideas aids the effect. A further
cause may be that a word of several syllables admits of more emphatic
articulation; and as emphatic articulation is a sign of emotion,
the unusual impressiveness of the thing named is implied by it. Yet
another cause is that a long word (of which the latter syllables
are generally inferred as soon as the first are spoken) allows
the hearer’s consciousness a longer time to dwell upon the quality
predicated; and where, as in the above cases, it is to this predicated
quality that the entire attention is called, an advantage results
from keeping it before the mind for an appreciable time. The
reasons which we have given for preferring short words evidently
do not hold here. So that to make our generalization quite correct
we must say, that while in certain sentences expressing strong feeling,
the word which more especially implies that feeling may often with
advantage be a many-syllabled or Latin one; in the immense majority
of cases, each word serving but as a step to the idea embodied
by the whole sentence, should, if possible, be a one-syllabled or
Saxon one.
§ 8. Once more, that frequent cause of strength in Saxon and
other primitive words-their imitative character may be similarly
resolved into the more general cause. Both those directly imitative,
as _splash, bang, whiz, roar,_ &c., and those analogically imitative,
as _rough, smooth, keen, blunt, thin,_ hard, crag,_ &c., have a
greater or less likeness to the things symbolized; and by making
on the senses impressions allied to the ideas to be called up, they
save part of the effort needed to call up such ideas, and leave
more attention for the ideas themselves.
§ 9. The economy of the recipient’s mental energy, into which
are thus resolvable the several causes of the strength of Saxon
English, may equally be traced in the superiority of specific over
generic words. That concrete terms produce more vivid impressions
than abstract ones, and should, when possible, be used instead, is
a thorough maxim of composition. As Dr. Campbell says, "The more
general the terms are, the picture is the fainter; the more special
they are, ‘tis the brighter." We should avoid such a sentence as:--"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 combats of gladiators, will
they punish by hanging, burning, and the rack."
§ 10. This superiority of specific expressions is clearly due to
a saving of the effort required to translate words into thoughts.
As we do not think in generals but in particulars--as, whenever any
class of things is referred to, we represent it to ourselves by
calling to mind individual members of it; it follows that when an
abstract word is used, the bearer or reader has to choose from his
stock of images, one or more, by which he may figure to himself the
genus mentioned. In doing this, some delay must arise some force
be expended; and if, by employing a specific term, an appropriate
image can be at once suggested, an economy is achieved, and a more
vivid impression produced.
ii The Principle of Economy applied to Sentences.
§ 11. Turning now from the choice of words to their sequence, we
shall find the same general principle hold good. We have _a priori_
reasons for believing that in every sentence there is some one
order of words more effective than any other; and that this order
is the one which presents the elements of the proposition in the
succession in which they may be most readily put together. As in
a narrative, the events should be stated in such sequence that the
mind may not have to go backwards and forwards in order to rightly
connect them; as in a group of sentences, the arrangement should
be such, that each of them may be understood as it comes, without
waiting for subsequent ones; so in every sentence, the sequence of
words should be that which suggests the constituents of the thought
in the order most convenient for the building up that thought. Duly
to enforce this truth, and to prepare the way for applications of
it, we must briefly inquire into the mental act by which the meaning
of a series of words is apprehended.
§ 12. We cannot more simply do this than by considering the
proper collocation of the substantive and adjective. Is it better
to place the adjective before the substantive, or the substantive
before the adjective? Ought we to say with the French--un _cheval
noir;_ or to say as we do--a black horse? Probably, most persons of
culture would decide that one order is as good as the other. Alive
to the bias produced by habit, they would ascribe to that the
preference they feel for our own form of expression. They would
expect those educated in the use of the opposite form to have an
equal preference for that. And thus they would conclude that neither
of these instinctive judgments is of any worth. There is, however, a
philosophical ground for deciding in favour of the English custom.
If "a horse black" be the arrangement, immediately on the utterance
of the word "horse," there arises, or tends to arise, in the mind,
a picture answering to that word; and as there has, been nothing
to indicate what _kind_ of horse, any image of a horse suggests
itself. Very likely, however, the image will be that of a brown
horse, brown horses being the most familiar. The result is that
when the word "black" is added, a check is given to the process
of thought. Either the picture of a brown horse already present to
the imagination has to be suppressed, and the picture of a black one
summoned in its place; or else, if the picture of a brown horse be
yet unformed, the tendency to form it has to be stopped. Whichever
is the case, a certain amount of hindrance results. But if, on the
other hand, "a black horse" be the expression used, no such mistake
can be made. The word "black," indicating an abstract quality, arouses
no definite idea. It simply prepares the mind for conceiving some
object of that colour; and the attention is kept suspended until
that object is known. If, then, by the precedence of the adjective,
the idea is conveyed without liability to error. whereas the
precedence of the substantive is apt to produce a misconception,
it follows that the one gives the mind less trouble than the other,
and is therefore more forcible.
§ 13. Possibly it will be objected that the adjective and
substantive come so close together, that practically they may be
considered as uttered at the same moment; and that on hearing the
phrase, "a horse black," there is not time to imagine a wrongly-coloured
horse before the word "black" follows to prevent it. It must be
owned that it is not easy to decide by introspection whether this
is so or not. But there are facts collaterally implying that it
is not. Our ability to anticipate the words yet unspoken is one
of them If the ideas of the hearer kept considerably behind the,
expressions of the speaker, as the objection assumes, he could hardly
foresee the end of a sentence by the time it was half delivered:
yet this constantly happens. Were the supposition true, the mind,
instead of anticipating, would be continually falling more and
more in arrear. If the meanings of words are not realized as fast
as the words are uttered, then the loss of time over each word must
entail such an accumulation of delays as to leave a hearer entirely
behind. But whether the force of these replies be or be not admitted,
it will scarcely be denied that the right formation of a picture
will be facilitated by presenting its elements in the order in which
they are wanted; even though the mind should do nothing until it
has received them all.
§ 14. What is here said respecting the succession of the adjective
and substantive is obviously applicable, by change of terms, to
the adverb and verb. And without further explanation, it will be
manifest, that in the use of prepositions and other particles, most
languages spontaneously conform with more or less completeness to
this law.
§ 15. On applying a like analysis to the larger divisions of
a sentence, we find not only that the same principle holds good,
but that the advantage of respecting it becomes marked. In the
arrangement of predicate and subject, for example, we are at once
shown that as the predicate determines the aspect under which the
subject is to be conceived, it should be placed first; and the
striking effect produced by so placing it becomes comprehensible.
Take the often-quoted contrast between "Great is Diana of the
Ephesians," and "Diana of the Ephesians is great." When the first
arrangement is used, the utterance of the word "great" arouses those
vague associations of an impressive nature with which it has been
habitually connected; the imagination is prepared to clothe with
high attributes whatever follows; and when the words, "Diana of the
Ephesians," are heard, all the appropriate imagery which can, on
the instant, be summoned, is used in the formation of the picture:
the mind being thus led directly, and without error, to the intended
impression. When, on the contrary, the reverse order is followed,
the idea, "Diana of the Ephesians" is conceived with no special
reference to greatness; and when the words "is great" are added,
the conception has to be remodeled: whence arises a loss of mental
energy and a corresponding diminution of effect. The following verse
from Coleridge’s ‘Ancient Mariner,’ though somewhat irregular in
structure, well illustrates the same truth:
"Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide, wide sea
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony."
§ 16. Of course the principle equally applies when the predicate
is a verb or a participle. And as effect is gained by placing
first all words indicating the quality, conduct or condition of the
subject, it follows that the copula also should have precedence.
It is true that the general habit of our language resists this
arrangement of predicate, copula and subject; but we may readily
find instances of the additional force gained by conforming to it.
Thus, in the line from ‘Julius Caesar’
"Then burst his mighty heart,"
priority is given to a word embodying both predicate and copula.
In a passage contained in ‘The Battle of Flodden Field,’ the like
order is systematically employed with great effect:
"The Border slogan rent the sky!
_A Home! a Gordon!_ was the cry;
_Loud were _the clanging blows:
_Advanced--forced back---now low, now high,
_The pennon sunk and rose;
_As bends_ the bark’s mast in the gale
When _rent are_ rigging, shrouds and sail,
It wavered ‘mid the foes."
§ 17. Pursuing the principle yet further, it is obvious that for
producing the greatest effect, not only should the main divisions
of a sentence observe this sequence, but the subdivisions of these
should be similarly arranged. In nearly all cases, the predicate is
accompanied by some limit or qualification, called its complement.
Commonly, also, the circumstances of the subject, which form its
complement, have to be specified. And as these qualifications and
circumstances must determine the mode in which the acts and things
they belong to are conceived, precedence should be given to them.
Lord Kaimes notices the fact that this order is preferable; though
without giving the reason. He says:--"When a circumstance is placed
at the beginning of the period, or near the beginning, the transition
from it to the principal subject is agreeable: it is like ascending
or going upward." A sentence arranged in illustration of this will
be desirable. Here is one:--"Whatever it may be in theory, it is
clear that in practice the French idea of liberty is--the right of
every man to be master of the rest."
§ 18. In this case, were the first two clauses, up to the word
"I practice "inclusive, which qualify the subject, to be placed at
the end instead of the beginning, much of the force would be lost;
as thus:--"The French idea of liberty is--the right of every man to
be master of the rest; in practice at least, if not in theory."
§ 19. Similarly with respect to the conditions under which any
fact is predicated. Observe in the following example the effect of
putting them last:--"How immense would be the stimulus to progress,
were the honour now given to wealth and title given exclusively to
high achievements and intrinsic worth!"
§ 20. And then observe the superior effect of putting them first:--"Were
the honour now given to wealth and title given exclusively to high
achievements and intrinsic worth, how immense would be the stimulus
to progress!"
§ 21. The effect of giving priority to the complement of the
predicate, as well as the predicate itself, is finely displayed in
the opening of ‘Hyperion’:
"_Deep in the shady sadness of a vale
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon and eve’s one star
Sat_ gray-haired Saturn, quiet as a stone."
Here it will be observed, not only that the predicate "sat"
precedes the subject "Saturn," and that the three lines in italics,
constituting the complement of the predicate, come before it; but
that in the structure of that complement also, the same order is
followed: each line being so arranged that the qualifying words
are placed before the words suggesting concrete images.
§ 22. The right succession of the principal and subordinate
propositions in a sentence manifestly depends on the same law.
Regard for economy of the recipient’s attention, which, as we find,
determines the best order for the subject, copula, predicate and
their complements, dictates that the subordinate proposition shall
precede the principal one when the sentence includes two. Containing,
as the subordinate proposition does, some qualifying or explanatory
idea, its priority prevents misconception of the principal
one; and therefore saves the mental effort needed to correct such
misconception. This will be seen in the annexed example: "The
secrecy once maintained in respect to the parliamentary debates, is
still thought needful in diplomacy; and in virtue of this secret
diplomacy, England may any day be unawares betrayed by its ministers
into a war costing a, hundred thousand lives, and hundreds of
millions of treasure: yet the English pique themselves on being
a self-governed people." The two subordinate propositions, ending
with the semicolon and colon respectively, almost wholly determine
the meaning of the principal proposition with which it concludes;
and the effect would be lost were they placed last instead of first.
§ 23. The general principle of right arrangement in sentences,
which we have traced in its application to the leading divisions of
them, equally determines the proper order of their minor divisions.
In every sentence of any complexity the complement to the subject
contains several clauses, and that to the predicate several others;
and these may be arranged in greater or less conformity to the
law of easy apprehension. Of course with these, as with the larger
members, the succession should be from the less specific to the
more specific--from the abstract to the concrete.