



Produced by P. Peterson





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.

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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._

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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."

Sec. 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.




iii. The Principle of Economy applied to Sentences.

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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."

Sec. 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."

Sec. 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."

Sec. 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."

Sec. 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!"

Sec. 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!"

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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.

Sec. 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.

Sec. 24. Now, however, we must notice a further condition to be fulfilled
in the proper construction of a sentence; but still a condition dictated
by the same general principle with the other: the condition, namely,
that the words and expressions most nearly related in thought shall
be brought the closest together. Evidently the single words, the minor
clauses, and the leading divisions of every proposition, severally
qualify each other. The longer the time that elapses between the mention
of any qualifying member and the member qualified, the longer must the
mind be exerted in carrying forward the qualifying member ready for use.
And the more numerous the qualifications to be simultaneously remembered
and rightly applied, the greater will be the mental power expended, and
the smaller the effect produced. Hence, other things equal, force
will be gained by so arranging the members of a sentence that these
suspensions shall at any moment be the fewest in number; and shall also
be of the shortest duration. The following is an instance of defective
combination:--"A modern newspaper-statement, though probably true, would
be laughed at if quoted in a book as testimony; but the letter of
a court gossip is thought good historical evidence, if written some
centuries ago." A rearrangement of this, in accordance with the
principle indicated above, will be found to increase the effect.
Thus:--"Though probably true, a modern newspaper-statement quoted in
a book as testimony, would be laughed at; but the letter of a court
gossip, if written some centuries ago, is thought good historical
evidence."

Sec. 25. By making this change, some of the suspensions are avoided and
others shortened; while there is less liability to produce premature
conceptions. The passage quoted below from 'Paradise Lost' affords a
fine instance of a sentence well arranged; alike in the priority of the
subordinate members, in the avoidance of long and numerous suspensions,
and in the correspondence between the order of the clauses and the
sequence of the phenomena described, which, by the way, is a further
prerequisite to easy comprehension, and therefore to effect.

    "As when a prowling wolf,
     Whom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey,
     Watching where shepherds pen their flocks at eye,
     In hurdled cotes amid the field secure,
     Leaps o'er the fence with ease into the fold;
     Or as a thief, bent to unhoard the cash
     Of some rich burgher, whose substantial doors,
     Cross-barr'd, and bolted fast, fear no assault,
     In at the window climbs, or o'er the tiles;
     So clomb this first grand thief into God's fold;
     So since into his church lewd hirelings climb."

Sec. 26. The habitual use of sentences in which all or most of the
descriptive and limiting elements precede those described and limited,
gives rise to what is called the inverted style: a title which is,
however, by no means confined to this structure, but is often used where
the order of the words is simply unusual. 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 liability to error; and of
the other, that it gets the right thought conceived by a series of
approximations.

Sec. 27. The superiority of the direct over the indirect form of sentence,
implied by the several conclusions that have been drawn, must not,
however, be affirmed without reservation. Though, up to a certain point,
it is well for the qualifying clauses of a period to precede those
qualified; yet, as carrying forward each qualifying clause costs some
mental effort, it follows that when the number of them and the time they
are carried become great, we reach a limit beyond which more is lost
than is gained. Other things equal, the arrangement should be such that
no concrete image shall be suggested until the materials out of which it
is to be made have been presented. And yet, as lately pointed out,
other things equal, the fewer the materials to be held at once, and the
shorter the distance they have to be borne, the better. Hence in some
cases it becomes a question whether most mental effort will be entailed
by the many and long suspensions, or by the correction of successive
misconceptions.

Sec. 28. This question may sometimes be decided by considering the capacity
of the persons addressed. A greater grasp of mind is required for the
ready comprehension of thoughts expressed in the direct manner,
where the sentences are anywise intricate. To recollect a number of
preliminaries stated in elucidation of a coming idea, and to apply them
all to the formation of it when suggested, demands a good memory and
considerable power of concentration. To one possessing these, the direct
method will mostly seem the best; while to one deficient in them it will
seem the worst. Just as it may cost a strong man less effort to carry a
hundred-weight from place to place at once, than by a stone at a
time; so, to an active mind it may be easier to bear along all the
qualifications of an idea and at once rightly form it when named, than
to first imperfectly conceive such idea and then carry back to it,
one by one, the details and limitations afterwards mentioned. While
conversely, as for a boy, the only possible mode of transferring a
hundred-weight, is that of taking it in portions; so, for a weak mind,
the only possible mode of forming a compound conception may be that of
building it up by carrying separately its several parts.

Sec. 29. That the indirect method--the method of conveying the meaning by
a series of approximations--is best fitted for the uncultivated, may
indeed be inferred from their habitual use of it. The form of expression
adopted by the savage, as in "Water, give me," is the simplest type
of the approximate arrangement. In pleonasms, which are comparatively
prevalent among the uneducated, the same essential structure is seen;
as, for instance, in--"The men, they were there." Again, the old
possessive case--"The king, his crown," conforms to the like order of
thought. Moreover, the fact that the indirect mode is called the natural
one, implies that it is the one spontaneously employed by the common
people: that is--the one easiest for undisciplined minds.

Sec. 30. There are many cases, however, in which neither the direct nor the
indirect structure is the best; but where an intermediate structure is
preferable to both. When the number of circumstances and qualifications
to be included in the sentence is great, the most judicious course is
neither to enumerate them all before introducing the idea to which they
belong, nor to put this idea first and let it be remodeled to agree with
the particulars afterwards mentioned; but to do a little of each. Take
a case. It is desirable to avoid so extremely indirect an arrangement
as the following:--"We came to our journey's end, at last, with no small
difficulty after much fatigue, through deep roads, and bad weather." Yet
to transform this into an entirely direct sentence would not produce a
satisfactory effect; as witness:--"At last, with no small difficulty,
after much fatigue, through deep roads, and bad weather, we came to our
journey's end."

Sec. 31. Dr. Whately, from whom we quote the first of these two
arrangements,' proposes this construction:--"At last, after much
fatigue, through deep roads and bad weather, we came, with no small
difficulty, to our journey's end." Here it will be observed that by
introducing the words "we came" a little earlier in the sentence, the
labour of carrying forward so many particulars is diminished, and the
subsequent qualification "with no small difficulty" entails an addition
to the thought that is very easily made. But a further improvement may
be produced by introducing the words "we came" still earlier; especially
if at the same time the qualifications be rearranged in conformity with
the principle already explained, that the more abstract elements of the
thought should come before the more concrete. Observe the better
effect obtained by making these two changes:--"At last, with no small
difficulty, and after much fatigue, we came, through deep roads and bad
weather, to our journey's end." This reads with comparative smoothness;
that is, with less hindrance from suspensions and reconstructions of
thought--with less mental effort.

Sec. 32. Before dismissing this branch of our subject, it should be further
remarked, that even when addressing the most vigorous intellects, the
direct style is unfit for communicating ideas of a complex or abstract
character. So long as the mind has not much to do, it may be well able
to grasp all the preparatory clauses of a sentence, and to use
them effectively; but if some subtlety in the argument absorb the
attention--if every faculty be strained in endeavouring to catch the
speaker's or writer's drift, it may happen that the mind, unable to
carry on both processes at once, will break down, and allow the elements
of the thought to lapse into confusion.




iv. The Principle of Economy applied to Figures.

Sec. 33. Turning now to consider figures of speech, we may equally discern
the same general law of effect. Underlying all the rules given for
the choice and right use of them, we shall find the same fundamental
requirement--economy of attention. It is indeed chiefly because they so
well subserve this requirement, that figures of speech are employed. To
bring the mind more easily to the desired conception, is in many cases
solely, and in all cases mainly, their object.

Sec. 34. Let us begin with the figure called Synecdoche. The advantage
sometimes gained by putting a part for the whole, is due to the more
convenient, or more accurate, presentation of the idea. If, instead
of saying "a fleet of ten ships," we say "a fleet of ten _sail_," the
picture of a group of vessels at sea is more readily suggested; and is
so because the sails constitute the most conspicuous parts of vessels so
circumstanced: whereas the word _ships_ would very likely remind us of
vessels in dock. Again, to say, "_All hands_ to the pumps," is better
than to say, "All _men_ to the pumps," as it suggests the men in the
special attitude intended, and so saves effort. Bringing "gray _hairs_
with sorrow to the grave," is another expression, the effect of which
has the same cause.

Sec. 35. The occasional increase of force produced by Metonymy may be
similarly accounted for. "The low morality of _the bar,_" _is_ a phrase
both more brief and significant than the literal one it stands for. A
belief in the ultimate supremacy of intelligence over brute force, is
conveyed in a more concrete, and therefore more realizable form, if we
substitute _the pen_ and _the sword_ for the two abstract terms. To say,
"Beware of drinking!" is less effective than to say, "Beware of _the
bottle!_" and is so, clearly because it calls up a less specific image.

Sec. 36. The Simile is in many cases used chiefly with a view to ornament,
but whenever it increases the _force_ of a passage, it does so by being
an economy. Here in an instance: "The illusion that great men and great
events came oftener in early times than now, is partly due to historical
perspective. As in a range of equidistant columns, the furthest off look
the closest; so, the conspicuous objects of the past seem more thickly
clustered the more remote they are."

Sec. 37. To construct by a process of literal explanation, the thought
thus conveyed would take many sentences, and the first elements of the
picture would become faint while the imagination was busy in adding the
others. But by the help of a comparison all effort is saved; the picture
is instantly realized, and its full effect produced.

Sec. 38. Of the position of the Simile, it needs only to remark, that what
has been said respecting the order of the adjective and substantive,
predicate and subject, principal and subordinate propositions, &c.,
is applicable here. As whatever qualifies should precede whatever is
qualified, force will generally be gained by placing the simile before
the object to which it is applied. That this arrangement is the best,
may be seen in the following passage from the 'Lady of the Lake';

    "As wreath of snow, on mountain breast,
     Slides from the rock that gave it rest,
     Poor Ellen glided from her stay,
     And at the monarch's feet she lay."

Inverting these couplets will be found to diminish the effect
considerably. There are cases, however, even where the simile is a
simple one, in which it may with advantage be placed last, as in these
lines from Alexander Smith's 'Life Drama':

    "I see the future stretch
     All dark and barren as a rainy sea."

The reason for this seems to be, that so abstract an idea as that
attaching to the word "future," does not present itself to the mind
in any definite form, and hence the subsequent arrival at the simile
entails no reconstruction of the thought.

Sec. 39. Such, however, are not the only cases in which this order is the
most forcible. As the advantage of putting the simile before the object
depends on its being carried forward in the mind to assist in forming an
image of the object, it must happen that if, from length or complexity,
it cannot be so carried forward, the advantage is not gained. The
annexed sonnet, by Coleridge, is defective from this cause:

    "As when a child, on some long winter's night,
    Affrighted, clinging to its grandam's knees,
    With eager wond'ring and perturb'd delight
    Listens strange tales of fearful dark decrees,
    Mutter'd to wretch by necromantic spell;
    Or of those hags who at the witching time
    Of murky midnight, ride the air sublime,
    And mingle foul embrace with fiends of hell;
    Cold horror drinks its blood! Anon the tear
    More gentle starts, to hear the beldame tell
    Of pretty babes, that lov'd each other dear,
    Murder'd by cruel uncle's mandate fell:
    Ev'n such the shiv'ring joys thy tones impart,
    Ev'n so, thou, Siddons, meltest my sad heart."

Sec. 40. Here, from the lapse of time and accumulation of circumstances,
the first part of the comparison is forgotten before its application
is reached, and requires re-reading. Had the main idea been first
mentioned, less effort would have been required to retain it, and to
modify the conception of it into harmony with the comparison, than to
remember the comparison, and refer back to its successive features for
help in forming the final image.

Sec. 41. The superiority of the Metaphor to the Simile is ascribed by Dr.
Whately to the fact that "all men are more gratified at catching the
resemblance for themselves, than in having it pointed out to them." But
after what has been said, the great economy it achieves will seem the
more probable cause. Lear's exclamation--

    "Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,"

would lose part of its effect were it changed into--

    "Ingratitude! thou fiend with heart like marble;"

and the loss would result partly from the position of the simile and
partly from the extra number of words required. When the comparison is
an involved one, the greater force of the metaphor, consequent on its
greater brevity, becomes much more conspicuous. If, drawing an analogy
between mental and physical phenomena, we say, "As, in passing through
the crystal, beams of white light are decomposed into the colours of the
rainbow; so, in traversing the soul of the poet, the colourless rays of
truth are transformed into brightly tinted poetry"; it is clear that
in receiving the double set of words expressing the two halves of the
comparison, and in carrying the one half to the other, considerable
attention is absorbed. Most of this is saved, however, by putting the
comparison in a metaphorical form, thus: "The white light of truth, in
traversing the many sided transparent soul of the poet, is refracted
into iris-hued poetry."

Sec. 42. How much is conveyed in a few words by the help of the Metaphor,
and how vivid the effect consequently produced, may be abundantly
exemplified. From 'A Life Drama' may be quoted the phrase--

    "I spear'd him with a jest,"

as a fine instance among the many which that poem contains. A passage in
the 'Prometheus Unbound,' of Shelley, displays the power of the metaphor
to great advantage:

    "Methought among the lawns together
     We wandered, underneath the young gray dawn,
     And multitudes of dense white fleecy clouds
     Were wandering, in thick flocks along the mountains
     _Shepherded_ by the slow unwilling wind."

This last expression is remarkable for the distinctness with which it
realizes the features of the scene: bringing the mind, as it were, by a
bound to the desired conception.

Sec. 43. But a limit is put to the advantageous use of the Metaphor, by the
condition that it must be sufficiently simple to be understood from a
hint. Evidently, if there be any obscurity in the meaning or application
of it, no economy of attention will be gained; but rather the reverse.
Hence, when the comparison is complex, it is usual to have recourse to
the Simile. There is, however, a species of figure, sometimes classed
under Allegory, but which might, perhaps, be better called Compound
Metaphor, that enables us to retain the brevity of the metaphorical
form even where the analogy is intricate. This is done by indicating the
application of the figure at the outset, and then leaving the mind to
continue the parallel.' Emerson has employed it with great effect in
the first of his I Lectures on the Times':--"The main interest which
any aspects of the Times can have for us is the great spirit which gazes
through them, the light which they can shed on the wonderful questions,
What are we, and Whither we tend? We do not wish to be deceived. Here
we drift, like white sail across the wild ocean, now bright on the wave,
now darkling in the trough of the sea; but from what port did we sail?
Who knows? Or to what port are we bound? Who knows? There is no one
to tell us but such poor weather-tossed mariners as ourselves, whom we
speak as we pass, or who have hoisted some signal, or floated to us some
letter in a bottle from far. But what know they more than we? They
also found themselves on this wondrous sea. No; from the older sailors
nothing. Over all their speaking trumpets the gray sea and the loud
winds answer, Not in us; not in Time."

Sec. 44. The division of the Simile from the Metaphor is by no means a
definite one. Between the one extreme in which the two elements of the
comparison are detailed at full length and the analogy pointed out, and
the other extreme in which the comparison is implied instead of stated,
come intermediate forms, in which the comparison is partly stated and
partly implied. For instance:--"Astonished at the performances of the
English plow, the Hindoos paint it, set it up, and worship it; thus
turning a tool into an idol: linguists do the same with language." There
is an evident advantage in leaving the reader or hearer to complete the
figure. And generally these intermediate forms are good in proportion as
they do this; provided the mode of completing it be obvious.

Sec. 45. Passing over much that may be said of like purport upon Hyperbole,
Personification, Apostrophe, &c., let us close our remarks upon
construction by a typical example. The general principle which has been
enunciated is, that other things equal, the force of all verbal forms
and arrangements is great, in proportion as the time and mental effort
they demand from the recipient is small. The corollaries from this
general principle have been severally illustrated; and it has been shown
that the relative goodness of any two modes of expressing an idea,
may be determined by observing which requires the shortest process
of thought for its comprehension. But though conformity in particular
points has been exemplified, no cases of complete conformity have yet
been quoted. It is indeed difficult to find them; for the English
idiom does not commonly permit the order which theory dictates. A few,
however, occur in Ossian. Here is one:--"As autumn's dark storms pour
from two echoing hills, so towards each other approached the heroes. As
two dark streams from high rocks meet and mix, and roar on the plain:
loud, rough, and dark in battle meet Lochlin and Inisfail...As the
troubled noise of the ocean when roll the waves on high; as the last
peal of the thunder of heaven; such is noise of the battle."

Sec. 46. Except in the position of the verb in the first two similes, the
theoretically best arrangement is fully carried out in each of these
sentences. The simile comes before the qualified image, the adjectives
before the substantives, the predicate and copula before the subject,
and their respective complements before them. That the passage is open
to the charge of being bombastic proves nothing; or rather, proves our
case. For what is bombast but a force of expression too great for the
magnitude of the ideas embodied? All that may rightly be inferred is,
that only in very rare cases, and then only to produce a climax, should
all the conditions of effective expression be fulfilled.




v. Suggestion as a Means of Economy.

Sec. 47. Passing on to a more complex application of the doctrine with
which we set out, it must now be remarked, that not only in the
structure of sentences, and the use of figures of speech, may economy
of the recipient's mental energy be assigned as the cause of force; but
that in the choice and arrangement of the minor images, out of which
some large thought is to be built up, we may trace the same condition
to effect. To select from the sentiment, scene, or event described those
typical elements which carry many others along with them; and so, by
saying a few things but suggesting

many, to abridge the description; is the secret of producing a vivid
impression. An extract from Tennyson's 'Mariana' will well illustrate
this:

    "All day within the dreamy house,
     The door upon the hinges creaked,
     The blue fly sung i' the pane; the mouse
     Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked,
     Or from the crevice peered about."

Sec. 48. The several circumstances here specified bring with them many
appropriate associations. Our attention is rarely drawn by the buzzing
of a fly in the window, save when everything is still. While the inmates
are moving about the house, mice usually keep silence; and it is only
when extreme quietness reigns that they peep from their retreats. Hence
each of the facts mentioned, presupposing numerous others, calls up
these with more or less distinctness; and revives the feeling of dull
solitude with which they are connected in our experience. Were all these
facts detailed instead of suggested, the attention would be so frittered
away that little impression of dreariness would be produced. Similarly
in other cases. Whatever the nature of the thought to be conveyed, this
skilful selection of a few particulars which imply the rest, is the
key to success. In the choice of component ideas, as in the choice of
expressions, the aim must be to convey the greatest quantity of thoughts
with the smallest quantity of words.

Sec. 49. The same principle may in some cases be advantageously carried
yet further, by indirectly suggesting some entirely distinct thought
in addition to the one expressed. Thus, if we say, "The head of a good
classic is as full of ancient myths, as that of a servant-girl of ghost
stories"; it is manifest that besides the fact asserted, there is an
implied opinion respecting the small value of classical knowledge: and
as this implied opinion is recognized much sooner than it can be put
into words, there is gain in omitting it. In other cases, again, great
effect is produced by an overt omission; provided the nature of the
idea left out is obvious. A good instance of this occurs in 'Heroes and
Heroworship.' After describing the way in which Burns was sacrificed to
the idle curiosity of Lion-hunters--people who came not out of sympathy,
but merely to see him--people who sought a little amusement, and who got
their amusement while "the Hero's life went for it!" Carlyle suggests a
parallel thus: "Richter says, in the Island of Sumatra there is a kind
of 'Light-chafers,' large Fire-flies, which people stick upon spits, and
illuminate the ways with at night. Persons of condition can thus travel
with a pleasant radiance, which they much admire. Great honour to the
Fire-flies! But--!--"




vi. The Effect of Poetry explained.

Sec. 50. Before inquiring whether the law of effect, thus far traced,
explains the superiority of poetry to prose, it will be needful to
notice some supplementary causes of force in expression, that have not
yet been mentioned. These are not, properly speaking, additional causes;
but rather secondary ones, originating from those already specified
reflex results of them. In the first place, then, we may remark that
mental excitement spontaneously prompts the use of those forms of speech
which have been pointed out as the most effective. "Out with him!" "Away
with him!" are the natural utterances of angry citizens at a disturbed
meeting. A voyager, describing a terrible storm he had witnessed, would
rise to some such climax as--"Crack went the ropes and down came the
mast." Astonishment may be heard expressed in the phrase--"Never was
there such a sight!" All of which sentences are, it will be observed,
constructed after the direct type. Again, every one knows that excited
persons are given to figures of speech. The vituperation of the vulgar
abounds with them: often, indeed, consists of little else. "Beast,"
"brute," "gallows rogue," "cut-throat villain," these, and other like
metaphors and metaphorical epithets, at once call to mind a street
quarrel. Further, it may be noticed that extreme brevity is another
characteristic of passionate language. The sentences are generally
incomplete; the particles are omitted; and frequently important words
are left to be gathered from the context. Great admiration does not
vent itself in a precise proposition, as--"It is beautiful"; but in the
simple exclamation--"Beautiful!" He who, when reading a lawyer's letter,
should say, "Vile rascal!" would be thought angry; while, "He is a vile
rascal!" would imply comparative coolness. Thus we see that alike in
the order of the words, in the frequent use of figures, and in extreme
conciseness, the natural utterances of excitement conform to the
theoretical conditions of forcible expression.

Sec. 51. Hence, then, the higher forms of speech acquire a secondary
strength from association. Having, in actual life, habitually heard them
in connection with vivid mental impressions, and having been accustomed
to meet with them in the most powerful writing, they come to have in
themselves a species of force. The emotions that have from time to time
been produced by the strong thoughts wrapped up in these forms, are
partially aroused by the forms themselves. They create a certain degree
of animation; they induce a preparatory sympathy, and when the striking
ideas looked for are reached, they are the more vividly realized.

Sec. 52. The continuous use of these modes of expression that are alike
forcible in themselves and forcible from their associations, produces
the peculiarly impressive species of composition which we call poetry.
Poetry, we shall find, habitually adopts those symbols of thought,
and those methods of using them, which instinct and analysis agree in
choosing as most effective, and becomes poetry by virtue of doing this.
On turning back to the various specimens that have been quoted, it will
be seen that the direct or inverted form of sentence predominates in
them; and that to a degree quite inadmissible in prose. And not only
in the frequency, but in what is termed the violence of the inversions,
will this distinction be remarked. In the abundant use of figures,
again, we may recognize the same truth. Metaphors, similes, hyperboles,
and personifications, are the poet's colours, which he has liberty to
employ almost without limit. We characterize as "poetical" the prose
which uses these appliances of language with any frequency, and condemn
it as "over florid" or "affected" long before they occur with the
profusion allowed in verse. Further, let it be remarked that in
brevity--the other requisite of forcible expression which theory points
out, and emotion spontaneously fulfils--poetical phraseology similarly
differs from ordinary phraseology. Imperfect periods are frequent;
elisions are perpetual; and many of the minor words, which would be
deemed essential in prose, are dispensed with.

Sec. 53. Thus poetry, regarded as a vehicle of thought, is especially
impressive partly because it obeys all the laws of effective speech,
and partly because in so doing it imitates the natural utterances of
excitement. While the matter embodied is idealized emotion, the vehicle
is the idealized language of emotion. As the musical composer catches
the cadences in which our feelings of joy and sympathy, grief and
despair, vent themselves, and out of these germs evolves melodies
suggesting higher phases of these feelings; I so, the poet develops from
the typical expressions in which men utter passion and sentiment, those
choice forms of verbal combination in which concentrated passion and
sentiment may be fitly presented.

Sec. 54. There is one peculiarity of poetry conducing much to its
effect--the peculiarity which is indeed usually thought its
characteristic one--still remaining to be considered: we mean its
rhythmical structure. This, improbable though it seems, will be found to
come under the same generalization with the others. Like each of them,
it is an idealization of the natural language of strong emotion, which
is known to be more or less metrical if the emotion be not too violent;
and like each of them it is an economy of the reader's or hearer's
attention. In the peculiar tone and manner we adopt in uttering
versified language, may be discerned its relationship to the feelings;
and the pleasure which its measured movement gives us, is ascribable
to the comparative ease with which words metrically arranged can be
recognized.

Sec. 55. This last position will scarcely be at once admitted; but a little
explanation will show its reasonableness. For if, as we have seen,
there is an expenditure of mental energy in the mere act of listening to
verbal articulations, or in that silent repetition of them which goes
on in reading--if the perceptive faculties must be in active exercise
to identify every syllable--then, any mode of so combining words as
to present a regular recurrence of certain traits which the mind can
anticipate, will diminish that strain upon the attention required by the
total irregularity of prose. Just as the body, in receiving a series
of varying concussions, must keep the muscles ready to meet the most
violent of them, as not knowing when such may come; so, the mind in
receiving unarranged articulations, must keep its perceptives active
enough to recognize the least easily caught sounds. And as, if the
concussions recur in a definite order, the body may husband its forces
by adjusting the resistance needful for each concussion; so, if the
syllables be rhythmically arranged, the mind may economize its energies
by anticipating the attention required for each syllable.

Sec. 56. Far-fetched though this idea will perhaps be thought, a little
introspection will countenance it. That we do take advantage of metrical
language to adjust our perceptive faculties to the force of the expected
articulations, is clear from the fact that we are balked by halting
versification. Much as at the bottom of a flight of stairs, a step more
or less than we counted upon gives us a shock; so, too, does a misplaced
accent or a supernumerary syllable. In the one case, we _know_ that
there is an erroneous preadjustment; and we can scarcely doubt
that there is one in the other. But if we habitually preadjust our
perceptions to the measured movement of verse, the physical analogy
above given renders it probable that by so doing we economize attention;
and hence that metrical language is more effective than prose, because
it enables us to do this.

Sec. 57. Were there space, it might be worthwhile to inquire whether the
pleasure we take in rhyme, and also that which we take in euphony, axe
not partly ascribable to the same general cause.





PART II. CAUSES OF FORCE IN LANGUAGE WHICH DEPEND UPON ECONOMY OF THE
MENTAL SENSIBILITIES.




i. The Law of Mental Exhaustion and Repair.

Sec. 58. A few paragraphs only, can be devoted to a second division of
our subject that here presents itself. To pursue in detail the laws of
effect, as applying to the larger features of composition, would carry
us beyond our limits. But we may briefly indicate a further aspect of
the general principle hitherto traced out, and hint a few of its wider
applications.

Sec. 59. Thus far, then, we have considered only those causes of force in
language which depend upon economy of the mental _energies:_ we have
now to glance at those which depend upon economy of the mental
_sensibilities._ Questionable though this division may be as a
psychological one, it will yet serve roughly to indicate the remaining
field of investigation. It will suggest that besides considering the
extent to which any faculty or group of faculties is tasked in receiving
a form of words and realizing its contained idea, we have to consider
the state in which this faculty or group of faculties is left; and how
the reception of subsequent sentences and images will be influenced by
that state. Without going at length into so wide a topic as the exercise
of faculties and its reactive effects, it will be sufficient here to
call to mind that every faculty (when in a state of normal activity) is
most capable at the outset; and that the change in its condition,
which ends in what we term exhaustion, begins simultaneously with its
exercise. This generalization, with which we are all familiar in our
bodily experiences, and which our daily language recognizes as true
of the mind as a whole, is equally true of each mental power, from the
simplest of the senses to the most complex of the sentiments. If we hold
a flower to the nose for long, we become insensible to its scent. We say
of a very brilliant flash of lightning that it blinds us; which means
that our eyes have for a time lost their ability to appreciate light.
After eating a quantity of honey, we are apt to think our tea is without
sugar. The phrase "a deafening roar," implies that men find a very loud
sound temporarily incapacitates them for hearing faint ones. To a hand
which has for some time carried a heavy body, small bodies afterwards
lifted seem to have lost their weight. Now, the truth at once recognized
in these, its extreme manifestations, may be traced throughout. It may
be shown that alike in the reflective faculties, in the imagination,
in the perceptions of the beautiful, the ludicrous, the sublime, in
the sentiments, the instincts, in all the mental powers, however we may
classify them-action exhausts; and that in proportion as the action is
violent, the subsequent prostration is great.

Sec. 60. Equally, throughout the whole nature, may be traced the law that
exercised faculties are ever tending to resume their original state. Not
only after continued rest, do they regain their full power not only do
brief cessations partially reinvigorate them; but even while they are
in action, the resulting exhaustion is ever being neutralized. The
two processes of waste and repair go on together. Hence with faculties
habitually exercised--as the senses of all persons, or the muscles of
any one who is strong--it happens that, during moderate activity, the
repair is so nearly equal to the waste, that the diminution of power
is scarcely appreciable; and it is only when the activity has been long
continued, or has been very violent, that the repair becomes so far
in arrear of the waste as to produce a perceptible prostration. In
all cases, however, when, by the action of a faculty, waste has been
incurred, _some_ lapse of time must take place before full efficiency
can be reacquired; and this time must be long in proportion as the waste
has been great.




ii Explanation of Climax, Antithesis, and Anticlimax.

Sec. 61. Keeping in mind these general truths, we shall be in a condition
to understand certain causes of effect in composition now to be
considered. Every perception received, and every conception realized,
entailing some amount of waste--or, as Liebig would say, some change of
matter in the brain; and the efficiency of the faculties subject to
this waste being thereby temporarily, though often but momentarily,
diminished; the resulting partial inability must affect the acts of
perception and conception that immediately succeed. And hence we may
expect that the vividness with which images are realized will, in many
cases, depend on the order of their presentation: even when one order is
as convenient to the understanding as the other.

Sec. 62. There are sundry facts which alike illustrate this, and are
explained by it. Climax is one of them. The marked effect obtained
by placing last the most striking of any series of images, and the
weakness--often the ludicrous weakness--produced by reversing this
arrangement, depends on the general law indicated. As immediately after
looking at the sun we cannot perceive the light of a fire, while by
looking at the fire first and the sun afterwards we can perceive both;
so, after receiving a brilliant, or weighty, or terrible thought, we
cannot appreciate a less brilliant, less weighty, or less terrible one,
while, by reversing the order, we can appreciate each. In Antithesis,
again, we may recognize the same general truth. The opposition of two
thoughts that are the reverse of each other in some prominent trait,
insures an impressive effect; and does this by giving a momentary
relaxation to the faculties addressed. If, after a series of images of
an ordinary character, appealing in a moderate degree to the sentiment
of reverence, or approbation, or beauty, the mind has presented to it a
very insignificant, a very unworthy, or a very ugly image; the faculty
of reverence, or approbation, or beauty, as the case may be, having
for the time nothing to do, tends to resume its full power; and will
immediately afterwards appreciate a vast, admirable, or beautiful
image better than it would otherwise do. Conversely, where the idea
of absurdity due to extreme insignificance is to be produced, it maybe
greatly intensified by placing it after something highly impressive:
especially if the form of phrase implies that something still more
impressive is coming. A good illustration of the effect gained by thus
presenting a petty idea to a consciousness that has not yet recovered
from the shock of an exciting one, occurs in a sketch by Balzac. His
hero writes to a mistress who has cooled towards him the following
letter:

"Madame, Votre conduite m'etonne autant qu'elle m'afflige Non contente
de me dechirer le coeur par vos dedains vous avez l'indelicatesse de
me retenir une brosse a dents, que mes moyens ne me permettent pas de
remplacer, mes proprietes etant grevees d'hypotheques

"Adieu, trop, belle et trop ingrate ainie! Puissions nous nous revoir
dans un monde meilleur!

"Charles Edouard"

Sec. 63. Thus we see that the phenomena of Climax, Antithesis, and
Anticlimax, alike result from this general principle. Improbable as
these momentary variations in susceptibility may seem, we cannot doubt
their occurrence when we contemplate the analogous variations in the
susceptibility of the senses. Referring once more to phenomena of
vision, every one knows that a patch of black on a white ground looks
blacker, and a patch of white on a black ground looks whiter, than
elsewhere. As the blackness and the whiteness must really be the same,
the only assignable cause for this is a difference in their actions upon
us, dependent upon the different states of our faculties. It is simply a
visual antithesis.




iii. Need of Variety.

Sec. 64. But this extension of the general principle of economy--this
further condition to effective composition, that the sensitiveness of
the faculties must be continuously husbanded--includes much more than
has been yet hinted. It implies not only that certain arrangements and
certain juxtapositions of connected ideas are best; but that some modes
of dividing and presenting a subject will be more striking than others;
and that, too, irrespective of its logical cohesion. It shows why we
must progress from the less interesting to the more interesting; and
why not only the composition as a whole, but each of its successive
portions, should tend towards a climax. At the same time, it forbids
long continuity of the same kind of thought, or repeated production of
like effects. It warns us against the error committed both by Pope in
his poems and by Bacon in his essays--the error, namely, of constantly
employing forcible forms of expression: and it points out that as
the easiest posture by and by becomes fatiguing, and is with pleasure
exchanged for one less easy, so, the most perfectly-constructed
sentences will soon weary, and relief will be given by using those of an
inferior kind.

Sec. 65. Further, we may infer from it not only that we should avoid
generally combining our words in one manner, however good, or working
out our figures and illustrations in one way, however telling; but
that we should avoid anything like uniform adherence, even to the wider
conditions of effect. We should not make every section of our subject
progress in interest; we should not always rise to a climax. As we saw
that, in single sentences, it is but rarely allowable to fulfill all the
conditions to strength; so, in the larger sections of a composition
we must not often conform entirely to the law indicated. We must
subordinate the component effect to the total effect.

Sec. 66. In deciding how practically to carry out the principles of
artistic composition, we may derive help by bearing in mind a fact
already pointed out--the fitness of certain verbal arrangements
for certain kinds of thought. That constant variety in the mode of
presenting ideas which the theory demands, will in a great degree result
from a skilful adaptation of the form to the matter. We saw how the
direct or inverted sentence is spontaneously used by excited people;
and how their language is also characterized by figures of speech and by
extreme brevity. Hence these may with advantage predominate in emotional
passages; and may increase as the emotion rises. On the other hand,
for complex ideas, the indirect sentence seems the best vehicle. In
conversation, the excitement produced by the near approach to a
desired conclusion, will often show itself in a series of short, sharp
sentences; while, in impressing a view already enunciated, we generally
make our periods voluminous by piling thought upon thought. These
natural modes of procedure may serve as guides in writing. Keen
observation and skilful analysis would, in like manner, detect further
peculiarities of expression produced by other attitudes of mind; and
by paying due attention to all such traits, a writer possessed
of sufficient versatility might make some approach to a
completely-organized work.




iv. The Ideal Writer.

Sec. 67. This species of composition which the law of effect points out
as the perfect one, is the one which high genius tends naturally to
produce. As we found that the kinds of sentences which are theoretically
best, are those generally employed by superior minds, and by inferior
minds when excitement has raised them; so, we shall find that the ideal
form for a poem, essay, or fiction, is that which the ideal writer
would evolve spontaneously. One in whom the powers of expression fully
responded to the state of feeling, would unconsciously use that variety
in the mode of presenting his thoughts, which Art demands. This constant
employment of one species of phraseology, which all have now to strive
against, implies an undeveloped faculty of language. To have a specific
style is to be poor in speech. If we remember that, in the far past, men
had only nouns and verbs to convey their ideas with, and that from then
to now the growth has been towards a greater number of implements of
thought, and consequently towards a greater complexity and variety
in their combinations; we may infer that we are now, in our use of
sentences, much what the primitive man was in his use of words; and that
a continuance of the process that has hitherto gone on, must produce
increasing heterogeneity in our modes of expression. As now, in a
fine nature, the play of the features, the tones of the voice and
its cadences, vary in harmony with every thought uttered; so, in one
possessed of a fully developed power of speech, the mould in which
each combination of words is cast will similarly vary with, and be
appropriate to the sentiment.

Sec. 68. That a perfectly endowed man must unconsciously write in all
styles, we may infer from considering how styles originate. Why is
Johnson pompous, Goldsmith simple? Why is one author abrupt, another
rhythmical, another concise? Evidently in each case the habitual mode
of utterance must depend upon the habitual balance of the nature. The
predominant feelings have by use trained the intellect to represent
them. But while long, though unconscious, discipline has made it do this
efficiently, it remains from lack of practice, incapable of doing the
same for the less active feelings; and when these are excited, the usual
verbal forms undergo but slight modifications. Let the powers of speech
be fully developed, however--let the ability of the intellect to utter
the emotions be complete; and this fixity of style will disappear. The
perfect writer will express himself as Junius, when in the Junius frame
of mind; when he feels as Lamb felt, will use a like familiar speech;
and will fall into the ruggedness of Carlyle when in a Carlylean mood.
Now he will be rhythmical and now irregular; here his language will be
plain and there ornate; sometimes his sentences will be balanced and
at other times unsymmetrical; for a while there will be considerable
sameness, and then again great variety. His mode of expression naturally
responding to his state of feeling, there will flow from his pen a
composition changing to the same degree that the aspects of his subject
change. He will thus without effort conform to what we have seen to
be the laws of effect. And while his work presents to the reader that
variety needful to prevent continuous exertion of the same faculties,
it will also answer to the description of all highly organized products,
both of man and of nature: it will be not a series of like parts simply
placed in juxtaposition, but one whole made up of unlike parts that are
mutually dependent.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Philosophy of Style, by Herbert Spencer

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