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ARCHBISHOP WHATELY'S BOOK OF SYNONYMS

Accuracy of language is one of the things which, in ordinary speech and writing, is but indifferently observed. The reason, perhaps, is to be sought, not in any general indifference to correctness or precision, but rather in the want of some recognised authority, some specific rules or principles, to which the use of words apparently synonymous, yet of slightly different signification, might be distinctly and easily referred. It is in regard to the finer shades of meaning, the subtler touches of expression, the application of words and phrases where the strictest exactness and perspicuity are required, that an ordinary English style is apt to become loose and shadowy; and it is precisely here that we are entitled to expect the severest, chastest form of utterance. Coleridge used to complain of a general confounding of the word 'notion' with 'idea,' and was often at great pains to point out the distinction between the two, as also between many other words similarly misused. Archdeacon Hare, too, has remarked upon the common misapplication of such words as 'education' for 'instruction,' 'government' for 'administration,' 'the church' for 'the priesthood' or 'ministry;' and indeed holds that such a confounding of terms leads to serious practical misunderstandings and confusions.³ Any one, upon reflection, will perceive that in the common use of these and numberless other words, there is often a signal lack of clearness and precision, and will hardly fail to notice that the error proceeds from a want of due attention to the nice and peculiar meanings of words which are vaguely presumed to have the same signification.

As a help to those who may wish to attain a somewhat more than common correctness of style and language, Archbishop Whately has recently published a small work on English Synonyms;⁴ and the rapidity with which the first edition has been disposed of leads us to infer that the public is to some extent prepared to take an interest in the subject. The second edition, 'revised and enlarged,' is now before us, and it is thought that a brief glance at its contents may not be unacceptable to some of our present readers.

The word 'synonym,' as the archbishop observes, is, in strict reality, a misnomer. 'Literally, it implies an exact coincidence of meaning in two or more words, in which case there would be no room for discussion; but it is generally applied to words which would be more correctly termed pseudo-synonyms—that is, words having a shade of difference, yet with a sufficient resemblance of meaning to make them liable to be confounded. And it is in the number and variety of these that, as the Abbé Girard well remarks, the richness of a language consists. To have two or more words with exactly the same sense, is no proof of copiousness, but simply an inconvenience. A house would not be called well furnished from its having a larger number of chairs and tables of one kind than were needed, but from its having a separate article for each distinct use. The more power we have of discriminating the nicer shades of meaning, the greater facility we possess of giving force and precision to our expressions. Our own language possesses great advantages in this respect; for being partly derived from the Teutonic, and partly from the Latin, we have a large number of duplicates from the two sources, which are, for the most part, though not universally, slightly varied in their meaning.

'These slight variations of meaning,' he proceeds, add to the copiousness of the English language, by affording words of more or less familiarity, and of greater and less force. This may easily be understood, if we consider that the branch of the Teutonic, spoken in England during the Anglo-Saxon period, never became extinct, but that three-fourths of the English language at present consist of words altered or derived from that ancient dialect; that these words usually express the most familiar ideas—such as man, house, land, &c.; and that the French terms gradually introduced, being those of a more highly civilised people, were adapted to express the more refined ideas. This is true even of physical objects; thus, for instance, most of the names of the animals used for food are still Teutonic—such as ox, sheep, swine, &c. The Anglo-Saxons, like the modern Germans, had no objection to say ox-flesh, sheep-flesh, swine's-flesh; but the Norman conquerors, introducing a more refined cookery, introduced with it French words for the flesh of the animal; hence we have beef, mutton, pork, &c.'

It has not been the author's design to notice all the synonyms in the language—that, as he remarks, would be an almost endless undertaking; 'but merely, after excluding technical terms, and words which do exactly coincide, to select a few of those groups of words which are in most frequent use, and are most liable to be confounded.' His purpose, perhaps, will be more distinctly shewn, if we add a few more sentences from the preface.

'Many persons,' says he, 'imagine that two words must either coincide precisely in their meaning, so as to be, in the primary and strict sense of the word, "synonymous," or else stand for two (more or less) distinct things. Indeed, it would often be regarded as almost a truism to assert this; but those who maintain such an opinion overlook the fact, that two words, without exactly coinciding in sense, may nevertheless relate to one and the same thing, regarded in two different points of view. An illustration of this is afforded in the relation which exists between the words, "inference" and "proof." Whoever justly infers, proves; and whoever proves, infers; but the word "inference" leads the mind from the premises which have been assumed, to the conclusion which follows from them; while the word "proof" follows a reverse process, and leads the mind from the conclusion to the premises. We say: "What do you infer from this?" and "How do you prove that?"⁵ Another illustration may be quoted in the synonyms, "expense" and "cost." The same article may be expensive and costly; but we speak of expense in reference to the means of the purchaser; of cost, in reference to the actual value of the article.'

This work does not profess to deal much with etymologies; the author thinking that any very strict attention to the derivation of words, in connection with synonyms, would only tend to confuse the subject. The history of the origin and growth of words must undoubtedly throw light upon their meanings; but he, nevertheless, holds the two questions to be completely distinct and separable; and thinks that, in an inquiry into the actual and present meaning of a word, the consideration of what it originally meant may frequently lead us into error. A few suggestive remarks are given upon this matter.

'Our question is, not what ought to be, or formerly was, the meaning of a word, but what it now is; nor can we be completely guided by quotations from Shakspeare or Milton, or even from Addison or Johnson. Language has undergone such changes, even within the last sixty or seventy years, that many words, at that time considered pure, are now obsolete; while others—of which the word "mob" is a specimen—formerly slang, are now used by our best writers, and received, like pardoned outlaws, into the body of respectable citizens.' The standard, accordingly, to which the author refers in the work before us, is the sense in which a word is used by the purest writers and most correct speakers of our own days.

The synonyms are arranged or classed according to the parts of speech to which they belong—namely, into particles, nouns, adjectives, and verbs. The uses of all the words are well defined, and sufficiently illustrated by examples; a table of contents and a complete index are also added, rendering reference to any word as easy as looking for it in a dictionary. The table of contents, indeed, will be found to serve most of the purposes of a vocabulary of synonyms: a glance at it will frequently give you all the words of similar signification to the particular one for which you may happen to require an equivalent. From the part of the book relating to verbs, we take the following; the words under notice being, To teach, instruct, inform, educate:—

'Of these words, the first two are often used synonymously, but they have also a distinct meaning. "Teaching," strictly speaking, when distinguished from instruction, is applied to the practice of an art or branch of knowledge: instruction, to the theory. A child is, correctly speaking, instructed in the grammar of a language, and taught to speak the language. Thus, teaching may be merely mechanical; while "instruction" implies a degree of understanding in the pupil, as well as in the master. A child who has been taught to learn lessons by rote, without understanding them, will find difficulty in comprehending instruction in the principles of what he has learned: hence, we speak of teaching a brute, but never of instructing it.

'Information,⁶ again, is distinguished from instruction, in relation to the truths conveyed by it. Matters of fact, made known to one who could not have known them before, are called information: instruction elicits new truths out of subject-matter already existing in the mind—(see Whately's Logic, book iv. § 1.)

'A traveller gives us information respecting foreign countries; a metaphysician instructs us in the principles of moral science—principles drawn from facts already known to us. The two processes may take place at the same time: a child in learning a lesson receives both information and instruction: he is taught things he never knew before, and also taught to apply and make use of what he does know already. In fact, pure mathematics is the only branch of instruction which includes no information, as the propositions are all based on principles previously assumed. In short, a person who is informed, knows something he did not before; one who is instructed, understands something he did not before; one who is taught, can do something he could not do before.

'Education is more comprehensive than any of the other words before us. It includes the whole course of moral and intellectual teaching. One who gives occasional lessons is not said to educate. To educate (agreeably to its derivation, from "e-duco," not "in-duco"), includes the drawing out of the faculties, so as to teach the pupil how to teach himself; which is one of the most valuable of arts.

'Moral training, considered by itself, is called "teaching;" this constitutes no exception to the rule laid down, as its object is to enable us, not to know, but to do what is right.'—(P. 32-34.)

'Few words, perhaps, are more apt to be misapplied than the string of adjectives treated of in the section next quoted—namely, benevolent, beneficent, charitable, munificent, liberal, bountiful, philanthropic.

'Benevolent and beneficent, together with their conjugates, have curiously diverged from their original meaning. Etymologically, "benevolent" implied merely wishing well to others, and "beneficent" doing well; now, "benevolent" includes both kinds of feelings and actions, and "beneficent" is restricted to acts of kindness on a great scale, and generally performed by some one of exalted station and character: hence, we speak of the "beneficence" rather than the "benevolence" of the Creator. It may perhaps be said to follow from this, that "benevolent" draws our attention more to the character of the agent; "beneficent," to that of the act performed—retaining, so far, a tinge of their etymology.

'"Charitable" (when not used in reference to a mild and candid judgment of others) seems to be restricted to one kind of benevolence—that which consists in alms-giving.

'"Munificent" resembles "beneficent," in referring always to favours on a large scale, and conferred by superiors; but there is this important difference, that "beneficent" always implies some real and essential good done, while "munificent," as its derivation implies, may be applied equally to any gift, whether really useful or not. One who makes a present of jewellery or pictures to a friend, is munificent, but would not be called "beneficent." If he raised a distressed family from starvation, the word "beneficent" would be more appropriate. But one who gives largely to the public, or to some institution, is called munificent. It seems to convey the idea of splendour. No one can be called munificent who does not give on a large scale.

'Any one who is ready to give freely, as the etymology implies, on whatever scale, is "liberal." "Bountiful," again, is stronger than "liberal," and implies giving in abundance; it also differs from "liberal" in being restricted to giving; while "liberal" is applied to an easy style of expenditure in general; to the reverse, in short, of "stingy," or "miserly." Many people live in a liberal style, who are very far from being "bountiful." Bountiful always seems to imply, giving out of an ample store.

'"Philanthropic," as its etymology indicates, implies benevolence solely in reference to the human race, and always to masses, not to individuals. One who devises some plan to benefit numbers, is called "philanthropic;" but we should not talk of "philanthropically giving a loaf to a hungry child."'—(P. 83-85.)

As space is beginning to press, our last extract must be short: it relates to words often enough employed indiscriminately—imagination, conception, fancy. '"Imagination" and "fancy" are frequently confounded together, but are, nevertheless, very distinct in their signification. In the first place, "imagination" implies more of a creative power than "fancy;" it requires a greater combination of various powers, and is therefore a higher exercise of genius. "Fancy," on the other hand, is more an employment of ingenuity and taste, though it also requires inventive power. Secondly, "imagination" implies a longer flight; "fancy," rather a succession of short efforts: the one is a steady blaze; the other, a series of sparkles. An epic poem would require an exercise of the first; a ballad, or other lighter production, of the last: hence, we may see that the difference between the two is, in some measure, one of subject-matter; for the same power which we call "fancy" when employed in a melody of Moore, would be called "imagination" in the works of Dante or Milton. In short, the efforts of "fancy" bear the same relation to those of "imagination" that the carving and polishing of a gem or seal does to sculpture.

'In the third place, wit may come into works of "fancy," and could not be admitted into the province of "imagination." The same with what are called conceits.

'"Conception" has something in common with imagination, but it implies more decidedly a creative power, and is referred to something tangible and real; whereas, in efforts of fancy and imagination, there is always a consciousness of unreality. The province of "conception" is that which has a real existence: hence, the productions of painters, sculptors, and musicians, are called "conceptions." "Conception" also denotes something framed and originated in our own mind; whereas the imagination or fancy may be acted on merely from without. The poet or writer of fiction exercises his own conceptions, but awakens the imagination of his readers.'

These quotations will give as general a notion of the work as can be conveyed by a few extracts. To those among our readers who may be in quest of such a book, we can decidedly recommend it as one that is certain to be useful. It is by far the best of the kind that we have ever happened to meet with; and we think that if it were universally studied and consulted, the result would be a great improvement of expression, both in common speech and literature.