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MS
404. [Published in part in CP 2.281, 285, and 297-302. This work, probably
composed early in 1894, was originally the first chapter of a book entitled
"The Art of Reasoning," but was then turned into the second chapter
of Peirce's multi-volume "How to Reason: A Critick
of Arguments" (also known as "Grand Logic").] In this
selection Peirce gives an account of signs based on an analysis of conscious
experience from the standpoint of his three universal categories. He
discusses the three principal kinds of signs—icons, indices, and symbols—and
provides many examples. He maintains, as he had earlier, that reasoning must
involve all three kinds of signs, and he claims that the art of reasoning is
the art of marshalling signs, thus emphasizing the relationship between logic
and semiotics. §1.
This is a most necessary question, since all reasoning is an interpretation
of signs of some kind. But it is also a very difficult question, calling for
deep reflection. (1) It
is necessary to recognize three different states of mind. First, imagine a
person in a dreamy state. Let us suppose he is thinking of nothing but a red
color. Not thinking about it, either, that is, not asking nor answering any
questions about it, not even saying to himself that it pleases him, but just
contemplating it, as his fancy brings it up. Perhaps, when he gets tired of
the red, he will change it to some other color,—say a turquoise blue,—or a
rose-color;—but if he does so, it will be in the play of fancy without any
reason and without any compulsion. This is about as near as may be to a state
of mind in which something is present, without compulsion and without reason;
it is called Feeling. Except in a half-waking hour, nobody really is in a
state of feeling, pure and simple. But whenever we are awake, something is
present to the mind, and what is present, without reference to any compulsion
or reason, is feeling. Second,
imagine our dreamer suddenly to hear a loud and prolonged steam whistle. At
the instant it begins, he is startled. He instinctively tries to get away;
his hands go to his ears. It is not so much that it is unpleasing, but it
forces itself so upon him. The instinctive resistance is a necessary part of
it: the man would not be sensible his will was borne down, if he had no
self-assertion to be borne down. It is the same when we exert ourselves
against outer resistance; except for that resistance we should not have
anything upon which to exercise strength. This sense of acting and of being
acted upon, which is our sense of the reality of things,—both of outward
things and of ourselves,—may be called the sense of Reaction. It does not
reside in any one Feeling; it comes upon the breaking of one feeling by
another feeling. It essentially involves two things acting upon one another. Third,
let us imagine that our now-awakened dreamer, unable to shut out the piercing
sound, jumps up and seeks to make his escape by the door, which we will
suppose had been blown to with a bang just as the whistle commenced. But the
instant our man opens the door let us say the whistle ceases. Much relieved,
he thinks he will return to his seat, and so shuts the door, again. No
sooner, however, has he done so than the whistle recommences. He asks himself
whether the shutting of the door had anything to do with it; and once more
opens the mysterious portal. As he opens it, the sound ceases. He is now in a
third state of mind: he is Thinking. That is, he is aware of learning,
or of going through a process by which a phenomenon is found to be governed
by a rule, or has a general knowable way of behaving. He finds that one
action is the means, or middle, for bringing about another result. This third
state of mind is entirely different from the other two. In the second there
was only a sense of brute force; now there is a sense of government by a
general rule. In Reaction only two things are involved; but in government
there is a third thing which is a means to an end. The very word means
signifies something which is in the middle between two others. Moreover, this
third state of mind, or Thought, is a sense of learning, and learning is the
means by which we pass from ignorance to knowledge. As the most rudimentary
sense of Reaction involves two states of Feeling, so it will be found that
the most rudimentary Thought involves three states of Feeling. As
we advance into the subject, these ideas, which seem hazy at our first
glimpse of them, will come to stand out more and more distinctly; and their
great importance will also force itself upon our minds. §2.
There are three kinds of interest we may take in a thing. First, we may have
a primary interest in it for itself. Second, we may have a secondary interest
in it, on account of its reactions with other things. Third, we may have a
mediatory interest in it, in so far as it conveys to a mind an idea about a
thing. In so far as it does this, it is a sign, or representation. §3.
There are three kinds of signs. Firstly, there are likenesses, or
icons; which serve to convey ideas of the things they represent simply by
imitating them. Secondly, there are indications, or indices; which
show something about things, on account of their being physically connected
with them. Such is a guidepost, which points down the road to be taken, or a
relative pronoun, which is placed just after the name of the thing intended
to be denoted, or a vocative exclamation, as "Hi! there," which
acts upon the nerves of the person addressed and forces his attention.
Thirdly, there are symbols, or general signs, which have become
associated with their meanings by usage. Such are most words, and phrases,
and speeches, and books, and libraries. Let
us consider the various uses of these three kinds of signs more closely. §4.
Likenesses. Photographs, especially instantaneous photographs, are very
instructive, because we know that they are in certain respects exactly like
the objects they represent. But this resemblance is due to the photographs
having been produced under such circumstances that they were physically
forced to correspond point by point to nature. In that aspect, then, they
belong to the second class of signs, those by physical connection. The case
is different, if I surmise that zebras are likely to be obstinate,
or otherwise disagreeable animals, because they seem to have a general
resemblance to donkeys, and donkeys are self-willed. Here the donkey serves
precisely as a probable likeness of the zebra. It is true we suppose that
resemblance has a physical cause in heredity; but then, this hereditary
affinity is itself only an inference from the likeness between the two
animals, and we have not (as in the case of the photograph) any independent
knowledge of the circumstances of the production of the two species. Another
example of the use of a likeness is the design an artist draws of a statue,
pictorial composition, architectural elevation, or piece of decoration, by
the contemplation of which he can ascertain whether what he proposes will be
beautiful and satisfactory. The question asked is thus answered almost with
certainty because it relates to how the artist will himself be affected. The
reasoning of mathematicians will be found to turn chiefly upon the use of
likenesses, which are the very hinges of the gates of their science. The
utility of likenesses to mathematicians consists in their suggesting, in a
very precise way, new aspects of supposed states of things. For example,
suppose we have a winding curve, with continual points where the curvature
changes from clockwise to counter-clockwise and conversely as in figure 1.
Let us further suppose that this curve is continued so that it crosses itself
at every such point of reversed bending in another such point. The result
appears in figure 2. It may be described as a number of ovals flattened
together, as if by pressure. One would not perceive that the first
description and the second were equivalent, without the figures. We shall
find, when we get further into the subject, that all
these different uses of likeness may be brought under one general formula.
In
intercommunication, too, likenesses are quite indispensable. Imagine two men
who know no common speech, thrown together remote from the rest of the race.
They must communicate; but how are they to do so? By imitative sounds, by
imitative gestures, and by pictures. These are three kinds of likenesses. It
is true that they will also use other signs, finger-pointings,
and the like. But, after all, the likenesses will be the only means of
describing the qualities of the things and actions which they have in mind.
Rudimentary language, when men first began to talk together, must have
largely consisted either in directly imitative words, or in conventional
names which they attached to pictures. The Egyptian language is an
excessively rude one. It was, as far as we know, the earliest to be written;
and the writing is all in pictures. Some of these pictures came to stand for
sounds,—letters and syllables. But others stand directly for ideas. They are
not nouns; they are not verbs; they are just pictorial ideas. §5.
Indications. But pictures alone,—pure likenesses,—can never convey the
slightest information. Thus, figure 3 suggests a wheel. But it leaves the
spectator uncertain whether it is a copy of something actually existing or a
mere play of fancy. The same thing is true of general language and of all symbols.
No combination of words (excluding proper nouns, and in the absence of
gestures or other indicative concomitants of speech) can ever convey the
slightest information. This may sound paradoxical; but the following
imaginary little dialogue will show how true it is:
Two
men, A and B, meet on a country road, when the following conversation ensues. B.
The owner of that house is the richest man in these parts. A.
What house? B.
Why do you not see a house to your right about seven kilometres
distant, on a hill? A.
Yes, I think I can descry it. B.
Very well; that is the house. Thus,
A has acquired information. But if he walks to a distant village and says
"the owner of a house is the richest man in those parts," the
remark will refer to nothing, unless he explains to his interlocutor how to
proceed from where he is in order to find that district and that house.
Without that, he does not indicate what he is talking about. To identify an
object, we generally state its place at a stated time; and in every case must
show how an experience of it can be connected with the previous experience of
the hearer. To state a time, we must reckon from a known epoch,—either the
present moment, or the assumed birth of Christ, or something of the sort.
When we say the epoch must be known, we mean it must be connected with the
hearer's experience. We also have to reckon in units of time; and there is no
way of making known what unit we propose to use except by appealing to the
hearer's experience. So no place can be described, except relatively to some
known place; and the unit of distance used must be defined by reference to
some bar or other object which people can actually use directly or indirectly
in measurement. It is true that a map is very useful in designating a place;
and a map is a sort of picture. But unless the map carries a mark of a known
locality, and the scale of miles, and the points of the compass, it no more
shows where a place is than the map in Gulliver's Travels shows the
location of Brobdingnag. (2) It is true that if a new
island were found, say, in the Arctic Seas, its location could be
approximately shown on a map which should have no lettering, meridians, nor
parallels; for the familiar outlines of Iceland, Nova Zemla,
Greenland, etc., serve to indicate the position. In such a case, we should
avail ourselves of our knowledge that there is no second place that any being
on this earth is likely to make a map of which has outlines like those of the
Arctic shores. This experience of the world we live in renders the map
something more than a mere icon and confers upon it the added characters of
an index. Thus, it is true that one and the same sign may be at once a
likeness and an indication. Still, the offices of these orders of signs are
totally different. It may be objected that likenesses as much as indices (3) are founded on experience,
that an image of red is meaningless to the color blind, as is that of erotic
passion to the child. But these are truly objections which help the
distinction; for it is not experience, but the capacity for
experience, which they show is requisite for a likeness; and this is
requisite, not in order that the likeness should be interpreted, but in order
that it should at all be presented to the sense. Very different is the case
of the inexperienced and the experienced person meeting the same man and
noticing the same peculiarities, which to the experienced man indicate a
whole history, but to the inexperienced reveal nothing. Let
us examine some examples of indications. I see a man with a rolling gait.
This is a probable indication that he is a sailor. I see a bowlegged man in
corduroys, gaiters, and a jacket. These are probable indications that he is a
jockey or something of the sort. A weathercock indicates the direction
of the wind. A sun-dial or a clock indicates the time of day.
Geometricians mark letters against the different parts of their diagrams and
then use those letters to indicate those parts. Letters are similarly used by
lawyers and others. Thus, we may say: If A and B are married to
one another and C is their child while D is brother of A,
then D is uncle of C. Here A, B, C, and D fulfill
the office of relative pronouns, but are more convenient since they require
no special collocation of words. A rap on the door is an indication. Anything
which focuses the attention is an indication. Anything which startles us is
an indication, in so far as it marks the junction between two portions of
experience. Thus a tremendous thunderbolt indicates that something
considerable happened, though we may not know precisely what the event was.
But it may be expected to connect itself with some other experience. §6.
Symbols. The word symbol has so many meanings that it would be
an injury to the language to add a new one. I do not think that the
signification I attach to it, that of a conventional
sign, or one depending upon habit (acquired or inborn), is so much a new
meaning as a return to the original meaning. Etymologically, it should mean a
thing thrown together, just as embolon
(embolum) is a thing thrown into something, a bolt,
and parabolon (parabolum) is a thing thrown besides, collateral
security, and upobolon
(hypobolum) is a thing thrown underneath, an antenuptial gift. It is usually said that in the word symbol,
the throwing together is to be understood in the sense of to conjecture;
but were that the case, we ought to find that sometimes, at least, it
meant a conjecture, a meaning for which literature may be searched in vain.
But the Greeks used "throw together" (sumballein)
very frequently to signify the making of a contract or convention. Now, we do
find symbol (sumbolon)
early and often used to mean a convention or contract. Aristotle calls a noun
a "symbol," that is, a conventional sign.(4) In Greek, (5) a watch-fire is a
"symbol," that is, a signal agreed upon; a standard or ensign is a
"symbol," a watch-word is a "symbol," a badge is a
"symbol"; a church creed is called a symbol, because it serves as a
badge or shibboleth; a theatre-ticket is called a "symbol"; any
ticket or check entitling one to receive anything is a "symbol."
Moreover, any expression of sentiment was called a "symbol." Such
were the principal meanings of the word in the original language. The reader
will judge whether they suffice to establish my claim that I am not seriously
wrenching the word in employing it as I propose to do. Any
ordinary word, as "give," "bird," "marriage,"
is an example of a symbol. It is applicable to whatever may be found to
realize the idea connected with the word; it does not, in itself,
identify those things. It does not show us a bird, nor enact before our eyes
a giving or a marriage, but supposes that we are able to imagine those
things, and have associated the word with them. §7.
A regular progression of one, two, three may be
remarked in the three orders of signs, Likeness, Index, Symbol. The likeness
has no dynamical connection with the object it represents; it simply happens
that its qualities resemble those of that object, and excite analogous
sensations in the mind for which it is a likeness. But it really stands
unconnected with them. The index is physically connected with its object;
they make an organic pair. But the interpreting mind has nothing to do with
this connection, except remarking it, after it is established. The symbol is
connected with its object by virtue of the idea of the symbol-using mind,
without which no such connection would exist. Every
physical force reacts between a pair of particles, either of which may serve
as an index of the other. On the other hand, we shall find that every
intellectual operation involves a triad of symbols. §8.
A symbol, as we have seen, cannot indicate any particular thing; it denotes a
kind of thing. Not only that, but it is itself a kind and not a single thing.
You can write down the word "star"; but that does not make you the
creator of the word, nor if you erase it have you destroyed the word. The
word lives in the minds of those who use it. Even if they are all asleep, it
exists in their memory. So we may admit, if there be reason to do so, that
generals are mere words without at all saying, as Ockham supposed, (6) that they are really
individuals. Symbols
grow. They come into being by development out of other signs, particularly
from likenesses or from mixed signs partaking of the nature of likenesses and
symbols. We think only in signs. These mental signs are of mixed nature; the
symbol-parts of them are called concepts. If a man makes a new symbol, it is
by thoughts involving concepts. So it is only out of symbols that a new
symbol can grow. Omne symbolum
de symbolo. (7) A symbol, once in being,
spreads among the peoples. In use and in experience, its meaning grows. Such
words as force, law, wealth, marriage, bear for us very different
meanings from those they bore to our barbarous ancestors. The symbol may,
with Emerson's sphynx, (8) say to man, Of
thine eye I am eyebeam. §9.
In all reasoning, we have to use a mixture of likenesses, indices, and
symbols. We cannot dispense with any of them. The complex whole may be
called a symbol; for its symbolic, living character is the prevailing
one. A metaphor is not always to be despised: though a man may be said to be
composed of living tissues, yet portions of his nails, teeth, hair, and
bones, which are most necessary to him, have ceased to undergo the metabolic
processes which constitute life, and there are liquids in his body which are
not alive. Now, we may liken the indices we use in reasoning to the hard
parts of the body, and the likenesses we use to the blood: the one holds us
stiffly up to the realities, the other with its
swift changes supplies the nutriment for the main body of thought. Suppose
a man to reason as follows: The Bible says that Enoch and Elijah were caught
up into heaven; then, either the Bible errs, or else it is not strictly true
that all men are mortal. What the Bible is, and what the historic world of
men is, to which this reasoning relates, must be shown by indices. The reasoner makes some sort of mental diagram by which he
sees that his alternative conclusion must be true, if the premise is so; and
this diagram is an icon or likeness. The rest is symbols; and the
whole may be considered as a modified symbol. It is not a dead thing, but
carries the mind from one point to another. The art of reasoning is the art
of marshalling such signs, and of finding out the truth. |
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1. Section numbers, which in the
manuscript begin with ¤31, here begin with ¤1, since the first chapter of
Peirce's projected book is not included. 2. Book II of Jonathan Swift's
Gulliver's Travels opens on a fanciful map of Brobdingnag
merged into a map of the North American Pacific coast. 3. Peirce wrote
"signs" instead of "indices," a mistake given the
preceding context. Some early writings, however, do refer to indices as
"signs" (see EP1:7). 4. De interpretatione,
II.16a.12. 5. Peirce wrote "in
Greek" rather than "in 6. Cf. William of Ockham's Summa
totius logicae, part i, ch.
14. 7. "Every symbol follows
from a symbol." 8. Peirce often quotes this
verse from the fourteenth stanza of Emerson's poem "The Sphinx" (Dial,
Jan. 1841). |
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