{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_45041/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_45041","id":"gutenberg_45041","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45041","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Psychiatry/Psychology","Category: Teaching & Education","Psychology"],"text":"Transcriber's note:\n\n      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n\n\n\n\nMENTAL PHILOSOPHY: INCLUDING THE INTELLECT, SENSIBILITIES, AND WILL.\n\nby\n\nJOSEPH HAVEN, D. D., L. L. D.,\n\nLate Prof. of Systematic Theology in the Theological\nSeminary, Chicago, Ill., and Late Prof. of Intellectual\nand Moral Philosophy in Amherst College.\n\nImproved Edition.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNew York:\nSheldon and Company, 8 Murray Street.\n1881\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  Dr. Haven's Valuable Series of School and\n  College Text-Books.\n\n\n  MENTAL PHILOSOPHY                              $2.00\n\n  MORAL PHILOSOPHY                                1.75\n\n  HISTORY OF ANCIENT AND MODERN PHILOSOPHY. (In press).\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nEntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by\nGould and Lincoln,\nIn the Clerk's office of the District Court Of the\nDistrict of Massachusetts.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nIf any apology were necessary for adding yet another to the numerous\nworks on Mental Philosophy which have recently appeared, the\ncircumstances that led to the preparation of the present volume may,\nperhaps, constitute that apology.\n\nWhen called, several years since, to the chair of Mental and Moral\nPhilosophy, in this Institution, the text-books, then in use, seemed to\nme not well adapted to the wants of College students. Nor was it easy\nto make a change for the better. Of the works in this department, then\ngenerally in use in our Colleges, some presumed on a more extensive\nacquaintance with the science than most young men at this stage of\neducation are likely to possess; others, again, erring on the opposite\nextreme, were deficient in thorough and scientific treatment; while\nmost, if not all, were, at the best, incomplete, presenting but a\npartial survey of the entire field. In none of them was the science\nof mind presented in its completeness and symmetry, in a manner at\nonce simple, yet scientific; in none of them, moreover, was it brought\ndown to the present time. Something more complete, more simple, more\nthorough, seemed desirable.\n\nEvery year of subsequent experience as a teacher has but confirmed this\nimpression, and made the want of a book better adapted to the purposes\nof instruction, in our American Colleges, more deeply felt. The works\non mental science, which have recently appeared in this country,\nwhile they are certainly a valuable contribution to the department of\nphilosophy, seem to meet this deficiency in part, but _only_ in part.\nThey traverse usually but a portion of the ground which Psychology\nlegitimately occupies, confining their attention, for the most part, to\nthe _Intellectual_ Faculties, to the exclusion of the _Sensibilities_,\nand the _Will_.\n\nFeeling deeply the want which has been spoken of, it seemed to me,\nearly in my course, that something might be done toward remedying the\ndeficiency, by preparing with care, and delivering to the classes,\nlectures upon the topics presented in the books, as they passed along.\nThis course was adopted--a method devolving much labor upon the\ninstructor, but rewarding him by the increased interest and more rapid\nprogress of the pupils. Little by little the present work thus grew\nup, as the result of my studies, in connection with my classes, and of\nmy experience in the daily routine of the recitation and lecture room.\nGradually the lectures, thus prepared, came to take the place more and\nmore of a textbook, until there seemed to be no longer any reason why\nthey should not be put into the hands of the student as such.\n\nIt is much easier to decide what a work on mental science ought to be,\nthan to produce such a work. It should be comprehensive and complete,\ntreating of all that properly pertains to Psychology, giving to every\npart its due proportion and development. It should treat the various\ntopics presented, in a thorough and scientific manner. It should be\nconversant with the literature of the department, placing the student\nin possession, not only of the true doctrines, but, to some extent\nalso, of the _history_ of those doctrines, showing him what has been\nheld and taught by others upon the points in question. In style it\nshould be clear, perspicuous, concise, yet not so barren of ornament as\nto be destitute of interest to the reader.\n\nAt these qualities the writer has aimed in the present treatise; with\nwhat success, others must determine.\n\nAll science, in proportion as it is complete and true, becomes simple.\nIn proportion as this result is attained, the labor bestowed upon it\ndisappears from view, and the writer seems, perhaps, to others, to have\nsaid but a very plain and common thing. This is peculiarly the case\nwith mental science. The difficulty of discussing with clearness and\nsimplicity, and, at the same time, in a complete and thorough manner,\nthe difficult problems of Psychology, will be understood only by those\nwho make the attempt.\n\nJ. H.\n\n\n\n\n  CONTENTS\n\n  INTRODUCTION.\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n                                                      PAGE\n\n  ON THE NATURE AND IMPORTANCE OF MENTAL SCIENCE        15\n\n  SECTION   I.--NATURE OF THE SCIENCE                   15\n\n  SECTION  II.--IMPORTANCE OF MENTAL SCIENCE            20\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  ANALYSIS AND CLASSIFICATION OF THE MENTAL POWERS      29\n\n  SECTION   I.--GENERAL ANALYSIS                        29\n\n  SECTION  II.--ANALYSIS OF INTELLECTUAL POWERS         31\n\n  SECTION III.--HISTORICAL SKETCH--VARIOUS DIVISIONS\n   OF THE MENTAL FACULTIES                              35\n\n\n  DIVISION FIRST.\n\n  THE INTELLECTUAL FACULTIES.\n\n  PRELIMINARY TOPICS.\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n  CONSCIOUSNESS                                         39\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  ATTENTION                                             46\n\n  CHAPTER III.\n\n  CONCEPTION                                            53\n\n\n  PART FIRST.\n\n  THE PRESENTATIVE POWER.\n\n  SENSE, OR PERCEPTION BY THE SENSES                    58\n\n  SECTION  I.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS                     59\n\n  SECTION  II.--ANALYSIS OF THE PERCEPTIVE PROCESS      61\n\n  SECTION III.--ANALYSIS AND CLASSIFICATION OF THE\n   QUALITIES OF BODIES                                  65\n\n  SECTION  IV.--ORGANS OF SENSE--ANALYSIS OF THEIR\n   SEVERAL FUNCTIONS                                    68\n\n  SECTION   V.--AMOUNT OF INFORMATION DERIVED FROM\n   THE RESPECTIVE SENSES                                72\n\n  SECTION  VI.--CREDIBILITY OF OUR SENSATIONS AND\n   PERCEPTIONS                                          81\n\n  SECTION VII.--HISTORICAL SKETCH                       84\n\n     I. OF DIFFERENT DIVISIONS OF THE QUALITIES\n      OF BODIES                                         84\n\n    II. OF DIFFERENT THEORIES OF PERCEPTION             87\n\n\n  PART SECOND.\n\n  THE REPRESENTATIVE POWER.\n\n  GENERAL OBSERVATIONS                                  94\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n  MEMORY                                                96\n\n  SECTION   I.--MENTAL REPRODUCTION                     96\n\n     I. NATURE                                          96\n\n    II. LAWS                                           101\n\n  SECTION. II.--MENTAL RECOGNITION, AS DISTINGUISHED\n   FROM MENTAL REPRODUCTION                            113\n\n     I. GENERAL CHARACTER                              113\n\n    II. WHAT IS IMPLIED IN AN ACT OF MEMORY            118\n\n   III. QUALITIES OF MEMORY                            118\n\n    IV. MEMORY AS RELATED TO INTELLECTUAL STRENGTH     121\n\n     V. CULTIVATION OF MEMORY                          125\n\n    VI. EFFECTS OF DISEASE ON MEMORY                   128\n\n   VII. INFLUENCE OF MEMORY ON THE HAPPINESS OF LIFE  131\n\n  VIII. HISTORICAL SKETCH--DIFFERENT THEORIES\n   OF MEMORY                                           133\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  IMAGINATION                                          137\n\n  SECTION   I.--GENERAL CHARACTER OF THIS FACULTY      137\n\n  SECTION  II.--RELATION TO OTHER FACULTIES            138\n\n  SECTION III.--ACTIVE AND PASSIVE IMAGINATION         140\n\n  SECTION  IV.--IMAGINATION A SIMPLE FACULTY           142\n\n  SECTION   V.--NOT MERELY THE POWER OF COMBINATION    144\n\n  SECTION  VI.--LIMITED TO SENSIBLE OBJECTS            147\n\n  SECTION VII.--LIMITED TO NEW RESULTS                 148\n\n  SECTION VIII.--A VOLUNTARY POWER                     149\n\n  SECTION  IX.--USE AND ABUSE OF IMAGINATION           152\n\n  SECTION   X.--CULTURE OF IMAGINATION                 154\n\n  SECTION  XI.--HISTORIC SKETCH--VARIOUS DEFINITIONS\n   AND THEORIES OF IMAGINATION BY DIFFERENT WRITERS    158\n\n\n  PART THIRD.\n\n  THE REFLECTIVE POWER.\n\n  GENERAL OSERVATIONS                                  162\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n  THE SYNTHETIC PROCESS.--GENERALIZATION               165\n\n  SECTION   I.--NATURE OF THE SYNTHETIC PROCESS        165\n\n  SECTION  II.--PROVINCE AND RELATION OF SEVERAL\n   TERMS EMPLOYED TO DENOTE, IN PART, OR AS A WHOLE,\n   THIS POWER OF THE MIND                              177\n\n  SECTION III.--HISTORICAL SKETCH--THE REALIST AND\n   NOMINALIST CONTROVERSY                              177\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  THE ANALYTIC PROCESS--REASONING                      180\n\n  SECTION   I.--THE NATURE OF THE PROCESS              181\n\n  SECTION  II.--RELATION OF JUDGMENT AND REASONING     187\n\n  SECTION III.--DIFFERENT KINDS OF REASONING           189\n\n  I.  DEMONSTRATIVE                                    189\n\n  II. PROBABLE--(1.) FROM TESTIMONY;\n   (2.) FROM EXPERIENCE; (3.) FROM ANALOGY             192\n\n  SECTION IV.--USE OF HYPOTHESES AND THEORIES\n   IN REASONING                                        199\n\n  SECTION  V.--DIFFERENT FORMS OF REASONING            203\n\n     I. ANALYSIS OF THE PROPOSITION                    203\n\n    II. ANALYSIS OF THE SYLLOGISM                      205\n\n   III. LAWS OF SYLLOGISM                              207\n\n    IV. DIFFERENT KINDS OF SYLLOGISM                   209\n\n     V. DIFFERENT FORMS OF SYLLOGISM                   210\n\n    VI. LAWS OF THOUGHT ON WHICH THE SYLLOGISM DEPENDS 212\n\n   VII. USE AND VALUE OF THE SYLLOGISM                 213\n\n  VIII. HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE SCIENCE OF LOGIC      219\n\n\n  PART FOURTH.\n\n  INTUITIVE POWER.\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n  EXISTENCE AND NATURE OF THIS FACULTY                 229\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  TRUTHS AND CONCEPTIONS FURNISHED BY THIS FACULTY     238\n\n  SECTION  I.--PRIMARY TRUTHS                          238\n\n  SECTION II.--INTUITIVE CONCEPTIONS                   241\n\n    I. SPACE                                           241\n\n   II. TIME                                            244\n\n  III. IDENTITY                                        249\n\n   IV. CAUSE                                           257\n\n    V. IDEA OF THE BEAUTIFUL AND THE RIGHT             262\n\n  CHAPTER III.\n\n  THE CONCEPTION AND COGNIZANCE OF THE BEAUTIFUL       263\n\n  SECTION  I.--CONCEPTION OF THE BEAUTIFUL             263\n\n  SECTION II.--COGNIZANCE OF THE BEAUTIFUL             286\n\n  CHAPTER IV.\n\n  IDEA AND COGNIZANCE OF THE RIGHT                     303\n\n  SECTION  I.--IDEA OF RIGHT--WHENCE COMES THE IDEA    303\n\n  SECTION II.--COGNIZANCE OF THE RIGHT--1. NATURE\n   OF CONSCIENCE; 2. AUTHORITY OF CONSCIENCE           314\n\n\n  SUPPLEMENTARY TOPICS.\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n  INTELLIGENCE IN MAN AS DISTINGUISHED FROM\n   INTELLIGENCE IN THE BRUTE                           329\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  MIND AS AFFECTED BY CERTAIN STATES OF THE BRAIN\n   AND NERVOUS SYSTEM                                  342\n\n  SECTION   I.--SLEEP                                  343\n\n  SECTION  II.--DREAMS                                 351\n\n  SECTION III.--SOMNAMBULISM                           360\n\n  SECTION  IV.--INSANITY                               368\n\n\n  DIVISION SECOND.\n\n  THE SENSIBILITIES.\n\n  PRELIMINARY TOPICS.\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n  NATURE, DIFFICULTY, AND IMPORTANCE OF THIS\n   DEPARTMENT OF THE SCIENCE                           377\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  ANALYSIS AND CLASSIFICATION OF THE SENSIBILITIES     382\n\n\n  PART FIRST.\n\n  SIMPLE EMOTIONS.\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n  INSTINCTIVE EMOTIONS                                 395\n\n  SECTION   I.--OF THAT GENERAL STATE OF MIND KNOWN\n   AS CHEERFULNESS, AND ITS OPPOSITE, MELANCHOLY       396\n\n  SECTION  II.--SORROW AT LOSS OF FRIENDS              399\n\n  SECTION III.--SYMPATHY WITH THE HAPPINESS AND\n   SORROW OF OTHERS                                    402\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  RATIONAL EMOTIONS                                    409\n\n  SECTION   I.--EMOTIONS OF JOY OR SADNESS, ARISING\n   FROM THE CONTEMPLATION OF OUR OWN EXCELLENCE,\n   OR THE REVERSE                                      409\n\n  SECTION  II.--ENJOYMENT OF THE LUDICROUS             413\n\n  SECTION III.--ENJOYMENT OF THE NEW AND WONDERFUL     424\n\n  SECTION  IV.--ENJOYMENT OF THE BEAUTIFUL, AND\n   THE SUBLIME                                         427\n\n  SECTION   V.--SATISFACTION IN VIEW OF RIGHT\n   CONDUCT, AND REMORSE IN VIEW OF WRONG               434\n\n\n  PART SECOND.\n\n  THE AFFECTIONS.\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n  BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS                                441\n\n  SECTION   I.--LOVE OF KINDRED                        442\n\n  SECTION  II.--LOVE OF FRIENDS                        447\n\n  SECTION III.--LOVE OF BENEFACTORS                    451\n\n  SECTION  IV.--LOVE OF HOME AND COUNTRY               454\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  MALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS                                458\n\n  RESENTMENT, WITH ITS MODIFICATIONS, ENVY,\n   JEALOUSY, REVENGE                               458-469\n\n\n  PART THIRD.\n\n  THE DESIRES.\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n  NATURE AND CLASSIFICATION OF DESIRES                 473\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  DESIRES ARISING FROM THE PHYSICAL CONSTITUTION.      477\n\n  CHAPTER III.\n\n  DESIRES ARISING FROM THE CONSTITUTION OF THE MIND    481\n\n  SECTION   I.--DESIRE OF HAPPINESS                    481\n\n  SECTION  II.--DESIRE OF KNOWLEDGE                    487\n\n  SECTION III.--DESIRE OF POWER                        490\n\n  SECTION  IV.--CERTAIN MODIFICATIONS OF THE DESIRE\n   OF POWER, AS DESIRE OF SUPERIORITY AND DESIRE\n   OF POSSESSION                                       493\n\n  SECTION   V.--DESIRE OF SOCIETY                      501\n\n  SECTION  VI.--DESIRE OF ESTEEM                       505\n\n  CHAPTER IV.\n\n  HOPE AND FEAR                                        510\n\n\n  DIVISION THIRD.\n\n  THE WILL.\n\n  PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n\n  NATURE OF THE WILL                                   520\n\n  SECTION  I.--ELEMENTS INVOLVED IN AN ACT OF WILL     521\n\n  SECTION II.--INVESTIGATION OF THESE ELEMENTS         523\n\n    I. MOTIVE                                          523\n\n   II. CHOICE                                          526\n\n  III. EXECUTIVE VOLITION                              530\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  RELATION OF THE WILL TO OTHER FACULTIES              531\n\n  CHAPTER III.\n\n  FREEDOM OF THE WILL                                  538\n\n  SECTION  I.--PRESUMPTIONS IN FAVOR OF FREEDOM        539\n\n  SECTION II.--DIRECT ARGUMENT                         544\n\n  CHAPTER IV.\n\n  CERTAIN QUESTIONS CONNECTED WITH THE PRECEDING       549\n\n  SECTION   I.--CONTRARY CHOICE                        549\n\n  SECTION  II.--POWER TO DO WHAT WE WERE NOT\n   DISPOSED TO DO                                      551\n\n  SECTION III.--INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES                   554\n\n     I. IS THE WILL ALWAYS AS THE GREATEST APPARENT\n      GOOD                                             554\n\n    II. IS THE WILL DETERMINED BY THE STRONGEST\n      MOTIVE                                           555\n\n   III. ARE MOTIVES THE CAUSE AND VOLITIONS THE\n     EFFECT                                            556\n\n  CHAPTER V.\n\n  THE DOCTRINE OF THE WILL VIEWED IN CONNECTION\n   WITH CERTAIN TRUTHS OF RELIGION                     560\n\n  SECTION  I.--THE POWER WHICH GOD EXERTS OVER\n   THE HUMAN MIND AND WILL                             561\n\n  SECTION II.--MAN'S POWER OVER HIMSELF                566\n\n  CHAPTER VI.\n\n  STRENGTH OF WILL                                     569\n\n  CHAPTER VII.\n\n  HISTORICAL SKETCH--OUTLINE OF THE CONTROVERSY\n   RESPECTING FREEDOM OF THE WILL                      573\n\n  REFERENCES                                           584\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nON THE NATURE AND IMPORTANCE OF MENTAL SCIENCE.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--NATURE OF THE SCIENCE.\n\n_Mental Philosophy, what._--What is Mental Philosophy, as distinguished\nfrom other branches of science?\n\nPhilosophy, in the wide sense usually given it, denotes the\ninvestigation and explanation of the causes of things; it seeks to\ndiscover, and scientifically to state, the general laws both of matter\nand mind; its object is to ascertain facts, and their relation to each\nother. Mental Philosophy has for its object to ascertain the facts and\nlaws of mental operation.\n\n_Metaphysics, what._--Of the two grand departments of human\nknowledge--the science of matter and the science of mind--the former,\ncomprising whatever relates to material phenomena, the science of\nnature, is known under the general name of _Physics_; the latter, the\nscience of mind, is often designated by the corresponding term, neither\nvery correct nor very fortunate, _Metaphysics_. This term is often\nused to include whatever does not properly fall under the class of\nPhysics. In its strict sense, it does not include so much, but denotes\nproperly the science of abstract truth; the science of being, in itself\nconsidered--apart from its particular accidents and properties--that\nwhich we now call Ontology. The term is commonly ascribed to\nAristotle, but incorrectly. It originated with his followers. Several\ntreatises of his relating to natural science having been collected and\npublished, under the title [Greek: ta physika], other treatises on\nphilosophical subjects were afterward arranged under the title [Greek:\nta metaphysika], indicating their relation to the former, as proper to\nbe read after the perusal of those. Hence the term came into use in the\ngeneral sense, already spoken of, to denote whatever is not included\nunder physics although originally employed with a much more limited\nmeaning.\n\n_Mental Philosophy not properly Metaphysics._--Neither in its wider\nnor in its stricter sense does this term properly designate the\nscience of mind. Mental Philosophy neither embraces every thing not\nincluded under physics, nor is it the science of abstract being. As\none of the intellectual, in distinction from the physical sciences,\nit holds a place along with Logic--the science of the laws of human\nthought and reasoning; Ethics--the science of morals; Politics--the\nscience of human organization and government; to which should be added\nOntology--the science of pure being; all which are properly embraced\nunder the term Metaphysics in its wider and popular sense. To designate\nthe science of mind in distinction from these other sciences, some more\ndefinite term is required. The word _Psychology_ is now coming into use\nas such a term.\n\n_Mental Philosophy a Natural Science._--The science of mind, indeed,\ndeserves in one aspect to be ranked among the _natural_ sciences. It is\na science resting on experience, observation, and induction--a science\nof facts, phenomena and laws which regulate the same. That which is\nspecifically its object of investigation--the human mind--is strictly\na part, and most important part of _nature_, unless we exclude man\nhimself from the world to which he belongs, and of which he is lord.\n\n_Possibility of such a Science._--The possibility of the science of\nthe human mind has been denied by some; but without good reason. If\nwe can observe and classify the phenomena of nature, in her varied\nforms, animate and inanimate, and ascertain in this way the laws to\nwhich she is subject; if it is possible thus to construct a science\nof plants, of animals, of the elements that compose the substance of\nthe earth, of the strata that lie arranged beneath its surface, of\nthe forces and agencies that at any time, recent or remote, have been\nat work to produce the changes which have taken place upon and within\nour globe--nay, more, if leaving our own planet we may, by careful\nobservation of the heavenly bodies, learn their places, movements,\ndistances, estimate their magnitude and density, measure their speed,\nand thus construct a science of the stars, surely the phenomena of our\nown minds, the data of our own consciousness, must be at least equally\nwithin our reach, and equally capable of observation, classification,\nand scientific statement. If we can observe the habits of animals and\nplants, we can observe also the habits of men, and the phenomena of\nhuman thought and passion. If the careful induction of general truths\nand principles from observed facts form the basis and method of true\nscience in the one case, so in the other.\n\n_Science of Matter and of Mind analogous._--The science of matter,\nand the science of mind agree perfectly in this, that all we know of\neither is simply the phenomena which they exhibit. We know not matter\nas it is in itself, but only as it affects our senses. We perceive\ncertain qualities or properties of it, and these we embody in our\ndefinition, and beyond these we say nothing, because we know nothing.\nEqually relative is our knowledge of mind. What it is in itself we\nknow not, but only its phenomena as presented to our observation and\nconsciousness. It thinks and feels, it perceives, remembers, reasons,\nit loves, hates, desires, determines; these exercises are matter of\nexperience and observation; they constitute our knowledge and our\ndefinition of mind, and beyond we cannot go.\n\n_Modes and Sources of Information the same in both._--This being the\ncase, it is evident that both our sources of information, and our mode\nof investigation, must be essentially the same in the two departments\nof science. In either case our knowledge must be limited to phenomena\nmerely, and these must be learned by observation and experience. A\ncareful induction of particulars will place us in possession of general\nprinciples, or laws, and these, correctly ascertained and stated, will\nconstitute our science, whether of matter or mind.\n\n_They differ in one Respect._--In one respect, indeed, our means of\ninformation with regard to the two branches of science differ. While\nboth matter and mind can be known only by the observation of the\nphenomena which they present, in mental science the field of such\nobservation lies in great part within ourselves--the phenomena are\nthose of our own present or former consciousness--the mind is at once\nboth the observer and the object observed. This circumstance, which at\nfirst seems to present a difficulty, is in reality a great advantage\nwhich this science possesses over all others.\n\n_Apparent Difficulty._--The difficulty which it seems to present is\nthis: How can the eye perceive itself? How can the mind, as employed,\nfor example, in remembering, or judging, or willing, inspect its own\noperations, since the moment its attention is turned to itself it is\nno longer engaged in that operation which it seeks to inspect--is no\nlonger remembering, or judging, or willing, but is employed only in\nself-observation? We admit that the mind, in the very instant of its\nexercising any given faculty, cannot make itself, as thus engaged,\nthe object of attention. But the operations of the mind, as given in\nconsciousness, at any moment, may be retained or replaced by memory\nthe next moment, and as thus replaced and attested, may stand before\nus the proper objects of our investigation, so long as we please. This\nputs it in the power of the mind to observe and to know itself.\n\n_Real Advantage._--The advantage accruing from the circumstance that\nthe phenomena to be observed are those of our own present or former\nconsciousness, is this: that those phenomena are fully within our\nreach, and also are capable of being known with greater certainty. In\nphysical science the facts may be scattered over the globe, and over\ncenturies of time, not personally accessible to any one observer in\ntheir completeness, and yet that completeness of observation may be\nessential to correct science. In psychology, the observer has within\nhimself the essential elements of the science which he explores; the\ndata which he seeks, are the data of his own consciousness; the science\nwhich he constructs is the science of himself.\n\n_Comparative Value of this kind of Knowledge._--The knowledge thus\ngiven in conscious experience is more correct and reliable than any\nother. It has this peculiarity that it cannot be disputed. I may be\nmistaken in regard to the properties of a piece of matter which I\nhold in my hand, and which seems to me to be square or round, of such\nor such a color, and of such or such figure, size, and density; but\nI cannot be mistaken as to the fact, that it _seems_ to me to be of\nsuch color, figure, etc. The former are results of perception and\njudgment; the latter is an immediate datum of consciousness, and cannot\nbe called in question. To doubt our own consciousness is to call in\nquestion our very doubt, since the only evidence of our doubting is\nthe consciousness that we doubt. As to the phenomena of the external\nworld--the things that are passing without--I may be mistaken; as to\nwhat is passing in my own mind--the thoughts, feelings, volitions of my\nown conscious self--there is no room for doubt or mistake.\n\n_Not limited to Consciousness._--I do not mean, by what has been\nsaid, to imply that in our own observation of mental phenomena we\nare limited to the experience of our own minds, but only that this\nis the principal source of our information. The mental operations of\nothers, so far as we have access to their minds, are also legitimate\ndata. These we may observe for ourselves in the daily intercourse of\nlife, may notice how, under given circumstances, men will think, feel,\nand act, and the knowledge thus acquired will constitute a valuable\naddition to our self-knowledge. We may receive also, in this science,\nas in any other, the testimony of others as to their own mental states\nand operations. In so far as psychology relies upon these sources, it\nstands on a footing with other sciences.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--IMPORTANCE OF MENTAL SCIENCE.\n\n_Comparative Neglect._--That the science of the mind has not hitherto\nheld that high place in the public regard and estimation, at least\nin our own country, to which it is justly entitled, as compared with\nother branches of knowledge, can hardly be denied. The cause of this\ncomparative neglect is to be found partly in the nature of the science\nitself, partly in the exclusively practical tendencies of the age.\n\n_The first Cause considered._--The _nature of the science_ is such\nthat its benefits are not immediately apparent. The dullest mind can\nperceive some use in chemistry, or botany, or natural philosophy. They\nare of service in the analysis of soils, the rotation of crops, the\ncomprehension of the laws of mechanical and chemical forces. But mental\nscience has no such application, no such practical results patent and\nobvious to the careless eye. Its dwelling-place and sphere of action\nlie removed somewhat from the observations of men. It has no splendid\ncabinets or museums to throw open to the gaze of the multitude. It\ncannot arrange in magnificent collection all the varieties of mental\naction, all the complications of thought and feeling as yet observed,\nnor illustrate by curious instruments, and nice experiments, the\nwonderful laws of association, the subtle changes and swift flashes\nof wit and fancy, and quick strong emotion, the impulses of desire,\nthe curious play of volition, the unexplained mystery of thought, the\nlights and shadows that come and go upon the field of consciousness.\nFor these curious and wonderful phenomena of the inner life there are\nno philosophic instruments or experiments, no charts or diagrams. Nor\nare there yet brilliant discoveries to be made, nor splendid rewards to\nbe gained by the votaries of this science. \"Four or five new metals,\"\nsays Sydney Smith, \"have been discovered within as many years, of the\nexistence of which no human being could have had any suspicion; but no\nman that I know of pretends to discover four or five new passions.\"\n\n_The second Cause._--But the chief obstacle, as I suppose, to the more\ngeneral cultivation of mental science is to be found in the exclusively\npractical tendencies of the age. We are a people given more to action\nthan to thought, to enterprise than to speculation. This is perhaps\ninseparable from the condition of a new state. An age of action is\nseldom an age of reflection. External life demands the energies of\na new people. The elements are to be subdued, mountains levelled,\ngraded, tunnelled, roads constructed, cities built, and many useful,\nnecessary works to be wrought with toil and cost, before that period\ncomes of golden affluence, and leisure, and genial taste, and elegant\nculture, that can at once appreciate and reward the higher efforts of\nphilosophic investigation.\n\n_Relation to other Sciences._--The _importance_ of mental science\nappears from its relation to other sciences. We find in nature a\ngradually ascending series. As we pass from the observation and study\nof the mineral to the forms of vegetable life, from the plant to the\ninsect--and thence to the animal, and from the animal, in his various\norders and classes, to man, the highest type of animated existence on\nthe earth, we are conscious of a progression in the rank and dignity\nof that which we contemplate. But it is only when we turn our attention\nfrom all these to the intelligence that dwells within the man, and\nmakes him master and lord of this lower world, that we stand upon the\nsummit of elevation and overlook the wide field of previous inquiry.\nToward this all other sciences lead, as paths along the mountain side,\nstarting from different points, and running in different directions,\nconverge toward a common terminus at the summit. As the mineral, the\nplant, the insect, the animal, in all their curious and wonderful\norganizations, are necessarily inferior to man, so is the science of\nthem, however important and useful, subordinate to the science of man\nhimself; and as the human body, curious and wonderful in its organism\nand its laws, is nevertheless inferior in dignity and worth to the\nspirit that dwells within, and is the true lord of this fair castle\nand this wide and beautiful domain, so is the science of the body,\nits mechanism, its chemistry, its anatomy, its laws, inferior to the\nscience of the mind, the divinity within.\n\n_Other Sciences Creations of the Mind._--Many of the sciences justly\nregarded as the most noble, are themselves the creations of the mind.\nSuch, for example, is the science of number and quantity--a science\nleading to the most sublime results, as in the calculations of the\nastronomer, yet a pure product of the human intellect. Indeed what is\nall science but the work of mind? The creations of art are wonderful,\nbut the mind that can conceive and execute those creations is still\nmore to be admired. Language is wonderful, but chiefly as a production\nand expression of mind. The richness, the affluence, the eloquence, the\nexactness, the beauty, for example, of the Greek tongue, of what are\nthese the qualities, and where did they dwell--in the Greek language,\nor in the Greek mind? Which is really the more noble and wonderful\nthen, the language itself, or the mind that called into being such a\nlanguage, and employed it as an instrument of expression; and of which\nis the science most noble and worthy of regard?\n\nWe admire the genius of a Kepler and a Copernicus, we sympathize with\ntheir enthusiasm as they observe the movements and develop the laws\nof the heavenly bodies; we look through the telescope, not without a\nfeeling of awe, as it seems to lift us up, and bear us away into the\nunknown and the infinite, revealing to us what it would almost seem had\nnever been intended for the human eye to see; but one thing is even\nmore wonderful than the telescope--that is the mind that contrived\nit. One thing is more awe-inspiring than the stars, and that is the\nmind that discovers their hidden laws, and unlocks their complicated\nmovements; and when we would observe the most curious and wonderful\nthing of all, we must leave the tubes and the tables, the calculations\nand the diagrams with which the man works, and study the man himself,\nthe workman.\n\n_Relation of this Science to the practical Arts and Sciences._--But\naside from the view now presented, the connection of mental science\nwith other and practical arts and sciences is much more intimate\nthan is usually supposed. Take for example the very noblest of all\nsciences--theology; we find it, in an important sense, based upon and\nreceiving its shape and character from the views which we entertain,\nand the philosophy which we adopt of the human mind. Our philosophy\nunderlies our theology, even as the solid strata that lie unseen\nbeneath the surface give shape and contour and direction to the lofty\nmountain range.\n\n_Psychology as related to Theology._--Not to speak of the very idea\nwhich we form of the divine Being, borrowed as it must be, in a\nsense, from our previous conception of the human mind, and our own\nspiritual existence, not to speak of the arguments by which we seek to\nestablish the existence of the divine Being, involving as they do some\nof the nicest and most important of the laws of human thought, what\nproblems, we may ask, go deeper into the groundwork of any theological\nsystem than those pertaining to human ability, and the freedom of the\nwill--the government of the affections and desires--the power of a man\nover himself, to be other and better than he is, and to do what God\nrequires. But these are questions purely psychological. You cannot\nstir a step in the application of theology to practical life, till you\nhave settled in some way these questions, and that view, whatever it\nbe, crude or profound, intelligible or absurd, is, for the time, your\nscience, your philosophy of the mind.\n\n_Psychology as related to the healing Art._--Scarcely less intimate is\nthe connection of psychology with the science of life. The physician\nfinds in the practice of his profession, that in order to success,\nthe laws of the human mind must constitute an important part of his\nstudy--how to avoid, and how to touch, the secret springs of human\naction. A word rightly spoken is often better than a medicine. In order\nto comprehend the nature of disease he must understand the effect on\nthe bodily organization of the due, and also of the undue, exertion\nof each of the mental faculties; in fine, the whole relation of the\nmind to the bodily functions, and its influence over them--a field\nof inquiry as yet but imperfectly understood, if indeed adequately\nappreciated by the medical profession.\n\n_As related to Oratory._--To the public speaker, whether at the bar, in\nthe public assembly, in the halls of legislation, or in the pulpit, it\nneed hardly be said that a knowledge of this science, and the ability\nto make practical use of it, is indispensable. Success in oratory\ndepends, doubtless, in a measure, upon other things; but he who best\nunderstands the laws and operations of the human mind, how to touch the\nsensibilities, how to awaken the passions, how to excite the fears and\nthe hopes, how to rouse the resentment of his hearers, how to soothe\nthe troubled spirits, and allay the excitement of feeling, and disarm\nprejudice, and call into play the sober reason and calm judgment of\nman, will best be able to accomplish his purpose. He will be able to\nturn to his own account the circumstances of the occasion, and like\na skillful organist, touch with ease, yet with precision and effect,\nwhat key he will. No man can do this who does not well understand the\ninstrument.\n\n_As related to the Art of Education._--Especially is this science of\nuse to the _teacher_ in the knowledge which it gives him of the mind\nof his pupil, and the skill in dealing with that mind. The mind of\nthe pupil is to him the instrument on which he is required to play--a\ncurious instrument of many and strange keys and stops--capable of being\ntouched to wonderful harmony, and to fearful discord;--and to handle\nthis instrument well is no ordinary acquirement. What shall we say of\nthe man who knows nothing of the instrument, but only the music to be\nperformed, nothing of the mind to be taught, but only the knowledge\nto be communicated? To know the mind that is to be taught, how to\nstimulate, how to control, how to encourage, how to restrain, how to\nguide and direct its every movement and impulse, is not this the very\nfirst and chief thing to be known?\n\n_Connection of this Science with our own personal Interests._--The\nimportance of mental science is evident not only from its relation\nto other sciences, but from the relation it sustains to man and his\nhigher interests. Some sciences interest us as abstractions--merely\nspeculative systems of truth; others as realities, but of such a\nnature, and so remote from the personal interests and wants of the race\nto which we belong, that they make little appeal to our sensibilities.\nThus it is with mathematical and astronomical truth. The heavenly\nbodies, whose movements we observe, hold on their swift silent way, in\nthe calmness of their own eternity, regardless of man and his destiny,\neven as they rolled ages ago, and as they will ages hence. What have\nwe to do with them or they with us? We watch them as they hold their\ncourse through the deep firmament, as children, standing on the\nsea-side, watch the distant snowy sail that glides silently along the\nhorizon, afar off, beautiful, unknown. So sail those swift ships of the\nfirmament, and only he who made them knows their history.\n\n_Psychology in contrast with other Sciences in this respect._--But\nwhen we come to the study of ourselves, and the laws of our own\nintelligence, our inquiries assume a practical importance which\nattaches to no other departments of truth. It is no longer the sail\ndimly visible on the far horizon, but our own conscious being that is\nthe object of thought. The question no longer is, Whence comes that\nswift ship, and whither goes it, but, What am I, and whither going;\nwhat my history, and my destiny? This mysterious soul which animates\nme, and is the presiding divinity over all my actions, what is it, with\nall its wondrous faculties--sense, imagination, reason, will--those\npowers of my being? What is that change which passes upon me, which men\ncall sleep, and that more mysterious and fearful change that must soon\npass upon me, and that men call death? How is it that events of former\nyears come back to mind, with all the freshness and reality of passing\nscenes? What is that principle of my nature that ever assumes to itself\nthe right of command, saying to all my inclinations and passions, thou\nshalt, and thou shalt not, and when I disobey that mandate, filling my\nwhole soul with misery, my whole future existence with remorse? And\nwhat and whence that word _ought_, that has so much to do with me and\nmy pursuits: ought what, and why ought, and to whom?--Am I free, or am\nI subject to inevitable necessity; if free, then how are all my actions\ncontrolled, and predetermined by a divine Providence? If not free,\nthen how am I responsible? Who shall solve this problem; who shall\nread me this strange inexplicable riddle of human life? Such are the\nquestions and themes which mental philosophy discusses, and we perceive\nat a glance their intimate connection with the highest interests and\npersonal wants of man as an individual.\n\n_Connection of this Science with mental Discipline._--The importance\nof mental science may be further apparent in its effect on the culture\nand discipline of the mind. It is the peculiar effect of this science\nto sharpen and quicken the mental powers, to teach precision and\nexactness of thought and expression, to train the mind to habits of\nclose attention and concentration of thought, to lead it to inquire\ninto the causes and relations of things; in a word, to render it\nfamiliar with the great art of distinguishing things that differ. It\nwould hardly be possible to name another branch of study that tends so\ndirectly to produce these results in the cultivation of the mind.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nANALYSIS AND CLASSIFICATION OF THE MENTAL POWERS.\n\n\n_Importance of such a preliminary Investigation._--It is of the highest\nimportance, as we approach a science like the one before us, to obtain,\nif possible, at the outset, a clear and comprehensive view of the\nfield about to be explored. It is desirable that the traveller, before\nentering a new country, should learn something respecting its extent,\nits political and geographical divisions, its manners, its laws, its\nhistory. Even more necessary is it, in entering upon a new science,\nto know its boundaries and divisions, to obtain a clear idea, at the\nvery commencement of our inquiries, of the number, nature, extent, and\narrangement of the subject we are about to investigate. Otherwise we\nshall be liable to confusion and error, shall not know where, at any\nmoment, in the wide field of investigation, we may chance to be, or\nwhat relation the topic of our immediate inquiry holds to the whole\nscience before us; as a ship on the ocean, without observation and\nreckoning, loses her latitude and longitude. We shall be liable to\nconfound those distinctions which are of less, with those which are of\nmore importance, and to mistake the relation which the several topics\nof inquiry bear to each other. Especially is this previous survey and\ncomprehension of the subject essential in a science like this, where so\nmuch depends on the clearness and accuracy with which we distinguish\ndifferences often minute, and on the definiteness with which we mark\noff and lay out the several divisions of our work. A thorough analysis\nand classification of the various faculties of the mind is necessary,\nin the first place, before we enter upon the special investigation of\nany one of them. Such a classification must serve as our guide-book and\nchart in all further inquiries.\n\n_Difficulty of such an Investigation._--The importance of such a\npreliminary investigation is scarcely greater than its difficulty. It\nwould be easy, indeed, to mention, almost at random, a considerable\nnumber of mental operations, with whose names we are familiar; and a\nlittle thought would enable us to enlarge the list almost indefinitely.\nBut such a list, even though it might chance to be complete, would be\nneither an analysis nor a classification of these several powers. It\nwould neither teach us their relations to each other and to the whole,\nnor enable us to understand the precise nature and office of each\nfaculty. We could not be sure that we had not included under a common\nname operations essentially different, or assigned distinct places and\noffices to powers essentially the same. Much depends, moreover, on the\norder in which we take up the several faculties.\n\nIt is evident at a glance that to form a clear, correct, and\ncomprehensive arrangement of the powers of the mind, is no slight\nundertaking. A complete understanding of the whole science of the\nmind is requisite. It is one of the last things which the student is\nprepared to undertake, yet one of the first which he requires to know.\nUnfortunately for the science, perhaps no topic in the whole circle of\nintellectual investigation has been more generally neglected, by those\nwho have undertaken to unfold the philosophy of the mind, than the one\nnow under consideration.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--GENERAL ANALYSIS.\n\n_A mental Faculty, what._--In making out any scheme of classification,\nthe question at once arises, how are we to know what are, and what are\nnot distinct faculties? In order to this, we must first determine what\nconstitutes a mental faculty.\n\nWhat, then, is a faculty of the mind? I understand by this term simply\nthe mind's power of acting, of doing something, of putting forth some\nenergy, and performing some operation. The mind has as many distinct\nfaculties, as it has distinct powers of action, distinct functions,\ndistinct modes and spheres of activity. As its capabilities of action\nand operation differ, so its faculties differ.\n\n_The Mind not complex._--Now mental activity is, strictly speaking,\none and indivisible. The mind is not a complex substance, composed of\nparts, but single and one. Its activity may, however, be exercised\nin various ways, and upon widely different classes of objects; and\nas these modes of action vary, we may assign them different names,\nand treat of them in distinction from each other. So distinguished\nand named, they present themselves to us as so many distinct powers\nor faculties of the mind. But when this is done, and we make out,\nfor purposes of science, our complete list and classification of\nthese powers, we are not to forget that it is, after all, one and\nthe same indivisible spiritual principle that is putting forth\nits activity under these diverse forms, one and the same force\nexerting itself--whether as thinking, feeling, or acting--whether\nas remembering, imagining, judging, perceiving, reasoning, loving,\nfearing, hating, desiring, choosing. And while we may designate these\nas so many faculties of the mind, we are not to conceive of them as\nso many constituent parts of a complex whole, which, taken together,\ncompose this mysterious entity called the mind, as the different limbs\nand organs of the physical frame compose the structure called the body.\nSuch is not the nature of the mind, nor of its faculties.\n\n_The Question before us._--In inquiring, then, what are the faculties\nof the mind, we have simply to inquire what are the distinct modes of\nits activity, what states and operations of the mind so far resemble\neach other as to admit of being classed together under the same general\ndescription and name. Our work, thus understood, becomes in reality a\nvery simple one.\n\n_The more important Distinctions to be first ascertained._--What, then,\nare the clearly distinct modes of mental activity? And first let us\nendeavor to ascertain the wider and more important distinctions. We\nshall find that, innumerable as the forms of mental activity may at\nfirst sight appear, they are all capable of being reduced to a few\ngeneral and comprehensive classes.\n\n_The first Form of mental Activity._--I sit at my table. Books are\nbefore me. I open a volume, and peruse its pages. My mind is occupied,\nits activity is awakened; the thoughts of the author are transferred\nto my mind, and engage my thoughts. Here, then, is one form of mental\nactivity. This one thing I can do; this one power I have--the faculty\nof thought.\n\n_The second Form._--But not this alone: I am presently conscious of\nsomething beside simple thought. The writer, whose pages I peruse,\ninterests me, excites me; I am amused by his wit, moved by his\neloquence, affected by his pathos; I become indignant at the scenes\nand characters which he portrays, or, on the contrary, they command\nmy admiration. All this by turns passes over me as the fitful shadows\nplay upon the waters, coming and going with the changing cloud. This\nis not pure thought. It is thought accompanied with another and quite\ndistinct element, that is, _feeling_. This power also I have;--I can\nfeel.\n\n_A third Form._--And not this alone. The process does not end here.\nThought and feeling lead to action. I resolve what to do. I lay down my\nbook, and go forth to perform some act prompted by the emotion awakened\nwithin me. This power also I have;--the faculty of voluntary action, or\nvolition.\n\n_These three Forms comprehensive._--Here, then, are three grand\ndivisions or forms of mental activity--thought, feeling, volition.\nThese powers we are constantly exerting. Every moment of my intelligent\nexistence I am exercising one or another, or all of these faculties.\nAnd, what is more, of all the forms of mental activity, there is\nnot one which does not fall under one or another of these three\ndivisions--thought--feeling--volition. Every possible mental operation\nmay be reduced to one of these three things.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe have, then, these grand departments or modes of mental activity,\ncomprehensive of all others: Intellect, or the faculty of simple\nthought; Sensibility, or the faculty of feeling; Will, or the faculty\nof voluntary action.\n\nUnder these leading powers are comprehended subordinate modes of mental\nactivity, known as faculties of the Intellect, or of the Sensibility,\nor of the Will.\n\nWe have at present to do only with those of the Intellect.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--ANALYSIS OF INTELLECTUAL POWERS.\n\n_Sense-perception._--Observing closely the intellectual operations of\nthe mind, we find a large class of them relating to objects within the\nsphere of sense, external objects, as perceived by the senses. The\nmind, through the medium of sense, takes direct cognizance of these\nobjects. This class of operations we may call Sense-perception, and\nthe faculty thus employed, in distinction from other leading divisions\nof the intellectual powers, we may call _Sense_, or the _Presentative_\nfaculty. Its distinctive office is to _present_ to the mind, through\nthe senses, objects external, sensible, as now and here present.\n\n_The Representative Power._--But the mind not only receives impressions\nof external objects, as present, and acting on the organs of sense; it\nhas also the faculty of _conceiving_ of them in their _absence_, and\n_representing_ them to itself. This faculty, as distinguished from the\nreceptive power, or sense, we may call the _Representative_ Power.\n\n_Mental Reproduction, and mental Recognition as distinguished._--This\npower operates in various forms. There may be the simple representation\nof the absent object, without reference to the act of former\nperception, as when I think of the Strasburg tower, without recalling\nany particular instance of its perception. Or there may be such\nrecalling of the former act and instance of perception. The thought\nof the tower, as it presents itself to my mind, may stand connected\ndefinitely with the idea of the time, and place, and attending\ncircumstances in which, on some occasion, I saw that object. It is then\n_recognized_ as the object which was seen at such or such a time. The\nformer is an instance of _mental reproduction_ simply--the latter, of\n_mental recognition_. We have in common language but one name for the\ntwo--although the term mare strictly belongs only to the latter--and\nthat is, _Memory_.\n\n_Representation of the Ideal in distinction from the Actual._--Again,\nunlike either of these, there may be a conception and representation of\nthe object, not at all as it is in reality, and as it was perceived,\nbut varied in essential particulars, to suit our own taste and fancy--a\ntower not of ordinary stone, but of some rare and costly marble--not of\nordinary height, but reaching to the skies, etc., etc. In the former\ncases we conceived only of the _actual_, now of the _ideal_. This\nfaculty is called _Imagination_. Both are forms of the representative\npower, not _presenting_, but only _representing_ objects.\n\n_Conception of the Abstract._--_The Discursive or Reflective\nPower._--In the cases thus far described we have conceived of some\nsensible object, considered in and by itself, capable of being\nrepresented to thought. We may, however, conceive not of an object in\nitself considered, but of the properties and relations of objects in\nthe abstract. Thus we compare and class together those objects which\nwe perceive to possess certain properties in common; as books bound in\ncloth, or in leather, octavos, or duodecimos. In so doing we exercise\nthe faculty of _generalization_, which involves comparison, and also\nwhat is usually termed abstraction. Or we may reverse the process,\nand instead of classing together objects possessing certain elements\nin common, we may analyze a complex idea, or a comprehensive term, in\norder to derive from it whatever is specifically included in it. Thus\nfrom the general proposition, \"All men are mortal,\" inasmuch as the\nterm \"all men\" includes Socrates, I infer that Socrates is mortal. The\nprocess last named is called _reasoning_.\n\nIn either case, both in the synthetic and the analytic process now\ndescribed, we are dealing not with the _concrete_ but the _abstract_.\nThe properties and relations of things, rather than things themselves,\nare the objects of our thoughts. Still they are the properties and\nrelations primarily of _sensible objects_, and of these objects as\n_conceived_, and not as presented to sense. To distinguish this class\nof conceptions from those previously considered, and also from that\npresently to be noticed, we may designate this power of the mind as\nthe _Discursive_ or _Reflective_ Power. Its results are notions of the\n_understanding_ rather than impressions of sense, or ideas of reason.\n\n_Conceptions not furnished by Sense._--_The Intuitive Power._--We have\nconsidered thus far those intellectual operations which fall within\nthree leading departments of mental activity;--the Presentative,\nRepresentative, and Discursive Powers. These operations all have\nreference directly or indirectly to _sensible_ objects. The first\nregards them as _present_; the second represents them as _absent_; the\nthird considers their properties and relations in the _abstract_.\n\nBut the mind has also the faculty of forming ideas and conceptions\nnot furnished by the senses. It departs from the sphere of sense, and\ndeals with the _super_-sensible, with those primary ideas and first\nprinciples presupposed in all knowledge of the sensible. Such are\nthe ideas of time, space, cause, the right, the beautiful. These are\nsuggested by the objects of sense, but not directly derived from nor\ngiven by those objects. They are _ideas_ of _reason_, rather than\nnotions of understanding. They are awakened in the mind on occasions of\nsensible perception, but not conveyed to the mind through the senses,\nas in perception, nor directly derived from the object as in the case\nof the representative and discursive powers. This faculty we may call\nthe _Originative_ or _Intuitive_ Power, in distinction from those\npreviously considered.\n\n_Summary of leading Divisions._--We have then four grand divisions of\nintellectual operations, under which the several specific faculties\narrange themselves; viz., the Presentative, the Representative, the\nDiscursive, and the Originative or Intuitive faculty. The first has to\ndo with sensible objects, as present; the second has to do with the\nsame class of objects as absent; the third deals with their abstract\nproperties and relations; and the fourth has to do not with the\nsensible, in any form, but with the super-sensible.\n\nI believe the faculties of the intellect, in pure thinking, may all\nbe reduced to those forms now specified, under these four leading\ndivisions.\n\n  RESULTS OF THE PRECEDING ANALYSIS IN A TABULAR FORM:\n\n        POWERS OF THE INTELLECT.\n\n    I.  PRESENTATIVE,                           _Perception_.\n\n   II.  REPRESENTATIVE, {1. Of the Actual,      _Memory_.\n                        {2. Of the Ideal,       _Imagination_.\n  III.  REFLECTIVE,     {1. Synthetic,          _Generalization_.\n                        {2. Analytic,           _Reasoning_.\n\n   IV.  INTUITIVE,                             _Original Conception_.\n\n\n\u00a7 III.--HISTORICAL SKETCH--VARIOUS DIVISIONS OF THE MENTAL FACULTIES.\n\n_The earlier Division._--The general division of the powers of the\nmind, for a long time prevalent among the earlier modern philosophers,\nwas into _two_ chief departments, known under different names, but\nincluding under the one what we now term the intellect, under the\nother what we designate as the sensibilities and the will, which\nwere not then, as now, distinguished from each other in the general\ndivision, but thrown into one department. Under the first of these\ndepartments, they included the thinking and reasoning powers, the\nstrictly intellectual part of our nature; under the second, whatever\nbrings the mind into action--the impelling and controlling power or\nprinciple--the affections, emotions, desires, volitions, etc. The names\ngiven to these two divisions varied with different writers, but the\ndifference was chiefly in the name, the principle of division being\nthe same. By some authors they were designated as the _contemplative_\nand the _active_ powers, by others _cognitive_ and _motive_. The\nlatter was the nomenclature proposed by Hobbes. Others again adopted\nthe terms understanding and will, by which to mark the two divisions;\nLocke, Reid, some of the French philosophers, and, in our own country,\nEdwards, followed this division. Stewart designates them, the one class\nas the _intellectual_, and the other as the _active_ and _moral_\npowers. Brown objects to this phraseology on the ground that the\nintellectual powers are no less active than the other. He divides the\nmental powers or states primarily into what he calls _external_ and\n_internal_ affections of the mind, comprehending under the former all\nthose mental states which are immediately preceded by and connected\nwith the presence of some external object; under the latter, those\nstates which are not thus immediately preceded. The latter class he\ndivides into intellectual states and emotions, a division corresponding\nessentially to those of the authors previously mentioned, the emotions\nof Brown comprehending essentially the powers which others had termed\nmotive, or active and moral.\n\n_Prevalence of this Method._--This twofold division of the mental\npowers, under different names, as now stated, has been the one\ngenerally prevalent until a comparatively recent date. It may doubtless\nbe traced, as Sir William Hamilton suggests, to a distinction made by\nAristotle, into _cognitive_ and _appetent_ powers.\n\n_The more recent Method._--The threefold division of the mental\nfaculties very early came into use among philosophical and theological\nwriters in this country, and is now very generally adopted by the more\nrecent European writers of note, especially in France and Germany.\nAccording to this division the various affections and emotions\nconstitute a department by themselves, distinct from the will or the\nvoluntary principle. There are many reasons for such a distinction;\nthey have been well stated by Professor Upham Cousin adopts and defends\nthe threefold division, and previously still, Kant, in Germany,\nhad distinguished the mental powers under the leading divisions of\nintelligence, sensibility, and desire.\n\n\n\n\nMENTAL PHILOSOPHY.\n\nDIVISION FIRST.\n\nTHE INTELLECTUAL FACULTIES.\n\n\n\n\nPRELIMINARY TOPICS.\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS.\n\n\n_General Statement._--Before proceeding to investigate the several\nspecific faculties of the intellect, as already classified, there are\ncertain preliminary topics to be considered, certain mental phenomena,\nor mental states, involved more or less fully in all mental activity,\nand on that account hardly to be classed as specific faculties, yet\nrequiring distinct consideration. Such are the mental states which we\ndenominate as _consciousness_ and _attention_.\n\n_Definitions._--Consciousness is defined by Webster as the knowledge of\nsensations and mental operations, or of what passes in our own minds;\nby Wayland, as that condition of the mind in which it is cognizant of\nits own operations; by Cousin, as that function of the intelligence\nwhich gives us information of every thing which takes place in the\ninterior of our minds; by Dr. Henry, translator of Cousin, as the being\naware of the phenomena of the mind--of that which is present to the\nmind; by Professor Tappan, as the necessary knowledge which the mind\nhas of its own operations. These general definitions substantially\nagree. The mind is aware of its own operations, its sensations,\nperceptions, emotions, choices, etc., and the state or act of being\nthus cognizant of its own phenomena we designate by the general term\n_Consciousness_.\n\n_Reasons for regarding Consciousness as not a distinct Faculty._--Is\nthis, however, a distinct faculty of the mind? The mind, it is said,\nis always cognizant of its own operations: when it perceives, it is\nconscious of perceiving; when it reasons, it is conscious of reasoning;\nwhen it feels, it is conscious of feeling; and not to be conscious\nof any particular mental act, is not to perform that act. To have a\nsensation, and to be conscious of that sensation, it is said, are not\ntwo things, but one and the same, the difference being only in name.\nA perception is indivisible, cannot be analyzed into a fact, and the\nconsciousness of the fact, for the perception is an act of knowing,\nand does not take place if it be not known to take place. This is the\nview taken by Sir William Hamilton, Professor Bowen, and others of\nhigh authority. It was maintained by Dr. Brown with much force as an\nobjection to the doctrine of Reid, who had recognized consciousness as\na distinct faculty.\n\n_Reasons for the opposite View._--On the other hand, the claims of\nthis form of mental activity to be regarded as a faculty of the mind,\ndistinct from and co\u00f6rdinate with the other mental powers, are admitted\nand maintained by writers of authority, among whom are Dr. Wayland and\nPresident Mahan. They maintain that the office of consciousness being\nto give us knowledge of our own mental states, and this function being\nquite distinct from that of any other mental faculty, the capacity or\npower of performing this function deserves to be regarded as itself\na faculty of the mind. It is maintained also by Dr. Wayland that\nconsciousness does not necessarily invariably accompany all mental\naction, but that there may be, and are, acts of which we are not at the\ntime conscious.\n\n_Instances in proof of this Position._--In support of this position\nhe refers to certain cases as instances of unconscious perception;\nas when, for example, a clock strikes within a few feet of us, while\nwe are busily engaged, and we do not notice it, or know that it has\nstruck, yet if questioned afterward, are conscious of an impression\nthat we have heard it; as when also while reading aloud to another\nperson, some thought arrests our attention, and yet by a sort of\nmechanical process, we continue the reading, our mind, meanwhile,\nwholly occupied with another subject, until presently we are startled\nto find that we have not the remotest conception of what we have\njust been reading; yet we read every word correctly, and must, it\nwould seem, have perceived every word and letter. He refers also to\nthe case of the short-hand writer to the House of Lords in England,\nwho, on a certain occasion, while engaged in taking the depositions\nof witnesses in an important case, after many hours of continued\nexertion and fatigue, fell, for a few moments, into a state of entire\nunconsciousness, yet kept on writing down, and that with perfect\naccuracy, the depositions of the witness. Of the last few lines, when\nhe came to read them, he had no recollection whatever, yet they were\nwritten as legibly and accurately as the rest. From these and similar\ncases it is inferred that there may be mental activity of which we have\nat the time no consciousness.\n\n_The Evidence examined._--With regard to the cases now cited, it\nseems to me that they do not fully establish the point in question.\nFor in the first place, it may be doubted whether they really involve\nany mental activity--whether they are properly mental acts, and not\nmerely mechanical or automatic. It is well known that many processes\nwhich ordinarily require more or less attention may, when they have\nbecome perfectly familiar, be carried on for a time almost without\nthought. The senses, so far as they are required to act at all, seem\nin such cases to act mechanically or automatically, somewhat as a\nwheel when once set in motion continues for a time to revolve by its\nown momentum, after the propelling force is withdrawn. The mental\nactivity exerted in such cases, if there be any, is so very slight\nas to escape attention, and we are unconscious of it simply because\nthere was little or nothing to be conscious of. We have an illustration\nof this in the act of walking, while busily engaged in conversation\nwith a friend, or in our own meditations. We are not conscious of any\nmental act preceding or directing each step and movement of the limbs,\nbut having at the outset decided what direction to take, the mind\ngives itself to other matters, while the process of walking goes on\nby a sort of mechanical impulse, until presently something occurs to\narrest our attention and direct it to the physical movement in which\nwe are engaged. The muscular contractions tend to follow each other in\na certain regular succession; a certain law of association seems to\ngovern their movements, as is seen in the rapid motions of the pianist,\nthe flute player, the type distributor, and in many similar cases; and\nso long as the regular succession, and accustomed order of movement,\nis undisturbed, the process goes on with little or no interference of\nthe intellectual principle. In such cases the act can hardly be said to\ninvolve mental activity.\n\n_A further Question._--But aside from this, even admitting that the\nacts under consideration are such as to involve mental activity, what\nevidence is there, it may still be asked, that there was at the moment\nno consciousness of that activity? That there was _subsequently_ no\nconsciousness of it, does not make it certain that there was none\nat the time. The subsequent consciousness of an act is neither more\nnor less than memory, and is not properly consciousness at all.\nConsciousness takes cognizance, properly speaking, only of the present,\nnot of the past. The absence of subsequent consciousness is simply\nabsence of memory, and this may be accounted for in other ways than\nby supposing a total absence of consciousness in the first instance.\nWhatever mental activity was really exerted by the short-hand reporter\nin the case referred to, he was, doubtless, conscious of exerting\nat the time, but it may have been so slight, and the mind so little\nimpressed by it, in the state of physical weariness and prostration,\nthat it was not remembered a moment afterward. We remember not every\nthing that occurs, but only that to which we attend, and which makes\nsome impression upon us.\n\n_The true Explanation._--In the other cases referred to, the\nexplanation now given is still more evidently the true one. What is\ncalled an absence of consciousness is simply an absence of attention\nat the time, and consequently of memory afterward. The person who\nis reading aloud, in the case supposed, is mentally occupied with\nsomething else than the sentiments of the author, is not attending,\nin a word, to what he is reading, and hence does not, a moment after,\nremember what it was that he read. So of the striking of the clock.\nThe sound fell upon the ear, the auditory nerve performed its office,\nthe usual change, whatever it may be, was produced in the brain, but\nthe process of hearing went no further; either no mental activity\nwas awakened by that sound, or, if any, but the slightest, for the\nmind was otherwise occupied, in a word, did not attend to the summons\nof the messenger that waited at the portal, and hence there was no\nsubsequent remembrance of the message, or at most a vague impression\nthat something of the kind was heard.\n\nOn the whole, it does not appear from the cases cited, that mental\nactivity is ever, at the moment of its exertion, unaccompanied with\nconsciousness.\n\n_Summary of the Argument._--I hesitate then to assign consciousness a\nplace among the faculties of the mind, as distinct from and co\u00f6rdinate\nwith them, for the following reasons:\n\n1. It seems to me to be involved in all mental acts. We cannot, as it\nhas been already said, suppose an act of perception, for example, or of\nsensation, without the consciousness of that perception or sensation.\nWhatever the mind does, it knows that it does, and the knowing is\ninvolved in and given along with the doing. Not to know that I see\na book, or hear a sound, is in reality not to see and not to hear\nit. Not to know that I have a sensation is not to have it. But what\nis involved in all mental action cannot be set down by itself as a\nspecific mental act. This were much the same as to reckon the whole\namong the parts.\n\n2. Consciousness, while involved in, cannot be, either psychologically\nor chronologically, distinguished from the mental acts which it\naccompanies. The act and the consciousness of the act are inseparable\nin time, and they are incapable of being distinguished as distinct\nstates of mind. We cannot break up the sensation or perception\ninto a fact, and the consciousness of that fact. Logically we may\ndistinguish them as different objects of thought and attention, but not\npsychologically as distinct acts of mind.\n\n3. Consciousness is not under the control of the will, and is not\ntherefore a faculty of the mind. It is not a power of doing something,\nbut an inseparable concomitant of all doing. What has been termed\nby some writers voluntary consciousness, or _reflection_, is simply\nattention directed to our own mental acts.\n\n_Distinction of Consciousness and Self-Consciousness._--Others again\ndistinguish between consciousness and self-consciousness; but all\nconsciousness, properly so called, involves the idea of self or the\nsubjective element. To know that I have a sensation is virtually to\nknow myself as having it.\n\n_Cases of abnormal or suspended Consciousness._--In certain disordered\nand abnormal states of the nervous organism, the knowledge of what has\ntranspired previously to that state seems to be lost; and then again,\non passing out of that condition into the normal one, all knowledge\nof what took place while in the abnormal state is wanting. Instances\nare on record where persons have alternated in this manner from one to\nthe other condition, carrying on, as it were, by turns, two separate\nand independent lines of mental activity. An instance of this nature\nis related by Dr. Wayland. It has been usual to speak of these as\ninstances of disordered or suspended consciousness. Strictly speaking,\nhowever, it is not consciousness but memory that is in such cases\ndisordered. It is not the knowledge of the present, but of the _past_,\nthat is disturbed and deficient. While the abnormal state continues,\nthe individual is conscious of what transpires in that state. When it\nceases, the patient wakes as from a reverie or dream, and retains no\n_recollection_ of any thing that took place during its continuance. It\nis the _memory_ that fails, and not the consciousness. We are never\n_conscious_ of the _past_.\n\n_Objects of Consciousness._--1. Consciousness deals only with reality.\nWe are conscious only of that which is, not of that which may be. The\npoet is conscious indeed of his fiction, the builder of air-castles is\nconscious of his reverie, but the fiction and the reverie, regarded as\nmental acts, are _realities_, and it is only as mental acts that they\nare objects of consciousness.\n\n2. Not every thing real is an object of consciousness, but only that\nwhich is _present_ and in _immediate relation_ to us. The destruction\nof Pompeii, and the existence of an Antarctic continent are realities,\nbut not objects of my consciousness.\n\n3. Primarily and directly we are conscious of our own mental states and\noperations; of whatever passes over the field of our mental vision,\nour thoughts, feelings, actions, physical sensations, moral sentiments\nand purposes: mediately and indirectly we are conscious of whatever,\nthrough the medium of sense, comes into direct relation to us. For\ninstance, when I put forth my hand and it strikes this table, I am\nconscious not only of the movement, and the effort to move, but of\nthe sensation of resistance also, and indirectly I may be said to be\nconscious not of the resistance only, but of something--to wit, the\ntable--as resisting. This something I know, as really as I know the\nsensation and the fact of resistance. To this immediate perception of\nthe external world in direct relation to our physical organism, Sir W.\nHamilton would extend the sphere of consciousness. Usually, however,\nthe term has been employed in a more restricted sense--to denote the\nknowledge of what passes within, rather than of what lies without the\nmind itself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nATTENTION.\n\n\n_General Character of this Power._--It has not been usual to treat of\nAttention as one of the distinct faculties of the mind. It is doubtless\na power which the mind possesses, but like the power of conception,\nor more generally the power of thought and mental apprehension, it\nis involved in and underlies the exercise of all the specific mental\nfaculties. Nor is it, like consciousness, confined to a distinct\ndepartment of knowledge, viz., the knowledge of our own mental states.\nIt is subsidiary to the other mental powers, rather than a faculty of\noriginal and independent knowledge. It originates nothing--teaches\nnothing--puts us in possession of no new truth--has no distinct field\nand province of its own. And yet without it other faculties would be of\nlittle avail.\n\n_Definitions._--If it were necessary to define a term so well\nunderstood, we might describe it as the power which the mind has of\ndirecting its thoughts, purposely and voluntarily, to some one object,\nto the exclusion of others. It is described by Dr. Wayland as a sort of\nvoluntary consciousness, a condition of mind in which our consciousness\nis excited and directed by an act of the will. He speaks also of\nan involuntary attention, a state of mind in which our thoughts,\nwithout effort or purpose of our own, are engrossed by objects of\nan exciting nature. It may be questioned, perhaps, whether this is\nproperly attention. Only in so far as attention is a voluntary act is\nit properly a power of the mind, and only in so far does it differ\nfrom the simple activity of thought, or of consciousness. The latter is\nalways involuntary, and in this it differs from attention.\n\n_Instances in Illustration._--It can hardly be necessary to illustrate\nby example the nature of a faculty so constantly in exercise. Every one\nperceives, for instance, the difference between the careless perusal\nof an author--the eye passing listlessly over the pages, and the\nmind receiving little or no impression from its statements--and the\nreading of the same volume with fixed and careful attention, every word\nobserved, every sentiment weighed, and the whole mental energy directed\nto the subject in hand. We pass, in the streets of a crowded and\nbusy city, many persons whom we do not stop to observe, and of whose\nappearance we could afterward give no account whatever. Presently,\nsome one in the crowd attracts our notice. We observe his appearance,\nwe watch his movements, we notice his peculiarities of dress, gait,\nmanners, etc., and are able afterward to describe them with some degree\nof minuteness. In the former case we perceive, but do not attend. In\nthe latter, we attend, in order to perceive.\n\n_Sometimes the sole Occupation._--Attention seems to be at times\nthe sole occupation of the mind for the moment, as when we have\nheard some sound that attracts our notice, and are listening for its\nrepetition. In this case the other faculties are for the time held in\nsuspense, and we are, as we say, all attention. The posture naturally\nassumed in such a case is that indicated by the etymology of the\nword, and may have suggested its use to designate this faculty, viz.,\nattention--ad-tendo--a _bending to_, a _stretching toward_, the object\nof interest.\n\n_Analysis of the mental Process in Attention._--If we closely analyze\nthe process of our minds in the exercise of this power, we shall find,\nI think, that it consists chiefly in this--the arresting and detaining\nthe thoughts, excluding thus the exercise of other forms of mental\nactivity, in consequence of which the mind is left free to direct its\nwhole energy to the one object in view. The process may be compared\nto the operation of the detent in machinery, which checks the wheels\nthat are in rapid motion, and gives opportunity for any desired change;\nwhile it may be compared, as regards the result of its action, to the\nhelm that directs the motion of the ship, now this way, now that, as\nthe helmsman wills.\n\n_Objects of Attention._--The objects of attention are of course as\nvarious as the objects of thought. Like consciousness, it may confine\nitself to our own mental states; and, unlike consciousness, it may\ncomprehend also the entire range of objective reality. In the former\ncase it is more commonly designated by the term reflection, in the\nlatter, observation.\n\n_Importance of Habits of Attention._--The importance of habits of\nattention, of the due exercise and development of this faculty of\nthe mind, is too obvious to require special comment. The power of\ncontrolling one's own mental activity, of directing it at will into\nwhatever channels the occasion may demand, of excluding for this\npurpose all other and irrelevant ideas, and concentrating the energies\nof the mind on the one object of thought before it, is a power of\nthe highest value, an attainment worth any effort, and which, in the\ndifferent degrees in which it is possessed, goes far to make the\ndifference between one mind and another in the realm of thought and\nintellectual greatness. While the attention is divided and the mind\ndistracted among a variety of objects, it can apprehend nothing clearly\nand definitely; the rays are not brought to a focus, and the mental\neye, instead of a clear and well-defined image, perceives nothing but\na shadowy and confused outline. The mind while in this state acts to\nlittle purpose. It is shorn of its strength.\n\nThe power of commanding the attention and concentrating the mental\nenergy upon a given object, is, however, a power not easily acquired\nnor always possessed. The difficulty of the attainment is hardly less\nthan its importance. It can be made only by earnest effort, resolute\npurpose, diligent culture and training. There must be strength of will\nto take command of the mental faculties, and make them subservient\nto its purpose. There must be determination to succeed, and a wise\ndiscipline and exercise of the mind with reference to the end in view.\nThis faculty, like every other, requires education in order to its due\ndevelopment.\n\n_Whether certain Acts are performed without any Degree of\nAttention._--It is a question somewhat discussed among philosophers,\nwhether those acts which from habit we have learned to perform with\ngreat facility, and, as we say, almost without thinking, are strictly\nvoluntary; whether they do or do not involve an exercise of attention.\nEvery one is aware of the facility acquired by practice in many\nmanual and mechanical operations, as well as in those more properly\nintellectual. A musician sits at his instrument, scarcely conscious\nof what he is doing, his attention absorbed, it may be, with some\nengrossing topic of thought or conversation, while his fingers wander\n_ad libitum_ among the keys and strike the notes of some familiar\ntune. Is there in such a case a special act of volition and attention\npreceding each movement of the fingers as they glide over the keys? And\nin more rapid playing, even when the attention is in general directed\nto the act performed, _i. e._, the execution of the piece, is there\nstill a special act of attention to the production of each note as they\nfollow each other with almost inconceivable rapidity? Dr. Stahl, Dr.\nReid and others, especially many able physiologists, have answered this\nquestion in the negative, pronouncing the acts in question to be merely\nautomatic and mechanical, and not properly involving any activity of\nmind. The mind, they would say, forms the general purpose to execute\nthe given piece, but the particular movements and muscular contractions\nrequisite to produce the individual notes, are, for the most part,\ninvoluntary, the result of habit, not of special attention or volition.\n\n_The opposite View._--On the other hand, Mr. Stewart maintains that\nall such acts, however easily and rapidly performed, do involve\nmental activity, some degree of attention, some special volition to\nproduce them, although we may not be able to recollect those volitions\nafterward. The different steps of the process are, by the association\nof ideas, so connected, that they present themselves successively to\nthe mind without any effort to recall them, without any hesitation\nor reflection on our part, and with a rapidity proportioned to our\nexperience. The attention and the volition are instantaneous, and\ntherefore not subsequently recollected. Still, he would say, the fact\nthat we do not recollect them is no proof that we did not exercise\nthem. The musician can, at will, perform the piece so slowly, as to be\nable to observe and recall the special act of attention to each note,\nand of volition to produce it. The difference in the two cases lies in\nthe rapidity of the movement, not in the nature of the operation.\n\n_Objection to this View._--The only objection to this view, of much\nweight, is the extreme rapidity of mental action, which this view\nsupposes. An accomplished speaker will pronounce, it is said, from two\nto four hundred words, or from one to two thousand letters in a minute,\nand each letter requires a distinct contraction of the muscles, many\nof them, indeed, several contractions. Shall we suppose then so many\nthousand acts of attention and volition in a minute?\n\n_Reply to this Objection._--To this it may be replied that the very\nobjection carries with it its own answer, since if it be true that the\nmuscles of the body move with such wonderful rapidity, it is surely\nnot incredible that the mind should be at least equally rapid in its\nmovements with the body. To show that both mind and body often do act\nwith great rapidity, Mr. Stewart cites the case of the equilibrist,\nwho balances himself on the slack rope, and at the same time balances\na number of rods or balls upon his chin, his position every instant\nchanging, according to the accidental and ever varying motions of the\nseveral objects whose equilibrium he is to preserve, which motions\nhe must therefore constantly and closely watch. Now to do this, the\nclosest attention, both of the eye and of the mind, to each of these\ninstantaneous movements, is absolutely necessary, since the movements\ndo not follow each other in any regular order, as do the notes of the\nmusician, and cannot, therefore, by any association of ideas, be linked\ntogether, or laid up in the mind.\n\n_The Question undecided._--The question is a curious one, and with the\narguments on either side, as now presented, I leave it to the reader's\nindividual judgment and decision. Mr. Stewart is doubtless correct as\nto the rapidity of mental and muscular action. At the same time it\nseems to me _there are_ actions, whatever may be true in the cases\nsupposed, that are purely _automatic_ and _mechanical_.\n\n_Whether we attend to more than one thing at once._--Analogous to\nthe question already discussed, is the inquiry whether the mind ever\nattends or can attend to more than one thing at one and the same time;\nas when I read an author, my attention meanwhile being directed to\nsome other object than the train of thought presented by the page\nbefore me, so that at the end of a paragraph or a chapter I find that\nI have no idea of what I have been reading, and yet I have followed\nwith the eye, and perhaps pronounced aloud, every word and line of the\nentire passage. To do this must have required some attention. Have\nI then the power of attending to two things at once? So, when the\nmusician carelessly strikes up a familiar air while engaged in animated\nconversation, and when the equilibrist balances both his own body upon\nthe rope, and also a number of bodies upon different parts of his body,\neach movement of each requiring constant and instant attention, the\nsame question arises.\n\n_Opinion of Mr. Stewart._--Mr. Stewart, in accordance with the view\nalready expressed of the rapidity of the mind's action, maintains\nthat we do not under any circumstances attend at one and the same\ntime to two objects of thought, but that the mind passes with such\nrapidity from one to another object in the cases supposed, that we are\nunconscious of the transition, and seem to ourselves to be attending to\nboth objects at once.\n\n_Illustration of this View._--An illustration of this we find in the\ncase of vision. Only one point of the surface of any external object is\nat any one instant in the direct line of vision, yet so rapidly does\nthe eye pass from point to point, that we seem to perceive at a glance\nthe whole surface.\n\n_How it is possible to compare different Objects._--It may be asked,\nHow is it that we are able to compare one object with another, if\nwe are unable to bring both before the mind at once? If, while I am\nthinking of A, I have no longer any thought whatever of B, how is\nit possible ever to bring together A and B before the mind so as to\ncompare them?\n\nThe answer I conceive to be this, that the mind passes with such\nrapidity from the one to the other object, as to produce the same\neffect that would be produced were both objects actually before\nit at the same instant. The transition is not usually a matter of\nconsciousness; yet if any one will observe closely the action of his\nown mind in the exercise of comparison, he will detect the passing of\nhis thoughts back and forth from one object to the other many times\nbefore the conclusion is reached, and the comparison is complete.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nCONCEPTION.\n\n\n_Character of this Power._--This term has been employed in various\nsenses by different writers. It does not denote properly a distinct\nfaculty of the mind. I conceive of a thing when I make it a distinct\nobject of thought, when I apprehend it, when I construe it to myself\nas a possible thing, and as being thus and thus. This form of mental\nactivity enters more or less into all our mental operations; it is\ninvolved in perception, memory, imagination, abstraction, judgment,\nreasoning, etc. For this reason it is not to be ranked as one of, and\ncorrelate with, these several specific faculties. Like the power of\nthought, and hardly even more limited than that, it underlies all the\nspecial faculties, and is essential to them all. Such at least is the\nordinary acceptation of the term; and when we employ it to denote some\nspecific form of mental activity, we employ it in a sense aside from\nits usual and established meaning.\n\n_Objects of Conception._--I conceive of an absent object of sight, as,\n_e. g._, the appearance of an absent friend, or of a foreign city, of\nthe march of an army, or the eruption of a volcano. I conceive also of\na mathematical truth, or a problem in astronomy. My conceptions are\nnot limited to former perceptions or sensations, nor even to objects\nof sensible perception. They are not limited to material and sensible\nobjects. They embrace the past and the future, the actual and the\nideal, the sensible and the super-sensible.\n\n_Conceptions neither true nor false._--Our conceptions are neither true\nnor false, in themselves considered; they become so only when attended\nwith some exercise of judgment or of belief. We conceive of a mountain\nof gold or of glass, and this simple conception has nothing to do with\ntruth or error. When we conceive of it, however, as actually existing,\nand in this or that place, or when we simply judge that such a mountain\nis somewhere to be found, then such judgment or belief is either true\nor false; but it is no longer simple conception.\n\n_Not always Possibilities; nor possible Things always\nconceivable._--Our conceptions are not always possibilities. We can\nconceive of some things not within the limits of possibility. On the\nother hand, not every thing possible even is conceivable. Existence\nwithout beginning or end is possible, but it is not in the power of the\nhuman mind, strictly speaking, to conceive of such a thing. I know that\nDeity thus exists. I understand what is meant by such a proposition,\nand I believe it. But I cannot construe it to myself as a definite\nintellection, an apprehension, as I can conceive of the existence of a\ncity or a continent, or of the truth of a mathematical proposition.\n\nThe same may be said of the ideas of the infinite and the absolute.\nThey are not properly within the limits of thought, of apprehension,\nto the human mind. Thought in its very nature imposes a limitation\non the object which is thought of--fathoms it--passes around it with\nits measuring line--apprehends it: only so far as this is done is the\nthing actually thought; only so far as it can be done is the thing\nreally thinkable. But the infinite, the unconditioned, the absolute, in\ntheir very nature unlimited, cannot be shut up thus within the narrow\nlines of human thought. They are inconceivable. They are not, however,\ncontradictory to thought. They may be true; they are true and real,\nthough we cannot properly conceive them.\n\n_The Inconceivable becomes Impossible, when._--Not every thing then\nwhich is inconceivable is impossible, nor, on the other hand, is\nevery thing which is impossible inconceivable. The inconceivable\nis impossible, at least it can be known to be so, only when it is\neither self-contradictory--as that a thing should be and not be at\nthe same time--that a part is equal to the whole, etc.; or when it\nis contradictory of the laws of thought, as that two straight lines\nshould enclose a space--that an event may occur without a cause--that\nspace is not necessary to the existence of matter, or time to the\nsuccession of events. These things are unthinkable but they are more\nthan that, contradictory of the established laws of thought; and they\nare impossible, because thus contradictory, and not merely because\ninconceivable. It is hardly true, as is sometimes affirmed, and as Dr.\nWayland has stated, that our conceptions are the limits of possibility.\n\n_Mr. Stewart's use of the term Conception._--Mr. Stewart has employed\nthe term Conception in a somewhat peculiar manner, and has assigned\nit a definite place among the faculties of the mind. He uses it to\ndenote \"that power of the mind which enables it to form a notion of an\nabsent object of perception, or of a sensation which we have formerly\nfelt.\" It is the office of this faculty \"to present us with an exact\ntranscript of what we have felt or perceived.\" In this respect it\ndiffers from imagination, which gives not an exact transcript, but one\nmore or less altered or modified, combining our conceptions so as to\nform new results. It differs from memory in that it involves no idea\nof time, no recognition of the thing conceived, as a thing formerly\nperceived.\n\n_Objection to this use._--This use of the term is, on some accounts,\nobjectionable. It is certainly not the ordinary sense of the word,\nbut a departure from established usage. It is an arbitrary limitation\nof a word to denote a part only instead of the whole of that which\nit properly signifies There is no reason, in the nature of the case,\nwhy the notion we form of an absent object of perception, or of a\nsensation, should be called a conception, rather than our notion of\nan abstract truth, a proposition in morals, or a mathematical problem.\nI am not aware that any special importance attaches to the former\nmore than to the latter class of conceptions. Indeed, Sir W. Hamilton\nlimits the term to the latter. But this again is not in accordance with\nestablished usage.\n\n\n\n\nINTELLECTUAL FACULTIES\n\nPART FIRST\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nPRESENTATIVE POWER\n\n\n\n\nSENSE OR PERCEPTION BY THE SENSES.\n\n\u00a7 I.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS.\n\n\n_This Faculty the Foundation of our Knowledge._--Of the cognitive\npowers of the mind, the first to be noticed, according to the analysis\nand distribution already given, is the Presentative Power--the power\nof cognizing external objects through the senses. This claims our\nfirst attention, inasmuch as it lies, chronologically at least, at the\nfoundation of all our cognitive powers, and in truth, of our entire\nmental activity. We can, perhaps, conceive of a being so constituted as\nto be independent of sense, and yet possess mental activity; and we can\neven conceive such a mind as taking cognizance, in some mysterious way,\nof objects external to itself. But not such a being is man--not such\nthe nature of the human mind. Its activity is first awakened through\nsense; from sense it derives its knowledge of the external world,\nof whatever lies without and beyond the charmed circle of self; and\nwhether _all_ our knowledge is, strictly speaking, derived from sense,\nor not--a question so much disputed, and which we will not here stay\nto discuss--there can be no doubt that the activity of sense, and the\nknowledge thus acquired, is at least the beginning and foundation of\nall our mental acquisitions. We are constantly receiving impressions\nfrom without through the senses. In this way the mind is first awakened\nto activity, and from this source we derive our knowledge of the\nexternal world.\n\n_General Character of this Faculty._--In its general character\nthe faculty now under consideration, as the name indicates, is\n_presentative_ and _intuitive_. It presents rather than represents\nobjects, and what the mind thus perceives it perceives intuitively,\nrather than as the result of reflection. The knowledge which it gives\nis _immediate_ knowledge, the knowledge of that which is now and here\npresent, in time and space.\n\n_Involves a twofold Element._--Looking more closely at the character\nof this faculty, we find it to involve a twofold element, which we\ncannot better indicate than by the terms _subjective_ and _objective_.\nThere is, in the first place, the knowledge or consciousness of our\nown sentient organism as affected, and there is also the knowledge of\nsomething external to, and independent of the mind itself, or the me,\nas the producing cause of this affection of the organism. We know, by\none and the same act, ourselves as affected, and the existence and\npresence of an external something affecting us. This presupposes,\nof course, the distinct independent existence of the _me_ and the\n_not-me_--of ourselves as thinking and sentient beings, and of objects\nexternal to ourselves, and material,--a distinction which lies at\nthe foundation of all sense-perception. All perception by the senses\ninvolves, and presupposes, the existence of a sentient being capable of\nperceiving, and of an object capable of being perceived. It supposes,\nalso, such a relation between the two, that the former is affected by\nthe presence of the latter. From this results perception in its twofold\naspect, or the knowledge, on the part of the sentient mind, at once\nof itself as affected, and of the object as affecting it. According\nas one or the other of these elements is more directly the object of\nattention, so the subjective and the objective character predominate in\nthe act of perception. If the former, then we think chiefly of the me\nas affected, and are scarcely conscious of the external object as the\nsource or the producing cause; if the latter, the reverse is true.\n\n\n\u00a7 II--ANALYSIS OF THE PERCEPTIVE PROCESS.\n\n_Simple Sensation._--The nature of the presentative power may be better\nunderstood by observing closely the different steps of the process.\nAs we come into contact with the external world, the first thing of\nwhich we are conscious, the first step in the process of cognition, is\ndoubtless simple sensation. Something touches me, my bodily organism\nis thereby affected, and I am conscious, at once, of a certain feeling\nor sensation. I do not know as yet what has produced the sensation,\nor whether any thing produced it. I do not as yet recognize it as the\nresult of an affection of the bodily organism, or even as pertaining\nto that organism in distinction from the spiritual principle. I am\nconscious only of a certain feeling. This is simple _sensation_--a\npurely subjective process.\n\n_Recognition of it as such._--We do not, however, stop here. The mind\nis at once aroused by the occurrence of the phenomenon supposed, the\nattention is directed to it. I cognize it as sensation, as feeling.\nIf it be not the first instance of the kind in my experience, I\ndistinguish it from other sensations which I have felt.\n\n_Distribution of it to the Parts affected._--More than this; I am\nconscious not only of the given sensation, but of its being an\naffection of my bodily organism, and of this or that part of the\norganism; I distinguish the body as the seat of the sensation, and\nthis or that part of the body as the part affected. The organism as\nthus affected becomes itself an object of thought as distinct from\nthe thinking mind that animates and pervades it. It becomes to me an\nexternality, having extension and parts out of and distinct from each\nother. As thus viewed, and brought now for the first time under the\neye of consciousness, it becomes known to me as the _non-ego_, still\nconnected, however, by sensation with the ego, the sentient principle\nand as thus viewed, I become aware that the sensation which I feel\nis an affection of that organism, and of a certain portion of it, as\nthe hand, or the foot. This cognizance of the sensation as such, as\npertaining to the organism, and to this or that part of the same, and\nthe consequent cognizance of the organism as such, as distinct from\nthe sentient mind, and as thus and thus affected, is no longer simple\n_sensation_, it is _perception_.\n\n_Cognition of something external to the Organism itself._--This is\nthe most simple form of immediate perception. The process does not,\nhowever, necessarily stop here. I am conscious not only of this or\nthat part of my organism as affected, but of something external to the\norganism itself, in contact with and affecting it. This organism with\nwhich I find myself connected, the seat of sensation, the object of\nperception, is capable of self-movement in obedience to my volitions.\nI am conscious of the effort to move my person, and conscious also\nof being resisted in those movements by something external in\ncontact with my organism. This yet unknown something becomes now the\nobject of attention and perception--this new phenomenon--resistance,\nsomething resisting. To perceive that I am resisted, is to perceive\nthat something resists, and to perceive this is to perceive the\nobject itself which offers such resistance. I may not know every\nthing pertaining to it, what sort of thing it may be, but I know this\nrespecting it, that it exists, that it is external to my organism,\nthat it resists my movements. Thus the outer world becomes directly an\nobject of perception--passes under the immediate eye of consciousness.\n\n_In what Sense these several Steps distinct._--In the preceding\nanalysis, in order more clearly to illustrate the nature of the\nprocess, we have regarded the act of perception as broken into several\ndistinct parts, or steps of progress. This, however, is not strictly\ncorrect as regards the psychology of the matter. Logically, we may\ndistinguish the simple sensation as mere feeling, from the reference\nof the same to this or that part of the bodily organism as affected,\nand each of these again, from the cognizance of the external object,\nwhich by contact or resistance produces the sensation. Chronologically,\nthe act is one and indivisible. The sensation and the perception are\nsynchronous. We cannot separate the act of sense-perception into the\nconsciousness of a sensation, the consciousness of the bodily organism\nas affected by that sensation, and the consciousness of an external\nsomething as the proximate cause of that affection. To experience\na sensation, is to experience it as here or there in the sentient\norganism, and to perceive contact or resistance, is to perceive\nsomething in contact or resisting. There may, however, be sensation\nwithout cognizance of the external producing cause.\n\n_Restricted Sense of the term Perception._--According to the view now\nadvanced, perception is _immediate_; not a matter of inference, not a\nroundabout reflective process. It is a cognizance direct and intuitive\nof the bodily organization as thus and thus affected, and of an\nexternal something in correlation with it, affecting and limiting that\norganism in its movements.\n\nUsually, however, a wider range has been given to the term, and the\nfaculty thereby denoted. It has been made to comprehend any mental\nprocess by which we refer a specific sensation to something external as\nits producing cause. It is thus employed by Reid and Stewart, and such\nhas been in fact the prevalent use of the term. According to this, when\nwe experience the sensation of fragrance, and refer that sensation to\nthe presence of a rose, or the sensation of sound, and refer it to the\nstroke of a bell, or a passing carriage, we exercise the faculty of\nperception. Evidently, however, our knowledge in these cases is merely\na matter of inference, of judgment, not of immediate direct perception,\nnot in fact of perception at all. All that we properly perceive in\nsuch a case, all that we are directly conscious of is the fragrance\nor the sound. That these are produced by the rose and the bell is not\nperceived, but only _conceived_, inferred--known, if at all, only by\nthe aid of previous experience.\n\n_Sensation as distinguished from Perception._--According to the view\nnow presented, _sensation_, as distinguished from _perception_, is\nthe _simple feeling_ which results from a certain affection of the\norganism. It is known to us merely as feeling. Perception takes\ncognizance of the feeling _as an affection of the organism_, and also\nof the organism as thus affected, and consequently as external to the\nme, extended, having parts, etc. It apprehends also objects external to\nthe organism itself limiting and affecting its movements. Sensation is\nthe indispensable condition of perception. If there were no sensation,\nthere would be no perception. The one does not precede, however, and\nthe other follow in order of time, but the one being given, the other\nis given along with it. The two do not, however, coexist in equal\nstrength, but in the relation, as stated by Hamilton, of _inverse\nratio_; that is, beyond a certain point, the stronger the sensation,\nthe weaker the perception, and _vice vers\u00e2_.\n\n_Sensation as an Affection of the Mind._--It has been common to speak\nof sensation as lying wholly in the mind. Primarily, however, it is\nan affection of the nervous organism, and through that organism, as\nthus affected, an impression is made on the mind. If it were not for\nthe mind present with the organism, and susceptible of impression from\nit, and thus cognizant of changes in it, the same changes might be\nproduced in the organism as now, but we should be entirely unconscious\nof and insensible to them. In certain states of the system this\nactually happens, as in sound sleep, the magnetic state, the state\nproduced by certain medicinal agents as ether, chloroform, opium, and\nthe intoxicating drugs of the East. In those cases, the connection\nbetween the mind and the nervous organism seems to be in some manner\ninterrupted or suspended, and consequently there is for the time no\nsensation. The nerves may be irritated, divided even, and still no pain\nis felt.\n\nIt is not true, however, that the sensation is wholly in the mind.\nIt is in the living animated organism, as pervaded by the mind or\nspiritual principle, mysteriously present in every part of that\norganism, and cognizant of its changes; and neither the body alone, nor\nthe mind alone, can be said to possess this faculty, but the two united\nin that complex mysterious unity which constitutes our present being.\n\n\n\u00a7 III.--ANALYSIS AND CLASSIFICATION OF THE QUALITIES OF BODIES.\n\n_Difference of Qualities._--The qualities of bodies as known to us\nthrough sensation and perception are many and various. On examination,\na difference strikes us as existing among these qualities, which admits\nof being made the basis of classification. Some of them are qualities\nwhich strike us at once as essential to the very existence of matter,\nat least in our notion of it, so that we cannot in thought divest it of\nthese qualities, and still retain our conception of matter. Others are\nnot of this nature. Extension, divisibility, size, figure, situation,\nand some others, are of the former class. If matter exists at all, it\nmust, according to our own conceptions, possess these qualities. We\ncannot think them away from it, and leave matter still existing. But\nwe can conceive of matter as destitute of color, flavor, savor, heat,\ncold, weight, sound, hardness, etc. These are contingent and accidental\nproperties not necessary to its existence.\n\n_How named and distinguished._--Philosophers have called the former\nclass _primary_, the latter _secondary_ qualities. The former are\nknown _\u00e0 priori_, the latter by experience. The former are known as\nqualities, in themselves, the latter only through the affections of our\nsenses.\n\nThe primary qualities then have these characteristics:\n\n 1. They are essential to the very existence of matter, at least in our\n conception.\n\n 2. They are to be known _\u00e0 priori_.\n\n 3. They are known as such, or in themselves.\n\nThe secondary, on the contrary, are:\n\n 1. Accidental, not essential to the notion of matter.\n\n 2. To be known only by experience.\n\n 3. To be learned only through the affection of the senses.\n\n_Further Division of secondary Qualities._--A further division,\nhowever, is capable of being made. The secondary qualities, as now\ndefined, comprise, in reality, two classes. There are some, which,\nwhile known to us only through the senses, have still an existence as\nqualities of external objects, independent of our senses. As such they\nare objects of direct perception. Others, again, are known, not as\nqualities of bodies, but only as affections of sense, not as objective,\nbut only as subjective, not as perceptions, but only as sensations.\nThus I distinguish the smell, the taste, and the color of an orange.\nWhat I distinguish, however, is after all only certain sensations,\ncertain affections of my own organism. What may be the peculiar\nproperties or qualities in the object itself which are the exciting\ncause of these sensations in me, I know not. My perception does not\nextend to them at all. It is quite otherwise with the qualities of\nweight, hardness, compressibility, fluidity, elasticity, and others of\nthat class. They are objects of perception, and not of sensation merely.\n\n_These Classes, how distinguished._--The class first named, are\nqualities of bodies as related to other bodies. The other class are\nqualities of bodies as related only to our nervous organization. The\nformer all relate to bodies as occupying and moving in _space_, and\ncome under the category of _resistance_. The latter relate to bodies\nonly as capable of producing certain sensations in us. We may call the\nformer _mechanical_, the latter _physiological_.\n\n_Connection of Sensation with the external Object._--From long habit\nof connecting the sensation with the external body which produces it,\nwe find it difficult to persuade ourselves that taste and smell are\nmere affections of our senses, or that color is really and simply an\naffection of the optic nerve of the beholder, and that what is actually\nperceived in these instances is not properly a quality of the external\nobject. A little reflection, however, will convince us that all which\ncomes to our knowledge in these cases, all that we are properly\ncognizant of, is the affection of our own nervous organism, and that\nwhatever may be the nature of the qualities in the object which are the\nproducing cause of these sensations in us, they are to us occult and\nwholly unknown.\n\n_Power of producing these Sensations._--It is not to be denied, of\ncourse, that there is in external objects the power of producing these\nsensations in us, under given circumstances; but to what that power is\nowing, in what peculiarity of constitution or condition it consists, we\nknow not. We have but one name, moreover, for the power of producing,\nand the effect produced. Thus the color, taste, smell, etc., of an\nobject may denote either the sensation in us, or the unknown property\nof matter by virtue of which the sensation is awakened. It is only in\nthe sense last mentioned, that the qualities under consideration may\nproperly be called qualities of bodies.\n\n_Enumeration of the several Qualities as now classed._--According\nto the classification now made, the qualities of bodies may be thus\nenumerated.\n\nI. _Primary._--Extension, divisibility, size, density, figure, absolute\nincompressibility, mobility, situation.\n\nII. _Secondary._--A. _Objective_, or _mechanical_--as heavy or\nlight, hard or soft, firm or fluid, rough or smooth, compressible or\nincompressible, resilient or irresilient, and any other qualities of\nthis general nature resulting from attraction, repulsion, etc.\n\nB. _Subjective_ or _physiological_--as color, sound, flavor, savor,\ntemperature, tactual sensation, and certain other affections of the\nsenses of this nature.\n\n\n\u00a7 IV.--ORGANS OF SENSE.--ANALYSIS OF THEIR SEVERAL FUNCTIONS\n\n_Number of the Senses._--The different senses are usually reckoned as\nfive in number. They may all be regarded, however, as modifications\nof one general sense, that of touch--or, in other words, the\nsusceptibility of the nervous system to be excited by foreign\nsubstances brought into contact with it. This is the essential\ncondition of sensation in any case, and the several senses, so\ncalled, are but so many variations in the mode of manifesting this\nexcitability. There is a reason, nevertheless, for assigning five of\nthese modifications and no more, and that is, that the anatomical\nstructure indicates either a distinct organ, as the ear, the eye, etc.,\nor at least a distinct branch of the nervous apparatus, as in the case\nof smell and taste, while the whole nervous expansion as spread out\nover the surface of the body contributes to the general sense of touch.\n\n_The Senses related to each other.--Distinct Office of each._--It is\nevident enough that these several senses sustain a certain relation to\neach other. They are so many and no more, not merely by accident; not\nmerely because so many could find room in the bodily organization; not\nmerely because it might be convenient to have so many. Let us look at\nthe office performed by each, and we shall see that while each has its\ndistinct function, not interchangeable with that of any other, it is a\nfunction more or less necessary to the animal economy. Remembering that\nthe design and use of the several senses is to put us in possession of\ndata, by means of which, directly or indirectly, we may gain correct\nknowledge of the external world, let us suppose the inquiry to be\nraised, What senses ought man to have for this purpose? What does he\nneed, the material universe remaining what it is?\n\n_Function of the Sense of Touch._--Things exist about us in space,\nhaving certain properties and relations. We need a sense then, first\nand chiefly, that shall acquaint us with objects thus existing, taking\ncognizance of what lies immediately about us in space. This we have in\nthe general sense of touch, making us acquainted with certain objective\nor mechanical qualities of external objects.\n\n_This Sense, how limited._--This, however, avails only for objects\nwithin a short distance, and capable of being brought into contact. It\noperates also synthetically and slowly, part after part of the object\nbeing given as we are brought into contact with different portions of\nit successively until the process is so far complete that, from the\nensemble of these different parts, our understanding can construct the\nwhole.\n\n_Possibility of a Sense that shall meet these Limitations._--We can\nconceive of a sense that should differ in both these respects--that\nshould take cognizance of distant objects, not capable perhaps of\nbeing brought into contact--and that should also operate analytically,\nor work from a given whole to the parts, and not from the parts to a\nwhole, thus giving us possession at once of a complete object or series\nof objects. Such a sense, it is easy to see, would possess decided\nadvantages, and in connection with the one already considered, would\nseem to bring within the sphere of our cognizance almost the complete\nrange of external nature. This we have, and this exactly, in the sense\nof _vision_. It takes in objects at a distance, and takes in the whole\nat a glance.\n\n_This new Sense still limited._--This new sense, however convenient\nand useful as it is, has evidently its limitations. It is available\nonly through a given medium, the light. Strictly speaking, it is the\nlight only that we see, and not the distant object; that is known\nindirectly by means of the light that variously modified, travels from\nit to the eye. When this fails, as it does during several hours of the\ntwenty-four, or when it is intercepted by objects coming between and\nshutting out the forms on which the eye seeks in vain to rest, then our\nknowledge from this source is cut off.\n\n_Still another Sense desirable._--Under these circumstances, might it\nnot be well, were there given an additional sense, of the same general\nnature and design, but operating through a different medium, sure to\nbe present wherever animal life exists, so that even in the darkness\nof the night, or the gloom of the dungeon, we might still have means\nof knowing something of the surrounding objects. And what of this\nmedium, or avenue of sense, were of such a nature as to be capable of\nmodification, and control, to some extent, on our part, and at our\npleasure, so as to form a means of voluntary communication with our\nfellow-beings. Would not such an arrangement be of great service?\nExactly these things are wanted; exactly these wants are met, and these\nobjects accomplished, by a new sense answering to these conditions--the\nsense of _hearing_--the cognizance of sound. This we produce when we\nplease by the spoken word, the vocal utterance, whether of speech, or\nmusical note, or inarticulate cry, varied as we please, high, low,\nloud, soft--a complete alphabet of expression, conveying thus by\nsignals, at once rapid and significant, the varying moods and phases of\nour inner life to other beings that had else been strangers, for the\nmost part, to the thoughts and feelings which agitate our bosoms.\n\n_Senses for another Class of Qualities._--The senses, as thus far\nanalyzed, have reference primarily to the number magnitude, and\ndistance of objects as occupying space--to quantities rather than\nqualities. Were it possible now to add to these a sense, or senses\nthat should take cognizance of quality, as well as existence and\nquantity--that should detect, to some extent at least, the _chemical_\nproperties of bodies as connected especially with the functions\nof respiration and nutrition--the list of senses would seem to be\ncomplete. This addition is made, this knowledge given, in the senses of\n_smell_ and _taste_.\n\n_Possibility of additional Senses._--To those already named, other\nsenses might doubtless have been added by the Creator, which would\nhave revealed, it may be, properties of matter of which we have now\nno conception. It is not to be supposed that we know every thing\nrespecting the nature and qualities of even the most familiar and\ncommon objects. Many things there may be, actual, real, in the world\nabout us, of which we know nothing, because they come not within the\nrange of any of our senses. But all that is essential to life, and\nhappiness, and highest welfare is doubtless imparted by the present\narrangement; and when closely studied, no one of these senses will be\nfound superfluous, no one overlapping the province of another, but\nworking each its specific end, and all in harmony.\n\n_The proper Office of Psychology in respect to the Senses._--It is\nthe province of the anatomist and the physiologist to explain the\nmechanical structure of the several organs of sense, and their value as\nparts of the physical system. The psychologist has to do with them only\nas instruments of the mind, and it is for him to show their connection\nand proper office as such. This has been attempted in the preceding\nanalysis.\n\n_The kind of Knowledge afforded by the Senses._--It is to be noticed,\nin addition, that with the exception of the tactual sense, and possibly\nof sight, these senses give us no direct, immediate knowledge of\nexternal things. They simply furnish data, signs, intimations, by the\nhelp of which the understanding forms its conclusions of the world\nwith out. They are the _receiving_ agents of the mind. This is, in\nfact, the chief office of sense, to receive through its various avenues\nthe materials from which the understanding shall frame conceptions\nof things without; to convey, as it were, a series of telegraphic\ndespatches along those curious and slender filaments that compose the\nnervous organization, by means of which the soul, keeping her hidden\nseat and chamber within, may receive communication from the distant\nprovinces of her empire. These signs the understanding interprets;\nand in so far as this is the true nature of the process, it is not\na process of immediate and proper perception. I hear, for example, a\nnoise. All that I really perceive in this case is the sensation of\nsound. I refer it, however, to an external cause, to a carriage passing\nin the street. I specify, moreover, the kind of carriage, perhaps\na coach, or a wagon with iron axles. I have observed, have learned\nby experience, that sounds of this nature are produced in this way,\nthat is, by carriages passing, and by such carriages. Hence I judge\nthat the sound which I now hear is produced in the same way. It is an\n_inference_, a conception merely. All that sense does is to receive and\ntransmit the sign, which the understanding interprets by the aid of\nformer experience. And the same is true of the other senses, with the\nexceptions named.\n\n_Not therefore of little Value._--We are not to infer, however, that\nthese senses are on this account of no special value or importance to\nus. They do precisely what is needed. They put us in possession of\njust the data wanted in order to the necessary information concerning\nexternal things. It is only the theorist who undervalues the senses,\nand he only in his closet. No man, in the full possession of his\nreason, and his right mind, can go forth into this fair and goodly\nworld, and not thank God for every one of those senses--sight, hearing,\ntaste, touch, and smell. Their true and full value, however, we never\nlearn till we come to be deprived of their use; till with Milton we\nexclaim,\n\n    \"Seasons return; but not to me returns\n    Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn.\"\n\n\n\u00a7 V.--AMOUNT OF INFORMATION DERIVED FROM THE RESPECTIVE SENSES\n\n_A further Question as to one Class of the Senses._--The relations and\nspecific functions of the several senses have been already described.\nSome further questions arise, however, respecting the precise amount\nand kind of information afforded by that class of the senses which;\nas we have seen, relates to the spatial properties of bodies, in\ndistinction from the chemical, viz.: hearing, sight, and touch.\n\n_What is given in Hearing._--And first, as to the sense of _hearing_.\nWhat is it precisely that we hear? When we listen to a sound, we speak\nof hearing the object that produces the sound; we say, I hear a bell,\na bird, a gun, etc. Strictly speaking, we do not hear the object, but\nonly the sound. It is not the bell or the bird that we hear, but the\nvibration of the air produced by bell and bird. This has been already\nillustrated by reference to a carriage passing in the street. It is\nonly by experience, aided by other senses, that we learn to refer the\nsound to its producing cause.\n\n_Hearing not properly Perception._--Is hearing then a sensation merely,\nor is it a perception? If by perception we mean a direct knowledge of\nthe external object--which is the proper sense of the word--hearing\ncertainly is not perception. It gives us no such immediate knowledge.\nWhat we perceive in hearing is merely the sensation of sound. It may be\ndoubted whether by this sense alone we should ever get the idea that\nwhat we hear is any thing external to ourselves.\n\n_Affords the means of Judging._--As it is, however, we judge, not only\nof the existence and nature, but of the distance and direction of the\nexternal object whence the sound proceeds. We learn to do this with\ngreat correctness, and with great facility. No sooner do we hear a\nsound, in most instances, than we form an opinion at once, from what\ndirection it comes, and what produces it; nor are we often mistaken in\nour judgment. The faculty of judging by the ear as to the direction of\nthe sound, and the nature of the object producing it, may be cultivated\nby care and practice to a remarkable degree of accuracy. Napoleon was\nseldom mistaken as to the direction and distance of a cannonade. It\nis said that the Indian of the north-western prairies by applying his\near to the ground, will detect the approach of a body of cavalry at a\ndistance beyond the reach of vision, and distinguish their tread from\nthat of a herd of buffaloes.\n\n_Number of Sounds._--The number of sounds which the ear can distinguish\nis almost without limit. There are, it is said, five hundred distinct\ntones which an ear of usual accuracy can recognize, and each of these\ntones admits of five hundred variations of loudness, giving, in all,\ntwo hundred and fifty thousand different sounds.\n\n_Power of Sound over the Mind._--The power of sound to affect the mind,\nand especially the feelings, is too well known to require specific\nstatement. The note of an instrument, the tone of a human voice, the\nwild warbling of a bird, the tinkling of a bell, the variations of\nspeech and of song, from the high and shrill to the low and heavy\nintonation, from the quick and impetuous to the slow and plaintive\nmovement, these simple varieties of tone affect powerfully the heart,\nand find their way at once and irresistibly to the feelings. Hence\nthe power of music over even the uncultivated mind; hence too in no\nsmall degree the power of the skilful orator over the feelings of\nhis audience. It is not merely, nor so much, the thing said, in many\ncases, as the way of saying it, that touches and sways the assembled\nmultitude. Tones and sounds have a natural meaning. They are the\nnatural language of the heart. They express emotion, and hence awaken\nemotions in others.\n\n_The Question as to Sight._--Turning now from the sense of _hearing_\nto that of _sight_, the question arises, What is it precisely that\nwe perceive by the eye? When we fix the eye upon any object, more or\nless remote, what is it, strictly speaking, that we see, extension and\nfigure, or only color? Is it by vision that we learn primarily the\ndistance of objects and their locality? These are points requiring\ninvestigation.\n\n_Does Sight give Extension and Figure._--As to the first of these\nquestions, whether extension and figure are objects of direct visual\nperception. No doubt they are associated in our minds with the act of\nvision, so that the moment we see an object we obtain an idea of it\nas extended, and of such and such dimensions and figure. The question\nis, whether it is really through the sense of sight that we obtain\nthis idea, or in some other way. Had we no other means of information,\nwould sight alone give us this? When we first open our eyes on external\nobjects, do we receive the idea of extension and figure, or only of\ncolor? The fact that as matters are, we cannot in our experience\nseparate the notion of some surface extension from the sensation of\ncolor, is not decisive of these questions. We cannot, as Dr. Brown\nobserves, separate the color from the convexity and magnitude of an\noak before us, but this does not prove that convexity and magnitude\nare objects of immediate and original perception. If every surface in\nnature had been convex, suggests the same writer, we should probably\nhave found the same difficulty in attempting to conceive of color as\nseparate from convexity, that we now find in attempting to conceive\nof it as separate from length and breadth. As it is, however, our\nsensation of color has not always been associated with convexity, while\nit has been always associated with surface extension. Hence it is,\nhe maintains, that we seem to perceive, by the eye, the length, and\nbreadth, and objects along with their color.\n\n_Argument from the Affection of a Portion of the Retina._--The fact\nthat in vision a certain portion of the retina in length and breadth is\nactually affected by the light falling on it, has been supposed by some\nto be conclusive of the fact that we perceive the length and breadth\nof the external object by the eye. This does not necessarily follow.\nAs Dr. Brown contends, it is equally true that a certain part of the\norgan of smell is affected by odors, and a certain part of the auditory\nnerve is affected by sounds, yet we are not conscious of any perception\nof extension by either of these organs; we neither smell nor hear the\nlength, and breadth, and magnitude of objects; nor is there any reason\nto suppose that the particular portion of the retina affected has any\nthing to do with the original sensation of sight.\n\n_Amount of the preceding Arguments._--These arguments however, do\nnot strike me as conclusive. They merely show the _possibility_\nthat extension and figure _may be_ acquired rather than original\nperceptions. They do not amount to positive evidence that they _are_ so.\n\n_An Argument to the Contrary._--On the other hand, there is one\nconsideration of a positive character, which to most minds will be\nlikely to outweigh the merely negative arguments already adduced. Color\nis a property of light, and light comes to us reflected from objects\noccupying space; we perceive it only as we perceive it spread over and\nreflected from some surface. Extension, then, surface expansion of the\nreflecting object, is the indispensable condition of the visibility of\nlight itself, and so of color, as reflected from the object. Now it is\ndifficult to persuade ourselves that what we know to be an essential\ncondition of the perception of color, and what we seem to perceive\nalong with the color, and cannot, even in thought, wholly separate from\nit, is not, after all, really perceived by the eye.\n\n_Argument from recent Discoveries._--Indeed, recent discoveries in\nscience seem to vindicate that not only surface extension, but trinal\nextension, or _solidity_, may be an object of direct perception\nby the eye. I refer to the researches of Wheatstone, in binocular\nvision, which go to show, that in consequence of the difference of the\nimages formed upon the right and the left eye, as occupying different\npositions with reference to the object seen, we are enabled by the\neye to cognize the solidity as well as the extension of objects. The\ndifference of figure in the two images gives us this. That such is\nthe case is shown by an instrument, the stereoscope, so constructed\nas to present separately the image as formed on each eye, which, when\nseparately viewed, appear as mere plane surfaces, but when viewed\ntogether, the right image with the right eye, and the left one with\nthe left eye, at the same time, present no longer the appearance of\nplane surfaces, but the two images combine to form one distinct figure,\nand that a solid, having length, breadth, thickness, and standing out\nwith all the semblance of the real object.\n\nIt is hardly necessary to say that if extension is an object of\nperception by the eye, so also is figure, which is merely the\n_limitation_ of extension in different directions.\n\n_Second Question--Does Sight give Distance?_--Is it also by vision that\nwe obtain the idea of the _distance_ of objects and their externality?\nDoes vision alone give the idea that what we see is numerically\ndistinct from ourselves, and that it occupies this or that particular\nlocality? So it would seem, judging from the impression left upon\nthe mind in the act of vision. We seem to see the object as here or\nthere, external, more or less distant in space. We distinguish it from\nourselves.\n\n_The negative View._--This is denied by some. All that we see, they\ncontend, is merely the light coming from the object, and from the\nvariations and modifications which this exhibits we learn to judge by\nexperience of the distance and locality of the object. It is a matter\nof judgment and not of perception. We have learned to associate the two\nthings, the visual appearance and the distance.\n\n_Argument in the Negative._--In proof of this they adduce the fact that\nwe are frequently mistaken in our estimate of the distance of objects.\nIf there be more or fewer intervening objects than usual, if the\natmosphere be more or less clear than usual, or any like circumstance\naffords a variation from our ordinary experience, we are misled as to\nthe distance of the object. Hence we mistake the distance of ships at\nsea, or of objects on a prairie or a desert, the width of rivers, the\nheight of steeples, towers, etc.\n\n_Further Argument in the Negative._--It is further contended that facts\nshow that the impressions of sight alone, uncorrected by experience, do\nnot convey the idea of distance at all, but that what we see seems to\nbe in connection with the eye itself, until we learn the contrary by\nthe aid of other senses. This, it is said, is the experience of persons\nwho have been operated upon for cataract, particularly of a patient\nwhose case is described by Cheselden, and who thought every thing which\nhe saw, touched his eyes. It is said also to have been the same with\nCaspar Hauser, when first liberated from the long confinement of his\ndungeon, and permitted to look out upon the external world. The goodly\nlandscape seemed to him to be a group of figures, drawn upon the window.\n\n_Force of this Argument._--This, however, is not inconsistent with\nthe perception of externality by vision, since even what seems to be\nin contact with the eye, nay, what is known to be so, may still be\nknown as external. Contact implies externality. It is very much to be\ndoubted, moreover, whether the cases now referred to, coincide with\nthe usual experience of those who are learning to see. The little\nchild seems to recognize the externality and remoteness from his own\nperson of the objects which attract his attention, as soon as he learns\nto observe surrounding objects at all, and, though he may not judge\ncorrectly of their relative distance from himself, never seems by his\nmovements to suppose that they are in contact with his eye or with any\npart of his person. The young of animals, also, as soon as they are\nborn, seem to perceive by the eye, the externality, the direction, and\nthe distance of objects, and govern their movements accordingly. It is\nnot, in these cases, a matter of experience, but of direct perception.\nThese facts render it doubtful, to say the least, whether the common\nimpression--that which in spite of all arguments to the contrary, is,\nand always will be made upon the mind in the act of vision, viz., that\nwe see objects as external, as having locality, and as more or less\nremote from us--is not, after all, the correct impression.\n\n_Learning to judge of Distance not inconsistent with this View._---\nNor does it conflict with this view that we learn to judge of the\ntrue distance of objects, and are often deceived in regard to it. The\n_measurement_ of distance, the more or less of it, is of course a\nmatter of experience, a thing to be learned by practice. It does not\nfollow, however, that we may not by the eye directly, and at first,\nperceive an object to be external, and removed from us, in other words\ndistant, though we may not know at first _how_ distant. The rays of\nlight that come to us from this external object, may give us direct\nperception of the object as external, as extended, and as occupying\napparently a given locality in space more or less remote, while at the\nsame time it may be left to other senses and to experience to determine\nhow great that distance is.\n\n_Questions as to Touch._--Passing now from the sense of sight to that\nof _touch_, we find similar questions discussed among philosophers\nrespecting the precise information afforded by this sense. Does\ntouch give us immediate perception of externality, extension, form,\nhardness, softness, etc., including the various mechanical properties\nof bodies? To this sense it has been common to ascribe these faculties\nof perception. They are so attributed by Reid, Upham, Wayland, and, I\nbelieve, by modern writers generally, with the exception of Brown and\nHamilton.\n\n_Probability of another Source of Information._--It may be questioned,\nI think, whether, as regards some of these qualities at least, it is\nnot rather the consciousness of resistance to muscular effort, than\nthe sense of touch, properly speaking, that is the informing source.\nSo, for example, as to hardness; the application of an external body\nlightly to the hand awakens the sense of touch, but conveys no idea\nof hardness. Let the same object be allowed to rest with gradually\nincreasing weight upon the hand until it becomes painful, and we\nget the idea of weight, gravitation, but not of the hardness or\nimpenetrability of the object. It is only when our muscular effort to\nmove or penetrate the external body is met and resisted by the same,\nthat we learn the impenetrability of the opposing body.\n\n_Other Perceptions attributable to the same Source._--So with regard to\nexternality, extension, and form. When an external object, a cube, for\nexample, or an ivory ball, is placed on the palm of the hand, sensation\nis awakened, but is that sensation necessarily accompanied with the\nperception of the external object as such? Does the mere tactual\nsensation, in the first instance, and of itself, inform us that there\nis something external to ourselves, that what we feel is not a part\nof our own organism? We are conscious of a change in the sensation of\nthe part affected, but are we immediately conscious that this change\nis produced by something external? Let there be given, however, the\nconsciousness of resistance to our muscular movements, as when the cube\nor ball, for instance, prevents the effort to close the hand, or when\nour locomotion is impeded by the presence of some obstacle, and will\nnot the same resistance inform us of the extension of the resisting\nbody, and so of its form and figure? We learn whereabout in space\nthis resistance occurs, and where it ceases. The tactual sensation\nwould indeed very soon come to our aid in this cognition, and serve\nas a guiding sense, even in the absence of the former. The question\nis, whether this alone would, in the first instance, give us such\ncognitions?\n\n_Our first Ideas of Extension, how derived._--We have had reference in\nthis discussion only to the qualities of _external_ bodies. There can\nbe little question that our _first_ ideas of extension are derived from\nour own sentient organism, the consciousness of sensations in different\nparts of the body, distinct from, and out of each other, thus affording\nthe knowledge of an extended sentient organization. The idea of\nexternality, or outness, and extension, thus acquired, the transition\nis easy from the perception of our own bodies as possessing these\nqualities, to the cognizance of the same qualities in external objects.\n\n\n\u00a7 VI.--CREDIBILITY OF OUR SENSATIONS AND PERCEPTIONS.\n\n_Denied by some._--There have always been those who were disposed to\ncall in question the testimony of the senses. Such were the Eleatics\nand the Skeptics among the Greek philosophers, and there have not been\nwanting among the moderns minds of acuteness and ingenuity that have\nfollowed in the same path. While admitting the _phenomena_ of sense,\nthe _appearance_ of things as being so and so, they have called in\nquestion the corresponding objective reality. Things appear to me to be\nthus and thus--such and such impressions are made on my senses--that\nI cannot deny; but how do I know that the reality corresponds to my\nimpressions, or, in fact, that there is any reality? How know we\nour senses to be reliable? What evidence have we that they do not\nhabitually deceive us?\n\n_Evidence demanded._--It were perhaps a sufficient answer to this\nquestion to reply, What _evidence_ have we, or can we have, that they\n_do_ deceive us? In the absence of all evidence to the contrary, is\nit not more reasonable to suppose that our perceptions correspond to\nrealities, than that they are without foundation, uncaused, or caused\nby something not at all answering to the apparent object of perception;\nmore reasonable to suppose that there is a real table or book answering\nto my perception of one, than that I have the perception while there\nis no such reality? It remains with those, then, who question and deny\nthe validity of sense-perception, to show reasons for such denial. And\nthis becomes the more imperative on them, inasmuch as they contradict\nthe common belief and universal opinion of mankind--nay, what, in spite\nof all their arguments, is still, by their own confession, their own\npractical conviction and belief.\n\n_Evidence impossible._--But whence is this evidence to come? Where is\nit to be sought? How are we to prove that sense deceives us, except by\narguments drawn from sense? And if sense is not reliable in the first\ninstance, why rely upon it in the second, to prove that it is not\nreliable? If the senses do habitually deceive us, manifestly it can\nnever be shown that they do. And, even if this could be shown, it would\nbe impossible to find any thing better to rely upon in their stead. We\nhave these guides or none. We have these instruments of observation\nprovided for the voyage of life. We may pronounce them worthless and\nthrow them into the sea, but we cannot replace them.\n\n_Inconsistent and contradictory Testimony of Sense._--But it may be\nreplied that the testimony of sense is often inconsistent with itself,\nand contradictory of itself. What is sweet to one is sour and bitter\nto another. What seems a round tower in the distance becomes a square\none as you approach; and the straight stick that you hold in your\nhand appears crooked when thrust into the water. There is in reality,\nhowever, no contradiction or inconsistency in the cases supposed. The\nchange of circumstances accounts in every instance for the change\nof appearance. In the case of the stick, for example, the different\ndensity of the water accounts for the refraction of the rays of light\nthat pass through it, and this accounts for the crooked appearance of\nthe stick that is only partially submerged. So in the other cases; it\nis no contradiction that an object which appears round at a distance\nof ten miles, should appear square at the distance of so many rods--or\nthat the taste of two persons should not agree as to the savor of a\ngiven object.\n\n_Deceptions of Sense._--It may be further objected that in certain\nstates of the physical organism, sensations are experienced which\nseem to be of external origin, but are really produced by internal\nchanges; and that in such cases we have the same perceptions, see the\nsame objects, hear the same things, that we should if there were a\ncorresponding external reality, while nevertheless there is no such\nreality, and it can be proved that there is none. If this may happen in\nsome cases, why not in others, or in all?\n\n_Reply._--I reply, the simple fact, that in the case supposed the\ndeception can be detected and proved, shows the difference between that\nand ordinary perception. If the senses were not habitually reliable,\nwe could not detect the mistake in this particular instance. If all\ncoin were counterfeit, how could we detect a counterfeit coin? We know,\nmoreover, how to account for the mistake in the case before us. It\noccurs, by the supposition, only in a certain state of the organism,\nthat is, only in a diseased, abnormal condition of the system. The\nexception proves the rule.\n\n_Distinction of direct and indirect Testimony._--A distinction is to\nbe made, in the discussion of this subject, between the direct and\nindirect testimony of the senses, between that which is strictly and\nproperly perception, and that which is only conception, judgment,\ninference. What I really perceive, for example, in the case of the\ndistant tower, or the stick partially under water, is only a given\nappearance; I _infer_ from that appearance that the tower is round and\nthe stick crooked, and in that inference I am mistaken. My judgment is\nat fault here, and not my senses. They testified truly and correctly.\nThey gave the real appearance, and this was all they could give, all\nthey ever give. This has been well stated by Dr. Reid, and, long before\nhim, the same ground was taken, in reply to the same objection, by\nAristotle and also by Epicurus.\n\n_Direct Perception gives what._--In regard to direct and immediate\nperception, the case is different. Here the testimony is positive\nto the existence of the object. When something resists my voluntary\nmovement, I am conscious of that resistance, conscious of something\nexternal and resisting. I cannot deny the fact of that consciousness.\nI may, however, deny the correctness, the truthfulness of what\nconsciousness affirms. To do this, however, is to put an end to all\nreasoning on the subject, for, when we give up consciousness as no\nlonger reliable, there is nothing left to fall back upon. If any one\nchooses to leap from this precipice, we can only say _finis_.\n\n\n\u00a7 VII.--HISTORICAL SKETCH.\n\nI. OF DIFFERENT DIVISIONS OF THE QUALITIES OF BODIES.\n\n_The Greek Philosophers._--The distinction of the qualities of\nbodies into two classes, differing in important respects, is by no\nmeans a modern one. It was recognized by some of the earlier Greek\nphilosophers, who held that the sweet, bitter, hot, cold, etc., are\nrather affections of our own senses than proper qualities of matter,\nhaving independent existence. Subsequently the view was adopted by\nProtagoras, and by the Cyrenean and Epicurean schools. Plato held it,\nand especially and very fully, Aristotle, who calls the qualities to\nwhich we have referred, and which are usually denominated secondary,\n_affective_ qualities, because they have the power of affecting the\nsenses, while the qualities now usually termed primary, as extension,\nfigure, motion, number, etc., he regards as not properly objects of\nsense. The former class he calls proper sensibles, the latter, common.\n\n_The Schoolmen._--The _schoolmen_ made much of this distinction, and\nheld, with Aristotle, that the qualities now called primary, require,\nfor their cognition, other faculties than those of sense.\n\n_Doctrine of Galileo._--_Galileo_ points out the true ground and\nphilosophy of this distinction, and also gives the name _primary_ to\nthe class referred to, viz., _those qualities which are necessary to\nour conception of body_, as for example, figure, size, place, etc.,\nwhile, on the contrary, colors, tastes, etc., are not inherent in\nbodies, but only in us, and we can conceive of body without them.\nThe former are real qualities of bodies, while the latter are only\nconceptions which give us no real knowledge of any thing external, but\nonly of the affections of our own minds.\n\n_The Moderns._--_Descartes_ and _Locke_ merely adopted these\ndistinctions as they found them, without essential modification. So\nalso did _Reid_ and _Stewart_, although both included among the\nprimary qualities some which are properly secondary, as roughness,\nsmoothness, hardness, softness. Indeed Stewart restricted the primary\nqualities to those and such as those just named.\n\n_Hamilton._--No writer has so fully elaborated this matter as Sir\nWilliam Hamilton, to whom we are indebted mainly for the historical\nfacts now stated, and whose dissertations are and must ever remain an\ninvaluable thesaurus on the philosophy of perception. So complete and\nelaborate is his classification of the qualities of matter, that I\nshall be pardoned for giving a synopsis of its principal points in this\nconnection.\n\n_Hamilton's Scheme--General Divisions._--He divides the qualities of\nbodies into three classes, which he calls primary, secundo-primary, and\nsecondary. The primary are thought as essential to the very notion of\nmatter, and may be deduced _\u00e0 priori_, the bare notion of matter being\ngiven; while the secundo-primary and the secondary, being accidental\nand contingent, must be deduced _\u00e0 posteriori_, learned by experience.\nHis deduction of the primary qualities is as follows:\n\n_Primary Qualities._--We can conceive of body only as, I. Occupying\nspace; II. Contained in space. Space is a necessary form of thought,\nbut we are not obliged to conceive of space as occupied, that is, to\nconceive of matter. When conceived it must be under the conditions now\nnamed.\n\nI. The property of occupying space is _Simple Solidity_, which implies,\n_a._ Trinal extension, or length, breadth, and thickness; _b._\nImpenetrability, or the property of not being reduced to non-extension.\nTrinal extension involves, 1. Number, or Divisibility; 2. Size,\nincluding Density; 3. Shape.\n\nII. The attribute of being contained in space, affords the notion, 1.\nOf Mobility; 2. Of Position.\n\nThe essential and necessary constituents then of our notion of matter\nare, 1. Extension (comprising under it, 2. Divisibility; 3. Size; 4.\nDensity; 5. Figure); 6. Ultimate Incompressibility; 7. Mobility; 8.\nSituation. These are the primary qualities, products, in a sort, of the\nunderstanding, developing themselves with rigid necessity out of the\ngiven notion of substance occupying space.\n\n_Secundo-Primary Qualities._--The secundo-primary are contingent\nmodifications of the primary, all have relation to space, and motion\nin space, _all are contained under the category of resistance_, or\n_pressure_, all are learned or included as results of experience, all\nhave both an objective and subjective phase, being at once qualities of\nmatter, and also affections of our senses.\n\nConsidered as to the _sources_ of resistance, there is, I. That of\n_Co-attraction_, under the forms of _a_, Gravity, _b_, Cohesion; II.\nThat of Repulsion; III. Inertia; all which are capable of minute\nsubdivision. Thus from cohesion follow the hard and soft, firm and\nfluid, tough and brittle, rigid and flexible, rough and smooth, etc.,\netc. From repulsion are derived compressible and incompressible,\nresilient and irresilient.\n\n_Secondary Qualities._--The secondary qualities are, as apprehended\nby us, not properly attributes of body at all, but only affections\nof our nervous organism. They belong to bodies only so far as these\nare furnished with the power of exciting our nervous organism to the\nspecific action thus designated. To this class belong color, sound,\nflavor, savor, tactile sensation, feeling of heat, electricity, etc.\nSuch also are titillation, sneezing, shuddering, and the various\nsensations, pleasurable or painful, resulting from the action of\nexternal stimuli.\n\n_These Classes further distinguished._--Of the qualities thus derived,\nthe primary are known immediately in themselves, the secondary only\nmediately in their effects on us, the secundo-primary both immediately\nin themselves, and mediately in their effects on us. The primary are\nqualities of body in relation to body simply, and to our organism as\nsuch; the secundo-primary are qualities of body in relation to our\norganism, not as body in general, but as body of a particular sort,\nviz.: propelling, resisting, cohesive; the secondary are qualities of\nbody in relation to our organism as excitable and sentient. The primary\nmay be roundly characterized as mathematical, the secundo-primary as\nmechanical, the secondary as physiological.\n\n_Reasons for retaining the twofold Division._--Such, in brief outline,\nare the principal points of Hamilton's classification. While following\nin the main the distinctions here indicated, I have preferred to\nretain the old division into primary and secondary, as at once more\nsimple, and sufficiently accurate, merely dividing the secondary\ninto two classes, the mechanical (secundo-primary of Hamilton), and\nphysiological. We are thus enabled, not merely to retain a division and\nnomenclature which have antiquity and authority in their favor, and\nare well-nigh universally received, but we avoid the almost barbarous\nterminology of Sir William's classification--while, at the same time,\nwe indicate with sufficient precision the important distinction between\nthe so-called secundo-primary and secondary qualities.\n\n\nII. OF DIFFERENT THEORIES OF PERCEPTION.\n\n_Realists and Idealists._--There are two leading theories, quite\ndistinct from each other, which have widely prevailed, and divided the\nthinking world, as to the philosophy of perception. The one maintains\nthat in perception we have _direct cognizance_ of a real external\nworld. This is the view taken in the preceding pages, and now generally\nheld by psychologists in this country, and to some extent in Europe\nBut for a long period, the prevalent, and in fact, until the time of\nReid in Scotland, and Kant in Germany, the almost universally-received\nopinion was the reverse of this--that in perception, as in any and\nall other mental acts, the mind is conscious only of its own ideas,\ncognizant of itself and its own states only, incapable, in fact, of\nknowing any thing external to itself. Those who hold the former view\nare termed _Realists_, the latter _Idealists_.\n\n_Further division of the latter._--The latter, however, are of two\nclasses. The _Absolute Idealists_ hold that the notion we have of\nexternal things is purely subjective, having no external counterpart,\nno corresponding outward reality. In distinction from this the greater\npart maintain that while we are cognizant, directly and strictly, of\nnothing beyond our own minds, nevertheless there is an external reality\ncorresponding to the idea in our minds, and which that idea represents.\nHence they have been designated _Representative Idealists_, or, as Sir\nWilliam Hamilton terms them, Cosmothetic Idealists.\n\n_Further Distinction._--Of these latter, again, some hold the idea\nwhich we have of an external world to be merely a state or modification\nof the mind itself; others regard it as a sort of intermediate\nconnecting link between mind and matter. The former may be called\negoistic, and the latter non-egoistic.\n\n_Summary of Classes._--We have then these three great classes--the\n_Natural Realists_, the _Absolute Idealists_, and the _Representative\nIdealists_ comprising the Egoistic and Non-Egoistic divisions.\n\n_Distinguished Writers of the different Classes._--On the roll of\nabsolute idealism are names of no small distinction: Berkley and\nHume, in England, Fichte and Hegel, in Germany, are of the number;\nwhile among the representative idealists one finds Descartes,\nArnauld, Malebranche, Leibnitz, Locke, in fine, the greater number\nof philosophic writers from Descartes onward to the time of Reid.\nSubsequently even, we find a writer of no less repute than Dr. Brown\nassuming, as the basis of his philosophy of perception, the exploded\ntheory of representative idealism, under the egoistic form. Of\nnatural realists since the time of Reid, Sir W. Hamilton is the most\ndistinguished.\n\n_Origin of Representative Idealism._--The doctrine of representative\nperception doubtless originated in the difficulty of conceiving how a\npurely spiritual existence, the human mind, can, by any possibility,\ntake cognizance of, or be affected by, a purely material substance, the\nexternal world. The soul seated in its presence-chamber, the brain, can\ncognize nothing beyond and without, for nothing can get except where it\nis present. It must be, then, said the philosophers, that in order to\nthe mind's perceiving any thing of that which lies beyond and without\nits own immediate locality, there must come to the mind from that outer\nworld certain little images bearing some resemblance to the things\nwithout, and _representing_ to the soul that external world. These\nimages--more refined than matter, less spiritual than mind itself, of\nan intermediate nature between the two--they termed ideas.\n\n_Tendency of Representative to Absolute Idealism._--It is easy to\nsee how such a doctrine would lead almost inevitably to _absolute\nidealism_. If we do not in perception take cognizance directly of\nmatter external, but only of certain images or ideas in our own minds,\nthen how do we know that these images _correctly represent_ the\nexternal reality, which we have never cognized, and never shall? How\ndo we know, in fact, that there _is_ any such external reality? What\nevidence have we, in a word, of the existence of any thing beyond and\nwithout our own minds? This was the actual result to which Berkley and\nHume drove the then prevalent philosophy of Europe, as to a legitimate\nand inevitable result.\n\n_Relation of Dr. Reid to this Controversy._--To Dr. Reid belongs\nthe credit of rescuing philosophy from this dangerous extreme, by\nshowing the utter falsity of the ideal theory. He took the ground\nthat the existence of any such representative images in the mind\nis wholly without proof, nay more, is inconceivable; that while we\ncan conceive of an image of form or figure, we cannot conceive of\nan image of sound, or of taste or smell. The hypothesis is wholly\nwithout foundation. But even if it were conceivable and established by\nsufficient evidence, still it would explain nothing as to the manner in\nwhich the mind perceives external objects. It relieves no difficulty.\nIf the representative image be itself material, how can the mind take\ncognizance of it? If not material, how can it represent matter, and how\ncan the mind know that it does represent correctly the external object?\n\n_State of the Matter since Reid._--Since the time of Dr. Reid, this\ntheory of representative perception, at least in this non-egoistic\nform, has been for the most part abandoned, and philosophers have been\ncontent to take the ground indicated by consciousness, and the common\nsense of mankind, that in perception we take direct cognizance of the\nexternal object.\n\n_Position of Hamilton._--It remained for Sir W. Hamilton to complete\nthe work which Dr. Reid began, by showing that the representative\ntheory, in its finer or egoistic form, as held by Dr. Brown and others,\nis equally untenable or unsound; that it makes little difference\nwhether we regard the image or idea, which we take to represent the\nexternal object, as something distinct from the mind itself, or whether\nwe view it as a mere modification or state of the mind, so long as we\nmake any thing of the sort the direct object of perception instead of\nthe real external thing. Idealism is the result in either case, and\nphilosophical skepticism the goal. In place of any and all such views,\nHamilton maintains, with great power and earnestness, the doctrine of\nnatural realism--that in perception we are cognizant immediately and\ndirectly of the external object.\n\nAs no other writer has so fully elaborated this department of science,\nit may be of service to present in this connection the chief points of\nhis theory.\n\n_Chief Points of Hamilton's Theory of Perception._--All perception is\nimmediate cognition; we perceive only what we apprehend as now and here\nexistent; and hence what we perceive is either in our own organism,\nviewed as material, extended, etc., or else is in immediate correlation\nto it. The organism is, in perception, viewed as not-me; in sensation,\nas of the me.\n\n_What is given in Perception proper._--What we apprehend in perception\nproper is: 1. The primary qualities of body as pertaining to our own\norganism; 2. The secundo-primary qualities of bodies in correlation to\nit. (See Hamilton's division of qualities of bodies, as above.)\n\n_Primary Qualities of external Objects, how known._--The primary\nqualities of things external to our organism we do not perceive\nimmediately, but only infer, from the effects produced on us by them.\nNeither in perception nor sensation do we apprehend immediately, or\nin itself, the external cause of our affection or sensation. That is\nalways unknown to consciousness, known only by inference or conjecture.\n\n_External Existence, how learned._--The existence of the world without\nis apprehended not in a perception of the primary qualities of things\nexternal, but of the secundo-primary--_i. e._, in the consciousness\nthat our movements are resisted by something external to our organism.\nThis involves the consciousness of something external, resisting. The\ntwo things are conjunctly apprehended.\n\n_This presupposes what._--This experience presupposes the notion of\nspace, and motion in space. These are inherent, instinctive native\nelements of thought, and it is idle to inquire how we come by them.\nEvery perception of sensations _out of_, and distinct from, other\nsensations gives occasion for conceiving the idea of space. _Outness_\ninvolves it.\n\n_Points of Difference between this Theory and Reid's._--The system,\nas thus stated, differs in some respects materially from the doctrine\nof perception advanced by Dr. Reid, and generally adopted since his\ntime by the English and Scotch philosophers. According to Hamilton,\nperception is not, as held by Reid and others, the _conception_ of\nan object _suggested_ by sensation, but the direct cognition of\nsomething. We do not merely _conceive_ of the object as existing, and\n_believe_ it to exist, we _know_ it and _perceive_ it to exist. Nor\ndoes sensation precede, and perception follow, as generally stated,\nbut the two are, in time, conjunct, co\u00ebxistent. Nor do we perceive the\nsecondary qualities of bodies, as such, but only _infer_ them from our\nsensations. Neither do we perceive distant objects through a medium,\nas usually held, but what we perceive is either the organism itself,\nas affected thus and thus, or what is directly in contact with it, as\naffecting and resisting it. Extension and externality, again, are not\nfirst learned by _touch_, as Reid holds, and most subsequent writers,\nboth English and American, but in other ways; the former, by the\nperception of the primary qualities of our own organism, as the seat\nof sensations distinct from other sensations elsewhere localized; the\nlatter, by the resistance which we experience to our own locomotive\nforce. Finally, sensation proper is not, as with Reid and others, an\naffection purely of the mind, but of mind and body as complex. Its\nsubject is as much one as the other.\n\n\n\n\nINTELLECTUAL FACULTIES.\n\nPART SECOND\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nREPRESENTATIVE POWER\n\n\n\n\nGENERAL OBSERVATIONS.\n\n\n_Nature of this Power--Its various Forms._--It is in the mind's power\nto conceive or represent to itself an object not at the time present\nto the senses. This may take place in several forms. There may be the\nsimple reproduction in thought of the absent object of sense. There\nmay be, along with the reproduction or recurrence of the object, the\n_recognition_ of it as a former object of sensation or perception.\nThere may be the reproduction of the object not as it is, or was,\nwhen formerly perceived, but with variations, the different elements\narranged and combined not according to the actual and original, but\naccording to the mind's own ideals, and at its will. This latter\nform of conception is what is usually termed imagination--while the\ngeneral term memory, as ordinarily employed, is made to include\nthe two former. While using the term in this general sense, we may\nproperly distinguish, however, between mental reproduction, and mental\nrecognition, the latter being strictly the office of memory.\n\nAll these are but so many forms of the representative power. We may\ndesignate them respectively as the _reproductive_, _recognitive_, and\n_creative_ faculties. The mind's activity is essentially the same\nunder each of these forms. The object is not _given_ but _thought_,\nnot presented to sense, but _represented_ to the mind. The process is\nreflective rather than intuitive. It is a matter of _understanding_\nrather than of _sense_ or of _reason_. It is a conception, not a\nperception or an intuition, and it is a simple conception of the object\nas it is or is conceived to be, in itself considered, and not in\nrelation to other objects.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nMEMORY.\n\n\u00a7 I.--MENTAL REPRODUCTION.\n\n\nI. NATURE OF THE PROCESS.\n\n_General Character._--As now defined, this is that form of mental\nactivity in which the mind's former perceptions and sensations are\nreproduced in thought. The external objects are no longer present--the\noriginal sensations and perceptions have vanished--but by the\nmind's own power are reproduced to thought, giving, as it were, a\nrepresentation or image of the original.\n\n_Example._--Suppose, for instance, that I have seen Strasburg minster,\nor the cathedral of Milan. Months, perhaps years pass away. By-and-by,\nin some other and remote part of the world, something reminds me of\nthat splendid structure; I see again its imposing front, its lofty\ntowers, its airy pinnacles and turrets. The solemn pile rises complete,\nas by magic, to the mind's eye, and, regardless of time or distance,\nthe faculty of simple conception reproduces the object as it is.\n\n_Conceptions of Sound._--In like manner I form a conception, more\nor less distinct, of sounds once heard. The chanting of the evening\nservice in the Church of the Madeleine at Paris, and the prolonged note\nof a shepherd's horn among the Alps, are instances of musical sound\nthat frequently recur with startling distinctness to the mind. The\nsame is to some extent true of the sensations and perceptions derived\nfrom the other senses. With more or less vividness the objects of all\nsuch sensations and perceptions are capable of being reproduced in\nconception.\n\n_The Conceptions not of Necessity connected with the Recollection of\nSelf as the Percipient._--In these cases there may or may not be a\nconnection of the object, as it lies before our minds, with our own\npersonal history as the former percipients of that object. The time,\nplace, circumstance, of that perception may not be distinctly before\nus; even the fact that we have ourselves seen, heard, felt, what we\nnow conceive, may not, at the moment, be an object of thought. These\nare the elements of memory or mental recognition, and are certainly\nvery likely to stand associated in our minds with the conception of the\nobject itself. But not always nor of necessity is it so. There may be\nsimple conception of the object, mental reproduction, where there is,\nfor the time being, no recognition of any thing further. The Strasburg\nminster, the chanting of the choir, the note of the mountain horn, the\nsnowy peak of Jungfrau, may stand out by themselves before the mind,\nabstracted from all thought of the time, the place, the circumstances\nin which they were originally perceived, or even from all thought of\nthe fact that we have at some former time actually perceived these very\nobjects. They may present themselves as pure conceptions.\n\n_Conceptions vary in some Respects._--Our conceptions vary in respect\nto definiteness and clearness. The objects of some of the senses are\nmore readily and also more distinctly conceived than those of others.\nThe sense of sight is peculiar in this respect. A visible object is\nmore easily and more distinctly conceived than a particular sound or\ntaste. The sense of hearing is, perhaps, next to that of sight in this\nrespect; while the sensations of taste and smell are so seldom the\nobjects of distinct conception, that some have even denied the power\nof conceiving them. Dr. Wayland maintains this view. That we do form\nconceptions more or less distinct of the objects both of taste and\nsmell, as, _e. g._ of the taste of a melon, or the smell of an orange,\nhardly admits of question; while, at the same time, it is doubtless\ntrue that we have less occasion to reproduce in thought the objects now\nreferred to than those of sight and hearing, that they are recalled\nwith less facility, and also with less distinctness.\n\n_Stewart's Theory._--Dugald Stewart has ingeniously suggested that the\nreason why a sound or a taste is less readily conceived than an object\nof sight, may be that the former are single detached sensations, while\nvisible objects are complex, presenting a series of connected points\nof observation, and our conception of them as a whole is the result of\nmany single conceptions, a result to which the association of ideas\nlargely contributes. We more readily conceive two things in connection\nthan either of them separately. On the same principle a series of\nsounds in a strain of music is more readily conceived than a single\ndetached note.\n\n_Importance of this Power._--The value of this power to the mind\nis inestimable. Without it, the passing moment, the impression or\nsensation of the instant, would be the sum total of our intellectual\nlife, of our conscious being. The horizon of our mental vision would\nextend no further than our immediate present perceptions. The past\nwould be a blank as dark and uncertain even as the future. Conception\nlights up the otherwise dreary waste of past existence, and reproducing\nthe former scenes and objects, gives us mental possession of all\nthat we have been, as well as of the present moment, and lays at our\nfeet the objects of all former knowledge. The mind thus becomes in a\nmeasure independent of sense and the external world. What it has once\nseen, heard, felt, becomes its permanent acquisition, even when the\noriginal object of perception is for ever removed. I may have seen the\ngrand and stately minster, or the snowy Alp but once in all my life,\nbut ever after it dwells among my conceptions, and in after years,\non other continents, and amid far other scenes, that vision of beauty\nand grandeur passes before me as an angelic vision; that succession of\nsweet sounds traverses again the silent chambers of the brain, with all\nthe freshness of first reality. It is only a conception now, but who\nshall estimate the worth of that simple power of conception?\n\n_The Talent for Description as affected by this Power._--The following\nremarks of Mr. Stewart illustrate happily one of the many uses to which\nthis power is subservient:\n\n\"A talent for lively description, at least in the case of sensible\nobjects, depends chiefly on the degree in which the describer possesses\nthe power of conception. We may remark, even in common conversation,\na striking difference among individuals in this respect. One man, in\nattempting to convey a notion of any object he has seen, seems to place\nit before him, and to paint from actual perception; another, although\nnot deficient in a ready elocution, finds himself, in such a situation,\nconfused and embarrassed among a number of particulars imperfectly\napprehended, which crowd into his mind without any just order and\nconnection. Nor is it merely to the accuracy of our descriptions\nthat this power is subservient; it contributes, more than any thing\nelse, to render them striking and expressive to others, by guiding\nus to a selection of such circumstances as are most prominent and\ncharacteristic; insomuch that I think it may reasonably be doubted if\na person would not write a happier description of an object from the\nconception than from the perception of it. It has often been remarked,\nthat the perfection of description does not consist in a minute\nspecification of circumstances, but in a judicious selection of them\nand that the best rule for making the selection is to attend to the\nparticulars that make the deepest impression on our own minds. When\nthe object is actually before us, it is extremely difficult to compare\nthe impressions which different circumstances produce; and the very\nthought of writing a description, would prevent the impressions which\nwould otherwise take place. When we afterward conceive the object, the\nrepresentation of it we form to ourselves, however lively, is merely an\noutline, and is made up of those circumstances which really struck us\nmost at the moment, while others of less importance are obliterated.\"\n\n_Conceptions often Complex._--It is to be further remarked respecting\nthe power now under consideration, that the notion, or conception which\nwe form of an object, by means of this faculty, is frequently complex.\nThe particular perceptions and sensations formerly experienced, and\nnow represented, are combined, forming thus a notion of the object as\na whole. The figure, magnitude, color, and various other properties,\nof any object, as, _e. g._, a table, are objects each of distinct and\nseparate cognition, and as such are mentally reproduced, distinctly,\nand separately; but when thus reproduced, are combined to form the\ncomplete conception of the table, as it lies in my mind. The notion or\nconception of the object as a whole being thus once formed, any single\nperception as, _e. g._, of color, figure, etc., is afterward sufficient\nto recall and represent the whole.\n\n_Often passes for Perception._--It was remarked, in treating of\nperception, that very much which passes under that name is in reality\nonly conception. I hear, for example, a carriage passing in the street.\nAll that I really perceive is the sound; but that single perception\nrecalls at once the various perceptions that have formerly been\nassociated with it, and so there is at once reproduced in my mind the\n_conception_ of the passing carriage. Our conviction of the existence\nand reality of the object thus conceived, is hardly inferior to that\nproduced by actual and complete perception.\n\n_Correctness of our Conceptions._--In general it may be remarked, that\nour conceptions are more or less adequate and correct representations\nof the objects to which they relate, according as they combine the\nreports of more or fewer different senses, respecting more or fewer\ndifferent qualities, and as these reports are more or less clear and\ndistinct.\n\n\nII. LAWS OF MENTAL REPRODUCTION.\n\n_Conceptions not uncaused._--It is evident that our conceptions arise\nnot uncaused and at hap-hazard, but according to some law. There is a\nmethod about the phenomena of mental reproduction. There is a reason\nwhy any particular scene or event of former experience, any perception\nor sensation, is brought again to mind, when it is, and as it is,\nrather than some other in its place. A careful observation and study\nof the laws which regulate in general the succession of thought, will\nfurnish the explanation and true philosophy of mental reproduction.\n\n_Principle of Suggestion._--Every thought which passes through the mind\nis directly or indirectly connected with, and suggested by something\nwhich preceded; and that something may be either a sensation, a\nperception, a conception, or an emotion. The precedence may be either\nimmediate or remote. Some connection there always is between any given\nthought or feeling at any moment before the mind, and some preceding\nthought or feeling, which gives rise to, occasions, suggests, the\nlatter. These suggestions follow certain general rules or laws, which\nare usually called the _laws of association_. These laws, so called,\nare only the different circumstances under which the suggestions\ntake place, and are termed laws only to indicate the regularity and\nuniformity with which, under given circumstances given thoughts and\nfeelings are awakened in the mind.\n\n_This the Basis of mental Reproduction._--It is to this general\nprinciple of suggestion or association that we are indebted for all\nmental reproduction. It is only as one idea or feeling is suggested by\nsome other which has gone before, and with which it is in some way, and\nfor some reason, associated in our minds, that any former thought or\nsensation is recalled, that any object which we have perceived or any\nscene through which we have passed, is mentally reproduced. It is thus\nthat the sight of an object brings to mind occurrences connected with\nit in our history, that the same recalls the thing, that the words of a\nlanguage bring to mind the ideas which they denote, or the characters\non the musical staff, the tones which they represent.\n\n_Not a distinct Faculty._--It has been customary to speak of\nassociation of ideas as a distinct faculty of the mind. It is not\nproperly so ranked. It is a law of the mind rather than a faculty of\nit--a rule or method of its action in certain cases; and the particular\npower of mind to which this rule applies is that form of simple\nconception which we term mental reproduction.\n\n_The Term Suggestion preferred by Brown._--In place of the term\nassociation, Dr. Brown would prefer the term suggestion as more\ncorrect. To speak of the association of ideas implies that they have\npreviously co\u00ebxisted in the mind, and that the one now recalls the\nother in consequence of that previous co\u00ebxistence. That this is often\nthe case is doubtless true, but it is also true that in many cases one\nidea suggests another with which it has not previously been associated\nin our minds. It is not necessary to the suggestion that there should\nbe any prior association. An object seen _for the first time_ suggests\nmany relative conceptions. The sight of a giant suggests the idea of a\nfriend of diminutive stature, not because the two ideas have previously\nbeen associated, or the two objects have co\u00ebxisted, either in\nperception or conception, but because it is a law of the mind that one\nconception shall suggest another, either as similar, or as opposite,\nor in some other way related to it. This may be as truly a law of the\nmind, independent of association, as that light falling on the retina\nshall produce vision. It may seem mysterious that this should be so.\nIs it not equally mysterious that ideas which have formerly co\u00ebxisted\nshould recall each other? The real mystery is the recurrence in any\nmode, and from any source, of the idea, without the recurrence of the\nexternal producing cause. For these reasons, Dr. Brown prefers the term\n_suggestion_ to _association_.\n\n_The Term Conception preferable to either._--As regards the activity\nof _the mind itself_, in the process of mental reproduction, the term\nconception seems to me to express more nearly the exact state of the\ncase than either association or suggestion. An idea is _suggested to_\nthe mind by some external object; the mind _conceives_ the idea thus\nsuggested. The flute which I perceive lying on the table in the room\nof my friend suggests at once to my mind the idea of that friend. The\naction of the mind in this case is simply an act of conception. All\nthat the flute does--all that we mean when we say the flute suggests\nthe idea of the friend--is simply to place the mind in such a state\nthat the conception follows. Whether we speak then of the laws of\n_association_, laws of _suggestion_, or laws of mental _conception_, is\nimmaterial, provided we bear in mind the real nature of the process as\nnow defined.\n\n_Question stated._--But what are the laws of association, or\nsuggestion, so-called--in other words, of mental conception? Under\nwhat circumstances is a given conception awakened in the mind by some\npreceding conception or perception? This is an important subject of\ninquiry, and one which has not escaped the attention of philosophers.\n\n_Primary Laws._--It has been usual to enumerate as primary laws of\nsuggestion, the following: _resemblance_, _contrast_, _contiguity in\ntime or place_; to which has sometimes been added _cause and effect_.\nThere can be little doubt that these are important laws of suggestion;\nthat given object of thought is likely to suggest to the mind that\nwhich is like itself, that which is unlike, that which is connected\nwith itself in time and place, that of which it is the cause or the\neffect. Whether these principles are exhaustive, and whether they may\nnot be reduced to some one general principle comprehensive of them all,\nmay admit of question.\n\n_Law of Similars._--To begin with _resemblance_. It seems to be a law\nof our nature, that like shall remind us of like. The mountain, the\nforest, the river, that I see in my morning walk to-day, remind me of\nsimilar objects that were familiar to my childhood. Nor is it necessary\nthat the resemblance should be complete. A single point of similarity\nis sufficient to awaken the conception of objects the most remote, and,\nin other respects, dissimilar. I pass in the street a person with blue\neyes, or dark hair, or having some peculiarity of expression in the\ncountenance, and am at once reminded of a very different person whom\nI knew years ago, or whom I met perhaps in another land; yet the two\nmay be as unlike, except in the one point which attracts my attention,\nas any two persons in the world. An article of dress peculiar to the\nElizabethan age, or to the court of Louis XIV. reminds us of the lordly\ndames and courtiers, or gallant warriors of those periods. A single\nfeature in the landscape, perhaps a single tree, or projecting crag,\non the mountain side, brings before us the picture of a scene widely\ndifferent in most respects, but presenting only this one point of\nresemblance to the scene before us.\n\n_Not confined to Objects of Sight._--Nor is it the objects of sight\nalone that are suggestive of similar objects. The other senses follow\nthe same law. Sounds suggest similar sounds; tastes, similar tastes;\nand along with the sounds, tastes, etc., thus recalled, are awakened\nconceptions of many things having no resemblance to the suggesting\nobject, but associated in our previous perceptions with the object\nsuggested. A certain succession of musical sounds, for example, recalls\nto the Swiss his native valley, and the mountains that shut it in, and\nbrings back to his mind the scene of his childhood, and the peculiar\ncustoms of his father-land where he heard in former years that simple\nmelody. With what a train of associations is a single name often\nfraught; what power of magic lies often in a single word!\n\n_Illustrations of other Laws._--Of the other principles of suggestion\nor association which have been named, it is not necessary to speak\nminutely. Their operation is obvious and indisputable. Illustrations\nwill occur to every one. The palace of the king reminds us by contrast\nof the hovel of the peasant. The splendor of wealth and luxury suggests\nthe wretchedness of poverty and want. The giant reminds us of the\ndwarf, and the dwarf of the giant. On the principle of contiguity in\ntime and place, the sight of an object reminds us of events that have\noccurred in connection with it; the name Napoleon suggests Waterloo,\nand Wellington, and the marshals of the empire; St. Peter's and the\nVatican suggest Raphael and his Transfiguration; a book, casually lying\non my table, reminds me of the volume that formerly stood by its side\non the shelf, and so carries me back to other scenes, and other days.\n\nIn like manner, if it be not indeed the operation of the same\nprinciple, cause suggests the effect, and effect its cause. The wound\nreminds me of the instrument, and the instrument awakens the unpleasant\nconception of the wound which it once inflicted.\n\n_Why one Conception rather than another._--Inasmuch as any one\nconception may awaken in the mind a great variety of other\nconceptions--since a picture, for example, may recall the person\nwhose likeness it is, or the artist who painted it, or the friend who\npossesses it, or the time and place in which it was sketched, or the\nroom in which it formerly hung, or any circumstance or event connected\nwith it--the question arises, why, in any given instance, is _one_ of\nthese conceptions awakened in the mind rather than any _other_ in its\nstead? It is evident that the action of the associating principle is\nnot uniform, sometimes one conception being awakened, sometimes another.\n\n_Secondary Laws._--In answer to this, Dr. Brown has shown that the\naction of these general and primary laws of suggestion, now named,\nis modified by a variety of circumstances, which may be called\n_secondary_ laws of suggestion, and which will account for the\nvariety in question. These modifying circumstances are: 1. Continuance\nof attention. 2. Vividness of feeling. 3. Frequency of repetition.\n4. Lapse of time. 5. Exclusiveness of association. 6. Original\nconstitutional differences. 7. State of mind at the time. 8. State\nof body. 9. Professional habits. Any one of these circumstances may\nso modify the action of the primary laws of suggestion, that one\nconception shall be awakened in the mind rather than another, by that\nwhich has preceded.\n\n_Correctness of this View._--There can be little doubt as to the\ncorrectness of this view. The attention, for example, which a given\nobject or event excites at the time of its occurrence, and the strength\nand liveliness of feeling which it awakened in us, have very much to\ndo, as every one knows, with our subsequent remembrance of that object\nor event. So also has the frequency with which the train of thought\nhas been repeated--a fact illustrated in the process of committing to\nmemory.\n\nThe more frequently two things come together before the mind, the more\nlikely will it be, when one is again presented, to think of the other.\nIn the process of learning a thing by rote, we repeat the lines over\nand over, until they become so associated, and linked together, that\nthe suggestion of one recalls the whole. Frequently, however, we find\nit difficult to pass from one sentence to another, or from one stanza\nor paragraph to another, while we find no difficulty in completing the\nsentence or paragraph once commenced. The reason is, we have repeated\neach sentence or stanza by itself in the process of learning, and have\nnot connected one with another. The last words of one sentence, and\nthe first words of another, have not been repeatedly conjoined in the\nmind--have not frequently _co\u00ebxisted_.\n\nSometimes, however, a more than usual vividness of conception will make\nup for the want of this frequent co\u00ebxistence. When, for any reason,\nas excited feeling, or extraordinary interest in what we perceive,\nwe grasp with peculiar clearness and force the idea presented, this\nvividness of mental conception will, of itself, insure the remembrance\nof the object contemplated. A man, on trial for his life, will be\nlikely to recollect the faces and tones of each of the different\nwitnesses on the stand, and the different judges and advocates, even if\nhe never sees them afterward.\n\nWe all know, also, that the lapse of time weakens the impression of any\nobject or event upon the mind, and so lessens the probability of its\nrecurrence to the thoughts. We more readily recall places and objects\nseen in a recent tour, than those seen a year ago. The exclusiveness\nof the connection is also an important circumstance. An air of music,\nwhich I have heard played or sung only on one occasion, and by one\nmusician only, is much more likely, when heard again, to bring to mind\nthe former player, than if it had also been associated with other\noccasions and other performers. Much depends, moreover, on native\ndifferences of temperament, on the habitual joyousness, or habitual\ngloom, which may pervade the spirits, on the lights and shadows which\npassing events may cast, in quick succession, on the mind, as good or\nbad news, the arrival of a friend, the failure of an enterprise, a\nslight derangement of any of the bodily functions, or even the state\nof the atmosphere. All these circumstances have much to do with the\nquestion, whether one conception or another shall be awakened in the\nmind by any object presented to its thoughts.\n\n_These Laws distinguished as Objective and Subjective._--It will be\nobserved that the primary laws of suggestion, so called, are such as\narise from the relations which our thoughts sustain to each other,\nwhile the secondary are such as arise from the relations which they\nsustain to ourselves, the thinking subjects. Hence the former have been\ncalled _objective_, the latter, _subjective_ laws.\n\n_Possibility of reducing the primary Laws to one comprehensive\nPrinciple._--I have already suggested that possibly the primary\nlaws admit of being reduced to some one general and comprehensive\nprinciple. This is a point deserving attention. Were we required to\nname some one principle which should comprehend these several specific\nlaws of association, it would be that of the prior existence in the\nmind of the suggesting and the suggested idea. The two conceptions\nhave, for some reason, and at some time, stood together before the\nmind, and hence the one recalls the other. _It seems to be a general\nlaw of thought_, _that whatever has been perceived or conceived\nin connection with some other object of perception or thought, is\nafterward suggestive of that other._ The relation may be that of\npart to whole, of resemblance, of contiguity, or contrast, or cause;\nit may be a natural or an artificial relation; whatever it is that\nserves as the connecting link between one thought and another, as they\ncome before the mind at first, that will also serve as the ground of\nsubsequent connection, when either of these thoughts shall present\nitself again to the mind. The one will suggest the other.\n\n_Application of this Principle to the several Laws of Suggestion._--Why\nis it, for example, that things contiguous in time and place suggest\neach other? In consequence of that contiguity they were viewed by the\nmind in connection with each other; as, _e. g._, the handle, and the\ndoor to which it belongs, the book, and its neighbor on the shelf.\nIt is because Napoleon and his marshals, Wellington and Waterloo,\nhave been presented together to the thoughts, that one now recalls\nthe other. For the same reason the light hair and blue eyes of the\nperson passing in the street recall the friend of former years; that\npeculiarity of hair and of eyes has been, in my mind, previously\nconnected with the conception of my friend. So also a part suggests the\nwhole with which it has been ordinarily connected, as, for example, the\ncrystal and the watch.\n\n_Further Application of the same Principle._--On the same principle\ncause and effect are naturally suggestive. We have been accustomed\nto observe the elision of a spark in connection with the forcible\ncollision of flint and steel and whenever we have observed the\napplication of fire to gunpowder, certain consequences have uniformly\nattracted our attention; hence the one of these things awakens\nimmediately in our minds the conception of the other, with which it\nhas previously co\u00ebxisted. For the same reason the instrument suggests\nthe idea of the wound, and the wound of the instrument. The sight of\na rose, and the sensation of fragrance, have usually co\u00ebxisted; hence\neither recalls the other.\n\nThe connection in this case is natural. Let us suppose a case in which\nit shall be arbitrary, or artificial. Suppose I happen to hold a rose\nin my hand, at the same moment a certain unusual noise is heard in the\nstreet, or at the moment when an eclipse of the sun becomes visible; on\nseeing the rose the next day I am instantly reminded of the noise, or\nof the eclipse, that was connected with it in my previous perception.\n\n_Application to the Law of Opposites._--On the same principle opposites\nalso suggest each other. They sustain a certain relation to each other\nin our thoughts, and are in a sense necessary to each other in thought,\nas, _e. g._, white and black, crooked and straight, tall and short;\nwhich are _relative_ ideas, neither of which is complete by itself\nwithout the other; the one the complement of the other; each, so to\nspeak, the extreme term of a comparison. As such they stand together\nbefore the mind, in its ordinary perceptions, and hence the one almost\nof necessity recalls the other.\n\n_The same Principle suggested by Dr. Brown._--The possibility of\nreducing the laws of association to one common principle, as now\nattempted, namely that of prior co\u00ebxistence in the mind, has not\naltogether escaped the notice of philosophers. Dr. Brown, in more than\none passage, advances the idea, that on a sufficiently minute analysis\n\"all suggestion may be found to depend on prior co\u00ebxistence, or, at\nleast, on such immediate proximity, as is itself, very probably, a\nmodification of co\u00ebxistence.\" In order to this nice reduction, however,\nhe adds, we must take into account \"the influence of emotions, and\nother feelings that are very different from ideas; as when an analogous\nobject suggests an analogous object by the influence of an emotion or\nsentiment, which each separately may have produced before, and which\nis therefore common to both.\" As illustrative of this, he refers,\namong others, to cases of remote resemblance; as when, \"for example,\nthe whiteness of untrodden snow brings to our mind the innocence of an\nunpolluted heart; or a fine morning of spring, the cheerful freshness\nof youth.\" In such cases, he says, \"though there may never have been\nin the mind any proximity of the very images compared, there may have\nbeen a proximity of each to an emotion of some sort, which, as common\nto both, might render each capable, indirectly, of suggesting the\nother.\" The same principle he applies to suggestion by contrast, as\nwhen the sight of a person with a remarkably long nose brings to mind\nsome one whom we have seen with a nose as remarkable for brevity; the\ncommon feeling in the two cases being that of surprise or wonder at the\npeculiarity of this feature of the countenance.\n\n_Theory of Mahan._--Mahan, in his Intellectual Philosophy, carries out\nthe suggestion of Dr. Brown, and makes the emotion awakened in common\nby two or more objects, the sole law, or ground of association. One\nobject recalls an other only by means of the feeling or state of mind\ncommon to both.\n\n_This View questionable._--That this is the philosophy of the\nsuggesting principle in those cases in which two objects have not\npreviously co\u00ebxisted in the mind--that is, in cases of suggestion, and\nnot of _association_ properly--I am disposed to admit, but that it is\nthe philosophy of _association_, strictly speaking, that it is the\nreason why objects which have been viewed together by the mind should\nafterward recall each other, is to be questioned. It seems to be an\nestablished law of mental action that objects once viewed in connection\nby the mind, afterward retain that connection. This is a grand and\nsimple law of thought. I doubt whether any explanation can make it\nmore simple, whether any thing is gained by calling in the influence\nof emotion to account for it. The emotion may, or may not, be the\ncause why objects, once co\u00ebxistent in the mind, recall each other. It\nis enough that the simple law of previous co\u00ebxistence, as now stated,\ncovers the whole ground, and accounts for all the phenomena of mental\nassociation.\n\n_The same Rule given by Aristotle._--Long before the days of Brown\nand his successors, this same law had suggested itself to one of\nthe closest thinkers, and most acute observers of mental phenomena,\nwhom the world has ever seen, as a principle comprehensive of\nall the specific laws of association. _Aristotle_--as quoted by\nHamilton--expresses the rule in the following terms: _Thoughts,\nwhich have at any time, recent or remote, stood to each other in the\nrelation of co\u00ebxistence, or immediate consecution, do, when severally\nreproduced, tend to reproduce each other._ Under this general law he\nincludes the specific ones of similars, contraries, and co\u00e4djacents, as\ncomprehending all the possible relations of things to each other.\n\n_Further Question.--View of Rosenkranz._--It may still be questioned\nwhether the specific laws of association, as usually given, viz.,\nresemblance, contrast, contiguity, and cause, are a complete and\nexhaustive list. Are there not relations of things to each other, and\nso relations of thought, which do not fall under any of the categories\nnow named? A distinguished psychologist of the Hegelian school,\nRosenkranz, denies even that there are any laws of association. Law\nis found, he says, where the manifoldness still evinces unity, to\nwhich the manifold and accidental are subject. But association is not\nsubject to any such unity. It is a free process. There are indeed\ncertain limitations or categories of thought, but these so-called laws\nof association are not to be confounded with those categories; they\nare not exhaustive of them. Why not also introduce the law by which\nwe pass from quality to quantity, being to appearance, the universal\nto the particular, the end to the means, etc., etc.? In short, all\nmetaphysical and logical categories lay claim to be included in the\nlist of such laws. No one can calculate the possible connections of\none conception with another. Each is, for us, the middle point of a\nuniverse from which we can go forth on all sides. What diverse trains\nof thought, for example, may the Strasburg minster awaken in my mind:\nthe material of which it is built, the architect, the middle ages, the\ngothic style, etc., etc. There is, in a word, no law of association.\n\n_Objections to this View._--Such, in substance, is the view maintained\nby this able writer. We cannot altogether coincide with it. That the\nspecific laws of Aristotle, Hume, and Brown, are not exhaustive, may\nvery likely be true; that there is no law, no unity to which this\nmanifoldness of conception is subject, is yet to be shown. Take the\nvery case supposed. The gothic minster of Strasburg reminds me of the\ngothic style of architecture. What is that but an instance under the\nlaw of similarity? It reminds me of the middle ages. What is that but\nthe operation of the law of contiguity in time? It brings to mind the\narchitect. What is that but the relation of cause to effect? Or, if I\nthink of the material of which the building is composed, the marble of\nthis minster reminding me of the class, marble, does not that again\nfall under the relation of a part to the whole, which is comprehended\nunder the general law of coadjacence, or contiguity in space? So\nquality and quantity, matter and form, being and appearance, as parts\nof a comprehensive whole, recall each other. The instances given, then,\nso far from proving that there is no law of association actually fall\nunder the specific laws enumerated.\n\n_The Law of Contiguity includes what._--It is contended that this\ngives a wider extension to the law of contiguity in time and space\nthan properly belongs to it. I reply, not wider than is intended by\nthose who make use of this expression. Aristotle, the earliest writer\nwho attempts any classification of the laws of suggestion, distinctly\nincludes under the law of _coadjacence_ whatever stand as parts of the\nsame whole, as, _e. g._, parts of the same building, traits of the same\ncharacter, species of the same genus, the sign and the thing signified,\ndifferent wholes of the same part, correlate terms, as the abstract and\nconcrete, etc., etc.\n\n_Reference to the subjective Laws._--If it still is asked why does\nthe minster of Strasburg, or any given object, suggest one of these\nseveral conceptions, and not some other in its place? the reason for\nthis must doubtless be sought in the state of the mind at the time; in\nother words, in those subjective or secondary laws of suggestion, of\nwhich we have already spoken, as given by Brown and others. Aristotle\nhas more concisely answered the question in the important rule which he\nadds as supplementary of his general law; viz., that, of two thoughts,\none tends to suggest the other, in proportion, 1. To its comparative\nimportance; 2. Its comparative interest. For the first reason, the foot\nis more likely to suggest the head than the head the foot. For the\nsecond reason, the dog is more likely to suggest the master than the\nmaster the dog.\n\n\n\u00a7 II--MENTAL RECOGNITION, AS DISTINGUISHED FROM MENTAL REPRODUCTION.\n\nI. GENERAL CHARACTER OF THIS PROCESS.\n\n_The Faculty as thus far considered._--Thus far we have considered the\nfaculty of mental representation only under one of its forms, viz., as\n_reproductive_. By the operation of this power, the intuitions of sense\nare replaced before the mind, in the absence of the original objects;\nimages, so to speak, of the former objects of perception are brought\nout from the dark background of the past, and thrown in relief upon\nthe mental canvas. Picture after picture thus comes up, and passes\naway. The mind has the power of thus reproducing for itself, according\nto laws of suggestion already considered, the objects of its former\nperception. This it is constantly doing. No small part of our thinking\nis the simple reproduction of what has been already, in some form,\nbefore the mind.\n\n_An additional Element._--The intuitions of sense, thus replaced in\nthe absence of the external objects, present themselves to the mind as\nmere conceptions, involving no reference to ourselves as the perceiving\nsubject, nor to the time, place, and circumstances of the original\nperception. But suppose now this latter element to be superadded to\nthe former; that along with the conception or recalling of the object,\nthere is also the conception of ourselves as perceiving, and of the\ncircumstances under which it was perceived; in a word, the recalling\nof the _subjective_ along with the _objective_ element of the original\nperception, and we have now that form of mental representation which we\nterm _recognitive_, or mental recognition.\n\n_The two Forms compared and distinguished._--The two taken together,\nthe reproduction, and the recognition, constitute what is ordinarily\ncalled memory, which involves, when closely considered, not only the\nreproduction, in thought, of the former object of perception, but\nalso the consciousness of having ourselves perceived the same. The\nconception is given as before, but it is no longer mere conception\nin the abstract, standing by itself; it is connected now by links of\ntime, place, and circumstance, with our own personal history. It is\nthis _subjective_ element that constitutes the essential characteristic\nof memory proper, or mental recognition, as distinguished from mere\nconception, or mental reproduction.\n\n_Specification of Time and Place._--It is not necessary that the\n_specific time_ and _place_ when and where we previously perceived the\nobject, or received the impression, should be recalled along with the\nobject or impression; this may or may not be. More frequently, perhaps,\nthese do recur to the mind, and the object itself is recalled or\nsuggested by means of these specific momenta; but this is not essential\nto the act of memory. It is enough that we recognize the representation\nor conception, now before the mind, as, in general, an object of former\ncognition, a previous possession of the mind, and not a new acquisition.\n\n_Not of necessity voluntary._--Nor is it necessary to the fact of\nmemory, that this recurrence and recognition of former perceptions and\nsensations, as objects of thought, should be the result of special\nvolition on our part. It may be quite involuntary. It may take place\nunbidden and unsought, the result of casual suggestion.\n\n_Distinction of Terms._--Memory is usually distinguished from\n_remembrance_, and also from _recollection_. Memory is, more properly,\nthe power or faculty, remembrance the exercise of that power in\nrespect to particular objects and events. When this exercise is\nvoluntary--when we set ourselves to recall what has nearly or quite\nescaped us, to _re-collect_, as it were, the scattered materials of our\nformer consciousness--we designate this voluntary process by the term\n_recollection_. We recollect only what is at the moment out of mind,\nand what we _wish_ to recall.\n\n_Possibility of recalling._--But here the question arises how it is\npossible, by a voluntary effort, to recall what is once gone from the\nmind. Does not the very fact of a volition imply that we have already\nin mind the thing willed and wished for? How else could we will to\nrecall it? This is a philosophical puzzle with which any one, who\nchooses, may amuse himself. I have forgotten, for instance, the name of\na person: I seek to recall it; to recall what? you may ask. That name.\n_What_ name? Now I do not know what name; if I did, I should have no\noccasion to recall it. And yet, in another sense, I do know what it is\nthat I have forgotten. I know that it is a name, and I know whose name\nit is; the name, viz., of this particular person. And this is all I\nneed to know in order to have a distinct, definite object of volition\nbefore my mind.\n\n_The Mode of Operation._--The process through which the mind passes in\nsuch a case, is, to dwell upon some circumstances not forgotten, that\nare intimately connected with the missing idea, and through these,\nas so many connecting links, to pass over, if possible, to the thing\nsought. I cannot, for example, recall the name, but I remember the\nnames of other persons of the same family, class, or profession, or I\nremember that it begins with the letter B, and then think over all the\nnames I know that begin with that letter; and, in this way, seek to\nrecall, by association, the name that has escaped.\n\n_Memory not an immediate Knowledge._--It has been held by some that\nmemory gives us an _immediate_ knowledge of the past. This is the view\nof Dr. Reid. If, by immediate knowledge, we mean knowledge of a thing\nas existing, and as it is in itself--nothing intervening between it as\na present reality, and our direct cognizance of it--then not in this\nsense is memory an immediate knowledge; for a past event is no longer\nexistent, and cannot be known as such, or as it is in itself; it no\nlonger _is_, but only _was_. Hence an immediate knowledge of it, is,\nas Sir William Hamilton affirms, a contradiction. Still, we may know\nthe past _as it was_, not less really and positively than we know the\npresent as it is. I as really know that I sat at this table yesterday\nas I know that I sit here now. I am conscious of being here now. I was\nconscious of being here then. That consciousness is not to be impeached\nin either case. If the senses deceived me yesterday, they may deceive\nme to-day. If consciousness testified falsely then, it may now. But\nif I was indeed here yesterday, and if I knew then that I was here,\nand that knowledge was certain and positive, then I know _now_ that I\nwas here yesterday, for memory recognizes what would otherwise be the\nmere conception of to-day, as identical with the positive knowledge\nof yesterday. Memory may possibly be mistaken as to the so-called\npositive knowledge of yesterday; and so sense may be mistaken as to the\nso-called positive knowledge of the present moment.\n\n_Belief attending Memory._--The remarks of Dr. Reid on this point are\nworthy of note. \"Memory is always accompanied with the belief of that\nwhich we remember, as perception is accompanied with the belief of that\nwhich we perceive, and consciousness with the belief of that whereof\nwe are conscious. Perhaps in infancy, or in disorder of mind, things\nremembered may be confounded with those which are merely imagined; but\nin mature years, and in a sound state of mind, every man feels that he\nmust believe what he distinctly remembers, though he can give no other\nreason for his belief, but that he remembers the thing distinctly;\nwhereas, when he merely imagines a thing ever so distinctly he has no\nbelief of it upon that account.\n\n\"This belief, which we have from distinct memory, we account real\nknowledge, no less certain than if it was grounded on demonstration;\nno man, in his wits, calls it in question, or will hear any argument\nagainst it. The testimony of witnesses in causes of life and death\ndepends upon it, and all the knowledge of mankind of past events is\nbuilt on this foundation. There are cases in which a man's memory is\nless distinct and determinate, and where he is ready to allow that it\nmay have failed him; but this does not in the least weaken its credit,\nwhen it is perfectly distinct.\"\n\n_Importance of this Faculty._--The importance of memory as a power of\nthe mind, is shown by the simple fact, that, but for it, there could be\nno consciousness of _continued existence_, none of _personal identity_,\nfor memory is our only voucher for the fact that we existed at all at\nany previous moment. Without this faculty, each separate instant of\nlife would be a new existence, isolated, disconnected with aught before\nor after; nay, there would, in that case, scarcely be any consciousness\nof even the present existence, for we are conscious only as we are\n_cognizant of change_, says Hamilton, and there is involved in it\nthe idea of the _latest past_ along with the present. Memory, then,\nis essential to all intelligent mental action, whether intellectual,\nsensational, or voluntary. The ancients seem to have been aware of\nthis, when they gave it the name [Greek: mn\u00eam\u00ea] (from [Greek: mn\u00eamos],\n[Greek: mnaomai]), appellations of the _mind itself_, as being, in\nfact, the chief characteristic faculty of the mind.\n\n\nII. WHAT IS IMPLIED IN AN ACT OF MEMORY.\n\n_Several Conditions._--Every act of memory involves these several\nconditions: 1. Present existence. 2. Past existence. 3. Mental activity\nat some moment of that past existence. 4. The recurrence to the mind\nof something thus thought, perceived, or felt. 5. Its recognition as a\npast or former thought or impression, and that our own. These last, the\nrecurrence and the recognition, are strictly the essential elements of\nmemory, yet the others are implied in it. In order to my remembering,\nfor example, an occurrence of yesterday, I must exist at the present\ntime, else I cannot remember at the present time; I must have existed\nyesterday, else there can be no memory of yesterday; my mind must have\nbeen active then, else there will be nothing to remember; the thoughts,\nperceptions, sensations, then occupying the mind, must now recur, else\nit is the same as if they had never been; they must recur, not as new\nthoughts and impressions, but as old ones, else I no longer remember,\nbut only conceive or perceive.\n\n\nIII. QUALITIES OF MEMORY.\n\n_Distinctions of Stewart and Wayland._--It has been customary\nto designate certain qualities as essential to a good memory.\nSusceptibility, retentiveness, and readiness, are thus distinguished\nby Mr. Stewart; the first denoting the facility with which the mind\nacquires; the second, the permanence with which it retains; and the\nthird, the quickness with which it recalls and applies its original\nacquisitions. And these qualities are rarely united, he adds, in the\nsame person. The memory which is susceptible and ready, is not commonly\nvery retentive. Dr. Wayland makes the same distinction. Some men, he\nsays, retain their knowledge more perfectly than they recall it. Others\nhave their knowledge always at command. Some men acquire with great\nrapidity, but soon forget what they have learned. Others acquire with\ndifficulty, but retain tenaciously.\n\n_Objections to this View._--Although supported by such authority, it\nadmits of question whether this distinction is strictly valid. Facility\nof acquisition, the readiness with which the mind perceives truth, is\nhardly to be reckoned as an attribute of memory. It is a quality of\nmind, a quality possessed in diverse degrees by different persons,\ndoubtless, but not a quality of mind in its distinctive capacity and\noffice of _remembering_. It is no part, psychologically considered,\nof the function of _mental reproduction_. It is essential, indeed,\nto the act of memory that there should be something to remember, but\nthe acquisition of the thing remembered, and the remembering, are two\ndistinct and different mental acts; nor is it of any consequence to the\nmind, in remembering, whether the original acquisition was made with\nmore or less facility. Indeed, so far as that bears upon the case at\nall, facility of acquisition, as even these writers admit, is likely to\nbe rather a hindrance than a help to subsequent remembrance, since what\nis most readily acquired is not most readily recalled.\n\n_The Mind retentive in what Sense._--Nor is it altogether proper to\nspeak of retentiveness as a _quality_ of memory--a quality which may\npertain to it in a greater or less degree in different cases. The truth\nis, _all_ memory is retentive, or, more properly, retentiveness _is\nitself_ memory. It is a quality of mind; a power or faculty possessed\nin different degrees by different persons; and the power which the\nmind possesses of retaining thus, wholly, or in part, what passes\nbefore it, is the faculty of memory. But in what sense does the mind\nretain anything which has once occupied its thoughts? Not, of course,\nin the sense in which a hook retains the hat and coat that are hung\nupon it, ready to be taken down when wanted. We are not to conceive of\nthe mind as a convenient receptacle, in which may be stowed away all\nmanner of old thoughts, sensations, impressions, as old clothes are put\nby in a press, or guns in an armory. Not in any such sense is the mind\nretentive. What we mean, when we say the mind is retentive, is simply\nthis, that it is in its power to repossess itself of what has once\npassed before it, to regain a thought or impression it has once had.\nAnd this is done by the operation of those laws of suggestion already\nconsidered. That, and that only is _retained_ by the mind, which\nunder the appropriate circumstances is by the principle of suggestion\n_recalled_ to the mind. We are not to distinguish, then, the power to\nretain and the power to recall, as two separate things; nor, for the\nsame reason, can we conceive of a memory that is other than retentive,\nor that is retentive but not ready. So far as these expressions denote\nany real distinction, it amounts simply to this, that some minds are\nmore retentive than others; in other words, more susceptible of the\ninfluence of the suggesting principle in recalling ideas that have once\nbeen before them. Such a difference undoubtedly exists. Some remember\nmuch more readily and extensively than others. This may be owing,\npartly, to some difference of mental constitution and endowment; but\nmore frequently to differences of mental habit and culture. It is not\nnecessary to refer again to the laws of mental reproduction which have\nbeen already discussed. It is sufficient to say, that _the more clearly\nany fact or truth is originally apprehended, and the more deeply it\ninterests the mind_, the more readily will it subsequently recur and\nthe longer will it be retained.\n\n\nIV. MEMORY IN RELATION TO INTELLECTUAL STRENGTH\n\n_The common Opinion._--The question has arisen, how far the power of\nmemory may be regarded as a test of intellectual ability. The opinion\nhas been somewhat prevalent, that a more than usual development of\nthis faculty is likely to be attended with a corresponding deficiency\nin some other mental power, and especially that it is incompatible\nwith a sound judgment. To this opinion I cannot subscribe. Doubtless\nit is true that many persons, deficient in the power of accurate\ndiscrimination, have possessed wonderful power of memory. The mind,\nin such cases, undisciplined, uncultivated, with little inventive and\nself-moving power, lies passive and open to the influence of every\nchance suggestion from without, as the lyre is put in vibration by the\nstray winds that sweep across its strings. Facts and incidents of no\nvalue, without number, and without order, are thrown into relief upon\nthe confused background of the past, as sea-weed, sand, and shells are\nheaped by the unmeaning waves upon the shore.\n\nBut if a weak mind may possess a good memory, it is equally true, that\na strong and well disciplined mind is seldom deficient in it. Men of\nmost active and commanding intellect have been men also of tenacious\nand accurate memory. Napoleon was a remarkable instance of this. So\nalso was the philosopher Leibnitz. While, then, we cannot regard the\nmemory as a test of intellectual capacity, neither can it be considered\nincompatible with, or unfavorable to, mental strength. On the contrary,\nwe can hardly look for any considerable degree of mental vigor and\npower where this faculty is essentially deficient.\n\n_Memory as affected by the Art of Printing._--It is remarked by Miss\nEdgeworth, and the remark is noticed with approval by Dugald Stewart,\nthat the invention of printing, by placing books within the reach of\nall classes of people, has lowered the value of those extraordinary\npowers of memory which some of the learned were accustomed to display\nin former times. A man who had read, and who could repeat, a few\nmanuscripts, was then not merely a remarkable, but a very useful man.\nIt is quite otherwise now. There is no occasion now for any such\nexercise of memory. Hence instances of extraordinary memory are of\nunfrequent occurrence.\n\n_Failure of Memory accompanies failure of mental Power._--A decline of\nmental vigor, whether produced by disease or age, is usually attended\nwith loss of memory to some extent. The first symptoms of this failure\nare usually forgetfulness of proper names and dates, and sometimes of\nwords in general. A stroke of palsy frequently produces this result,\nand in such cases the name sometimes suggests the object, while the\nobject no longer recalls the name. This is probably owing to the fact\nthat the sign, being of less consequence than the thing signified, and\nmaking less impression on the mind, is more readily forgotten; hence\nthe name, if suggested, recalls the thing, while, at the same time, the\nthing may not recall the name. In general, we pass more readily from\nthe sign to the thing signified, than the reverse, and for the reason\nnow given. Mr. Steward remarks, that this loss of proper names incident\nto old men, is chiefly observable in men of science, or those much\noccupied with important affairs--a fact resulting, he thinks, partly\nfrom their habits of general thought, and partly from their want of\nconstant practice in that trivial conversation which is every moment\nrecalling particulars to the mind.\n\n_The Memory of the Aged._--In the principles which have been advanced,\nwe find an explanation, I think, of some facts respecting memory, which\nevery one has noticed, but of which the philosophy may not be at first\nsight apparent, Why is it that aged people forget? that, as we grow\nold, while perhaps other powers of the mind are still vigorous, the\nmemory begins to lose its tenacity? Not, I suspect, from any special\nchange which the brain undergoes, for why should such changes affect\n_this_ faculty more than any other? I should seek the explanation\nin a failure of one or other of the conditions already mentioned as\nessential to a good memory; either in the want of a sufficiently\nfrequent co\u00ebxistence of associated ideas, or else in the want of a\nsufficiently vivid conception of them when presented; or, more likely,\nin both. And so the facts would indicate. Age involves usually the\ngradual failure and decay of the powers of perception; the ear fails to\nreport what is said, the eye what is passing in space; and as memory\nis dependent on prior perception, of course a diminished activity of\nthe one brings about a diminished activity of the other. In proportion\nas this ensues, the mind's interest in passing events is likely to\nfail, for what is no longer clearly apprehended no longer awakens the\nsame interest and attention as formerly. This directly affects the\nvividness of conception, and indirectly also reacts upon the frequency\nof co\u00ebxistence, for what we do not clearly apprehend, nor feel much\ninterest in, will not be likely often to recur to mind, nor shall we\ndwell upon it when presented. There is thus brought about, by the\nmutual action and reaction of the causes now specified, a failure more\nor less complete of the essential conditions of a retentive memory.\n\nThe old man dwells accordingly much in the _past_. His life is behind\nhim, and not in advance. He is unobservant of passing events, because\nhe neither clearly apprehends them, now that his connection with the\nouter world is in a measure interrupted by the decay of sense, nor\ndoes he much care about them, for the same reason. His attention and\ninterest, withdrawn in a manner from these, revert to the past. Those\nthings he remembers, the sports and companions of his youth, and the\nstirring events of his best and most active years, for those things\n_have_ been frequently associated in his mind, linked with each other,\nand with all the past of his life, and they _have_ deeply interested\nhim. Hence they are remembered while yesterday is forgotten.\n\n_Varieties of Memory._--Why is it, you ask, that memory seems to\nselect for itself now one and now another field of operation, one man\nremembering dates, another events or facts in history, another words\nor pages of a book, while in each case the memory of other things, of\nevery thing that lies beyond or without the favorite range of topics,\nis defective? Manifestly for much the same reason already given.\nThe mind has its favorite subjects of investigation and thought;\nto these it frequently recurs, and dwells on them with interest;\nthere is, consequently, frequency of co\u00ebxistence, and vividness of\nconception--the very conditions of retentiveness--while, at the same\ntime, the mind being pre\u00f6ccupied with the given subjects, and the\nattention and interest withdrawn from other things, the memory of other\nthings is proportionably deficient. We remember, in other words, just\nthose things best, in which we are most interested, and with which we\nhave most to do.\n\nThis explains why we forget names so readily. We have more _to do\nwith_, and are more interested in, _persons_, than their names; the\nlatter we have occasion to think of much less often than the former.\nThe _sign_ occurs less frequently than the _thing signified_.\n\n\nV. CULTIVATION OF MEMORY.\n\nThe principles already advanced furnish a clue to the proper and\nsuccessful cultivation of the memory. Like all other powers, this may\nbe cultivated, and to a wonderful degree; and, like all other powers,\nit gains strength by _use_, by exercise. The first and chief direction,\nthen, if you would cultivate and strengthen this faculty of the mind,\nis, _exercise_ it; train it to do its work--to do it quickly, easily,\naccurately, and well--as you train yourself to handle the keys of\nan instrument, or to add up a column of figures with promptness and\naccuracy.\n\nTo be more specific.--As regards any particular thing which you wish to\nremember: 1. Grasp it fully, clearly, definitely in the mind; be sure\nyou have it exactly--_it_, and not something like it or something about\nit. 2. Connect it with other things that are known; suffer it to link\nitself with other ideas and impressions already in the mind, that you\nmay have something to recall it by. 3. Frequently revert to it, until\nyou are sure that it has become a permanent possession, and one which\nyou can at any time recall by any one of numerous connecting links. In\nthis way you secure the two conditions already specified as essential,\nviz., frequency of co\u00ebxistence, and vividness of conception.\n\n_Systems of artificial Memory._--A thing is recalled by the suggestion\nof any _co\u00ebxisting_ thought or feeling. Observing this, ingenious men\nhave availed themselves of the principle of association to construct\nvarious mechanical or artificial systems of memory, usually termed\n_mnemonics_. The principle of the construction is this: should you\nsee an elm or an oak-tree, or hear a particular tune whistled, at the\nsame time that you were going through a demonstration in Euclid, you\nwould be likely to think of the tree or the tune whenever next you\nhad occasion to repeat that demonstration. The sight of the diagram\nwould recall the associated object. They _stand together_ in your\nmind afterward. This we have already found to be the groundwork and\nchief element of all association of ideas and feelings, viz., _prior\nco\u00ebxistence_ in the mind. Suppose, now, you wish to fix in the mind the\nlist of English kings. Make out a corresponding list of simple figures,\nor images of objects, giving each its invariable place in relation\nto the series: No. 1. a pump; No. 2. a goose, etc., till you reach a\nsufficient number, say a hundred. These are committed to memory, fixed\nindelibly in the mind. You then associate with those figures your\nEnglish kings; Charles I. stands by the pump; Charles II. pursues the\ngoose; James hugs the bear, and so on. These things thus once firmly\nlinked together, remain afterward associated, and the figure serves\nat once to recall the associate monarch and to fix his place in the\nseries. The same series of figures, of course, will serve for any\nnumber of different series of events, personages, etc., which are to be\nremembered.\n\n_Utility questioned._--It may be seriously questioned, I think, whether\nsuch systems are of real value; whether they do not really weaken\nthe memory and throw it into disuse, by departing from the ordinary\nlaws and methods of suggestion, and substituting a purely artificial,\narbitrary and mechanical process; whether, moreover, they really\naccomplish what they propose; whether, since the signs or figures have\nno natural relation to each other, and none to the things signified,\nbut only the arbitrary relation imposed by the system, it is not really\nas difficult to fix the connection of the two things in your mind, _e.\ng._, to remember that Charles the Second is represented by a dog or by\na goose, as it would be simply, and in the natural way, to remember the\nthings themselves without any _such_ association.\n\n_Extent to which the Memory may be cultivated._--The extent to which\nthe cultivation of the memory may be carried by due training and care,\nis a topic worthy of some attention. Men of reflection and thought, and\ngenerally men of studious habits, literary men and authors, do not, for\nthe most part, rely so much upon the memory as men of a more practical\ncast and of business pursuits; for this reason, viz., the want of due\nexercise, this faculty of their minds is not in the most favorable\ncircumstances for development. Some striking exceptions, however, we\nshall have occasion presently to mention.\n\nIt has been already remarked, that prior to the art of printing, the\ncultivation of the memory was an object of far greater importance,\nto those who were destined for public life, than it is in modern\ntimes, and consequently instances of remarkable memory are much more\nfrequently to be met with among the ancients than among the men of our\ntimes. The same remark will apply to men of different pursuits in any\nage: the more one has occasion to employ the memory, the more striking\nwill be its development.\n\n_Instances of extraordinary Memory._--Cyrus, it is said, knew the name\nof every officer, Pliny has it of every soldier, that served under\nhim. Themistocles could call by name each one of the twenty thousand\ncitizens of Athens. Hortensius could sit all day at an auction, and at\nevening give an account from memory of every thing sold, the purchaser,\nand the price. Muretus saw at Padua a young Corsican, says Mr. Stewart,\nwho could repeat, without hesitation, thirty-six thousand names in the\norder in which he heard them, and then reverse the order and proceed\nbackward to the first.\n\nDr. Wallis of Oxford, on one occasion, at night, in bed, proposed to\nhimself a number of fifty-three places, and found its square root\nto twenty-seven places, and, without writing down numbers at all,\ndictated the result from memory twenty days afterward. It was not\nunusual with him to perform arithmetical operations in the dark, as\nthe extraction of roots, _e. g._, _to_ forty _decimal_ places. The\ndistinguished Euler, blind from early life, had always in his memory a\ntable of the first six powers of all numbers, from one to one hundred.\nOn one occasion two of his pupils, calculating a converging series,\non reaching the seventeenth term, found their results differing by\none unit at the fiftieth figure, and in order to decide which was\ncorrect, Euler went over the whole in his head, and his decision was\nfound afterward to be correct. Pascal forgot nothing of what he had\nread, or heard, or seen. Menage, at seventy-seven, commemorates, in\nLatin verses, the favor of the gods, in restoring to him, after partial\neclipse, the full powers of memory which had adorned his earlier life.\n\nThe instances now given are mentioned by Mr. Stewart but perhaps the\nmost remarkable instance of great memory in modern times, is the case\nof the celebrated _Magliabechi_, librarian of the Duke of Tuscany.\nHe would inform any one who consulted him, not only who had directly\ntreated of any particular subject, but who had indirectly touched\nupon it in treating of other subjects, to the number of perhaps one\nhundred different authors, giving the name of the author, the name\nof the book, the words, often the page, where they were to be found,\nand with the greatest exactness. To test his memory, a gentleman of\nFlorence lent him at one time a manuscript he had prepared for the\npress, and, some time afterward, went to him with a sorrowful face,\nand pretended to have lost his manuscript by accident. The poor author\nseemed inconsolable, and begged Magliabechi to recollect what he could,\nand write it down. He assured the unfortunate man that he would, and\nsetting about it, wrote out the entire manuscript without missing\na word. He had a _local_ memory also, knew where every book stood.\nOne day the Grand Duke sent for him to inquire if he could procure\na book which was very scarce. \"No, sir,\" answered Magliabechi; \"it\nis impossible: there is but _one_ in the world; that is in the Grand\nSeignior's library at Constantinople, and is the _seventh book, on the\nseventh shelf, on the right hand as you go in_.\"\n\n\nVI. EFFECTS OF DISEASE ON THE MEMORY.\n\n_Forgetfulness of certain Objects._--Of the effect of certain forms\nof disease, and also of age, in weakening the power of remembering\nnames, I have already spoken. There are other effects, occasionally\nproduced by disease upon this faculty of the mind, which are not so\nreadily explained. In some cases, a certain class of objects, or the\nknowledge of certain persons, or of a particular language or some\npart of a language, as substantives, _e. g._, seems to be lost to the\nmind; in other cases, a certain portion of life is obliterated from\nthe recollection. In cases of severe injury to the head, persons have\nforgotten some particular language; others have been unable to recall\nafterward the names of the most common objects, while the memory was at\nno loss for adjectives. A surgeon mentioned by Dr. Abercrombie, so far\nrecovered from a fall as to give special directions respecting his own\ntreatment, yet, for several days, lost all idea of having either a wife\nor children. The case of Mr. Tennent, who on recovering from apparent\ndeath, lost all knowledge of his past life, and was obliged to commence\nagain the study of the alphabet, until after considerable time his\nknowledge suddenly returned to him, is too well known to require minute\ndescription.\n\n_Former Objects recalled._--In other instances, precisely the reverse\noccurs. Disease brings back to mind what has been long forgotten.\nThus, persons in extreme sickness, or at the point of death, not\nunfrequently converse in languages which they have known only in youth.\nThe case cited by Coleridge, and so frequently quoted, of the German\nservant girl, who in sickness was heard repeating passages of Greek,\nLatin, and Hebrew, which she had formerly heard her master repeat, as\nhe walked in his study, but of whose meaning she had no idea, is in\npoint in this connection. So also is the case of the Italian mentioned\nby Dr. Rush, who died in New York, and who, in the beginning of his\nsickness, spoke English, in the middle of it, French, but on the day of\nhis death, nothing but Italian. A Lutheran clergyman of Philadelphia\ntold Dr. Rush that it was not uncommon for the Germans and Swedes of\nhis congregation, when near death, to speak and pray in their native\nlanguages, which some of them had probably not spoken for fifty\nyears. These facts are sufficiently numerous to constitute a class by\nthemselves; they seem to fall under some law of the physical system not\nyet clearly understood, and are, therefore, in the present state of our\nknowledge, incapable of explanation.\n\n_Inference often drawn from these Facts._--Certain writers have\ninferred, from the recurrence of things long forgotten, as in the cases\nnow cited, that all knowledge is indestructible and that all which is\nnecessary to the entire reproduction of the past life is the quickened\nactivity of the mental powers an effect which is produced in the\ndelirium of disease. From this they have derived an argument for future\nretribution Coleridge has made such use of it, and has been followed\nby Upham, and in part, at least, though with more caution, by Wayland.\n\n_The true Inference._--It may be doubted, perhaps, whether the absolute\nindestructibility of all human knowledge is a legitimate inference\nfrom these facts. The most that can with certainty be concluded from\nthem, is, not that all our past thoughts and consciousness _must_ or\n_will_ return, but that much of it _may_--perhaps all of it; and this\nis all we need to know in order to perceive the _possibility_ of a\nfuture retribution. It is enough to know, that in the constitution of\nthe mind _means exist_ for recalling, in some way to us mysterious, and\nunder certain conditions not by us fully understood, the objects of our\nformer consciousness, in all the freshness and vividness of their past\ncognizance, long after they seem to have passed finally from the memory.\n\n_Importance of a well-spent Life._--This simple fact, together with\nthe well-known tendency of the mind in advancing age to revert to the\nscenes and incidents of early life, certainly presents in the clearest\nlight the importance of a well-spent life, of a mind stored with such\nrecollections as shall cast a cheerful radiance over the past, and\nbrighten the uncertain future in those hours of gloom and despondency\nwhen the shadows lengthen upon the path of earthly pilgrimage, and life\nis drawing to a close. If the thoughts and impressions of the passing\nmoment are liable, by some casual association, by some mysterious law\nof our being, under conditions which may at any moment be fulfilled, to\nrecur at any time to subsequent consciousness, with all the minuteness\nand power of present reality, it becomes us, as we regard our own\nhighest interests, to guard well the avenues of thought and feeling\nagainst the first approach of that which we shall not be pleased to\nmeet again, when it will not be in our power to escape its _presence_,\nor avoid its recognition.\n\n\nVII. INFLUENCE OF MEMORY ON THE HAPPINESS OF LIFE.\n\n_The Pleasures of the Past thus retained._--Of the importance of this\nfaculty as related to other intellectual powers, I have already spoken.\nI refer now to its value as connected with human happiness, as the\nsource of some of the purest pleasures of life. The present, however\njoyous, is fleeting and evanescent. Memory seizes the passing moment,\nfixes it upon the canvas, and hangs the picture on the soul's inner\nchambers for her to look upon when she will. Thus, in an important\nsense, the former years are past, but not gone. We live them over again\nin memory.\n\n_Instance of Niebuhr._--It is related of Carsten Niebuhr, the Oriental\ntraveller, that \"when old and blind, and so feeble that he had barely\nstrength to be borne from his bed to his chair, the dim remembrance of\nhis early adventures thronged before his memory with such vividness\nthat they presented themselves as pictures upon his sightless\neye-balls. As he lay upon his bed, pictures of the gorgeous Orient\nflashed upon his darkness as distinctly as though he had just closed\nhis eyes to shut them out for an instant. The cloudless blue of the\neastern heavens bending by day over the broad deserts, and studded\nby night with southern constellations, shone as vividly before him,\nafter the lapse of half a century, as they did upon the first Chaldean\nshepherds whom they won to the worship of the host of heaven; and he\ndiscoursed with strange and thrilling eloquence upon those scenes which\nthus, in the hours of stillness and darkness, were reflected upon his\ninmost soul.\"\n\n_The same Thing occurs often in old Age._--Something of this kind not\nunfrequently occurs in advanced life. Picture to yourself an old man\nof many winters. The world in which his young life began has grown old\nwith him and around him, and its brightest colors have faded from his\nvision. The life and stir, the whirl and tumult of the busy world, the\nworld of to-day and yesterday, move him not. He heeds but slightly\nthe events of the passing hour. He lives in a past world. The scenes\nof his childhood, the sports and companions of his youth, the hills\nand streams, the bright eyes and laughing faces on which his young\neyes rested, in which his young heart delighted--these visit him again\nin his solitude, as he sits in his chair by the quiet fireside. He\nlives over again the past. He wanders again by the old hills, and over\nthe old meadows. He feels again the vigor of youth. He leads again\nhis bride to the altar. He brings home toys for his children, and\nenters again into their sports. And so the extremes of life meet. Age\ncompletes the circuit, and brings us back to the starting-point. We\nclose where we began. Life is a magic ring.\n\n_The recollection of past Sorrow not always painful._--But life is not\nall joyous. Mingled with the brighter hues of every life are also much\nsadness and sorrow, and these, too, are to be remembered. It might be\nsupposed that, while memory, by recalling the pleasing incidents of the\npast, might contribute much to our happiness, she would add, in perhaps\nan equal degree, to our sorrow, by recalling much that is painful\nto the thoughts. Such, however, I am convinced, is not the fact.\nThe benevolence of the Creator has ordered it otherwise. To no one,\nperhaps, is memory the source of greater pleasure, strange as it may\nseem, than to the mourner. The very circumstances that tend to renew\nour grief, and keep alive our sorrow, in case of some severe calamity\nor bereavement, are still cherished with a melancholy satisfaction of\nwhich we would not be deprived. There is a luxury in our very grief,\nand in the remembrance of that for which we grieve. We would not forget\nwhat we have lost. Every recollection and association connected with\nit are sacred. Time assuages our grief, but impairs not the strength\nand sacredness of those associations, nor diminishes the pleasure with\nwhich we recall the forms we shall see no more, and the scenes that are\ngone forever. Every memento of the departed one is sacred; the books,\nthe flowers, the favorite walks, the tree in whose shadow he was wont\nto recline, all have a significance and a value which the stricken\nheart only can interpret, and which memory only can afford.\n\n_We recollect the Past as it was._--It is to be noticed, also, that, in\nsuch cases, the picture which memory furnishes is a transcript of the\npast as it was; the image is stereotyped and unchangeable. Other things\nchange, we change; that changes not. It has a fixed value. A mother,\nfor instance, loses a child of three years. It ever remains to her a\nchild of three years. She remembers it as it was. She grows old; twenty\nsummers and winters pass; yet as often as she visits the little mound,\nnow scarce to be distinguished from the level surface, there comes to\nher recollection that little child as he was, when she hung, for the\nlast time, over that pale, sweet face that she should see no more. She\nstill thinks of him, dreams of him, as a child, for it is as such only\nthat she remembers him.\n\nBlessed boon, that gives us just the past; when all things change,\nfortunes vary, friends depart, the world grows unkind, and we grow old,\nthe former things remain treasured in our memory, and we can stand as\nmourners at the grave of what we once were.\n\n\nVIII. HISTORICAL SKETCH.--DIFFERENT THEORIES OF MEMORY.\n\n_Ancient Theory._--The idea formerly, and almost universally\nentertained respecting the _modus operandi_ of the faculty we call\nmemory, was, that in perception and the various operations of the\nsenses, certain impressions are made on the sensorium--certain forms\nand types of things without, certain _images_ of them--which remain\nwhen the external object is no longer present, and become imprinted\nthus on the mind. Such, certainly, was the doctrine of the earliest\nGreek commentators on Aristotle. Such, I must think, is substantially\nthe doctrine of Aristotle himself.\n\n_Theory of Aristotle._--His idea is, that memory, as well as\nimagination, primarily and directly, relates only to sensible objects,\nand gives us only _images_ of these objects, and even when it gives\nus strictly intellectual objects, gives us these only by images. One\ncannot _think_, he says, without images. Its source and origin, then,\nhe concludes, is the sensibility, and so it pertains to _animals_, as\nwell as men; only to those, however, which have the perception of time,\nsince memory is a modification of sensation or intellectual conception,\nunder the condition of _time past_. Such being, in his view, the\nnature and source of memory, he goes on to ask how it is that only\na modification (or state) of the mind being present, and the object\nitself absent, one recalls that absent object?\n\n\"Manifestly,\" he replies, \"we must believe that the impression which\nis produced, in consequence of the sensation, in the soul, and in\nthat part of the body which perceives the sensation, is analogous to\na species of painting, and that the perception of that impression\nconstitutes precisely what we call memory. The movement which then\ntakes place in the mind _imprints there a sort of type of the\nsensation_ analogous to the _seal which one imprints on wax with a\nring_. Hence it is that those who by the violence of the impression,\nor by the ardor of age are in a great excitement (movement) have not\nthe memory of things, as if the movement and seal had been applied to\nrunning water. In the case of others, however, who are in a sort cold,\nas the plaster of old edifices, the very _hardness_ of the part which\nreceives the impression prevents the image from leaving the least\ntrace. Hence it is that young children and old men have so little\nmemory. It is the same with those who are too lively, and those who are\ntoo slow. Neither remember well. The one class are too _humid_, the\nother too hard. The image dwells not in the soul of the one, makes no\nimpression whatever on that of the other.\n\n\"How is it now,\" he goes on to ask, \"that this stamp, impression,\nimage, or painting, in us, a mere mode of the mind, can recall the\nabsent object?\" His answer is, that the impression or image is a _copy_\nof that object, while, at the same time, it is, in itself considered,\nonly a modification of our mind, just as a painting is a mere picture,\nand yet a _copy_ from nature. (Parva Naturalia: Memory, ch. 1.)\n\n_Defence of Aristotle._--Sir W. Hamilton defends Aristotle against the\nstrictures of Dr. Reid, upon this subject, by the supposition that\nhe used these expressions not in a literal, but in a figurative or\nanalogical sense. The figure, however, if it be one, is very clearly\nand boldly sustained, and constitutes, in fact, the whole explanation\ngiven of the process of memory--the entire theory. Take away these\nexpressions, and you take away the whole substance of his argument, the\nwhole solution of the problem. Sensation, or intellectual conception,\nproduces an _impression_ on the soul, and _imprints there a type_ of\nitself, not unlike a painting or the stamp of a seal on wax, and the\n_perception_ of this is _memory_. Such is in brief his theory.\n\n_Theory of Hobbes._--Not far remote from this was the theory of Hobbes,\nwho regarded memory as a decaying or vanishing sense; that of Hume, who\nrepresents it as merely a somewhat weaker impression than that which we\ndesignate as perception; and that of the celebrated Malebranche, who\naccounted for memory by making it to depend entirely on the changes\nwhich take place in the fibres of the brain. \"For even as the branches\nof a tree which have continued some time bent in a certain form, still\npreserve an aptitude to be bent anew after the same manner, so the\nfibres of the brain having once received certain impressions by the\ncourse of the animal spirits, and by the action of objects, retain a\nlong time some facility to receive these same dispositions. Now the\nmemory consists only in this faculty, since we think on the same things\nwhen the brain receives the same impressions.\"\n\nHe goes on to explain how, as the brain undergoes a change in different\nperiods of life, the mind is affected accordingly. \"The fibres of\nthe brain in children are soft, flexible, and delicate; a riper age\ndries, hardens, and strengthens them; but in old age they become wholly\ninflexible.\" ... \"For as we see the fibres which compose the flesh\nharden by time, and that the flesh of a young partridge is, without\ndispute, more tender than that of an old one, so the fibres of the\nbrain of a child or youth will be much more soft and delicate than\nthose of persons more advanced in years.\"\n\n_Strictures upon this Theory._--Without disputing what is here stated\nas to the difference in the fibres of the brain at different periods of\nlife, it remains to be proved that all this has any thing to do with\nthe differences of memory in different persons, or with the phenomena\nof memory in general.\n\nThese theories, it will be observed, all assume that in perception\nand sensation some physical effect is produced on the system, which\nremains after the original sensation or perception has ceased to\nact, and that memory is the _result_ of that remaining effect, the\nperception, or conscious cognizance of it by the mind. The process is\na purely physiological one. Without insisting on the expressions made\nuse of to represent this process, all which convey the idea strongly\nof a mechanical effect--type imprinted on the soul, impression made\non it as of a seal on wax, image, picture, copy, etc.; allowing these\nto be mere metaphors; allowing, moreover, that the essential fact all\nalong assumed, is a fact, viz., that in sensation, perception, etc.,\nsome physical effect is produced on the sensorium; there are still two\nessential propositions to be established before we can admit any of\nthese theories: 1. That this physical effect _remains_ any time after\nthe cause ceases to operate; 2. That if so, it is in any way concerned\nin the production of memory; and even if these points could be made\nout, it would still be an open question, in WHAT way, possible or\nconceivable, this effect or impression on the sensorium gives rise to\nthe phenomenon of memory; for this is, after all, the chief thing to be\nexplained.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nIMAGINATION.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--GENERAL CHARACTER OF THIS FACULTY.\n\n_The Point at which we have arrived._--We have thus far treated of\nthose forms of mental representation which are concerned in the\nreproduction of what has once been perceived or felt, and in the\nrecognition of it as such. It remains still to investigate that form\nof the representative power, which has for its office something quite\ndistinct from either of these, and which we may term the _creative_\nfaculty.\n\n_Office of this Faculty._--By the operation of this power, the former\nperceptions and sensations are replaced in thought, and combined as\nin mental reproduction, but not, as in mental reproduction, according\nto the _original_ and _actual_, so that the past is simply repeated,\nbut rather according to the mind's own _ideal_, and at its own will\nand fancy; so that while the groundwork of the representation is\nsomething which has been, at some time, an object of perception, the\npicture itself, as it stands before the mind in its completeness, is\nnot the copy of any thing actually perceived, but a creation of the\nmind's own. This power the mind has, and it is a power distinct from\neither of those already mentioned, and not less wonderful than either.\nThe details of the original perception are omitted; time, place,\ncircumstance fall out, or are varied to suit the fancy; the scene is\nlaid when and where we like; the incidents follow each other no longer\nin their actual order; the original, in a word, is no longer faithfully\ntranscribed, but the picture is conformed to the taste and pleasure of\nthe artist. The conception becomes IDEAL. This is imagination in its\ntrue and proper sphere--the creative power of the mind.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--RELATION OF THIS TO OTHER FACULTIES.\n\nThe true province of imagination may be more definitely distinguished\nby comparing it with other powers of the mind.\n\n_Imagination as related to Memory._--How, then, does imagination differ\nfrom _memory_? In this, first and chiefly, that memory gives us the\nactual, imagination, the ideal; in this also, that memory deals only\nwith the past, while imagination, not confined to such limits, sweeps\non bolder wing, and without bound, alike through the future and the\npast. In one respect they agree. Both give the _absent_--that which is\nnot now and here present to sense. Both are representative rather than\npresentative. Both also are forms of conception.\n\n_To Perception._--In what respect does it differ from _perception_?\nIn perception the object is given, presented; in imagination it is\nthought, conceived; in the former case it is given as _actual_, in the\nlatter, conceived not as actual but as ideal.\n\n_To Judgment._--Imagination differs from _judgment_, in that the latter\ndeals, not like the former, with things in themselves considered, but\nrather with the relations of things--is, in other words, a form not\nof _simple_, but of _relative_ conception; and also in that it deals\nwith these relations as _actual_, not as ideal. It has always specific\nreference to truth, and is concerned in the formation of opinion and\nbelief, as resting on the evidence of truth, and the perception of the\nactual relations of things.\n\n_To Reasoning._--In like manner it differs from _reasoning_, which also\nhas to do with truths, facts--has for its object to ascertain and state\nthose facts or principles; its sole and simple inquiry being, what is\n_true_? Imagination concerns itself with no such inquiry, admits of\nno such limitation. Its thought is not what _did_ actually occur, but\nwhat in given circumstances _might_ occur. Its question is not what\nreally _was_, or _is_, or _will be_, but what _may_ be; what may be\n_conceived_ as possible or probable under such or such contingencies.\n\nReasoning, moreover, reaches only such truths as are involved in its\npremises, and may fairly be deduced as conclusions from those premises.\nIt furnishes no new material, but merely evolves and unfolds what lies\nwrapped up in the admitted premises. Imagination lies under no such\nrestriction. There is no necessary connection between the wrath of\nAchilles, and the consequences that are made to result from it in the\nunfolding of the epic.\n\n_To Taste._--Imagination and _taste_ are by no means identical. The\nformer may exist in a high degree where the latter is essentially\ndefective. In such a case the conceptions of the imagination are, it\nmay be, too bold, passing the limits of probability, or, it may be,\noffensive to delicacy, wanting in refinement and beauty, or in some\nway deficient in the qualities that please a cultivated mind. This\nis not unfrequently the case with the productions of the poet, the\npainter, the orator. There is no lack of imagination in their works,\nwhile, at the same time, they strike us as deficient in taste. Taste\nis the regulating principle, whose office is to guide and direct the\nimagination, sustaining to it much the same relation that conscience\ndoes to free moral action. It is a lawgiver and a judge.\n\n_To Knowledge._--Still more widely does imagination differ from simple\nknowledge. There may be great learning and no imagination, and the\nreverse is equally true. We know that which is--the actual; we imagine\nthat which is not--the ideal. Learning enlarges and quickens the mind,\nextends the field of its vision, augments its resources, expands its\nsphere of thought and action; in this way its powers are strengthened,\nits conceptions multiplied and vivified. There is furnished,\nconsequently, both more and better material for the creative faculty\nto work upon. Further than this, the imagination is little indebted to\nlearning.\n\n_Illustration of these Differences._--To illustrate the differences\nalready indicated: I stand at my window and look out on the landscape.\nMy eye rests on the form and dark outline of a mountain, pictured\nagainst the sky. Perception, this. I go back to my desk, I shut my\neyes. That form and figure, pencilled darkly against the blue sky,\nare still in my mind. I seem to see them still. That heavy mass, that\nundulating outline, that bold rugged summit--the whole stands before\nme as distinctly as when my eye rested upon it. Conception, this,\nreplacing the absent object. I not only in my thoughts seem to see the\nmountain thus reproduced, but I _know_ it when seen; I recognize it\nas the mountain which a moment before I saw from my window. Memory,\nthis, connecting the conception with something in my past experience.\nThe picture fades perhaps from my view, and I begin to estimate the\nprobable distance of the mountain, or its relative height, as compared\nwith other mountains. Judgment, this, or the conception of relations.\nI proceed to calculate the number of square miles of surface on a\nmountain of that height and extent. Reasoning, this. And now I sweep\naway, in thought, the actual mountain, and replace it with one vastly\nmore imposing and grand. Eternal snows rest upon its summits; glaciers\nhold their slow and stately march down its sides; the avalanche\nthunders from its precipices. _Imagination_ now has the field to\nherself.\n\n\n\u00a7 III.--ACTIVE AND PASSIVE IMAGINATION.\n\n_View of Dr. Wayland._--\"If we regard the several act of this faculty,\"\nsays Dr. Wayland, \"we may, I think, observe a difference between them.\nWe have the power to originate images or pictures for ourselves, and\nwe have the power to form them as they are presented in language. The\nformer may be called active, and the latter passive imagination. The\nactive, I believe, always includes the passive power, but the passive\ndoes not always include the active. Thus we frequently observe\npersons who delight in poetry and romance, who are utterly incapable\nof creating a scene or composing a stanza. They can form the pictures\ndictated by language, but are destitute of the power of original\ncombination.\"\n\n_Correctness of this View questioned._--That many who enjoy the\ncreations of the poet and the splendid fictions of the dramatist and\nnovelist, are themselves incapable of producing like creations, is\ndoubtless true. The same is true in other departments of the creative\nart. Many persons enjoy a fine painting or statue, good music, or a\nnoble architectural design, who cannot themselves produce these works\nof art. This does not prove them deficient, however, in imagination,\nfor the inability may be owing to other causes, as want of training;\nnor, on the other hand, does the simple enjoyment of ideal creations\ninvolve a different kind of imagination from that exercised in\ncreating. Imagination is, as it seems to me, always active, never\npassive. Where it exists, and whenever it is called into exercise, it\nacts, and its action is, in some sense, creative. It conceives the\nideal, that which, as conceived, does not exist, or at least is not\nknown to the senses as existing. It matters not in what way these ideal\nconceptions are suggested, whether by the signs of language written or\nspoken, or by those characters which the painter, the sculptor, or the\narchitect presents, each in his own way, and with his own material,\nor by one's own previous conceptions. _Every_ ideal conception is\nsuggested by _something_ antecedent to itself. All active imagination\nis, in other words, passive, in the sense here intended, and all\npassive imagination, so called, is in reality active, so far as it\nis, properly speaking, imagination at all. The difference between the\nfaculty that produces and that which merely enjoys, is a difference\nof _degree_ rather than of kind. The one is an imagination peculiarly\nactive; the other slightly so; or, more properly, the one mind has\n_much_, the other _little_ imagination.\n\n_Philosophic Imagination._--The term _philosophic_ imagination, in\ndistinction from _poetic_, is employed by the same distinguished writer\nto denote the faculty, possessed by some minds of a high order, of\ndiscovering new truths in science; of so classifying and arranging\nknown facts as to bring to light the laws which govern them, or, by\na happy conjecture, assigning to phenomena hitherto unexplained, a\ntheory which will account for them. Whether the faculty now intended\nis properly imagination, admits of question. Its field is that of\nconjecture, supposition, theory, invention. It involves the exercise\nof judgment and reason. It seeks after truth. It is a process of\ndiscovering what is. Imagination deals with the ideal only--inquires\nnot for the true.\n\n\n\u00a7 IV.--IMAGINATION A SIMPLE FACULTY.\n\n_Common Theory._--The view which has been very generally entertained of\nthe faculty now under consideration, both in this country, and by the\nScotch philosophers, resolves it partially or wholly into other powers\nof the mind, as abstraction, association, judgment, taste. In this\nview, it is no longer a simple faculty, if indeed it can with propriety\nbe called a faculty at all, inasmuch as the effects ascribed to it can\nbe accounted for by the agency of the other powers now named.\n\n_A different View._--It seems to me that imagination, while doubtless\nit presupposes and involves the exercise of the suggestive and\nassociative principle, of the analytic or divisive principle by which\ncompounds are broken up into their distinct elements, and also, to\nsome extent, of judgment, or the principle which perceives relations,\nis, nevertheless, itself a power distinct from each of these, and\nfrom all of them in combination. Memory _presupposes_ perception, or\nsomething to be reproduced and remembered. It is not, therefore, to be\nregarded as a complex faculty, comprising the perceptive power as one\nof its factors. The power to combine, in like manner, _presupposes_\nthe previous separation of elements capable of being reunited, but is\nnot to be resolved into that power which produces such separation. It\n_involves_ some exercise of judgment along with its own proper and\ndistinctive activity, but is not to be confounded with, or resolved\ninto the power of perceiving relations.\n\nThe faculty of ideal conception is really a power of the mind, and\nit is a simple power, a thing of itself, although it may involve\nand presuppose the activity of other faculties along with its own.\nAbstraction, association, judgment, taste--none of them singly, nor all\nof them combined, are what we mean by it.\n\n_Theory of Brown._--Dr. Brown resolves the faculty now in question into\nsimple suggestion, accompanied, in the case of _voluntary_ imagination,\nwith desire, and with judgment. There is nothing in the process\ndifferent from what occurs in any case of the suggestion of one thought\nby another, he would say. We think of a mountain, we think of gold,\nand some analogy, or common property of the two, serves to suggest the\ncomplex conception, mountain of gold. Even where the process is not\npurely spontaneous, but accompanied with desire on our part, it is\nstill essentially the same process. We think of something, and this\nsuggests other related conceptions, some of which we approve as fit\nfor our purpose, others we reject as unfit. Here is simple suggestion\naccompanied with desire and judgment; and these are all the factors\nthat enter into the process. \"We may term this state, or series of\nstates, imagination or fancy, and the term may be convenient for its\nbrevity. But in using it we must not forget that the term, however\nbrief and simple, is still the name of a state that is complex, or\nof a succession of states, that the phenomena comprehended under it\nbeing the same in nature, are not rendered, by the use of a mere word,\ndifferent from those to which we have already given peculiar names\nexpressive of them as they exist separately, and that it is to the\nclasses of these elementary phenomena, therefore, that we must refer\nthe whole process of imagination in our philosophic analysis.\"\n\n_Strictures on this Theory._--This view, it will be perceived, in\nreality sweeps the faculty of imagination entirely from the field. To\nthis I cannot yield my assent. Is not this state, or affection of the\nmind, as Dr. Brown calls it, quite a distinct thing from other mental\nstates and affections? Has it not a character _sui generis_? Is not the\noperation, the thing done, a _different_ thing from what is done in\nother cases, and by other faculties; and has not the mind the _power_\nof doing this new and different thing; and is not that power of doing\na given thing what we mean in any case by a _faculty_ of the mind? Is\nthere not an element in this process under consideration which is _not_\ninvolved in other mental processes, viz.: the _ideal_ element; the\nconception, not of the actual and the real, as in the case of the other\nfaculties, but of the purely ideal? And if the mind has the faculty of\nforming a class of conceptions so entirely distinct from the others,\nwhy not give that faculty a name, and its own proper name, and allow it\na place, its own proper place, among the mental powers?\n\n\n\u00a7 V.--IMAGINATION NOT MERELY THE POWER OF COMBINATION.\n\n_The prevalent View._--This question is closely connected with\nthat just discussed. The usual definitions make the faculty under\nconsideration a mere process of combining and arranging ideas\npreviously in the mind, so as to form new compounds. You have\ncertain conceptions. These you combine one with another, as a child\nputs together blocks that lie before him, to suit himself, now this\nuppermost, now that, and the result is a world of imagination. It is\nthe mere arrangement of previous conceptions, and not itself a power of\nproducing or connecting any thing. And even this arrangement of former\nconceptions is itself a _spontaneous_ casual process, according to Dr.\nBrown, not properly a _power_ of the mind.\n\n_Makes Imagination little else than Invention._--According to this\nview, imagination is hardly to be distinguished from mere _invention_\nin the mechanic arts, which is the result of some new combination of\npreviously existing materials. The construction of a steam-pump with\na new kind of valve, is as really a work of imagination, as Paradise\nLost. The man who contrives a carding-machine, and the man who\nconceives the Transfiguration, the Apollo Belvidere, or the Iliad, are\nexercising both the same faculty--merely combining in new forms the\nprevious possessions of the mind.\n\n_This View inadequate._--This is a very meagre and inadequate view, as\nit seems to me, of the faculty of imagination. It fixes the attention\nupon, and elevates into the importance of a definition, a circumstance\nin itself unimportant, while it overlooks the essential characteristic\nof the faculty to be defined. The _creative activity_ of the mind is\nlost sight of in attending to the _materials_ on which it works.\n\n_The Distinctive Element of Imagination overlooked._--Imagination\nI take to be the power of conceiving the ideal. The elements which\nenter into and compose that ideal conception, are, indeed, elements\npreviously existing, not themselves the mind's creations; but the\nconception itself is the mind's own creation, and this creative\nactivity, this power of conceiving the purely ideal, is the very\nessence of that which we are seeking to define. True, the separate\nconceptions which enter into the composition of Paradise Lost--trees,\nflowers, rivers, mountains, angels, deities--were already in the poet's\nmind before he began to meditate the sublime epic. They were but the\nmaterial on which he wrought. Has he then created nothing, conceived\nnothing? Have we truly and adequately described that immortal poem\nwhen we say that it is a mere combination of trees, rivers, hills, and\nangels, in certain proportions and relations not previously attempted?\n\n_Illustration drawn from the Arts._--The artist makes use of colors\npreviously existing when he would produce a painting, and of marble\nalready in the block, when he would chisel a statue or a temple.\nIn reality he only combines. Yet it would be but a poor definition\nof any one of these sublime arts to say that painting, sculpture,\narchitecture, is merely the putting together of previous materials to\nform new wholes. We object to such a definition, not because it affirms\nwhat is not true, but because it does not affirm the chief and most\nimportant truth; not because of what it states, but because of what it\nomits to state. These are creative arts. They give us indeed not new\nsubstances, but new forms, new products, new ideas. So is imagination a\ncreative faculty. The individual elements may not be new, but the grand\nproduct and result is new, a creation of the mind's own. And this is\nof more consequence than the fact that the elementary conceptions were\nalready in the mind. The one is the essential characteristic, the other\na comparatively unimportant circumstance; the one describes the thing\nitself, the other the mere _modus operandi_ of the thing.\n\n_Illustration drawn from the Creation of the material World._--What\nis _creation_ in its higher and more proper sense, as applied to the\nformation, by divine power, of the world in which we dwell? There was\na moment, in the eternity of the past, when the omnipotent builder\ndivided the light from the darkness, and the evening and the morning\nwere the first day. The elements may have existed before--heat, air,\nearth, water, the various material and diffused substance of the world\nabout to be--but latent, confused, chaotic those elements, not called\nforth and appointed each to its own proper sphere. Light slumbers\namid the chaotic elements unseen. He speaks the word, and it comes\nforth from its hiding-place, and stands revealed in its own beauty\nand splendor. Has God made nothing, in so doing? Has he conceived\nnothing, _created_ nothing? And when the work goes on, and is at length\ncomplete, and the fair new world hangs poised and trembling on its\naxis, perfect in every part, and rejoicing the heart of the builder, is\nthere no new power displayed in all this, no creation here? And do we\nwell and adequately express the sublime mystery when we say that the\ndeity has merely arranged and combined materials previously existing,\nto form a new whole?\n\n_Art essentially creative._--So when the poet, the painter, the\nskillful architect, the mighty orator, call forth from the slumbering\nelements new forms of beauty and power, are not they, too, in their\nhumble way, creators? True, they have in so doing combined conceptions\npreviously existing in the mind. The writer combines in new forms\nthe existing letters of the alphabet, the painter combines existing\ncolors, the architect puts together previously-existing stones. But is\nthis all he does? Is it the chief thing? Is this the soul and spirit\nof his divine art? No; there is a new power, a new element, not thus\nexpressed--the power of conceiving, and calling into existence, in the\nrealm of thought, that which has no actual existence in the world of\nsober reality. He who has this power is a _maker_--[Greek: poi\u00eat\u00eas]. It\nis a power conferred, in some degree, on all, in its highest degree, on\nfew. The poet, painter, orator, the gifted creative man, whoever he is,\nbelongs to this class.\n\n\n\u00a7 VI.--IMAGINATION LIMITED TO SENSIBLE OBJECTS.\n\n_Law of the Imagination._--It is a law of the imagination, that\nwhatever it represents, it realizes, clothes in sensible forms,\nconceives as visible, audible, tangible, or in some way within the\nsphere and cognizance of sense. Whatever it has to do with, whatever\nobject it seizes and presents, it brings within this sphere, invests\nwith sensible drapery. Now, strictly speaking, there are no objects,\nsave those of sense, which admit of this process, which can be, even\nin conception, thus invested with sensible forms, pictured to the eye,\nor represented to the other senses as objects of their cognizance.\nIf I conceive of objects strictly immaterial as thus presented, I\nmake them, by the very conception, to depart from their proper nature\nand to become sensible. Imagination has nothing to do, then, strictly\nspeaking, with abstract truths and conceptions, with spiritual and\nimmaterial existences, with ideas and feelings as such, for none of\nthese can be represented under sensible forms, or brought within\nthe sphere and cognizance of the senses. Sensible objects are the\ngroundwork, therefore, of its operation--the materials of its art.\n\n_But not to visible Objects._--It is not limited, however, to _visible_\nobjects merely--is not a mere picture-forming, image-making power. It\nmore frequently, indeed, fashions its creations after the conceptions\nwhich sight affords than those of the other senses; but it deals also\nwith conceptions of sound, as in music, and the play of storm and\ntempest, and with other objects of sense, as the taste, the touch,\npressure, etc. Thus the _gelidi fontes_ of Virgil is an appeal to\nthe sense of delicious coolness not less than to that of sparkling\nbeauty. A careful analysis of every act of the imagination will show,\nI think, a _sensible basis_ as the groundwork of the fabric--something\nseen, or heard, or felt--something said or done--some sensible\nreality--something which, however ideal and transcendental in itself\nand in reality, yet admits of expression in and through the senses;\notherwise it were a mere conception or _abstraction_--a mere idea--not\nan imagination.\n\n\n\u00a7 VII.--IMAGINATION LIMITED TO NEW RESULTS.\n\nThe simple reproduction of the _past_, whether an object or perception,\nor sensation, or conception merely, the simple reproduction or bringing\nback of that to the mind, we have assigned as the office of another\nfaculty. Imagination, we have said, departs from the reality, and gives\nyou not what you have had before, but something new, other, different.\nIt is not the simple image-making power, then, for mental reproduction\ngives you an image or picture of any former object of perception, _as_\nyou have seen it--a portrait of the past, true and faithful to the\noriginal.\n\nSome writers would differ from the view now expressed. Some of the\nGermans assign to imagination the double office of producing the new\nand reproducing the old; the latter they call imaginative reproduction.\nIn what respect this latter differs from the faculty of mental\nreproduction in general, it is difficult to perceive. When I remember a\nword spoken, or a song, I have the conception of a _sound_, or a series\nof sounds. When I remember an object in nature, as a mountain, a house,\netc., I have the conception of a material object, having some definite\nform, and figure, outline, proportion, magnitude, etc. The conception\nof the absent object presents itself in such a case, of course, as an\nimage or picture of the object to the mental eye. It is as really the\nwork of conception reproductive, however, to replace, in this case, the\nabsent object as once perceived, as it is to bring back to mind any\nthing else that has once been before it; _e. g._, a spoken word or a\ndate in history. We may, if we please, term this faculty, as employed\non objects of sight, conception _imaginative_ and distinguish it from\nthe same faculty as employed in reproducing other objects; but it were\ncertainly better to appropriate the term imagination to the single and\nfar higher province of creation--the office of conceiving the ideal\nunder the form of the sensible.\n\n\n\u00a7 VIII.--IMAGINATION A VOLUNTARY POWER, OR PROCESS.\n\nIs it an act which the mind puts forth when it will, and withholds\nwhen it will? Or is it a mere passive susceptibility of the mind to be\nimpressed in this particular way? As the harp lies passive to the wind,\nwhich comes and goes we know not how or whither, so does the mind lie\nopen to such thoughts and fancies as flit over it and call forth its\nhidden harmonies as they pass by? Those who, with Dr. Brown, resolve\nimagination into mere suggestion, of course take the latter view.\n\n_Often spontaneous._--Undoubtedly, the greater part of our ideal\nconceptions are spontaneous--the thoughts that rise at the instant,\nunpremeditated, uncalled, the suggestions of the passing moment or\nevent. This is true of our daily reveries, and all the little romances\nwe construct, when we give the reins to fancy, and a \"varied scene\nof thought\"--to use the beautiful expression of Cudworth--passes\nbefore us, peopled with forms unreal and illusive. There is no special\nvolition to call up these conceptions, or _such_ as these. They take\ntheir rise and hue from the complexion of the mind at the time, and\nthe character of the preceding conceptions, in the ever moving, ever\nvarying series and procession of thought. They are like the shifting\nfigures on the curtain in a darkened room, shadows coming and going,\nas the forms of those without move hither and thither. So far, all\nis spontaneous. Nay, more: It is, doubtless, impossible, by direct\nvolition, to call up any conception, ideal or otherwise; since this,\nas Dr. Brown has well argued, would be \"either to will without knowing\nwhat we will, which is absurd,\" or else to have already the conception\nwhich we wished to have, which is not less absurd.\n\n_If no intentional Activity, then Imagination not a Faculty._--Is there\nthen no intentional creation of new and ideal conceptions, of images,\nsimiles, metaphors, and other like material of a lively and awakened\nfancy, but merely a _casual_ suggestion of such and such thoughts,\nquite beyond any control and volition or even purpose of ours? If so,\nthen, after all, is it proper to speak of a faculty of imagination,\nsince we have not, in this case, the _power_ of _doing_ the thing under\nconsideration? We merely sit still in the darkened room, and watch the\nfigures as they come and go, with some desire that the thing may go on,\nsome appreciation of it, some critical judgment of the different forms\nand movements.\n\n_The Mind not wholly passive in the Process._--I reply this is not\naltogether so. The mind is not altogether _passive_ in this thing;\nthere is an _activity_ involved in the process, and that of the mind's\nown. There is a power, either original or acquired, of conceiving\nsuch thoughts as are now under consideration, a readiness for them,\na proneness to them, a bias, propensity, inclination, more powerful\nin some than in others, by virtue of which this process occurs.\nWe may call this a faculty, though, more strictly, perhaps, _a\nsusceptibility_, but it is, in truth, one of the endowments of the\nmind, part of its furniture, one form of its activity.\n\n_A more direct voluntary Element._--But there is, further than this,\nand more directly, a voluntary element in the process. It is in our\npower to yield, or not, to this propensity, this inclination to the\nideal; to put forth the mental activity in this direction, or to\nwithhold it; to say whether or not the imagination shall have its free,\nfull play, and with liberated wing soar aloft through her native skies;\nwhether our speech shall be simple argument, unadorned stout logic, or\nlogic not less stout, clothed with the pleasing, rustling drapery which\na lively imagination is able to throw, like a splendid robe, over the\nnaked form of truth.\n\nThere is, then, really a mental activity, and an activity in some\ndegree under control of the will, in the process we are considering.\n\n_Same Difficulty lies elsewhere._--The same difficulty which meets us\nhere, meets us elsewhere, and lies equally against other mental powers.\nWe cannot, by direct volition, remember a past event, for this implies,\nas in the case of the volition to imagine a given scene, either that\nthe thing is already in view, or else that we will we know not what.\nYet, as every one knows, there is a way of recalling past events; a\nfaculty or power of doing this thing; a faculty which we exercise when\nwe please.\n\nThe same may be said of the power of thought in general. We cannot,\nby direct volition, _think_ of any given thing, for to will to think\nof it is already to have thought of it, yet there is mental activity\ninvolved in every process of thought a mental power exercised, a\nfaculty of some sort exercised. Nor is it a power altogether beyond\nour own control. We can direct our thoughts, can govern them, can turn\nthem, as we do a water course, that _will_ flow somewhere, but whose\nchannel we may lead this way or that.\n\n\n\u00a7 IX.--USE AND ABUSE OF IMAGINATION.\n\n_Influence upon the Mind._--As to the benefits arising from the due\nuse and exercise of this faculty, not much, perhaps, is requisite to\nbe said. It gives vividness to our conceptions, it raises the tone of\nour entire mental activity, it adds force to our reasoning, casts the\nlight of fancy over the sombre plodding steps of judgment, gilds the\nrecollections of the past, and the anticipations of the future, with a\ncoloring not their own. It lights up the whole horizon of thought, as\nthe sunrise flashes along the mountain tops, and lights up the world.\nIt would be but a dreary world without that light.\n\n_Influence on the Orator._--By its aid the orator presents his clear,\nstrong argument in its own simple strength and beauty, or commands\nthose skillful touches, that, by a magic spell, thrill all hearts in\nunison. There floats before his mind, ever as he proceeds, the _beau\nideal_ of what his argument should be; toward this he aspires, and\nthose aspirations make him what he is. No man is eloquent who has not\nthe imagination requisite to form and keep vividly before him such an\nideal.\n\n_On the Artist._--By its aid the artist breathes into the inanimate\nmarble the breath of life, and it becomes a living soul. By its\naid, deaf old Beethoven, at his stringless instrument, calls up the\nrichest harmony of sound, and blind old Milton, in his darkness and\ndesolateness, takes his magician's wand, and lo! there rises before\nhim the vision of that Paradise where man, in his primeval innocence,\nwalked with God.\n\n_On other Minds._--Nor is it the poet, the orator, the artist, alone,\nthat derive benefit from the exercise of this faculty, or have occasion\nto make use of it. It is of inestimable value to us all. It opens for\nus new worlds, enlarges the sphere of our mental vision, releases us\nfrom the bonds and bounds of the actual, and gives us, as a bird let\nloose, the wide firmament of thought for our domain. It gilds the bald,\nsullen actualities, and stern realities of life, as the morning reddens\nthe chill, snowy summits of the Alps, till they glow in resplendent\nbeauty.\n\n_On the Spectator and Observer._--It is of service, not to him who\nwrites alone, but to him who reads; not to him who speaks alone, but\nto him who hears; not to the artist alone, but to the _observer_ of\nart; for neither poet, nor orator, nor artist, can convey the full\nmeaning, the _soul_, the inspiration of his work, to one who has not\nthe imagination to appreciate and feel the beauty, and the power,\nthat lie hidden there. There is just as much meaning in their works,\nto us, as there is soul in us to receive that meaning. The man of no\nimagination sees no meaning, no beauty, no power, in the Paradise Lost,\nthe symphonies of Beethoven and Mozart, the Transfiguration of Raphael,\nthe Aurora of Guido, or the master-pieces of Canova and Thorwalsden.\n\n_Errors of Imagination._--Undoubtedly there are errors, mistakes,\nprejudices, illusions of the imagination; mistakes in judgment, in\nreasoning, in the affairs of practical life, the source of which is to\nbe found in some undue influence, some wrong use, of the imagination.\nWe mistake its conceptions for realities. We dwell upon its pleasing\nvisions till we forget the sober face of truth. We fancy pleasures,\nbenefits, results which will never be realized, or we look upon the\ndark and dreary side of things till all nature wears the sombre hue of\nour disordered fancy.\n\n_Not, therefore, to set aside its due Culture._--All this we are\nliable to do. All these abuses of the imagination are possible, likely\nenough to occur. Against them we must guard. But to cry out against the\nculture and due exercise of the imagination, because of these abuses to\nwhich it is liable, is not the part of wisdom or highest benevolence.\nTo hinder its fair and full development, and to preclude its use, is to\ncut ourselves off, and shut ourselves out, from the source of some of\nthe highest, purest, noblest, pleasures of this our mortal life.\n\n_No Faculty perhaps of more Value._--It is not too much to say, that\nthere is, perhaps, no faculty of the mind which, under due cultivation,\nand within proper bounds, is of more real service to man, or is more\nworthy of his regard, than this. Especially, is it of value in forming\nand holding before the mind an ideal of excellence in whatever we\npursue, a standard of attainment, practicable and desirable, but\nloftier far than any thing we have yet reached. To present such an\nideal, is the work of the imagination, which looks not upon the actual,\nbut the possible, and conceives that which is more perfect than the\nhuman eye hath seen, or the human hand wrought. No man ever yet\nattained excellence, in any art or profession, who had not floating\nbefore his mind, by day and by night, such an ideal and vision of what\nhe might and ought to be and to do. It hovers before him, and hangs\nover him, like the bow of promise and of hope, advancing with his\nprogress, ever rising as he rises, and moving onward as he moves; he\nwill never reach it, but without it he would never be what he is.\n\n\n\u00a7 X.--CULTURE OF THE IMAGINATION.\n\n_Strengthened by Use._--In what way, it is sometimes asked, may the\nfaculty under consideration be improved and strengthened? To this it\nmay be replied, in general, that the ideal faculty, like every other,\nis developed and strengthened by exercise, weakened and impaired by\nneglect. There is no surer way to secure its growth than to call its\npresent powers, whatever they may be, into frequent exercise. The\nmental faculties, like the thews and muscles of the physical frame,\ndevelop by use. Imagination follows the same general law.\n\n_Study of the Works of others._--I do not mean by this exclusively\nthe direct exercise of the imagination in ideal creations of our own,\nalthough its frequent employment in this way, is of course necessary\nto its full development. But the imagination is also exercised by the\nstudy of the ideal creations of others, especially of those highly\ngifted minds which have adorned and enriched their age with productions\nof rarest value, which bear the stamp and seal of immortality. With\nthese, in whatever department of letters or art, in poetry, oratory,\nmusic, painting, sculpture, architecture--whatever is grand, and\nlofty, and full of inspiration, whatever is beautiful and pleasing,\nwhatever is of choicest worth and excellence in its own proper sphere;\nwith these let him become familiar who seeks to cultivate in himself\nthe faculty of the ideal. Every work of the imagination appeals to\nthe imagination of the observer, and thus develops the faculty which\nit calls into exercise. No one can be familiar with the creations of\nShakspeare and Milton, of Mozart and Beethoven, of Raphael and Michael\nAngelo, and not catch something of their inspiration.\n\n_Study of Nature._--Even more indispensable is the study of nature; and\nit has this advantage, that it is open to those who may not have access\nto the sublime works of the highest masters of art. Nature, in all\nher moods and phases--in her wonderful variety of elements--the grand\nand the lowly, the sublime and the beautiful, the terrible and the\npleasing--nature in her mildest and most fearful displays of power, and\nalso in her softest and sweetest attractions, is open to every man's\nobservation, and he must be a close observer and a diligent student of\nher who would cultivate in himself the ideal element. The most gifted\nsons of genius, the minds most richly endowed with the power of ideal\ncreation, have been remarkable for their love and careful study of\nnature.\n\n_Mistake on this Point._--I must notice in this connection, however,\na mistake into which some have fallen in regard to this matter. The\nsimple description of a scene in nature, just as it is, is not properly\na work of the imagination. It is simply perception or memory that is\nthus exercised, along with judgment and artistic power of expression.\nImagination gives not the actual, but the ideal. She never satisfies\nherself with an exact copy. The mere portrait painter, however\nskillful, is not in the highest sense an artist. The painter, mentioned\nby Wayland, who copied the wing of the butterfly for the wing of the\nSylph, was not, in so doing, exercising his imagination, but only his\npower of imitation. So, too, when Walter Scott gives us, in the cave\nof Denzel, a precise description of some spot which he has seen, even\nto the very plants and flowers that grow among the rocks, that scene,\nhowever pleasing and life-like, is not properly a creation of his own\nimagination; it is a description of the actual, and not a conception of\nthe ideal. Much that is included under the general title of works of\nthe imagination is not properly the production of that faculty.\n\nColeridge has made essentially the same remark, that in what is called\na work of imagination, much is simple narration, much the filling up of\nthe outline, and not to be attributed to that faculty.\n\n_The Student of Nature not a mere Copyist._--The true study of nature,\nis not to observe simply that we may copy what she presents, but rather\nto gather materials on which our own conceptive power may work, and\nwhich it may fashion after its own designs into new combinations and\nresults of beauty. Nature, too, is full of hints and suggestions which\na discerning mind, and an eye practised to the beautiful, will not fail\nto catch and improve. It is only when we do this, when we begin, in\nfact, to depart from, and go beyond the actual, that we exercise the\nimagination.\n\n_Difference illustrated by an Example._--The difference between simple\ndescription, and the creations of the conceptive faculty, may be shown\nby reference to a single example:\n\n    \"The twilight hours, like birds, flew by,\n      As lightly and as free;\n    Ten thousand stars were in the sky,\n      Ten thousand in the sea;\n    For every wave, with dimpled cheek\n      That leaped upon the air,\n    Had caught a star in its embrace,\n      And held it trembling there.\"\n\nThe quiet stillness of the evening, the reflection of the stars in the\nsea, are the two simple ideas which enter into this beautiful stanza.\nThey would have been faithfully and fully expressed, so far as regards\nall the perfections of exact description, by the simple propositions\nwhich follow: \"The evening hours passed swiftly and silently; many\nstars appeared in the sky, and each was reflected in the sea.\"\n\nThe poet is not content with this description. The swiftness and\nsilentness of those passing hours remind him of the flight of birds\nalong the sky. The resemblance strikes him as beautiful. He embodies it\nin his description. It is an ideal conception. He goes further. He sees\nin the water, not the reflection merely of the stars, but the stars\nthemselves, as many in the sea as in the sky. Here is a departure from\nthe truth, from the actual, an advance into the region of the ideal.\nImagination, thus set free, takes still further liberties: attributes\nto the inanimate wave the _dimpled cheek_ of beauty, ascribes its\nrestlessness not to the laws of gravitation, but to the force of a\nstrictly human passion, under the influence of which it leaps into\nthe air toward the object of its affection, seizes it, and holds it,\ntrembling, in its embrace.\n\n\n\u00a7 XI.--HISTORICAL SKETCH.\n\nVARIOUS DEFINITIONS, AND THEORIES OF IMAGINATION BY DIFFERENT WRITERS.\n\n_Definition of Dr. Reid._--_Reid_ makes it nearly synonymous with\nsimple apprehension. \"I take imagination, in its most proper sense, to\nsignify a lively conception of _objects of sight_,\" the conception of\nthings as they appear to the eye. _Addison_ employs the term with the\nsame limitation, that is, as confined to objects of sight.\n\n_Of Stewart._--_Stewart_ regards this as incorrect, holds that\nimagination is not confined to _visible_ or even _sensible_ objects.\nHe regards it as a complex, not a simple power, including simple\napprehension, abstraction, judgment, or taste, and association of\nideas; its province being to select, from different objects, a variety\nof qualities and circumstances, and combine and arrange them so as to\nform a new creation of its own.\n\n\n_Of Brown._--_Brown_ differs not essentially from the view of Stewart.\nHe also makes imagination a complex operation, involving conception,\nabstraction, judgment, association. He distinguishes between the\n_spontaneous_ and the _voluntary_ operation of the imaginative power;\nin the former case, there is no voluntary effort of selection,\ncombination, etc., but images arise independently of any desire or\nchoice of ours, by the laws of suggestion; and this he holds to be\nthe most frequent operation of the faculty. In the case of voluntary\nimagination, which is attended with desire, this desire is the\nprominent thing, and serves to keep the conception of the subject\nbefore the mind, in consequence of which, a variety of associated\nconceptions follow, by the laws of suggestion, in regular train. Of\nthese suggested conceptions and images, some, we approve, others, we\ndo not; the former, by virtue of our approval, become more lively and\npermanent, while the latter pass away. Thus, without any direct effort\nor power of the will to combine and separate these various conceptions,\nthey shape themselves according to our approval and desire, in\nobedience to the ordinary laws of suggestion.\n\n_Of Smith._--_Sydney Smith_ regards imagination in much the same\nlight--a faculty in which association plays the principal part,\nassisted by judgment, taste, etc., amounting, in fact, to much the same\nthing that we call invention; the process by which a poet constructs a\ndrama, or a machinist a steam-engine, being essentially the same.\n\n_Of Wayland and Upham._--_Wayland_, in common with most of the\nauthors already cited, makes imagination a complex faculty, involving\nabstraction, and association; \"the power by which, from simple\nconceptions already existing in the mind, we form complex wholes or\nimages.\" Some form of abstraction necessarily precedes the exercise\nof this power. The different elements of a conception must be first\nmentally severed before we can reunite them in a new conception. \"It is\nthis power of reuniting the several elements of a conception at will,\nthat is, properly, imagination. Imagination may then be designated the\npower of combination.\" _Upham_ takes the same view. The same view,\nessentially, is also given by _Amand\u00e8 Jacques_, a French writer of\ndistinction.\n\n_View of Tissot._--_Tissot_, as also many of the German philosophers,\ngives imagination the double province of recalling sensible intuitions,\nobjects of sight, such as we have known them, and also of conceiving\nobjects altogether differently disposed from our original perceptions\nof them, varied from the reality. The former they call imagination\n_reproductive_, the latter, _creative_. That form of the imagination\nwhich is purely spontaneous, in distinction from the voluntary, they\nterm fancy.\n\n_Of Coleridge and Mahan._--_Coleridge_, followed by _Mahan_, regards\nimagination as the power which recombines the several elements of\nthought into conceptions, which conform not to _mere existences_,\nbut to _certain fundamental ideas in the mind itself_, ideas of the\nbeautiful, sublime, etc.\n\n_These Definitions agree in what._--These definitions, it will be\nperceived, with scarcely an exception make imagination to be a complex\nfaculty, and regard it as merely _the power of combining_, in new\nforms, the various elements of thought already in the mind. The\ncorrectness of each of these ideas has been already discussed.\n\n\n\n\nINTELLECTUAL FACULTIES.\n\nPART THIRD.\n\n\n\n\nTHE REFLECTIVE POWER.\n\n\n\n\nGENERAL OBSERVATIONS.\n\n\n_Office of this Power._--We have thus far treated of that power of the\nmind by which it takes cognizance of objects as directly presented to\nsense, and also of that by which it represents to itself former objects\nof cognition in their absence. But a large portion of our knowledge and\nof our mental activity does not fall under either of these divisions.\nThere is a class of mental operations which differs from the former, in\nthat they do not give us directly sensations or perceptions of things,\ndo not present objects themselves; and from the latter, in that they\ndo not represent to the thought absent objects of perception; which\ndiffer from both, in that they deal not with the things themselves, but\nwith the properties and relations of things--not with the concrete, but\nwith the abstract and general. This class of operations, to distinguish\nit from the preceding classes, we have named, in our analysis, the\n_reflective power_ of the mind. It comprises a large part of our mental\nactivity.\n\n_Specific Character._--The form of mental activity which is\ncharacteristic of this faculty, is the perception of relations, that\nwhich Dr. Brown calls _relative suggestion_, but which we should\nprefer to term _relative conception_. The mind is so constituted\nthat when distinct objects of thought are presented, it conceives at\nonce the notion of certain relations existing between those objects.\nOne is larger, one smaller, one is here, the other there, one is\na part in relation to a whole, some are like, others unlike each\nother. The several relations that may exist and fall under the notice\nof this power of the mind are too many to be easily enumerated.\nThe more important are, position, resemblance, proportion, degree,\ncomprehension. All these may, perhaps, by a sufficiently minute\nanalysis, be resolved into one--that of comprehension, or the relation\nof a whole to its parts.\n\n_Comprehensive of several Processes._--The faculty now under\nconsideration will, on careful investigation, be found to underlie\nand comprehend several mental processes usually ranked as distinct\noperations and faculties of the mind, but which are at most only so\nmany forms of the general power of relative conception. Such are\nthe mental operations usually known as _judgment_, _abstraction_,\n_generalization_, and _reasoning_. Of these, and their relation to the\ngeneral faculty comprehensive of all, we shall have occasion to speak\nfurther as we proceed.\n\n_Two Modes of Operation._--As the relations of object to object may all\nbe comprised under the general category of comprehension, or the whole\nand its parts, there are manifestly two modes or processes in which\nthe reflective faculty may put forth its activity. It may combine the\nseveral parts or elements to form a complex whole, or it may divide the\ncomplex whole into its several parts and elements. In the one case, it\nworks from the parts, as already resolved, to the whole; in the other,\nfrom the whole, as already combined, to the parts. The one is the\ncompositive or synthetic, the other, the analytic or divisive process.\nEach will claim our attention.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE SYNTHETIC PROCESS--GENERALIZATION.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--NATURE OF THE SYNTHETIC PROCESS.\n\n_Our Conceptions often Complex._--If we examine attentively the various\nnotions or conceptions of the mind, we find that a large part of them\nare in a sense complex--comprising, in a word, a certain aggregate of\nproperties, which, taken together, constitute our conception of the\nobject. Thus, my notion of table, or chair, or desk, is made up of\nseveral conceptions, of form, size, material, color, hardness, weight,\nuse, etc., etc., all which, taken together, constitute my notion of the\nobject thus designated.\n\n_Originally given as discrete._--These several elements that enter into\nthe composition of our conceptions of objects, it is further to be\nnoticed, are, in the first instance, given us in perception, not as a\ncomplex whole, but as discrete elements. Thus, sight gives us form and\ncolor; touch gives us extension, hardness, smoothness, etc.; muscular\nresistance gives us weight, and so, by the various senses, we gather\nthe several properties which make up our cognizance of the object, and\nwhich, taken together, constitute our conception of it.\n\n_Conceptions of Classes._--But a large part of our conceptions, if we\ncarefully observe the operations of our own minds, are not particular,\nbut general, not of individual objects, but of classes of objects. Of\nthis, any one may satisfy himself on a little reflection. How are these\nconceptions formed?\n\n_Such Conceptions, how formed._--The process of forming a general\nconception, I take to be this: The several elements that compose our\nconception of an individual object, being originally presented, as\nwe have already said, one by one, in the discrete, and not in the\nconcrete, it is of course in our power to conceive of any one of these\nelements by itself. No new power or faculty is needed for this. By the\nusual laws of suggestion any one of these elements may be presented\nto the mind, distinct from those with which, in perception, it is\nassociated, and as such it may be the object of attention and thought.\nI may thus conceive of the color, the form, the size, or the fragrance\nof a flower.\n\n_Extension of the Process to other Objects._--It is of the form, color,\netc., of some particular flower, as yet, however, and not of form and\ncolor in general, that I conceive. Suppose, now, that other flowers\nare presented to my notice, possessing the same form and color, for\nexample, red. Presently I observe other objects, besides flowers, that\nare of the same color--horses, cows, tables, books, cloths. As the\nfield of observation enlarges, still other objects are added to the\nlist, until that which I first conceived of as the peculiar property\nof a single flower, the rose, and of a single specimen, no longer\nis appropriated in my thoughts to any individual object or class of\nobjects, but becomes a general conception. It is an abstraction and\nalso a generalization; an abstraction because it no longer denotes or\nconnotes any individual object, but stands before the mind as simple,\npure quality, red, or redness; a generalization inasmuch as it is a\nquality pertaining equally to a great variety of objects.\n\n_The Process carried still further._--Having thus obtained the general\nconception of red, and, in like manner, of blue, violet, yellow,\nindigo, orange, etc., etc., I may carry the process still further, and\nform a conception more general than either, and which shall include\nall these. These are all varieties denoting the certain peculiarity of\nappearance which external objects present to the eye. Fixing my thought\nupon this, their common characteristic, I no longer conceive of red, or\nblue, or violet, as such, but of color in general.\n\nIn like manner, I observe the properties of different\ntriangles--right-angled, obtuse-angled, acute-angled, equilateral,\nisosceles. I leave out of view whatever is peculiar to each of these\nvarieties, retaining only what is common to them all--the property of\nthree-sidedness; and my conception is now a general one--triangle.\n\nIt is in this manner that we form the conceptions expressed by such\nterms as animal, man, virtue, form, beauty, and the like. A large\nproportion of the words in ordinary use, are of this sort. They are the\nnames or expressions of abstract, general, conceptions: abstract, in\nthat they do not relate to any individual object; general, in that they\ncomprehend, and are equally applicable to a great variety of objects.\n\n_Process of Classification._--The process of _classification_ is\nessentially the same with that by which we form general abstract\nconceptions. Observing different objects, I find that they resemble\neach other in certain respects, while in others they differ. Objects\nA, B, and C, differ, for instance, in form, and size, and weight, and\nfragrance, but agree in some other respect, as in color. On the ground\nof this resemblance, I class them together in my conceptions. In so\ndoing, I leave out of view all other peculiarities, the points in which\nthey differ, and take into account only the one circumstance in which\nthey agree. In the very act of forming a class, I have formed a general\nconception, which lies at the basis of that classification.\n\n_Tendency of the Mind._--The tendency of the mind to group individual\nobjects together on the ground of perceived resemblances, is very\nstrong, and must be regarded as one of the universal and instinctive\npropensities of our nature, one of the laws of mental action. As\nwe have already remarked, respecting general abstract terms, a\nlarge portion of the language of ordinary life is the language of\nclassification. The words which constitute by far the greater part of\nthe names of things, are common nouns, that is, names of classes.\nThe names of individual objects are comparatively few. Adjectives,\nspecifying the qualities of objects, denote groups or classes\npossessing that common quality. Adverbs qualifying verbs or adjectives,\ndesignate varieties or classes of action and of quality. Indeed, the\nvery existence of language as a medium of communication, and means of\nexpression, involves and depends upon this tendency of the mind to\nclass together, and then to designate by a common noun, objects diverse\nin reality, but agreeing in some prominent points of resemblance. In no\nother way would language be possible to man, since, to designate each\nindividual object by a name peculiar to itself, would be an undertaking\naltogether impracticable.\n\n_Rudeness of the earlier Attempts._--The first efforts of the mind\nat the process of classification are, doubtless, rude and imperfect.\nThe infancy of the individual, and the infancy of nations and races,\nare, in this respect, alike; objects are grouped roughly and in the\nmass, specific differences are overlooked, and individuals differing\nwidely and essentially are thrown into the same class, on the ground\nof some observed and striking resemblance. As observation becomes more\nminute, and the mind advances in culture and power of discrimination,\nthese ruder generalizations are either abandoned or subdivided into\ngenera and species, and the process assumes a scientific form. What\nwas at first mere classification, becomes now, in the strictest sense,\n_generalization_.\n\n_Scientific Classification._--Classification, however scientific, is\nstill essentially the process already described. We observe a number of\nindividuals, for example, of our own species. Certain resemblances and\ndifferences strike us. Some have straight hair, and copper complexion,\nothers, woolly hair, and black complexion, others, again, differ from\nthe preceding in both these respects. Neglecting minor and specific\ndifferences, we fix our attention on the grand points of resemblance,\nand thus form a general conception, which embraces whatever\ncharacteristics belong, in common, to the several individuals which\nthus resemble each other. To this general conception we appropriate the\nname Indian, Negro, Caucasian, etc., which henceforth represent to us\nso many classes or varieties of the human race. Bringing these classes\nagain into comparison with each other, we observe certain points of\nresemblance between them, and form a conception still more general,\nthat of man.\n\n_Further Illustration of the same Process._--In this way the genera\nand species of science are formed. On grounds of observed resemblance,\nwe class together, for example, certain animals. They differ from\neach other in color, size, and many other respects, but agree in\ncertain characteristics which we find invariable, as, for example, the\nform of the skeleton, number of vertebr\u00e6, number and form of teeth,\narrangement of organs of digestion. We give a name to the class thus\nformed--carnivora, rodentia, etc. The class thus formed and named,\nwe term the genus, while the minor differences mark the subordinate\nvarieties or species included under the genus. In the same way,\ncomparing other animals, we form other genera. Bringing the several\ngenera also into comparison, we find them likewise agreeing in certain\nbroad resemblances. These points of agreement, in turn, constitute\nthe elements of a conception and classification still wider and more\ncomprehensive than the former. Under this new conception I unite the\nprevious genera, and term them all mammalia. And so on to the highest\nand widest generalizations of science.\n\nHaving formed our classification we refer any new specimen to some\none of the classes already formed, and the more complete our original\nsurvey, the more correct is this process of individual arrangement.\nIt is remarked by Mr. Stewart, that the islanders of the Pacific, who\nhad never seen any species of quadruped, except the hog and the goat,\nnaturally inferred, when they saw a cow, that she must belong to one\nor the other of these classes. The limitations of human knowledge may\nlead the wisest philosopher into essentially the same error.\n\nIt is in the way now described that we form genera, and species, and\nthe various classes into which, for purposes of science, we divide\nthe multitude of objects which are presented in nature, and which,\nbut for this faculty, would appear to us but a confused and chaotic\nassemblage without number, order, or arrangement. The individuals\nexist in nature--not the classes, and orders, and species: these are\nthe creations of the human mind, conceptions of the brain, results of\nthat process of thought now described as the reflective faculty in its\nsynthetic form.\n\n_Importance of this Process._--It is evident at a glance that this\nprocess lies at the foundation of all science. Had we no power of\ngeneralization--had we no power of separating, in our thoughts, the\nquality from the substance to which it pertains, of going beyond the\nconcrete to the abstract, beyond the particular to the general--could\nwe deal only with individual existences, neither comparison nor\nclassification would be possible; each particular individual object\nwould be a study to us by itself, nor would any amount of diligence\never carry us beyond the very alphabet of knowledge.\n\n_Existence of general Conceptions questioned._--Important as this\nfaculty may seem when thus regarded, it has been questioned by some\nwhether, after all, we have, in fact, or can have, any general abstract\nideas; whether triangle, man, animal, etc., suggest in reality any\nthing more to the mind than simply some particular man, or triangle,\nor animal, which we take to represent the whole class to which the\nindividual belongs.\n\nThere can be no question, however, that we do distinguish in our minds\nthe thought of some particular man, as Mr. A, or some particular sort\nof man, as black man, white man, from the thought suggested by the term\nman; and the thought of an isosceles or right-angled triangle, from\nthe thought suggested by the unqualified term triangle. They do not\nmean the same thing; they have not the same value to our minds. Now\nthere are a great multitude of such general terms in every language,\nthey have a definite meaning and value, and we know _what_ they mean.\nIt must be then that we have general abstract ideas, or general\nconceptions.\n\n_Argument of the Nominalist._--But the nominalist replies. The term\nman, or triangle, awakens in your mind, in reality and directly, only\nthe idea of some particular individual or triangle, and this stands as\na sort of _type_ or _representation_ of other like individuals of whom\nyou do not definitely think as such and so many. I reply, this cannot\nbe shown; but even if it were so, the very language of the objection\nimplies the power of having general conceptions. If the individual man\nor triangle thought of stands as a type or representation, as it is\nsaid, of a great number of similar men and triangles, then is there\nnot already in my mind, prior to this act of representation, the _idea\nof a class of objects_, arranged according to the law of resemblance,\nin other words, a _general abstract idea_ or _conception_? If I had\nnot already formed such an idea, the particular object presented to my\nthoughts could not stand as type or representation of any such thing,\nor of any thing beyond itself, for the simple reason that there would\nbe nothing of the sort to represent.\n\n_Further Reply._--Besides, there is a large class of general terms to\nwhich this reasoning of the nominalist would not at all apply--such\nterms as virtue, vice, knowledge, wisdom, truth, time, space--which\nmanifestly do not awaken in the mind the thought of any particular\nvirtue or vice, any particular truth, any definite time, any definite\nspace, but a general notion under which all particular instances may be\nincluded. To this the nominalist will perhaps reply, that in such cases\nwe are really thinking, after all, of mere _names_ or _signs_, as when\nwe use the algebraic formula _x-y_, a mere term of convenience, having\nindeed some value, we do not know precisely what, _itself_ the terminus\nand object of our thought for the time being. In such cases the mind\nstops, he would say, with the term itself, and does not go beyond it\nto conjure up a general conception for it. So it is with the terms\nvirtue, vice; so with the general terms, class, species, genus, man,\nanimal, triangle; they are mere collective terms, _signs_, formulas of\nconvenience, to which you attach no more meaning than to the expression\n_x-y_. If you would find their meaning and attach any definite idea\nto them, you must resolve them into the _particular_ objects, the\nparticular vices, virtues, etc., which go to make up the class.\n\nI reply to all this, you are still classifying, still forming a general\nconception, the expression of which is your so called formula, _x-y_,\nalias virtue, man, and the like.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--PROVINCE AND RELATION OF SEVERAL TERMS EMPLOYED TO DENOTE, IN\nPART, OR AS A WHOLE, THIS POWER OF THE MIND.\n\nWe are now prepared to consider the proper province and relation of\nseveral terms frequently employed, with considerable latitude and\ndiversity of meaning, to denote, in part, or as a whole, the process\nnow described. Such are the terms _abstraction_, _generalization_,\n_classification_, and _judgment_.\n\n\nI. ABSTRACTION.\n\n_Term often used in a Wide Sense._--This term is frequently employed\nto denote the entire synthetic process as now described--the power\nof forming abstract general conceptions, and of classifying objects\naccording to those conceptions. It is thus employed by Stewart,\nWayland, Mahan, and others. There is, perhaps, no objection to this use\nof the word, except that it is manifestly a departure from the strict\nand proper sense of the term.\n\n_More limited Sense._--There is another and more common use of the term\nabstraction, which gives it a more limited sense. As thus employed,\nit denotes that act of the mind by which we fix our attention on some\none of the several parts, properties, or qualities of an object, to\nthe exclusion of all the other parts or properties which go to make up\nthe complex whole. In consequence of this exclusive direction of the\nthoughts to that one element, the other elements or properties are lost\nsight of, drop out of the account, and there remains in our present\nconception only that one item which we have singled out from the rest.\nThis is denominated, in common language, _abstraction_. Such is the\ncommon idea and definition of that term. It is Mr. Upham's definition.\n\n_This not really Abstraction._--Whether this, again, is the true idea\nof abstraction, is, to say the least, questionable. When I think of\nthe cover of a book, the handle of a door, the spring of a watch,\nin distinction from the other parts which make up a complex whole,\nI am hardly exercising the power of abstract thought; certainly no\nnew, distinct faculty is requisite for this, but simply attention to\none among several items or objects of perception. Hardly ever can it\nbe called analysis, with Wayland. It is the simple direction of the\nthought to some one out of several objects presented. A red rose is\nbefore me. I may think of its color exclusively, in distinction from\nits form and fragrance; that is, of the redness of this particular\nrose, this given surface before me. The object of my thought is\npurely a sensible object. I have not abstracted it from the sensible\nindividual object to which it belongs. It is in no sense an abstract\nidea, a pure conception. There has been nothing done which is not\ndone in any case where one thing, rather than another of a group or\nassemblage of objects, is made the object of attention.\n\n_The true Nature of Abstraction._--But suppose now that instead of\nthinking of the redness of this rose in particular, I think of the\ncolor red in general, without reference to the rose or any other\nsubstance; or, to carry the process further, of color in general,\nwithout specifying in my thought any particular color, evidently I\nam dealing now with abstractions. I have in my thought _drawn away_\n(abstraho) the color from the substance to which it belongs, from\nall substance, and it stands forth by itself a pure conception, an\n_abstraction_, having, as such, no existence save in my mind, but\nthere it does exist a definite object of contemplation. The form of\nmental activity now described, I should call _abstraction_. It is not\nnecessary, perhaps, to assign it a place as a distinct faculty of\nthe mind. It is, in reality, a part, and an important part, of the\nsynthetic process already described. But it is not the whole of that\nprocess, and the term abstraction should not, therefore, in strict\npropriety, at least as now defined, be applied as a general term to\ndesignate that class of mental operations. The synthetic process\ninvolves something more than mere abstraction; viz.:\n\n\nII. CLASSIFICATION AS DISTINGUISHED FROM GENERALIZATION.\n\n_Classification._--When the general idea or conception has been formed\nin the mind, we proceed to bring together and arrange, on the basis of\nthat general conception, whatever individual objects seem to us to fall\nunder that general rule. This we call classification. Thus, forming\nfirst the abstract, or general conception red, we bring together in our\nthought a variety of objects to which this conception is applicable,\nas red horses, red flowers, red books, red tables, etc., etc., thus\nforming classes of objects on the ground of this common property. The\ndifference between _classification_ and _generalization_, in so far as\nthey are not synonymous, I take to be simply this, that in the former\nwe group and arrange objects according to no general law, but mere\nappearance or resemblance, often, therefore, on fanciful or arbitrary\ngrounds while in the latter case, we proceed according to some general\nand scientific principle or law of classification, making only those\ndistinctions the basis of our arrangement which are founded in nature,\nand are at once invariable and essential.\n\n\nIII. JUDGMENT AS RELATED TO CLASSIFICATION.\n\n_Judgment._--We have already spoken of that specific process by which,\nhaving formed a given conception, or a given rule, we bring the\nindividual objects of perception and thought under that rule, or reject\nthem from it, according as they agree or disagree with the conception\nwe have formed. The process itself we have called classification. The\nmental activity thus employed is technically termed _judgment_--the\npower of subsuming, under a given notion or conception, the particular\nobjects which properly belong there. Thus, the botanist, as he meets\nwith new plants, and the ornithologist, as he discovers new varieties\nof birds, refers them at once to the family, the genus, the species to\nwhich they belong. His mind runs over the generic types of the several\nclasses and orders into which all plants and birds are divided, he\nperceives that his new specimen answers to the characteristic features\nof one of these families, or classes, and not to those of the others,\nand he accordingly assigns it a place under one, and excludes it from\nthe rest. So doing, he exercises judgment. All classification involves\nand depends upon this power; closely viewed, the action of the mind, in\nthe exercise of this power, amounts simply to this, the perception of\nagreement or disagreement between two objects of thought. In the case\nsupposed, the genus or species, as described by those who have treated\nof the particular science, is one of the objects contemplated; the next\nspecimen of plant or bird, as carefully observed and studied, is the\nother. These two objects of thought are compared; the one is perceived\nto agree or not to agree with the other; and on the ground of this\nagreement or disagreement, the classification is made. This perception\nof agreement in such a case is an act of judgment, so called.\n\n_Not a distinct Faculty._--The form of mental activity now described,\nis hardly to be ranked as a distinct faculty of the mind, although it\nhas been not unfrequently so treated by writers on mental science.\nIt enters more or less fully into all mental operations; like\nconsciousness and attention, it is, to some extent, involved in the\nexercise of all the faculties, and cannot, therefore, be ranked,\nwith propriety, as co\u00f6rdinate with them. It is not confined to the\ninvestigations of science, but is an activity constantly exercised\nby all men. We have in our minds a multitude of general conceptions,\nthe result of previous observation and thought. Every moment some new\nobject presents itself. With the quickness of thought, we find its\nplace among the conceptions already in the mind: it agrees with this,\nit is incompatible with that, it belongs with the one, it is excluded\nfrom the other. This is the form of most of our thinking; indeed,\nno small part of our mental activity consists in this perception of\nagreements and disagreements, and in the referring of some particular\nobject of experience, some individual conception, to the class or\ngeneral conception under which it properly belongs. The expression of\nsuch a judgment is a proposition. We think in propositions, which are\nonly judgments mentally expressed. We discourse in propositions, which\nare judgments orally expressed. We cannot frame a proposition which\ndoes not affirm, or deny, or call in question, something of something.\n\n_Judgment in relation to Knowledge._--Are judgment and knowledge\nidentical? Is all knowledge only some form of judgment? So Kant,\nTissot, and other writers of that school, would affirm. \"Judgment is\nthe principal operation of the mind, since it is concerned in all\nknowledge properly so called.\" \"All our knowledges are judgments. To\nknow, is to distinguish, and to distinguish, is at once to affirm,\nand to deny.\" Such was also Dr. Reid's doctrine, in opposition to\nLocke, who distinguished between knowledge and judgment. Reid, on the\ncontrary, regards knowledge as only one class of judgments, namely,\nthose about which we are most positive and certain. According to this\nview, judgment seems to cover the whole field of mental activity.\nSir William Hamilton thus regards it. We cannot even experience a\nsensation, he maintains, without the mental affirmation or judgment\nthat we are thus and thus affected.\n\n_Common Speech distinguishes them._--It must be admitted, however, that\nin common use there is a distinction between knowing and judging, the\none implying the comparative certainty of the thing known, the other\nimplying some room and ground for doubt, the existence of opinion and\nbelief, rather than of positive knowledge. The word itself, both in its\nprimitive signification, and its derivation, indicating, as it does,\nthe decision by legal tribunal of doubtful cases, favors this usage.\nThat an exercise of judgment is, strictly speaking, involved in all\nknowledge, is, nevertheless true, since, to know that a thing is thus\nand thus, and not otherwise, is to distinguish it from other things,\nand that is to judge.\n\n\n\u00a7 III.--HISTORICAL SKETCH.\n\n_The Realist and Nominalist Controversy._\n\n_The Question at Issue._--No question has been more earnestly and even\nmore bitterly discussed, in the whole history of philosophical inquiry,\nthan the point at issue between the Realist and Nominalist, as to what\nis the precise object of thought when we form an abstract general\nconception. When I use the term _man_, for example, is it a mere\n_name_, and nothing more, or is there a _real existence_ corresponding\nto that name, or is it neither a mere name on the one hand, nor, on\nthe other, a real existence, but a conception of my own mind, which\nis the object of thought? These three answers can be made, these\nthree doctrines held, and essentially only these three. Each has been\nactually maintained with great ability and acuteness. The names by\nwhich the three doctrines are respectively designated are, Realism,\nNominalism, and Conceptualism.\n\n_Early History of Realism._--Of these doctrines, the former, Realism,\nwas the first to develop itself. To say nothing of the ancients,\nwe find traces of it in modern philosophy, as early as the ninth\ncentury. Indeed, it would seem to have been the prevalent doctrine,\nthough not clearly and sharply defined; a belief, as Tissot has well\nexpressed it, \"spontaneous, blind, and without self-consciousness.\"\nJohn Scotus Erigena, and St. Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, both\nphilosophers of note, together with many others of less distinction,\nin the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries, were prominent Realists.\nThe Platonic view may, in fact, be said to have prevailed down to that\nperiod. The early fathers of the Christian Church were strongly tinged\nwith Platonism, and the Realistic theory accordingly very naturally\nengrafted itself upon the philosophy of the middle ages. The logical\nand the ontological, existence as mere thought of the mind, and\nexistence as reality, were not distinguished by the leading minds of\nthose centuries. The reality of the thought as thought, and the reality\nof an actual existence, corresponding to that thought, were confounded\nthe one with the other. As the rose of which I conceive has existence\napart from my conception, so man, plant, tree, animal, are realities,\nand not mere conceptions of the mind.\n\n_Rise of Nominalism._--It was not till nearly the close of the\neleventh century, that the announcement of the opposite doctrine was\ndistinctly made, in opposition to the prevalent views. This was done\nby Roscelinus, who maintained that universal and general ideas have no\nobjective reality; that the only reality is that of the individuals\ncomprised under these genera; that there are no such existences as\nman, animal, beauty, virtue, etc.; that generality is only a pure form\ngiven by the mind to the matter of its ideas, a pure abstraction, a\nmere name.\n\nIn this we have the opposite extreme of Realism. If the Realist went\ntoo far in affirming the objective reality of his conception, the\nNominalist erred on the other in overlooking its subjective reality as\na mode or state of the mind, and reducing it to a mere name.\n\n_Dispute becomes theological._--The dispute now, unfortunately,\nbut almost inevitably, became theological. The Realist accused the\nNominalist of virtually denying the doctrine of the Trinity, inasmuch\nas, according to him, the idea of Trinity is only an abstraction, and\nthere is no Being corresponding to that idea. To this, Roscelinus\nreplied, with at least equal force and truth, that on the same ground\nthe Realist denied the doctrine of divine unity, by holding a doctrine\nutterly incompatible with it. Roscelinus, however was defeated, if not\nin argument, at least by numbers and authority, and was condemned by\ncouncil at the close of the eleventh century.\n\n_Rise of Conceptualism._--It was about this time, that Abelard, pupil\nof Roscelinus, proposed a modified view of the matter, avoiding the\nextreme position both of the Realist and the Nominalist party, and\nallowing the _subjective_, but not the _objective_ reality, of general\nideas. This is substantially the doctrine of Conceptualism. The general\nabstract idea of man, rose, mountain, etc., has indeed no existence or\nreality as an external object, nor is there among external objects any\nthing corresponding to this idea; but it has, nevertheless, a reality\nand existence as a thought, a conception of my mind.\n\n_Prevalence of Realism during the twelfth and thirteenth\nCenturies._--The doctrine, as thus modified, gained some prevalence,\nbut was condemned by successive councils and by the Pope. Sustained by\nsuch authority, as well as by the names of men greatly distinguished\nfor learning and philosophy, Realism prevailed over its antagonists\nduring the latter part of the twelfth and the whole of the thirteenth\ncentury. The fourteenth witnessed again the rise and spread of the\nConceptualist theory, under the leadership of Occam. The dispute was\nbitter, leading to strife and even blood.\n\n_Later History of the Discussion._--In the seventeenth century we find\nHobbes, Hume, and Berkley advocating the doctrine of the Nominalists,\nwhile Price maintains the side of Realism. Locke and Reid were\nConceptualists, Stewart a Nominalist.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE ANALYTIC PROCESS--REASONING.\n\n\n_Relation to the Synthetic Process._--We have thus far considered that\nform or process of the reflective faculty, by which we combine the\nelements of individual complex conceptions, to form general conceptions\nand classes, on the basis of perceived agreements and differences.\nThis we have termed the synthetic process. The divisive or analytic\nprocess remains to be considered. This, as the name denotes, is, so\nfar as regards the method of procedure, the opposite of the former.\nWe no longer put together, but take apart, no longer combine the many\nto form one, but from the general complex whole, as already formed\nand announced, we evolve the particular which lies included in it.\nThis process comprehends what is generally called analysis, and also\nreasoning.\n\nIn discussing this most important mental process, we shall have\noccasion to treat more particularly of its _nature_, its _forms_, and\nits _modes_.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--THE NATURE OF THE PROCESS.\n\n_Conceptions often Complex._--It was remarked, in speaking of our\nconceptions, that many of them are complex. My notion of a table, for\nexample, is that of an object possessing certain qualities, as form,\nsize, weight, color, hardness, each of which qualities is known to me\nby a distinct act of perception, if not by a distinct sense, and each\nof which is capable, accordingly, of being distinctly, and by itself,\nan object of thought or conception. The understanding combines these\nseveral conceptions, and thus forms the complex notion of a table. The\nnotion thus formed, is neither more nor less than the aggregate, or\ncombination of the several elementary conceptions already indicated.\nWhen I am called on to define my complex conception, I can only specify\nthese several elementary notions which go to make up my idea of the\ntable. I can say it is an object round, or square, of such or such\nmagnitude, that it is of such or such material, of this or that color,\nand designed for such and such uses.\n\n_Virtual Analysis of complex Conceptions._--Now when I affirm that the\ntable is round, I state one of the several qualities of the object so\ncalled, one of the several parts of the complex notion. It is a partial\nanalysis of that complex conception. I separate from the whole, one of\nits component parts, and then affirm that it sustains the relation of a\npart to the comprehensive whole. The separation is a virtual analysis.\nThe affirmation is an act of judgment expressed in the form of a\nproposition. Every proposition is, in fact, a species of synthesis,\nand implies the previous analysis of the conception, or comprehensive\nwhole, whose component parts are thus brought together. Thus, when I\nsay snow is white, man is mortal, the earth is round, I simply affirm\nof the object designated, one of the qualities which go to make up my\nconception of that object. Every such statement or proposition involves\nan analysis of the complex conception which forms the subject of\nthe proposition, while the thing predicated or affirmed is, that the\nquality designated--the result of such analysis--is one of the parts\nconstituting that complex whole.\n\n_Reasoning, what._--Reasoning is simply a series of such propositions\nfollowing in consecutive order, in which this analysis is carried\nout more or less minutely. Thus, when I affirm that man is mortal,\nI resolve my complex notion of man into its component parts, among\nwhich I find the attribute of mortality, and this attribute I then\nproceed to affirm of the subject, man. I simply evolve, and distinctly\nannounce, what was involved in the term man. But this term expresses\nnot merely a complex, but a general notion. Resolving it as such into\nits individual elements, I find it to comprehend among the rest, a\ncertain person, Socrates, _e. g._, and the result of this analysis I\nstate in the proposition, Socrates is a man. But on the principle that\nwhat is true of a class must be true of the individuals composing it,\nit follows that the mortality already predicated of the class, man, is\nan attribute of the individual, Socrates. When I affirm, then, that\nSocrates is mortal, I announce, in reality, only what was virtually\nimplied in the first proposition--man is mortal. I have analyzed\nthe complex general conception, man, have found involved in it the\nparticular conception, mortal, and the individual conception, Socrates,\nand by a subsequent synthesis have brought together these results in\nthe proposition, Socrates is mortal, a proposition which sustains to\nthe affirmation, man is mortal, the simple relation of a part to the\nwhole.\n\n_Reasoning and Analysis, how related._--This analytic process, as\napplied to propositions, for the purpose of evolving from a complex\ngeneral statement, whatever is involved or virtually contained in it,\nis called reasoning; as applied not to propositions, but to simple\nconceptions merely, it is known as simple analysis. The psychological\nprocess is, in either case, one and the same.\n\n_Illustration by Dr. Brown._--Dr. Brown has well illustrated the nature\nof the reasoning process in its relation to the general proposition\nwith which we set out, by reference to the germ enclosed in the bulb\nof the plant. \"The truths at which we arrive, by repeated intellectual\nanalysis, may be said to resemble the premature plant which is to\nbe found enclosed in that which is itself enclosed in the bulb, or\nseed which we dissect. We must carry on our dissection more and more\nminutely to arrive at each new germ; but we do arrive at one after\nthe other, and when our dissection is obliged to stop, we have reason\nto suppose that still finer instruments, and still finer eyes, might\nprosecute the discovery almost to infinity. It is the same in the\ndiscovery of the truths of reasoning. The stage at which one inquirer\nstops is not the limit of analysis in reference to the object, but the\nlimit of the analytic power of the individual. Inquirer after inquirer\ndiscovers truths which were involved in truths formerly admitted by\nus, without our being able to perceive what was comprehended in our\nadmission.... There may be races of beings, at least we can conceive\nof races of beings, whose senses would enable them to perceive the\nultimate embryo plant enclosed in its innumerable series of preceding\ngerms; and there may, perhaps, be created powers of some higher order,\nas we know that there is one Eternal Power, able to feel, in a single\ncomprehensive thought, all those truths, of which the generations of\nmankind are able, by successive analyses, to discover only a few, that\nare, perhaps, to the great truths which they contain, only as the\nflower, which is blossoming before us, is to that infinity of future\nblossoms enveloped in it, with which, in ever renovated beauty, it is\nto adorn the summers of other ages.\"\n\n_Inquiry suggested._--But here the inquiry may arise. How happens it\nthat, if the reasonings which conduct to the profoundest and most\nimportant truths, are but successive and continued analyses of our\nprevious conceptions, we should have admitted those preceding truths\nand conceptions without a suspicion of the results involved in them?\nThe reason is probably to be found, as Dr. Brown suggests, in the fact\nthat in the process of generalizing we form classes and orders before\ndistinguishing the minuter varieties; we are struck with some obvious\npoints of agreement which lead us to give a common place and a common\nterm to the objects of such resemblance, and this very circumstance\nof agreement which we perceive, may involve other circumstances which\nwe do not at the time perceive, but which are disclosed on minute and\nsubsequent attention. \"It is as if we knew the situations and bearings\nof all the great cities in Europe, and could lay down, with most\naccurate precision, their longitude and latitude. To know thus much,\nis to know that a certain space must intervene between them, but it\nis not to know what that space contains. The process of reasoning, in\nthe discoveries which it gives, is like that topographic inquiry which\nfills up the intervals of our map, placing here a forest, there a long\nextent of plains, and beyond them a still longer range of mountains,\ntill we see, at last, innumerable objects connected with each other in\nthat space which before presented to us only a few points of mutual\nbearing.\"\n\n_The Position further argued from the Nature of the Syllogism._--That\nall deductive reasoning, at least, is essentially what has now been\ndescribed, an analytic process, is evident from the fact that the\nsyllogism to which all such argument may be reduced, is based upon\nthe admitted principle that whatever is true of the class, is true of\nall the individuals comprehended under it. Something is affirmed of a\ngiven class; an individual or individuals are then affirmed to belong\nto that class; and on the strength of the principle just stated, it is\nthereupon affirmed that what was predicated of the class is also true\nof the individual. Nothing can be plainer than that in this process we\nare working from the given whole to the comprehended parts, from the\ncomplex conception stated at the outset, to the truths that lie hidden\nand involved in it. In other words, it is a process of analysis which\nwe thus perform, and as all reasoning, when scientifically stated, is\nbrought under this form, it follows that all reasoning is essentially\nanalytic in its nature.\n\n_Inductive Reasoning no Exception._--It may be supposed that the\ninductive method of reasoning is an exception to this rule, inasmuch\nas we proceed, in that case, not from the general to the particular,\nbut the reverse. Whatever may be true of deduction, is not induction\nessentially a synthetic process? So it might, at first, appear. I have\nobserved, for example, that several animals of a particular species,\nsheep, for instance, chew the cud. Having observed this in several\ninstances, I presently conclude that the same is true of the whole\nclass to which these several individuals belong, in other words, that\nall sheep are ruminant. Extending my observation further, I find other\nspecies of animals likewise chewing the cud. I observe, moreover,\nthat every animal, possessing this characteristic, is distinguished\nby the circumstance of having horns and cloven hoofs; I find, so far\nas my observation goes, the two things always associated, and hence\nam led, on observing the one, immediately to infer the other. The\nproposition that was at the outset particular, now becomes general,\nviz., all animals that have horns and cloven hoofs are ruminant. Is\nthe conclusion at which I thus arrive, involved in the premiss with\nwhich I start? Is the fact that all horned and cloven-footed animals\nare ruminant, implied and contained in the fact that _some_ horned and\ncloven-footed animals, that is, so many as I have observed, are so?\n\n_Even here the Evidence of the Conclusion lies in the Premiss._--A\nlittle reflection will convince us that these questions are to be\nanswered in the affirmative. If the conclusion be itself correct and\ntrue, then it is a truth involved in the previous proposition; for\nwhatever evidence I have of the truth of my conclusion, that all\nanimals of this sort are ruminant, is manifestly derived from, and\ntherefore contained in, the fact that such as I have observed are\nso. I have no other evidence in the case supposed. If this evidence\nis insufficient, then the conclusion is not established. If it be\nsufficient, then the conclusion which it establishes, is derived from\nand involved in it.\n\nThe argument fully and scientifically stated, runs thus:\n\nA, B, C, animals observed, are ruminant. But A, B, C, represent the\nclass Z to which they belong.\n\nTherefore, class Z is ruminant.\n\nAdmitting now the correctness of my observation in respect to A, B, C,\nthat they are ruminant, the argument turns entirely upon the second\nproposition that A, B, C, represent the class Z, so that what is true\nof them in this respect, is true of the whole class. If A, B, C, _do_\nrepresent the class Z, then to say that A, B, C, are ruminant, is to\nsay that Z is so. The one is contained in the other. If they do _not_,\nthen the conclusion is itself groundless, and there is no occasion to\ninquire in what it is contained, or whether it is contained in any\nthing. It is no longer a valid argument and therefore cannot be brought\nin evidence that some reasoning is not analytic.\n\n_What sort of Propositions constitute Reasoning._--It is hardly\nnecessary to state that not any and every series of propositions\nconstitute reasoning. The propositions must be consecutive, following\nin a certain order, and not only so, but must be in such a manner\nconnected with and related to each other, that the truth of the final\nproposition shall be manifest from the propositions which precede. To\naffirm that snow is white, that gold is more valuable than silver, and\nthat virtue is the only sure road to happiness, is to state a series\nof propositions, each one of which is true, but which have no such\nrelation to each other as to constitute an argument. The truth of the\nlast proposition does not follow from the truth of the preceding ones.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--RELATION OF JUDGMENT AND REASONING.\n\n_Judgment Synthetic, Reasoning Analytic._--The relation of judgment and\nreasoning to each other becomes evident from what has been said of the\nnature of the reasoning process. Judgment is essentially synthetic.\nReasoning, essentially analytic. The former combines, affirms one thing\nto be true of another; the latter divides, declares one truth to be\ncontained in another. All reasoning involves judgment, but all judgment\nis not reasoning. The several propositions that constitute a chain of\nreasoning, are so many distinct judgments. Reasoning is the evolution\nor derivation of one of these judgments, viz., the conclusion, from\nanother, viz., the premiss. It is the process by which we arrive at\nsome of our judgments.\n\n_Mr. Stewart's View._--Reasoning is frequently defined as a combination\nof judgments, in order to reach a result not otherwise obvious. Mr.\nStewart compares our several judgments to the separate blocks of stone\nwhich the builder has prepared, and which lie upon the ground, upon any\none of which a person may elevate himself a slight distance from the\nground; while these same judgments, combined in a process of reasoning,\nhe likens to those same blocks converted now, by the builder's art,\ninto a grand staircase leading to the summit of some lofty tower. It is\na simple combination of separate judgments, nor is there any thing in\nthe last step of the series differing at all in its nature, says Mr.\nStewart, from the first step. Each step is precisely like every other,\nand the process of reaching the top is simply a repetition of the act\nby which the first step is reached.\n\n_This View called in Question._--It is evident that this position is\nnot in accordance with the general view which we have maintained of the\nnature of the reasoning process. According to this view, reasoning is\nnot so much a combination as an analysis of judgments; nor is the last\nof the several propositions in a chain of argument of the same nature\nprecisely as the first. It is, like the first, a judgment, but unlike\nthe first, it is a particular sort of judgment, viz., an inference or\nconclusion, a judgment involved in and derived from the former.\n\nIn the series of propositions, A is B, B is C, therefore A is C, the\nact of mind by which I perceive that A is B, or that B is C, is not\nof the same nature with that by which I perceive the consequent truth\nthat A is C; no mere repetition of the former act would amount to the\nlatter. There is a new sort of judgment in the latter case, a deduction\nfrom the former. In order to reach it, I must not merely perceive that\nA is B, and that B is C, but must also perceive the connection of the\ntwo propositions, and what is involved in them. It is only by bringing\ntogether in the mind these two propositions, that I perceive the new\ntruth, not otherwise obvious, that A is C, and the state or act of mind\ninvolved in this latter step seems to me a different one from that by\nwhich I reach the former judgments.\n\n\n\u00a7 III.--DIFFERENT KINDS OF REASONING.\n\n_Two Kinds of Truth._--The most natural division is that according to\nthe subject-matter, or the materials of the work. The truths which\nconstitute the material of our reasoning process are of two kinds,\n_necessary_, and _contingent_. That two straight lines cannot enclose\na space, that the whole is greater than any one of its parts, are\nexamples of the former. That the earth is an oblate spheroid, moves in\nan elliptical orbit, and is attended by one satellite, are examples of\nthe latter.\n\n_The Difference lies in what._--The difference is not that one is any\n_less certain_ than the other, but of the one you cannot conceive the\nopposite, of the other you can. That three times three are nine, is no\nmore true and certain, than that C\u00e6sar invaded Britain, or that the\nsun will rise to-morrow a few minutes earlier or later than to-day.\nBut the one admits of the contrary supposition without absurdity,\nthe other does not; the one is contingent, the other necessary. Now\nthese two classes of truths, differing as they do, in this important\nparticular, admit of, and require, very different methods of reasoning.\nThe one class is susceptible of _demonstration_, the other admits only\nthat species of reasoning called _probable_ or _moral_. It must be\nremembered, however that when we thus speak we do not mean that this\nlatter class of truths is deficient in proof; the word probable is not,\nas thus used, opposed to _certainty_, but only to _demonstration_. That\nthere is such a city as Rome, or London, is just as _certain_ as that\nthe several angles of a triangle are equal to two right-angles; but\nthe evidence which substantiates the one is of a very different nature\nfrom that of the other. The one can be demonstrated, the other cannot.\nThe one is an eternal and necessary truth, subject to no contingence,\nno possibility of the opposite. The other is of the nature of an event\ntaking place in time, and dependent on the will of man, and might,\nwithout any absurdity, be supposed not to be as it is.\n\n\nI. DEMONSTRATIVE REASONING.\n\n_Field of Demonstrative Reasoning._--Its field, as we have seen, is\nnecessary truth. It is limited, therefore, in its range, takes in only\nthings abstract, conceptions rather than realities, the relations of\nthings rather than things themselves, as existences. It is confined\nprincipally, if not entirely, to mathematical truths.\n\n_No degrees of Evidence._--There are no _degrees_ of evidence or\ncertainty in truths of this nature. Every step follows irresistibly\nfrom the preceding. Every conclusion is inevitable. One demonstration\nis as good as another, so far as regards the certainty of the\nconclusion, and one is as good as a thousand. It is quite otherwise in\nprobable reasoning.\n\n_Two Modes of Procedure._--In demonstration, we may proceed directly,\nor indirectly; as, _e. g._, in case of two triangles to be proved\nequal. I may, by super-position, prove this directly; or I may suppose\nthem unequal, and proceed to show the absurdity of such a supposition;\nor I may make a number of suppositions, one or the other of which\n_must_ be true, and then show that all but the one which I wish to\nestablish are false.\n\n_Force of Mathematical reasoning._--The question arises whence the\npeculiar force of mathematical, in distinction from other reasoning?--a\nfact observed by every one, but not easily explained: how happens\nthis, and on what does it depend, this irresistible cogency which\ncompels our assent? Is it owing to the pains taken to define the terms\nemployed, and the strict adherence to those definitions? I think not;\nfor other sciences approximate to mathematics in this, but not to the\ncogency of its reasoning. The explanation given by Stewart is certainly\nplausible. He ascribes the peculiar force of demonstrative reasoning\nto the fact, that the first principles from which it sets out, _i.\ne._, its definitions, are _purely hypothetical_, involving no basis or\nadmixture of facts, and that by simply reasoning strictly upon these\nassumed hypotheses the conclusions follow irresistibly. The same thing\nwould happen in any other science, could we (as we cannot) construct\nour definitions to suit ourselves, instead of proceeding upon _facts_\nas our data. The same view is ably maintained by other writers.\n\nIf this be so, the superior certainty of mathematical, over all other\nmodes of reasoning, if it does not quite vanish, becomes of much less\nconsequence than is generally supposed. Its truths are necessary in\nno other sense than that certain definitions being assumed, certain\n_suppositions_ made, then the certain other things follow, which is no\nmore than may be said of any science.\n\n_Confirmation of this View._--It may be argued, as a confirmation of\nthis view, that whenever mathematical reasoning comes to be applied\nto sciences involving facts either as the data, or as objects of\ninvestigation, where it is no longer possible to proceed entirely\nupon hypothesis, as, _e. g._, when you apply it to mechanics,\nphysics, astronomy, practical geometry, etc., then it ceases to be\ndemonstrative, and becomes merely probable reasoning.\n\n_Mathematical reasoning supposed by some to be identical._--It has been\nmuch discussed whether all mathematical reasoning is merely identical,\nasserting, in fact, nothing more than that _a=a_; that a given thing\nis equivalent to itself, capable of being resolved at last into merely\nthis. This view has been maintained by Leibnitz, himself one of the\ngreatest mathematicians, and by many others. It was for a long time the\nprevalent doctrine on the Continent. Condillac applies the same to all\nreasoning, and Hobbes seems to have had a similar view, _i. e._, that\nall reasoning is only so much addition or subtraction. Against this\nview Stewart contends that even if the propositions themselves might be\nrepresented by the formula _a=a_, it does not follow that the various\nsteps of reasoning leading to the conclusion amount merely to that.\nA paper written in cipher may be said to be identical with the same\npaper as interpreted; but the evidence on which the act of deciphering\nproceeds, amounts to something more than the perception of identity.\nAnd further, he denies that the propositions are identical, _e. g._,\neven the simple proposition 2\u00d72=4. 2\u00d72 express one set of quantities,\nand 4 expresses another, and the proposition that asserts their\nequivalence is not identical; it is not saying that the same quantity\nis equal to itself, but that two different quantities are equivalent.\n\n\nII. PROBABLE REASONING.\n\n_Not opposed to Certainty._--It must be borne in mind, as already\nstated, that the probability now intended is not opposed to certainty.\nThat C\u00e6sar invaded Britain is _certain_, but the reasoning which goes\nto establish it, is only probable reasoning, because the thing to be\nproved is an event in history, contingent therefore, and not capable\nof demonstration.\n\n_Sources of Evidence._--Evidence of this kind of truths is derived from\nthree sources: 1. Testimony; 2. Experience; 3. Analogy.\n\n\n1. _Evidence of Testimony._\n\n_In itself probable._--This is, \u00e0 priori, _probable_. We are so\nconstituted as to be inclined to believe testimony, and it is only when\nthe incredibility of the witness has been ascertained by sufficient\nevidence, that we refuse our assent. The child believes whatever is\ntold him. The man, long conversant with human affairs, becomes wary,\ncautious, suspicious, incredulous. It is remarked by Reid that the\nevidence of testimony does not depend altogether on the character of\nthe witness. If there be no _motive_ for deception, especially if there\nbe weighty reasons why he should speak truth, or if the narrative be\nin itself probable and consistent, and tallies with circumstances, it\nis in such cases to be received even from those not of unimpeachable\nintegrity.\n\n_Limits of Belief._--What are the limits of belief in testimony?\nSuppose the character of witnesses to be good, the narrative\nself-consistent, the testimony concurrent of various witnesses,\nexplicit, positive, full, no motive for deception; are we to believe\nin that case whatever may be testified? One thing is certain, we do in\nfact believe in such cases; we are so constituted. Such is the law of\nour nature. Nor can it be shown irrational to yield such assent. It has\nbeen shown by an eminent mathematician that it is always possible to\nassign a number of independent witnesses, so great that the falsity of\ntheir concurrent testimony shall be mathematically more improbable, and\nso more incredible, than the truth of their statement, _be it what it\nmay_.\n\n_Case supposed._--Suppose a considerable number of men of undoubted\nveracity, should, without concert, and agreeing in the main as to\nparticulars, all testify, one by one, that they witnessed, on a given\nday and hour, some very strange occurrence, as, _e. g._, a ball of\nfire, or a form of angelic brightness, hovering in the air, over this\nbuilding, or any like unwonted and inexplicable phenomenon. Are we to\nwithhold or yield our assent? I reply, if the number of witnesses is\nlarge, and the testimony concurrent, and without concert, and no motive\nexists for deception, and they are men of known integrity, especially\nif they are sane and sober men, not easily imposed upon, I see not\nhow we can reasonably withhold assent. Their testimony is to be taken\nas true testimony, _i. e._, they did really witness the phenomenon\ndescribed. The proof becomes stronger or weaker in proportion as the\ncircumstances now mentioned coexist to a greater or less extent, _i.\ne.._, in proportion as there are more or fewer of these concurring and\ncorroborating circumstances. If there was but a single witness, or if\na number of the witnesses were not of the best character, or if there\nwere some possible motive for deception, or if they were not altogether\nagreed as to important features of the case, so far the testimony would\nof course be weakened. But we may always suppose a case so strong that\nthe falsity of the witnesses would be a greater miracle than the truth\nof the story. This is the case with the testimony of the witnesses to\nour Saviour's miracles.\n\n_Distinction to be made._--An important distinction is here to be\nnoticed between the falsity, and the incorrectness, of the witness,\nbetween his intention to deceive, and his being himself deceived.\nHe may have seen precisely what he describes; he may be mistaken in\nthinking it to have been an angel, or a spirit, or a ball of fire.\nJust as in the case of certain illusions of sense--an oar in the\nwater--the eye correctly reports what it sees, but the judgment is in\nerror, in thinking the oar to be crooked. So the witness may be true,\nand the testimony true in the case of a supposed miracle or other\nstrange phenomenon; the _appearance_ may have been just as stated,\nbut the question may still be raised, were the witnesses correct, in\ntheir inference, or judgment, as to what was the cause of the said\nappearance, as to _what it was_ that they saw or heard?\n\nThis must be decided by the rules that govern the proceedings of\nsensible men in common affairs of life.\n\n\n2. _Reasoning from Experience._\n\n_Induction as distinguished from Deduction._--This is called\n_induction_, the peculiar characteristic of which, in distinction from\ndeductive reasoning, is that it begins with individual cases, and from\nthem infers a general conclusion, whereas, the deductive method starts\nwith a general proposition, and infers a particular one. From the\nproposition all men are mortal, the syllogism infers that Socrates is\nmortal. From the fact that Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Pliny, C\u00e6sar,\nCicero, and any number of other individuals, are mortal, induction\nleads you to conclude that all men are so. The premises here are\nfacts occurring within the range of observation and experience, and\nthe reasoning proceeds on the principle of the general uniformity of\nnature and her laws. Induction, then, is, in other words, the process\nof inferring that what we know to be true in certain observed cases is\nalso true, and will be found to be true, in other like cases which have\nnot fallen under our observation.\n\n_Basis of this Mode of reasoning._--The groundwork of induction, as\nI have already said, is the axiom or universal proposition of the\nuniformity of nature. Take this away, and all reasoning from induction\nor experience fails at once. This is a truth which the human mind is,\nby its nature and constitution, always disposed to proceed upon. It\nmay not be embodied in the shape of a definite proposition, but it is\ntacitly assumed and acted upon by all men. How came we by this general\ntruth. Is it _intuitive_? So say the disciples of certain schools, so\nsays Cousin, and so say the Scotch metaphysicians, and the German.\nOthers, however, contend that it is itself an induction, as truly as\nany other, a truth learned from experience and observation, and by no\nmeans the first, but rather among the latest of our inductions. Without\nstopping to discuss this question, it is sufficient for our purpose to\nnotice the fact, that this simple truth is universally admitted, and\nconstitutes the basis of all reasoning from experience.\n\n_Incorrect Mode of Statement._--The proposition is sometimes\nincorrectly stated, as, _e. g._, that the future will resemble the\npast. This is not an adequate expression of the great truth to which we\nrefer. It is not that the future merely will resemble the past merely,\nbut that the unknown will resemble the known. The idea of time is not\nproperly connected with the subject. That which is unknown may lie in\nthe future, it may lie in the present or the past.\n\n_Limits of this Belief._--An important question here arises. What are\nthe limits, if limits there are, to this belief of the uniformity of\nnature, and to the reasoning based on that belief? Are we warranted,\nin all cases, in inferring that the unknown will be, in similar\ncircumstances, like the known--that what we have found to be true in\nfive, ten, or fifty cases, and without exception, will be universally\ntrue? We do reason thus very generally. Such is the tendency of the\nmind, its nature. Is it correct procedure? Is it certain that our\nexperience, though it be uniform and unvaried, is the universal\nexperience? If not, if limits there are to this method of reasoning,\nwhat are they?\n\n_Erroneous Induction._--The inhabitants of Siam have never seen water\nin any other than a liquid or gaseous form. They conclude that water\nis never solid. The inhabitants of central Africa may be supposed\nnever to have seen or heard of a white man. They infer that all men\nare black. Are these correct inductions? No; for they lead to false\nconclusions. They are built on insufficient foundations. There was\nnot a sufficiently wide observation of facts to justify so wide a\nconclusion. Evidently, we cannot infer from our own non-observation\nof exceptions, that exceptions do not exist. We must first know that\nif there were exceptions we should have known them. In both the cases\nnow supposed, this was overlooked. The African has only seen men who\nwere natives of Africa. There may be in other countries, races that he\nhas not seen, and has had no opportunity to see. The world may be full\nof exceptions to this general rule, and yet he not know it. Correct\ninduction in his case would be this: I have seen many men, natives of\ncentral Africa, and they have all been black men, without exception.\nI conclude, therefore, that _all_ the natives of central Africa are\nblack. In a word, it is only _under like circumstances_ that we can\ninfer the uniformity of nature, and so reason inductively from the\nknown to the unknown.\n\n_Superstitious Belief of the Ancients._--The tendency of men to\nbelieve in the universal permanence of nature, and, on that ground, to\ngeneralize from insufficient data, is illustrated in the superstitious\nand widely prevalent idea among the ancients, and some of the moderns\nalso, of grand cycles of events extending both to the natural and the\n_moral_ world. According to this idea, the changes of the atmosphere,\nand all other natural phenomena, as observed at any time, would, after\na period, return again in the same order of succession as before;\nstorms, and seasons, and times, being subject to some regular law.\nIt was supposed, in fact, \"that all the events\"--to use the language\nof one of these theorists--\"within the immeasurable circuit of the\nuniverse, are the successive evolutions of an extended series, which,\nat the return of some vast period, repeats its eternal round during\nthe endless flux of time.\" This is a sufficiently grand induction,\nstartling in its sweep and range of thought, but requiring for its\ndata a somewhat wider observation of facts than can fall to the lot of\nshort-lived and short-sighted man, during the few years of his narrow\nsojourn, and pilgrimage, in a world like this.\n\n\n3. _Reasoning from Analogy._\n\n_Meaning of the term Analogy._--This word, analogy, is used with great\nvariety of meaning, and with much vagueness, therefore. It properly\ndenotes any sort of resemblance, whether of relation or otherwise; and\nthe argument from analogy is an argument from resemblance, an argument\nof an inductive nature, but not amounting to complete induction. A\nresembles B in certain respects; therefore it probably resembles it,\nalso, in a certain other respect: such is the argument from _analogy_.\nA resembles B in such and such properties, but these are always found\nconnected with a certain other property; therefore A resembles B also\nin regard to that property: such is the argument from _induction_.\nEvery resemblance which can be pointed out between A and B creates a\nfurther and increased probability that the resemblance holds also in\nrespect to the property which is the object of inquiry. If the two\nresembled each other in all their properties, there would be no longer\nany doubt as to this one, but a positive certainty, and the more\nresemblances in other respects so much the nearer we come to certainty\nrespecting the one that happens to be in question.\n\n_Illustration of this Principle._--It was observed by Newton, that\nthe diamond possessed a very high refractive power compared with its\ndensity. The same thing he knew to be true of combustible substances.\nHence, he conjectured that the diamond was combustible. He conjectured\nthe same thing, and for the same reason, of water, _i. e._, that it\ncontains a combustible ingredient. In both instances, he guessed\nright--reasoning from analogy.\n\n_Further Illustration of Reasoning from Analogy._--Reasoning from\nanalogy, I might infer that the moon is inhabited, thus: The earth is\ninhabited--land, sea, and air, are all occupied with life. But the\nmoon resembles the earth in figure, relation to the sun, movement,\nopacity, etc.; moreover, it has volcanoes as the earth has; therefore,\nit is _probably_ like the earth in this other respect, that of being\ninhabited. To make this out by induction, I must show that the moon\nnot only resembles the earth in these several respects, but that these\ncircumstances are in other cases observed to be connected with the one\nin question; thus, in other cases, bodies that are opaque, spherical,\nand moving in elliptical orbits, are known to be inhabited. The same\nthing is probably true then in all cases, and inasmuch as the moon has\nthese marks, it is therefore inhabited.\n\n_Counter Probability._--On the other hand, the points of dissimilarity\ncreate a counter probability, as, _e. g._, the moon has no atmosphere,\nno clouds, and therefore no water; but air and water are, on our\nplanet, essential to life; the presumption is, then, looking at these\ncircumstances merely, that the moon is uninhabited. Nay, more: if\nlife exists, then it must be under very different conditions from\nthose under which it exists here. Evidently, then, the greater the\nresemblance in other respects between the two planets, the less\nprobability that they differ in this respect (_i. e._, the mode of\nsustaining life), so that the resemblances already proved, become,\nthemselves, presumptions _against_ the supposition that the moon is\ninhabited.\n\n_Amount of Probability._--The analogy and diversity, when they come\nthus into competition and the arguments from the one conflict with\nthose of the other, must be weighed against each other. The extent of\nthe resemblance, compared with the extent of the difference, gives\nthe amount of probability on one side or the other, so _far as these\nelements are known_. If any region lies unexplored, we can infer\nnothing with certainty or probability as to that. Suppose then, that so\nfar as we have had the means of observing, the resemblances are to the\ndifferences as four to one; we conclude with a probability of four to\none, that any given property of the one will be found to belong to the\nother. The chances are four out of five.\n\n_Value of Analogical Reasoning._--The chief value of analogy,\nas regards science, however, is as a guide to conjecture and to\nexperiment; and even a faint degree of analogical evidence may be of\ngreat service in this way, by directing further inquiries into that\nchannel, and so conducting to eventual probability, or even certainty.\n\nIt is well remarked by Stewart, that the tendency of our nature is so\nto reason from analogy, that we naturally confide in it, as we do in\nthe evidence of testimony.\n\n_Liable to mislead._--It must be confessed, however, that it is a\nspecies of reasoning likely to mislead in many cases. Its chief value\nlies not in proving a position, but in rebutting objections; it is\ngood, not for assault, but defence. As thus used it is a powerful\nweapon in the hands of a skilful master. Such it was in Butler's hands.\n\n\n\u00a7 IV.--USE OF HYPOTHESES AND THEORIES IN REASONING.\n\n_Theory, what._--The terms hypothesis and theory are often used\ninterchangeably and loosely. Confusion is the result. It is difficult\nto define them accurately.\n\n_Theory_ (from the Greek, [Greek: The\u00f4ria]; Latin, theoria; French,\nth\u00e9orie; Italian, teoria; from [Greek: The\u00f4re\u00f4], to perceive, see,\ncontemplate) denotes properly any philosophical explanation of\nphenomena, any connected arrangement and statement of facts according\nto their bearing on some real or imaginary law. The facts, the\nphenomena, once known, proved, rest on independent evidence. Theory\ntakes survey of them as such, with special reference to the law which\ngoverns and connects them, whether that law be also known or merely\nconjectured.\n\n_Hypothesis, what._--_Hypothesis_ ([Greek: hypo-tith\u00eami]) denotes a\ngratuitous supposition or conjecture, in _the absence_ of all positive\nknowledge as to what the law is that governs and connects the observed\nphenomena, or as to the cause which will account for them.\n\n_Theory may or may not be Hypothesis._--Hypothesis is, in its\nnature, conjectural, and therefore uncertain; has its degrees of\nprobability--no certainty. The moment the thing supposed is proved\ntrue, or verified, if it ever is, it ceases to be hypothesis. Theory,\nhowever, is not necessarily a matter of uncertainty. After the law or\nthe cause is ascertained, fully known, and no longer a hypothesis at\nall, there may be still a theory about it; a survey of the facts and\nphenomena, as they stand affected by that law, or as accounted for\nby that cause. The motion of the planets in elliptical orbits, was\noriginally matter of conjecture, of hypothesis. It is still matter of\ntheory.\n\n_Probability of Hypothesis._--The probability of a hypothesis is in\nproportion to the number of facts or phenomena, in the given case,\nwhich it will satisfactorily explain, in other words, account for.\nOf several hypotheses, that is the most probable which will account\nfor the greatest number of the given phenomena--those which, if the\nhypothesis be true, ought to fall under it as their law. If it accounts\nfor all the phenomena in the case, it is generally regarded as having\nestablished its claim to certainty. So Whewell maintains. This,\nhowever, is not exactly the case. The hypothesis can be verified only\nby showing that the facts or phenomena in the case cannot possibly be\naccounted for on any _other_ supposition, or result from any _other_\ncause; not simply that they can be accounted for, or can result from\nthis. This is well stated by Mill in his System of Philosophy. The\nhypothesis of the undulating movement of a subtle and all-pervading\nether will account for many of the known phenomena of light; but it has\nnever been shown, and in the nature of the case never can be, probably,\nthat no _other_ hypothesis possible or supposable will also account for\nthem.\n\n_Use of Hypotheses._--As to the _use_ of hypotheses in science,\nReid's remarks are altogether too sweeping, and quite incorrect. It\nis not true that hypotheses lead to no valuable result in philosophy.\nAlmost all discoveries were at first hypotheses, suppositions, lucky\nguesses, if you please to call them so. The Copernican theory that\nthe earth revolves on its axis was a mere hypothesis at the outset.\nKepler's theory of the elliptical orbits of the planets was such;\nhe made and abandoned nineteen false ones before he hit the right.\nThis discovery led to another--that planets describe equal areas in\nequal times. Newton never framed hypotheses, if we may believe him.\nBut his own grand discovery of the law of gravity as the central\nforce of the system, depends for one of its steps of evidence on his\nprevious discovery that the force of attraction varies as the inverse\nsquare of the distance, and this was suggested by him at first as a\nmere hypothesis; he was able to verify it only by calling in the aid\nof Kepler's discovery of equal areas in equal times, which latter,\nas already stated, was itself the result of hypothesis. Had it not\nbeen for one hypothesis of Newton, verified by the results of another\nhypothesis of Kepler Newton could never have made his own discovery.\n\nA hypothesis, it must be remembered, is any supposition, with or\nwithout evidence, made in order to deduce from it conclusions agreeable\nto known facts. If we succeed in doing this, we verify our hypothesis\n(unless, indeed, it can be shown that some other hypothesis will\nequally well suit these facts), and our hypothesis, when verified,\nceases to be longer a hypothesis, takes its place as known truth, and\nin turn serves to explain those facts which would, on the supposition\nof its truth, follow from it as a cause. It is simply a short-hand\nprocess of arriving at conclusions in science. Suppose the problem to\nbe the one already named--to prove that the central force of the solar\nsystem is one and the same with _gravity_. Now it may not be easy, or\neven possible in some cases, to establish the first step or premiss\nin such a chain of reasoning. The inductions leading to it may not\nbe forthcoming. Hypothesis steps in and supplies the deficiency, by\nsubstituting in place of the induction a supposition. Assuming that\ndistant bodies attract each other with a power inversely as the square\nof the distance, it proceeds on that supposition, and arrives at the\ndesired conclusion.\n\n_In what Cases admissible._--Now this method is always allowable, and\nstrictly scientific, whenever it is possible to verify our hypothesis,\n_i. e._, in every case in which it is possible to show that no law\nbut the one assumed can lead to these same results; that no _other_\nhypothesis can accord with the facts.\n\nIn the case supposed, it would not be possible to prove that the same\nmovements might not follow from some other law than the one supposed.\nIt is not certain, therefore, that the moving force of the solar system\nis identical with gravitation, _merely because_ the latter would, if\nextended so far, produce the same results. In many other cases it\n_is_ practicable; indeed, _in all cases where the inquiry is not to\nascertain the cause, but, the cause being already known, to ascertain\nthe law of its action_.\n\nEven in cases where the inquiry is not of this nature, hypothesis is\nof use in the suggestion of future investigations, and, as such, is\nfrequently indispensable.\n\n_View of Mr. Mill._--Nearly every thing which is now theory, was once\nhypothesis, says Mill. \"The process of tracing regularity in any\ncomplicated, and, at first sight, confused set of appearances, is\nnecessarily tentative: we begin by making any supposition, even a false\none, to see what consequences will follow from it; and by observing\nhow these differ from the real phenomena we learn what corrections to\nmake in our assumption. The simplest supposition which accords with\nany of the most obvious facts, is the best to begin with, because its\nconsequences are the most easily traced. This rude hypothesis is then\nrudely corrected, and the operation repeated, until the deductive\nresults are at last made to tally with the phenomena. Let any one\nwatch the manner in which he himself unravels any complicated mass\nof evidence; let him observe how, for instance, he elicits the true\nhistory of any occurrence from the involved statements of one or of\nmany witnesses. He will find that he does not take all the items of\nevidence into his mind at once, and attempt to weave them together; the\nhuman faculties are not equal to such an undertaking; he extemporizes,\nfrom a few of the particulars, a first rude theory of the mode in which\nthe facts took place, and then looks at the other statements, one by\none, to try whether they can be reconciled with the provisional theory,\nor what corrections or additions it requires to make it square with\nthem. In this way, which, as M. Comte remarks, has some resemblance to\nthe methods of approximation of mathematicians, we arrive by means of\nhypothesis at conclusions not hypothetical.\"\n\n\n\u00a7 V.--DIFFERENT FORMS OF REASONING.\n\nIt remains to treat briefly of the _different forms_ of reasoning, as\nfounded in the laws of thought.\n\n_How far these Forms fall within the Province of Psychology._--As there\nare different kinds or modes of reasoning, according to the difference\nof the subject-matter or material about which our reasoning is\nemployed, so there are certain general forms into which all reasoning\nmay be cast, and which, according to the laws of thought, it naturally\nassumes. To treat specifically of these forms, their nature, use,\nand value, is the business of _logic_; but, in so far as they depend\nupon the laws of thought, and are merely modes of mental activity as\nexercised in reasoning, they are to be considered, in connection with\nother phenomena of the mind, by the psychologist. Briefly to describe\nthese forms, and then to consider their value, is all that I now\npropose. I begin with the proposition, as the starting point in every\nprocess of reasoning.\n\n\nI. ANALYSIS OF THE PROPOSITION.\n\n_What constitutes a Proposition._--All reasoning deals with\npropositions, which are judgments expressed. Every proposition involves\ntwo distinct conceptions, and expresses the relation between them;\naffirms the agreement or disagreement of the one with the other. As\nwhen I say, Snow is white, the conception of snow is before my mind,\nand also of whiteness; I perceive that the latter element enters\ninto my notion of snow, and constitutes one of the qualities of the\nsubstance so called; I affirm the relation of the two, accordingly,\nand this gives the proposition enunciated. Every proposition then\nconsists of these several parts, a word or words expressing some\nconception, a word or words expressing some other conception, a word\nor words expressing the relation of the two. The words which designate\nthese two conceptions are called the _terms_ of the proposition, and,\naccording to the above analysis, there are, in every proposition,\nalways two terms. That term or conception of which something is\naffirmed, is called the _subject_, that which is affirmed of the same,\nthe _predicate_, and the word which expresses the relation of the two,\nthe _copula_. In the above proposition, snow is the subject, white, the\npredicate, and is, the copula.\n\n_Quality and Quantity._--Propositions are distinguished as to _quality_\nand _quantity_. The former has reference to the affirmative or negative\ncharacter of the proposition, the latter to its comprehensiveness.\nEvery proposition is either affirmative or negative, which is called\nits quality. As to quantity, every proposition is either _universal_,\naffirming something of the whole of the subject--as, All men are\nmortal; or else _particular_, affirming something of only a part of the\nsubject--as, Some tyrants are miserable.\n\n_Four kinds of categorical Propositions._--We have, then, four kinds\nof categorical propositions, viz., universal affirmative, universal\nnegative, particular affirmative, particular negative. That is, with\nthe same subject and predicate, it is always possible to state four\ndistinct propositions; as, every A is B, no A is B, some A is B, some\nA is not B. For the sake of convenience, logicians designate these\ndifferent kinds of propositions severally by the letters A, E, I,\nO. Propositions that thus differ in quantity and quality are said\nto be opposed to each other. Of these, the two universals, A and E,\nare called contraries; the two particulars, I and O, sub-contraries;\nthe universal affirmative, and the particular affirmative, A and I,\nalso the universal negative and the particular negative, E and O,\nare respectively subalterns; while the universal affirmative and the\nparticular negative, A and O, as also the universal negative and\nparticular affirmative, E and I, are contradictories.\n\n_Rules of Opposition._--The following rules will be found universally\napplicable to propositions as opposed to each other. If the universal\nis true, so is the particular. If the particular is false, so is\nthe universal. Contraries are never both true, but may be both\nfalse. Sub-contraries are never both false, but may be both true.\nContradictories are never both true, or both false, but always one is\ntrue, the other false. The truth of these maxims will be evident on\napplying them to any proposition and its opposites, as for example, to\nthe affirmation, Every man is mortal.\n\n_Categorical and hypothetical Propositions._--Propositions may be\nfurther distinguished as categorical or hypothetical; the one asserting\nor denying directly, as, _e. g._, The earth is round; the other\nconditionally,--as, If the earth is round, it is not oblong.\n\n_Pure, and Modal._--The proposition, moreover, may be either pure or\nmodal, the former asserting or denying without qualification,--as, Man\nis liable to err; the latter qualifying the statement,--as, Man is\nextremely or unquestionably liable to err.\n\n\nII. ANALYSIS OF THE SYLLOGISM.\n\n_Proposition the Link, Syllogism the Chain._--All reasoning admits\nof being reduced to the form of a syllogism. Having discussed the\nproposition which forms the material or groundwork of every connected\nchain of argument, we are prepared now to examine the syllogism, or\nchain itself, into which the several propositions, as so many links,\nare wrought.\n\n_Syllogism defined._--A syllogism is an argument so expressed that the\nconclusiveness of it is manifest from the mere form of expression.\nWhen, for example, I affirm that all A is B, that all B is C, and\nthat, consequently, all A is C, it is impossible that any one who is\nable to reason at all, and who comprehends the force of these several\npropositions taken singly, should fail to perceive that the conclusion\nfollows inevitably from the premises. That which is affirmed, may or\nmay not be _true_, but it is _conclusive_. If the premises are true, so\nis the conclusion; but whether they are true or not, the argument, as\nsuch, is conclusive; nay, even if they are false, the conclusion may\npossibly be true. For example, Every tyrant is a good man; Washington\nwas a tyrant; therefore, Washington was a good man, Both the premises\nare false, but the argument, as regards the form, is valid, and the\nconclusion is not only correctly drawn, but is, moreover, a true\nproposition. In a word, the syllogism concerns itself not at all with\nthe truth or falsity of the thing stated, but only with the form of\nstating, and that form must be such, that the premises being conceded,\nthe conclusion shall be obvious and inevitable. All valid reasoning\nadmits of such statement.\n\n_Composition of a Syllogism._--Every syllogism contains three\npropositions, of which two state the grounds or reasons, and are called\nthe premises, the other states the inference from those positions, and\nis called the conclusion. These three propositions contain three, and\nonly three, distinct terms, of which one is common to both premises,\nand is called the _middle_ term; the others are the extremes, one of\nwhich is the subject of the conclusion, and is called the _minor_\nterm; the other the predicate of the conclusion, and is called the\n_major_ term, from the fact that it denotes the class to which the\nsubject or minor term belongs. In the syllogism,--Every man is mortal;\nSocrates is a man; therefore, Socrates is mortal,--the three terms are,\nman, mortal, and Socrates: of these, Socrates, or the subject of the\nconclusion, is the minor; mortal, or the predicate of the conclusion,\nis the major; and man, with which both the others are compared, is the\nmiddle term.\n\n_Major and minor Premiss._--The premiss which contains the _major_\nterm, and compares it with the middle, is called the _major premiss_;\nthat which, in like manner, compares the _minor_ term with the middle,\nis called the _minor premiss_. In the syllogism already given, 'Every\nman is mortal' is the major premiss; 'Socrates is a man' is the minor\npremiss.\n\n_The Order variable._--The order of the terms in the respective\npropositions, and even the order of the propositions themselves, is not\ninvariable, but depends on circumstances. In the above proposition, it\nis immaterial whether I say, Every man is mortal, or, Mortal is every\nman; it is immaterial whether I state first the major or the minor\npremiss; nay, it is allowable even to state the conclusion first, and\nthen the grounds and reasons for the same.\n\n\nIII. LAWS OF SYLLOGISM.\n\nThe following rules or maxims will be found applicable to all cases,\nand may be regarded as laws of the syllogism.\n\n_Middle Term unequivocal._--_The middle term must not be\nequivocal._--This rule is violated in the following syllogism. Nothing\nis heavier than lead; feathers are heavier than nothing; therefore,\nfeathers are heavier than lead. The middle term, nothing, is here used\nin different senses in the two premises.\n\n_Middle Term to be distributed._--Essentially the same thing occurs\nwhen the middle term is not, at least once, in the premises, used in\nits most complete and comprehensive sense, or, as the logicians express\nit, _distributed_. As, for example, when I say, White is a color, the\nterm color is not here distributed, for it properly includes many\nthings besides white. If now I introduce into another proposition the\nsame term in a similar manner, as Black is a color, I evidently include\nunder the term, as now used, some part of the class of things denoted\nby the general word color, which was not included under the same term\nas first used. The color which is affirmed to agree with black, is\nnot the same color which is affirmed to agree with white. The term,\nin fact, denotes one thing in the one proposition, and another in the\nother. A syllogism thus constructed, is invalid. Hence the rule, that\nthe _middle term must be distributed_, or taken in its completeness,\nto include the whole class which it properly denotes, _at least once\nin the premises_. This is done either by making it the _subject of an\naffirmative_, or the _predicate of a negative proposition_; as, All\nmen are mortal, or, No vice is useful. Here the term man in the one\ncase, and the term useful in the other, are each distributed or taken\nin their completeness. There is no individual to whom the term man can\nproperly be applied, who is not included in the expression, all men,\nnor is there any useful thing which is not here denied of vice.\n\n_What distributed in the Conclusion._--On the same principle, _no term\nmust be distributed in the conclusion which was not distributed in one\nof the premises_. This rule is violated in the following syllogism, All\nbirds are bipeds; no man is a bird; therefore, no man is a biped. Here\nthe term biped, in the major premiss, is not taken in its completeness,\nsince many creatures besides birds are bipeds. Birds are only one\nsort of bipeds. In the conclusion, however, the term biped, being the\npredicate of a negative proposition, is distributed, the whole class\nof bipeds is spoken of, and man is excluded from the whole class. The\nsyllogism is, of course, invalid.\n\n_Law of negative Premiss._--It is further a law of the syllogism, that\n_from negative premises nothing can be inferred_. Also, that _if one\npremiss is negative, the conclusion will be negative_.\n\n_Law of particular Premiss._--_From two particular premises nothing\nfollows, but if one premiss is particular, the conclusion will be so._\n\nThese rules are too obvious, and too easily verified, to require\nillustration.\n\n\nIV. DIFFERENT KINDS OF SYLLOGISM.\n\n_Syllogisms differ._--We have mentioned as yet only those properties of\nthe syllogism which universally belong to it. There are differences,\nhowever, which require to be noticed, and which constitute a\ndistinction of some importance, presenting, in fact, two distinct kinds\nof syllogism.\n\n_Two Modes of procedure._--There are manifestly two entirely distinct\nmodes of procedure in reasoning. We may infer from the whole to the\nparts, or from the parts to the whole. The former is called deductive,\nthe latter inductive reasoning. The one is precisely the reverse of\nthe other in method of procedure. Each is a perfectly valid method\nof reasoning, and each is, in itself, a distinct and valid kind of\nsyllogism. Each requires the other. The deductive is wholly dependent\non the inductive for its major premiss, which is only the conclusion\nof a previous induction, while, on the other hand, the induction is\nvaluable chiefly as preparing the way for subsequent deduction. Each\nhas equal claims with the other to be regarded as a distinct and\nindependent form of syllogism. They have not, however, been so treated\nby logicians, but, on the contrary, the inductive method has been\nregarded, almost universally, as a mere appendage of the deductive,\nan imperfect form of one or another of the several figures of the\nsyllogism deductive. Of this we shall have occasion to speak more fully\nin the historical sketch.\n\n_The two Modes compared._--The precise relation of the two modes\nwill best appear by the comparison of the following syllogisms. The\ninductive syllogism runs thus: _x, y, z_, are A; _x, y, z_, constitute\nB; therefore, B is A.\n\nThe deductive runs thus: B is A; _x, y, z_, constitute B; therefore,\n_x, y, z_, are A.\n\nThe latter, it will be seen at a glance, is the precise counterpart of\nthe other, beginning where the former ends, and exactly reversing the\nseveral steps in their order.\n\n_The Law of each._--The general law or rule which governs the former,\nis, What belongs (or does not belong) to all the constituent parts,\nbelongs (or does not belong) to the constituted whole. The law of the\nlatter is, What belongs (or not) to the containing whole, belongs (or\nnot) to all the contained parts.\n\n_Application of the inductive Method._--Applying the inductive method\nto a particular case, we reason thus: Magnets _x, y, z_, etc.,\nincluding so many as I have observed, attract iron. But it is fair to\npresume that what I have observed as true of _x, y, z_, is equally\ntrue of _e, f, g_, and all other magnets; in other words, _x, y, z_,\ndo represent, and may fairly be taken as constituting the whole class\nof magnets; consequently, I conclude that all magnets attract iron.\nThus stated, the truth which was at first observed and affirmed only of\nparticular instances, becomes a general proposition, and may, in turn,\nbecome the premiss of a process of deduction. Thus, from the general\nproposition, obtained as now explained by the inductive mode, that\nall horned animals ruminate, I may proceed, by the deductive mode, to\ninfer that this is true of deer or goats, or any particular species or\nindividual whose habits I have not as yet observed.\n\n\nV. DIFFERENT FORMS OF SYLLOGISM.\n\n_The Form of Statement not invariable._--As there are different kinds\nof syllogism, so also there are different forms in which any kind of\nsyllogism may be stated. These forms are not essential, pertaining to\nthe nature of the syllogism itself, but accidental, pertaining merely\nto the order of announcing the several propositions. It has already\nbeen remarked, in speaking of the general structure of the syllogism,\nthat the order of propositions is not essential. Either premiss may\nprecede, either follow. Nay, we may state _first the conclusion_, and\n_then the reasons_, _or grounds_. This latter method, as Hamilton has\nshown in his _New Analytic of Logical forms_, is perfectly valid,\nthough usually neglected by writers on logic. It is not only valid,\nbut the more natural of the two methods. When asked if Socrates is\nmortal, it is more natural to say, He is mortal, for he is a man, and\nall men are mortal, than to say, All men are mortal, he is a man, and\ntherefore, he is mortal. In fact, most of our reasoning takes the first\nof these forms. The two are designated by Hamilton, respectively, as\nthe _analytic_ and _synthetic_ syllogism.\n\n_Order of Premises may vary._--As to the order of the premises,\nwhich shall precede the other, this, too, is quite unessential and\naccidental. The earlier method, practised by Greek, Arabian, Jewish\nand Latin schools, was to state first the minor premiss, precisely the\nreverse of our modern custom.\n\n_Order of Terms not essential._--The order of the _terms_, in the\nseveral propositions, is also accidental rather than essential. There\nare several possible and allowable arrangements of these terms with\nreference to the order of precedence and succession, giving rise to\nwhat are called _figures_ of the syllogism. These arrangements and\nfigures have usually been reckoned as four; three only are admitted\nby Hamilton, the fourth being abolished. The first figure occurs when\nthe middle term is the subject of one premiss and the predicate of the\nother. The second figure gives the middle term the place of predicate\nin both premises. The third makes it the subject of both.\n\n_A further Variation._--There is still another form of statement, in\nwhich the terms compared are not, as above, severally subject and\npredicate, but, in the same proposition, are both subject, or both\npredicate, as when we say, A and B are equal; B and C are equal;\ntherefore, A and C are equal. This is a valid synthetic syllogism,\nthough not recognized by logicians previously to the _New Analytic_ of\nHamilton. It is termed by him the unfigured syllogism.\n\n_Hypothetical reasoning not syllogistic._--It has been customary to\ntreat of _hypothetical_ reasoning, in its two forms of conditional and\ndisjunctive, as forms or kinds of syllogism. As when we say, if A is B,\nC is D; but A is B, therefore C is D; or, disjunctively, either A is B,\nor C is D; but A is not B, therefore C is D. These, however, are not\nproperly syllogisms. The inference is not mediate, through comparison\nwith a common or middle term, but _immediate_, whereas the syllogism\nis, in all its forms, a process of mediate inference.\n\n_Summary of Distinctions._--To sum up the distinctions now pointed\nout. All inference is either immediate, as in the case of hypothetical\nreasoning, whether conjunctive or disjunctive, or else mediate, as in\nthe syllogism. The latter may be inductive or deductive; and, as to\nform, analytic or synthetic, figured or unfigured.\n\n\nVI. LAWS OF THOUGHT ON WHICH THE SYLLOGISM DEPENDS.\n\n_Statement._--There are certain universal laws of thought on which\nall reasoning, and, of course, all syllogisms, depend. These\nlaws, according to Hamilton, are the principles of _identity_, of\n_contradiction_, and of _excluded middle_; from which primary laws\nresults a fourth, that of _reason and consequent_.\n\n_Law of Identity, what._--The principle of _identity_ compels us to\nrecognize the equivalence of a whole and its several parts taken\ntogether, as applied to any conception and its distinctive characters.\nAs, for example, the sameness or equivalence of the notion man with the\naggregate of qualities or characters that constitute that notion.\n\n_Law of Contradiction, what_.--The law of contradiction is the\nprinciple that what is contradictory is unthinkable: as, for example,\nthat A has, and yet has not, a given quality, B.\n\n_Law of excluded Middle._--The principle of _excluded middle_ is this,\nthat of two contradictory notions, we must think one or the other to be\ntrue; as, that A either has or has not the quality B.\n\n_Law of Reason and Consequent._--From these primary principles results\nthe law of _reason and consequent_. All logical inference is based on\nthat law of our nature, that one notion shall always depend on another.\nThis inference is of two kinds, from the whole to the parts, or from\nthe parts to the whole, respectively called deductive and inductive, as\nalready explained.\n\n_Certain Points not included in the preceding Synopsis._--I have\npresented, as was proposed, in brief outline, a synopsis of the forms\nof reasoning. For a full treatment of these forms, and the laws which\ngovern them, the treatises on logic must be consulted.\n\nSome things usually considered essential to logical forms, as the\n_modality_ of propositions and syllogisms, and the _conversion_ of the\nother figures of the syllogism into the first, I have not included in\nthe above outline, for the reason that the former does not properly\nfall within the province of logic, which has to do only with the _form_\nand not with the _matter_ of a proposition or an argument, while,\nas to the latter, it is only an accidental, and not an essential\ncircumstance, what may be the figure of a syllogism, and it is,\ntherefore, of no importance to reduce the second and third figures to\nthe first.\n\n\nVII. USE AND VALUE OF THE SYLLOGISM.\n\nHaving considered the various forms which the syllogism may assume,\nas also the laws or canons which govern it, we proceed to inquire,\nfinally, as to its _use_ and _value_ in reasoning.\n\n_All mediate reasoning syllogistic._--It must be conceded, I think,\nthat all _mediate_ reasoning, all inference, which is not immediate\nand direct, but which, in order to reach its conclusion, compares one\nthing with another, is essentially syllogistic. The greater part of our\nreasoning processes are of this sort. When fully and explicitly stated,\nsuch reasoning resolves itself into some form of syllogism. It is not,\nas sometimes stated, _a_ mode of reasoning, but _the_ mode which all\nreasoning, except such as is direct and immediate, tends to assume.\nNot always, indeed, is this reasoning fully drawn out and explicitly\nstated, but all valid reasoning admits of being thus stated; nay, it is\nnot, as to form at least, complete until it is so expressed.\n\n_Not always syllogistically expressed._--In ordinary conversation, and\neven in public address, we omit many intermediate steps in the trains\nand processes of our arguments, for the reason that their statement is\nnot essential to our being understood, the hearer's mind supplying,\nfor itself, the connecting links as we proceed; just as in speaking\nor writing, we make many abbreviations, drop out some letters and\nsyllables here and there, in our hasty utterance, and yet all such\nshort-hand processes imply and are based upon the full form; and it\nwould be as correct and as reasonable to say that the fully written or\nfully spoken word is merely _a_ mode of speaking and writing, which,\nwhen the grammarian and rhetorician come into contact with common\npeople, they lay aside for the ordinary forms of speech, as to say that\nsyllogism is merely _a_ mode of reasoning, which the logician lays\naside when he comes out of his study, and reasons with other men.\n\n_Chief Value of the Syllogism._--The chief use of the syllogism, I\napprehend, however, to be, not in presenting a train of argument for\nthe purpose of convincing and persuading others; for the laws of\nthought do not require us in such a case to state every thing that\nis even essential to the argument, but only so much as shall clearly\nindicate our meaning, and enable the hearer or reader to follow us;\nbut rather in testing the soundness or detecting the unsoundness of an\nargument, whether our own, or that of an opponent. For this purpose,\nan acquaintance with the forms and laws of syllogism may be of great\nservice to the writer and to the orator.\n\n_Objection to the Syllogism._--But it is objected to the syllogism\nthat it is of no value in the discovery and establishment of truth,\ninasmuch as, by the very laws of the syllogism, there can be nothing\nmore in the conclusion than was assumed in the premises. There is,\nand can be, in this way, no progress from the known to the unknown.\nThe very construction of the syllogism, it is said, involves a\n_petitio principii_. When I say, All men are mortal; Socrates is a\nman; therefore, Socrates is mortal; the major premiss, it is said,\naffirms the very thing to be proved; that Socrates is mortal is\nvirtually affirmed in the proposition that _all_ men are so. Either,\nthen, the syllogism proves nothing which was not known before, or\nelse the general proposition, with which it sets out, is unwarranted,\nas asserting more than we know to be true, and, in that case, the\nconclusion is equally unreliable; in either case nothing is gained by\nthe process; the syllogism is worthless.\n\n_Lies equally against all reasoning._--This objection, if valid against\nthe syllogism, is valid against and overthrows not the syllogism\nmerely, but all reasoning of whatever kind, and in whatever form. It is\nan objection which really applies, not to the form which an argument\nmay happen to assume, but to the essential nature of reasoning itself.\nAs was shown in discussing the nature of the reasoning process, all\nreasoning is, in its nature, essentially analytic. It is the evolution\nof a truth that lies involved in some already admitted truth. It simply\ndevelops, draws out, what was therein contained. Its starting-point\nmust always be some admitted position, its conclusions must always be\nsome inevitable necessary consequence of that admission. The mortality\nof Socrates is, indeed, involved and contained in the general\nproposition which affirms the mortality of all men, and so, also, is\nevery inferred truth contained in that from which it is inferred.\n\n_Conclusion not affirmed in the Premiss._--But while _contained_, it\nis not _affirmed_, in the premiss. To say that all men are mortal, is\nnot to say that Socrates is so, but only to say what implies that.\nThe conclusion which draws out and affirms what was involved, but not\naffirmed, in the premiss, is an advance in the order of thought, a step\nof progress, and not merely an idle repetition, and the syllogism, as a\nwhole, moves the mind onward from the starting-point to a position not\notherwise explicitly and positively reached. It is a movement onward,\nand not merely a rotation of the wheel about its own axis.\n\n_The Form accidental._--In so far as the objection of _petitio\nprincipii_ relates, not to the _nature_ of reasoning, but only to its\n_form_, this is entirely a matter of accident, and does not pertain to\nthe syllogism as such. As was shown in treating of the different forms\nof syllogism, the order of the propositions is not essential. We may,\nif we like, state the conclusion first, and then the reasons, as, All A\nis C, for all A is B, and all B is C; or we may state the same thing in\na different form, as, A and B are equal; B and C are equal; therefore,\nA and C are equal. Both are syllogisms, the former _analytic_, the\nlatter _unfigured_, but to neither does the objection of _petitio\nprincipii_ apply so far as regards the mere form of statement. Nor\ndoes it apply to that form of syllogism in which the major premiss is\na singular proposition, as, _e. g._, C\u00e6sar was fortunate; C\u00e6sar was a\ntyrant; therefore, a tyrant may be fortunate. Here the subject of the\nconclusion is not formally contained in that of the major premiss, as\nSocrates is contained in the expression, all men, a part of the whole.\n\n_Objection inapplicable to the inductive Syllogism._--Nor does the\nobjection apply again to the _inductive_ syllogism, in which the\nconclusion is more comprehensive than the premiss. The objection\napplies, in fact, only to the deductive syllogism, and to that only in\nits synthetic form, and to that only as figured, and as presenting, in\nits major premiss, other than a singular proposition.\n\n_Major Premiss, whence derived._--But whence, it may still be asked,\ncomes the general proposition which every deductive syllogism contains,\nwhether analytic or synthetic, the proposition _e. g._, that all men\nare mortal? Whether this be stated before or after the conclusion is\na mere matter of form; but what is our authority for stating such a\nproposition at all? How do we know that which is here affirmed?\n\nI reply, it is a truth reached by previous induction. Every deduction\nimplies previous induction. I observe the mortality of individuals,\n_x_, _y_, _z_. I find no exceptions. My observation extends to a great\nnumber of cases, insomuch that I am authorized to take those cases as\nfairly representing the whole class to which they belong. I conclude,\ntherefore, that what I have observed of the many is true of the whole.\nSo comes the general proposition, All men are mortal.\n\n_Authority for this Belief._--But what reason have I to believe that\nwhat is true of the many is true of the whole, and how do I know this?\nI reply, I do not know it by observation, nor by demonstration; my\nbelief of it rests upon, and resolves itself into, that general law or\nconstitution of the mind according to which I am led to expect, under\nlike circumstances, like results, in other words, that nature acts\nuniformly. This is my warrant, and my only warrant, for the inference,\nthat what I have observed in many cases is true in others that I have\nnot observed.\n\n_A Difficulty suggested._--But in what manner, now, shall this mere\nbelief of mine, for it is nothing more, come to take its place as\na general proposition, as positive categorical affirmation in the\nsyllogism whose major premiss reads, All men are mortal?\n\nA law of the mind may be a sufficient explanation of my belief; but the\nscience of syllogisms cannot take cognizance of laws of the mind, as\nsuch, and has nothing to do with beliefs, but is concerned only with\nthe _forms_ in which an argument shall be presented. Those forms must\nbe conclusive. How shall I convert, then, my conjecture, my plausible\nbelief, in the present case, into that general positive affirmation\nwhich alone will answer the demands of the syllogism?\n\n_The Process explained._--The process is this: The precise result of\nmy observation stands thus--_x_, _y_, _z_, are mortal. But I know\nthat _x_, _y_, _z_, are so numerous as fairly to represent the class\nto which they belong. On the strength of this position, the inductive\nsyllogism takes its stand, and overlooking the fact that there are some\ncases which have not fallen under my observation, _positively affirms_\nwhat I only _believe_ and _presume_ to be true, and the argument then\nreads, _x_, _y_, _z_, are mortal. But _x_, _y_, _z_, are all men,\ntherefore, all men are mortal.\n\nThe general proposition thus reached by induction becomes, in turn, the\nmajor premiss of the deductive syllogism, which concludes, from the\nmortality of all men, that of Socrates in particular.\n\n_Position of Mill._--An able and ingenious writer, Mr. Mill, in his\ntreatise on logic, takes the ground that we have no need to embody\nthe result of our observations in the form of a general proposition,\nfrom which again to descend to the particular conclusion, but that,\ndispensing with the general proposition altogether, and with the\nsyllogism of every kind and form, we may, and virtually do, reason\ndirectly from one particular instance to another, as, _e. g._, _x_,\n_y_, _z_, are mortal; therefore, _f_, _g_, _h_, are so. \"If from our\nexperience of John, Thomas, etc., who were once living, but are now\ndead, we are entitled to conclude that all human beings are mortal,\nwe might surely, without any logical inconsequence, have concluded at\nonce, from those instances, that the Duke of Wellington is mortal.\nThe mortality of John, Thomas, and company, is, after all, the whole\nevidence we have of the mortality of the Duke of Wellington. Not one\niota is added to the proof by interpolating a general proposition.\"\nOur earliest inferences, he contends, are precisely of this sort. The\nchild burning his fingers, reasons thus: \"That fire burnt me, therefore\nthis will.\" He does not generalize, \"All fire burns; this is fire;\ntherefore, this will burn.\" The only use of a general proposition, Mill\ncontends, is simply to furnish collateral security for the correctness\nof our inference.\n\n_Remarks upon this View._--This view sweeps away at once, and forever,\nall mediate reasoning, and shuts us up to the narrow limits of such\ninference alone as proceeds from a given instance directly to a\nconclusion therefrom. No doubt we do sometimes reason thus. But it is\na reasoning, the conclusiveness of which is not, and cannot be made,\napparent by any form of statement. If called in question, we can only\nsay, I think so, or, I believe so. The mortality of John does not prove\nthe mortality of Thomas. It may not even render it probable; it is only\nwhen I have observed such and so many cases as to leave no reasonable\ndoubt that the property in question _is a law of the class as such_,\nand _not a mere accident of the individual_, that I am really warranted\nin the belief that any individual, not as yet observed, will come under\nthe same law, because belonging to the same class. To reason in this\nway is to generalize; whatever process stops short of this, stops so\nfar short of any and all conclusive evidence of the truth of what it\naffirms.\n\n\nVIII. HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE SCIENCE OF LOGIC.\n\n_Indian Logic earlier than that of Aristotle._--It is of the Greek\nlogic, that of Aristotle, that we usually speak when we have occasion\nto refer to this science. It is usually attributed to Aristotle,\nindeed, as his peculiar glory, that he should at once have originated,\nand brought to perfection, a science which, for more than two thousand\nyears, has received few alterations, found few minds capable of\nsuggesting improvements. Recent labors of Orientalists have, however,\nbrought to light the fact that in India, long before the palmy days\nof Grecian philosophy, logic was pursued with vigor as a study\nand science. The Ny\u00e0ya of Gotama holds, in the Indian systems of\nphilosophy, much the same place that the Organon of Aristotle holds\nwith us. The two, however, are quite independent of each other.\nAristotle was no disciple of Gotama.\n\n_Aristotle's Logic not perfect._--Nor, on the other hand, was the logic\nof Aristotle by any means perfect, as it is often represented. Its\nimperfections are many, and have been, for the most part, faithfully\ncopied by his disciples.\n\n_Aristotle the first Greek Logician._--Previous to Aristotle there\nhad been nothing worthy the name of science in this department of\nphilosophy. The Sophists had made some attempts at logic, but of no\ngreat value. Plato had not devoted much attention to it. Aristotle\nhimself says, in the close of his Organon, that he had worked without\nmodels or predecessors to guide him.\n\n_Subsequent Writers._--The work of Aristotle is in six parts, the first\nfour treating of logic pure, the remaining two of its application.\nThe school of Aristotle carried the cultivation and study of logic\nto a high degree. Theophrastus and Eudemus labored assiduously as\ncommentators on their master, but made no change in the essential\nprinciples of the system. The Stoics, however, gave logic more\nattention and honor, more time and care, than did any other of the\nrival schools of philosophy. They sought to enlarge its boundaries and\nmake it an instrument for the discovery of truth. It held the first\nplace in their system, ethics and physics ranking after it.\n\nSt. Hilaire is wrong in saying that with Epicurus logic was of little\nconsideration, that sensation was the source and criterion of thought\nwith that school. The Epicurean logic was a peculiar system, differing\nfrom the Aristotelian, and very little known in the subsequent\ncenturies.\n\nIn Alexandria the logic of Aristotle was in great honor, and had\nnumerous commentators in the first centuries of the Christian era.\n\n_Introduced into Rome._--For a time the original works of Aristotle\nwere lost. They lay buried in an obscure retreat whither they had been\ncarried for safe preservation, and no one knew what they were. Sylla,\ncapturing the city, brought them to Rome, where they were discovered\nto be the works of the great master, and Cicero gives them, with some\nlabor and learning, to the public. But the Roman mind never mastered\nthe logic of Aristotle. In all Roman philosophy, says St. Hilaire,\nthere is scarcely a logician worthy of the name.\n\nFor several centuries, if not in Rome, yet in Alexandria and Athens, in\nGreece and in Egypt, the logic of Aristotle continued to be assiduously\ncultivated.\n\n_Logic in the Middle Ages._--It was in the middle ages, however, that\nlogic received its chief cultivation and its highest honors. Aristotle\nwas for some six centuries almost the only teacher of the human mind,\nand the Organon was the foundation of his knowledge. Nor during the\nirruption of the northern hordes, and the revolutions of society, and\nempire, and human manners, which followed, did the philosophy and logic\nof Aristotle pass out of sight or out of mind. It seemed impossible\nfor any revolution of empire or of time to shake its foundations or\nbreak its sceptre over the human mind. In the seventh century, Isidore\nof Seville, and Bede the Venerable, gave it their labors and renown.\nIn the eighth, Alcuin introduced it into the court of Charlemagne. In\nthe twelfth, Abelard, and the controversy between the Realists and\nNominalists, gave this science still more importance.\n\n_Logic in the Arabian Schools._--Meanwhile, the Mohammedans had been in\nadvance of the Christians in the study of this science. The Arabs had\ninherited the learning of antiquity, and had carried the cultivation\nof the peripatetic philosophy to a high degree of perfection more than\na century before it had received the homage of the West. From Arabia it\npassed, with the march of conquest, into Spain, and some of the ablest\ncommentators Europe has produced, on the works of Aristotle, have been\nthe Moors of Spain.\n\n_Continuance of Aristotle's Dominion._--The Crusades tended only to\nenlarge the sphere of this influence. Such men as Albert the Great,\nand Thomas Aquinas, became, in the thirteenth century, expounders of\nAristotle. Not till the sixteenth century did this long dominion over\nthe human mind show symptoms of decadence.\n\n_The Reformers._--Luther, among the Protestant reformers, sought\nto banish logic from the schools; but it was retained, and in the\nProtestant universities was still professed.\n\n_Attacks upon Aristotle._--It now became the fashion, however, in\ncertain quarters, especially among the mystics in the Catholic\ncommunion, to decry Aristotle, and each original genius took this way\nto show his independence. Ramus is noted among these. Bacon followed\nin this track, and did little more than repeat the invectives of his\npredecessors. He attempted to set aside the syllogism, and put in its\nplace induction.\n\nInduction, however, in some form, is as old as the syllogism. From\nPlato and Aristotle downward, a thousand philosophers had availed\nthemselves of this method of reasoning and had also stated and defended\nit.\n\n_The Moderns._--From Bacon and Descartes till our day logic has been\nin process of decadence. Locke condemns it. Reid and the Scotch school\nridicule its pretensions. Kant and Hegel, on the other hand, give it\na due place in their systems--the latter especially; while in France,\nit has admirers in St. Hilaire, Cousin, and others of like genius;\nand in Edinburgh, the great Hamilton devoted to it the powers of his\nunrivalled intellect.\n\n_Logic of Hamilton._--As no writer, since the days of Aristotle, has\ndone more to complete and perfect the science of reasoning, than Sir\nWilliam Hamilton, it seems due that even so brief a sketch of the\nhistory of logic as the present, should indicate, at least, the more\nimportant changes which his system introduces. Whatever may be thought\nof some of his views and proposed reforms in this ancient science\nand sanctuary of past learning, it is not too much to say, that no\nwriter on logic can henceforth present a claim to be considered, who\nhas not, at least, thoroughly mastered and carefully weighed these\nviews and proposed changes, even if he do not adopt them. They are,\nmoreover, for the most part, changes so obviously demanded in order to\nthe completeness of the science, and so thorough-going withal, that\nthey are destined, it would seem, to be sooner or later adopted, and\nif adopted, to work a radical change in the whole structure of this\nancient and time-honored science.\n\nI shall attempt nothing more, in this connection, than, in the briefest\nmanner, to enumerate some of the more important of these improvements.\n\n_Assigns Induction its true Place._--Hamilton is the first, so far as I\nknow, to elevate to its true place the inductive method of reasoning,\nmaking it co\u00f6rdinate with the deductive, and assigning its true\ncharacter and value as a form of syllogism.\n\n_Recognizes the analytic Syllogism._--He is the first to bring to\nnotice the claims of the _analytic_ syllogism to a distinctive place\nand recognition in logic; a form of reasoning, which, however natural\nand necessary, and in use almost universal, had been strangely\noverlooked by logicians from Aristotle down.\n\n_Rejects Modality._--He strenuously and consistently rejects the\nmodality of the proposition and the syllogism, on the ground that logic\nis not concerned with the character of the matter, whether it be true\nor false, necessary or contingent, but only with the form of statement,\nand consequently, all distinctions founded on the truth or falsity,\nthe necessity or contingence of the matter, are utterly irrelevant to\nthe science--a principle admitted by others, but not previously carried\nout to its true results.\n\n_Doctrine of Figure._--He shows that the figure of the syllogism is a\nmatter accidental, rather than essential, that it may be even entirely\n_unfigured_; abolishes the fourth figure as superfluous; and sets\naside, as quite useless and unnecessary, the old laborious processes of\nreducing and connecting the several figures to the first.\n\n_Rejects hypothetical Syllogism._--He throws out of the syllogism\nentirely, the so-called _hypothetical_ forms, both conjunctive and\ndisjunctive, as reducible to _immediate_ inference, and not, therefore,\nto be included under syllogistic reasoning, which is always mediate.\n\n_The single Canon._--He reduces the several laws and canons of the\nfigured syllogism to a single comprehensive canon.\n\n_Quantification of the Predicate._--But the most important discovery\nmade by Hamilton in this science, is the quantification of the\npredicate. The predicate is always a given quantity in relation to\nthe subject, and that quantity should be stated. This, logicians have\nalways overlooked, quantifying only the subject, as, All men, Some\nmen, etc., but never the predicate. Fully quantified, the proposition\nreads, All man is _some_ animal, no animal, etc., _i. e._, some sort or\nspecies of animal. This doubles the number of possible propositions,\ngiving eight in place of four, and gives a corresponding increase in\nthe number of words. These eight propositions are shown to be, not only\npossible, but admissible and valid. They are thus enumerated and named:\n\n                           AFFIRMATIVE.        NEGATIVE.\n\n    I. _Toto-total_:     All A is all B.    Any A is not any B.\n\n   II. _Toto-partial_:   All A is some B.   Any A is not some B.\n\n  III. _Parti-total_:    Some A is all B.   Some A is not any B.\n\n   IV. _Parti-partial_:  Some A is some B.  Some A is not some B.\n\n_Reference._--For a more full and exact account of Hamilton's system,\nthe reader is referred to the article on logic in the volume of\n_Discussions on Philosophy and Literature_, by Sir W. Hamilton; also,\nto \"_An Essay on the New Analytic of Logical Forms_,\" by Thomas Spencer\nBaynes, L. L. B. On the history of logic in general, see _Dictionnaire\ndes Sciences Philosophiques_--Article _Logique_, by Barth\u00e8leme St.\nHilaire, Professor of Philosophy to the College of France, member of\nthe Institute, etc., etc.; also, Blakey's _History of Logic_. The\n_Memoir_ of St. Hilaire, on the logic of Aristotle, is one of the best\nworks of modern times on the subject of which it treats.\n\n\n\n\nINTELLECTUAL FACULTIES\n\nPART FOURTH.\n\n\n\n\nINTUITIVE POWER.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nEXISTENCE AND NATURE OF THE INTUITIVE FACULTY.\n\n\n_Office of this Power._--In our analysis of the powers of the mind,\none was described as having for its office the conception of truths\nthat lie apart from the region and domain of sense--first principles\nand primary ideas, fundamental to, and presupposed in, the operations\nof the understanding, yet not directly furnished by sense. They are\nawakened in the mind on occasion of sensible experience, but it is\nnot sensible experience which produces them. On the contrary, they\nspring up in the mind as by intuition, whenever the fitting occasion\nis presented. We must attribute their origin to a special power of the\nmind by virtue of which, under appropriate circumstances, it conceives\nthe truths and ideas to which we refer. This power we have termed the\n_originative_ or _intuitive_ faculty.\n\n_Specific Character._--In its specific character and function it\nis quite distinct from any of the faculties as yet considered. It\ndoes not, like the presentative power, bring before us, in direct\ncognizance, sensible objects; nor does it, like the representative\nfaculty, replace those objects to thought, in their absence. It neither\npresents, nor represents, any object whatever. It forms no picture of\nany thing to the mind's eye. It is a power of simple conception; and\nyet it differs in an important sense from the other conceptive powers\nand that is, that it is not _reflective_ but intuitive in its action.\nIts data are conceptions, but conceptions necessary and intuitive,\nseen at a glance, not the results of the reflective and discursive\nprocess. These data are ideas of reason, rather than notions of the\nunderstanding, or processes of reflection. There is no sensible object\ncorresponding to these ideas. We do not see, or hear, or feel, or by\nany means cognize, any thing of the sort; nor can we form a picture, or\nrepresent to ourselves any such thing as, _e. g._, time, or space, or\nsubstance, or cause, and the like. They are conceptions of the mind,\nand yet we conceive of them as _realities_. We cannot think them the\nmere creations and figments of the brain. And in this respect, again,\nthey differ from the notions of the understanding--those classes and\ngenera which we know to be the mere creations of the mind.\n\n_Existence of such a Faculty._--If any are disposed to doubt the\nexistence of the faculty under consideration, as a distinct power\nof the mind, we have only to ask, whence come these ideas? They are\ngiven, not by perception, evidently, nor by memory, nor by imagination,\nfor they fall not within the sphere of any of these faculties, that\nis the sphere of sense. They relate not to the sensible, but to the\nsuper-sensible.\n\nNor are they the result of abstraction, as might at first appear.\nParticular instances being given, certain times, certain spaces,\ncertain substances, certain instances of right and wrong conduct--it\nis the province of the faculty now named, to form, from these concrete\nideas, the abstract notions of time, space, etc. But whence comes, in\nthe first instance, the concrete idea? Whence comes the notion of a\ntime, a space, a substance, a cause, a right or wrong act? Abstraction\ncannot give these. Manifestly, however, we have a faculty of forming\nsuch conceptions, of perceiving such truths and realities; and as\nmanifestly, it is a faculty distinct from any hitherto considered.\nThere are such realities as time, space, substance, cause, right and\nwrong, etc.,\n\nThe mind takes cognizance of them as such, knows them, and knows them\nto be realities; has, therefore, the faculty of knowing such truths.\nWe may call it, if we please, the faculty of original and intuitive\nconception.\n\n_Generally admitted._--The existence of ideas not directly furnished\nby sense or experience, and not given by the faculties whose office it\nis to deal with objects of sense, is a doctrine now generally admitted\nby the most eminent philosophers. Nor is it a doctrine peculiar to any\none school. Under different names it is the doctrine substantially of\nReid, Stewart, Brown, Price, among English metaphysicians; Kant and\nhis disciples in Germany; Cousin, Jouffroy and others in France. It is\ndenied by Hobbes, Condillac, Gassendi, and others of that class who\ntrace all our ideas to sense as their ultimate source and parentage.\n\n_Opinion of Locke._--The position of Locke respecting this matter, has\nbeen the subject of much controversy. By a certain class of writers he\nhas been regarded as denying the existence of any and all ideas not\nderived from sense, and has been classed with the school of Hobbes,\nCondillac, etc. His philosophy has been regarded by many as of doubtful\nand dangerous tendency, as leading to the denial of all truth and\nknowledge not within the narrow domain of sense, and so conducting to\nmaterialism and skepticism. This can by no means be fairly charged\nupon him, nor upon his philosophy. He held no such views, nor are they\nimplied or contained in his doctrine. Locke, indeed, takes the ground\nthat all our ideas may be traced ultimately to one of two sources,\nsensation or reflection; the one taking cognizance of external objects,\nthe other of our own mental operations: and that, whatever other\nknowledge we have not given directly by these faculties, is produced\nby adding, repeating, and variously combining, in our own minds, the\nsimple ideas derived from these sources. In this process, however,\nof adding, combining, etc., he really includes what we prefer to\ndesignate as a separate faculty of the mind, and by another name. He\ndistinctly recognizes the existence of the ideas which we attribute\nto this faculty--ideas of space, power, etc.--and gives a clear, and\nfor the most part correct account of their origin. The mind, he says,\nobserves what passes without--the changes there occurring; it reflects\nalso on what passes within--the changes of its own ideas and purposes;\nit concludes that like changes will be produced in the same things,\nunder the same circumstances, in future; it considers the possibility\nof effecting such changes, and so comes by the idea of _power_. In\nthis Locke really includes essentially what we mean by suggestion or\noriginal conception. Experience, it is universally admitted, furnishes\nthe occasion, suggests the idea, must precede as the indispensable\ncondition of the mind's having that idea, and is, at least in this\nsense, the source of it, that it suggests the idea to the mind. All\nthis, Locke fully admits, while, at the same time, he fails to draw the\ndividing line clearly between the ideas of sense and those in question.\n\n_Objections to the term Suggestion._--The name original suggestion\nhas been commonly applied, of late, especially in this country, to\ndesignate the faculty now under consideration. It is so used by\nProfessor Upham, and by Dr. Wayland. It is liable, however, to serious\nobjections. The term suggestion does not seem to me to express the\npeculiar characteristic, the distinctive element and office of this\nfaculty. It is not peculiar to the ideas now in question, that they\nare _suggested_ to the mind; many other ideas, all ideas, in fact,\nare suggested by something. This class of our thoughts, therefore,\nis no more entitled to that name than any other class. Nor is it\npeculiar to this class that they are _original_ suggestions. The mind\nhas many other equally original ideas that are likewise suggestions\nfrom things without, or from its own operations--mere fancies many of\nthem, imaginations. We need to distinguish, in this case, the merely\nfanciful, the ideal, from the real. The terms intuitive and intuition,\nwhile they imply the reality of the thing perceived, indicate, also,\nthe immediateness of the process.\n\n_More serious Objection._--But there is a still further and more\nserious objection to the term suggestion as thus employed. The word\ndoes not, and cannot, with propriety, be made to denote what is now\nintended. It has a transitive significance, and cannot be made to\ndenote a purely subjective process. Objects external suggest certain\nideas to my mind. I suggest ideas to other minds. The faculty of\nsuggestion lies, properly, not with the mind that receives the\nsuggestion, but with the mind or object that gives it. But when we say\nthe mind has the faculty of original suggestion, we do not mean that\nit has the power of suggesting original ideas to other minds; we refer\nto that power of the mind by which, in virtue of its constitution,\ncertain ideas, not strictly derived from sense, are awakened in it when\nthe occasion presents itself. We intend not a power of suggesting, but\nrather of receiving suggestions, a power of _conceiving_ ideas, a power\nof original and intuitive conceptions. To say that the mind suggests\nto itself ideas of space, time, etc., is a singular use of terms. I\nunderstand what is meant by suggesting ideas to others, and what it\nis to receive suggestions from others, and to have ideas suggested by\nevents, occurrences and objects without, and how one thought may, by\nsome law of association, suggest another. But how the mind suggests\nideas to _itself_, is not so clear. A man, in a fit of abstraction,\ntalks to himself, but whether he suggests ideas to himself in that way,\nso that he finds his own conversation instructive and profitable, may\nadmit of question. The truth is, the idea is suggested, not _by_ the\nmind, but _to_ the mind--suggested from without. The mind has the power\nof conceiving certain ideas, which are awakened or excited in it by\nthe occasion which presents itself. To call this faculty a faculty of\nsuggestion, is simply a misnomer.\n\n_The true Doctrine._--All we can truly say, is, that the idea is\nawakened or called up in the mind when the occasion presents, is\nsuggested _to_ it, not by it, suggested by the occasion, and not by the\nmind itself. The mind has the idea within, has, moreover, the faculty\nof _conceiving_ the idea, is so constituted, that, under certain\ncircumstances, in view of what it observes without, or is conscious of\nwithin, the given idea is naturally and universally awakened in it; but\nthe _source_ of the suggestion lies not within the mind itself, and is\nnot to be confounded with the mind's faculty of conception.\n\n_Use of the term by Reid and others._--Dr. Reid has been referred to\nas authority for the use of the word suggestion to denote the faculty\nin question. Dr. Reid makes use of the word, but not in the sense now\nintended, not to denote a specific faculty of the mind, co\u00f6rdinate\nwith perception, memory, imagination, etc., not, in fact, as a faculty\nat all. He refers to the well known fact, that ideas are suggested to\nthe mind by objects and events without, and by the sensations thus\nawakened; as, _e. g._, a certain sound suggests the passing of a coach\nin the street. So, also, one idea or sensation will suggest another.\nHe uses the term to denote the suggestion of one thing _to_ the mind\n_by_ another thing, and not to denote a power in the mind of suggesting\nthings to itself. This is the correct use, and was not original with\nReid. Berkley had used the term in the same way before him. Locke had\nused the word _excited_ in the same sense. The idea expressed by these\nterms, and the use of the same or similar terms by which to express it,\nmay be traced back as far, at least, as to the Christian Fathers. St.\nAugustine so uses it. Reid expressly applies the term to the perception\nof external objects, as, _e. g._, certain sensations suggest the notion\nof extension and space. This is correct use.\n\n_The Facts in the Case._--The truth is, things exist thus and thus,\nand we are constituted with reference to them as thus existing. Sense\nand experience inform us of these existences and realities. Some of\nthem are objects of direct perception by the senses, as matter and its\nqualities. Some of them are not directly objects of perception, but are\nsuggested to the mind by the operations of sense, and are intuitively\nperceived by the mind, and recognized as truths and realities when thus\nsuggested, as time, space, substance, cause, the right, the wrong, the\nbeautiful, etc.\n\nThe mind has the faculty of receiving and recognizing such truths and\nrealities as thus suggested; and this faculty we call the power of\n_original and intuitive conception_.\n\n_These Ideas of internal Origin, in what Sense._--It has been customary\nof late, especially in our country, to speak of the class of ideas now\nreferred to as of _internal origin_, in distinction from other ideas,\nderived more directly from sense, and which are consequently designated\nas of external origin. As it is desirable to be exact in our use of\nterms, it may be well to inquire in what sense any of our ideas are of\nexternal, and in what sense of internal origin, and wherein the ideas,\nnow under consideration, differ from any others in respect to their\nsource.\n\n_Ideas of external Origin._--A large class of our ideas evidently\nrelate to objects of sense, objects external and material, of which\nwe take cognizance through the senses. Such ideas may be said to be\nof external origin, inasmuch as they relate to things without, and\nare dependent on the external object as the indispensable condition\nof their development. Were it not for the external object producing\nthe sensation of color or of hardness, I should not have the idea of\nredness or of hardness; were it not for the external object resisting\nmy movements, I should not get the idea of externality. The idea is,\nin these cases, dependent on, and limited by, the sensation or the\nperception. They correspond as shadow and substance. The idea of\nresistance, and the perception of it, the idea of sound or color, and\nthe sensation of it, are co\u00ebxtensive, synchronous, and, as to contents,\nidentical.\n\n_These, in a Sense, internal._--In another sense, however, even these\nideas are of internal origin, that is, they are the mind's own ideas;\nthey spring up in the mind, and not out of it; they are, as ideas,\nstrictly internal states, affections, acts of the mind itself. Take\naway intelligence, reason, the light divine, from the soul of man, and\nthe external objects may exist as before, and produce the same effect\non the organs of sense, but the ideas no longer follow. The physical\norgans of the idiot are affected in the same way by external objects as\nthose of any other person, but he gets not the same ideas. These, it\nis the office of the mind to produce and fashion for itself out of the\noccasion and material furnished by sense. And this is as true of ideas\nrelating to external objects as to any other.\n\n_Sensation an internal Affection._--It may even be said of this class\nof ideas, that their _suggestion_ is of internal origin. The immediate\noccasion of the mind's having the idea of extension, weight, hardness,\ncolor, etc., is not the existence of the object itself, possessing such\nand such qualities, but the impression produced by the object and its\nqualities on the sense; in other words, the sensation awakened in us.\nThis it is which awakens and calls forth in the mind the idea of the\nexternal object. Were there, for any reason, no sensation, then the\nobjects might exist as now, but we should have no idea of them. But\nsensation is an internal affection, revealed by consciousness, and the\nideas awakened by it and dependent on it, are immediately of internal\norigin, though mediately dependent on some preceding external condition\nand occasion.\n\n_Ideas of internal Origin._--If we examine, now, the ideas of\ninternal origin, so called, furnished by the faculty of original\nand intuitive conception, we find that, while they do not directly\nrelate to objects of sense external and material, they nevertheless\ndepend, in like manner, on some preceding operation of sense as the\noccasion of their development. Observation of what goes on without, or\nconsciousness of what goes on within furnishes the occasion, as all\nadmit, on which these ideas are awakened in the mind. The idea of\ntime, _e. g._, is connected with the succession of events, external or\ninternal--things without and thought and feeling within following each\nother--which succession is matter of observation or of consciousness.\nThe idea of space is connected with the observation or sensation of\nbody as extended. The idea of beauty and deformity is awakened by\nthe perception of external objects as possessing certain qualities\nwhich we thus designate. The idea of right and wrong in like manner\nconnects with something observed in human conduct. So of all ideas of\nthis class. They are not disconnected with, nor independent of, the\nappropriate objects of observation and consciousness. These objects\nmust exist, these occasions must be furnished, as the _indispensable\ncondition_ of the existence of the idea in the mind. Dispense with the\nsuccession of events or the observation of it, and you dispense with\nthe idea of time in the human mind.\n\n_Conclusion._--So far as regards the origin of the ideas in question,\nit is not easy to draw a dividing line, then, between the two classes,\nmarking the one as _external_, the other as _internal_. Both are of\nexternal origin, and equally so, in this sense--that they both depend,\nand equally depend, on some previous exercise of sense as the occasion\nand condition of their development. Both are of internal origin, in\nanother sense--that they are both awakened in the mind--are both the\nproduct of its own activity.\n\n_Difference lies in what._--The difference is not so much that of\nexternality or internality of origin, as it is a difference of\ncharacter. The one relates to objects of sense, which can be seen,\nheard, felt; the other to matters not less real, not less obvious,\nbut of which sense does not take direct cognizance. In either case\nthey spring from the constitution and laws of the mind. Such is my\nconstitution that external and material objects, affecting my senses,\nfurnish me ideas relating to such objects. And such is my constitution\nthat certain relations and qualities of things not directly cognizable\nby sense, and certain realities and facts of an \u00e6sthetic and moral\nnature, likewise impress my mind, and thus awaken in me the idea\nof such relations and realities. The objects, the relations, the\nrealities, exist, they are perceived by the mind, and thus the first\nidea of them is obtained. Color exists, and the eye is so constituted\nas to be able to perceive it, and thus the idea of color is awakened in\nthe mind. So right and wrong exist, and the mind is so constituted as\nto be able to perceive and recognize their existence, and thus the idea\nof right is awakened in the mind. The faculty we call perception in the\none case, original conception in the other.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTRUTHS AND CONCEPTIONS FURNISHED BY THIS FACULTY\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--PRIMARY TRUTHS.\n\n_Primary Truths and Primary Ideas as distinguished._--The faculty in\nquestion may be regarded as the source of primary beliefs, truths,\ncognitions, intuitively _perceived_, and also of primary and original\nconceptions, notions, ideas, also intuitively _conceived_.\n\nThe difference between a conception or idea, and a belief or truth, is\nobvious. The notion of existence, and the knowledge or belief that I,\nmyself, exist, are clearly distinguishable. The idea of cause, and the\nconviction that every event has a cause, are distinct mental states.\nThe one is a primitive and intuitive conception, the other a primitive\nand intuitive truth. Every primary truth involves a primitive and\noriginal conception.\n\n_Existence of first Truths._--All science and all reasoning depend\nultimately on certain first truths or principles, not learned by\nexperience, but prior to it, the evidence and certainty of which lie\nback of all reasoning and all experience. Take away these elementary\ntruths, and neither science nor reasoning are longer possible, for want\nof a beginning and foundation. Every proposition which carries evidence\nwith it, either contains that evidence in itself, or derives it from\nsome other proposition on which it depends. And the same is true of\nthis other proposition, and so on forever, until we come, at last, to\nsome proposition which depends on no other, but is self-evident, a\nfirst truth or principle. Whence come these first principles? Not of\ncourse from experience, for they are involved in and essential to all\nexperience. They are native or _\u00e0 priori_ convictions of the mind,\ninstinctive and intuitive judgments.\n\n_Existence of first Truths admitted._--The existence of first truths\nor principles, as the basis of all acquired knowledge, has been\nvery generally admitted by philosophers. They have designated these\nelementary principles, however, by widely different appellations.\nBy some, they have been termed _instinctive_ beliefs, cognitions,\njudgments, etc., an appellation mentioned by Hamilton as employed\nby a very great number of writers from Cicero downward, including,\namong the rest, Scaliger, Bacon, Descartes, Pascal, Leibnitz, Hume,\nReid, Stewart, Jacobi. Others, again, have termed them _\u00e0 priori_ or\n_transcendental_ principles, cognitions, judgments, etc., as being\nprior to experience, and transcending the knowledge derived from sense.\nSo Kant and his school termed them. By the Scotch writers they have\nbeen termed, also, principles of _common sense_, in place of which\nexpression Stewart prefers the title, _fundamental laws of human\nbelief_.\n\n_Criteria of primary Truths._--It becomes an important inquiry, in\nwhat manner we may recognize and distinguish first truths from all\nothers. Besides common consent, or universality of belief on the part\nof those who have arrived at years of discretion, _Buffier_ relies,\nalso, upon the following, as criteria of first principles; that\nthey are such truths as can neither be defended nor attacked by any\npropositions, either more manifest or more certain than themselves;\nand that their practical influence extends even to those who would\ndeny them. Reid gives, among other criteria, the following: consent of\nages and nations; the absurdity of the opposite; early appearance in\nthe mind, prior to education and reasoning; practical necessity to the\nconduct and concerns of life. _Hamilton_ gives the following as tests\nor criteria of first truths: 1. _Incomprehensibilty._--We comprehend\nthat the thing is, but not _how_ or _why_ it is. 2. _Simplicity._--If\nthe cognition or belief can be resolved into several cognitions or\nbeliefs, it is complex, and so, no longer original. 3. _Necessity,\nand consequent universality._--If necessary, it is universal, and\nif absolutely universal, then it must be necessary. 4. _Comparative\nevidence and certainty._\n\n_Summary of Criteria._--The following may be regarded as a summary of\nthe more important criteria by which to distinguish primary truths from\nall others.\n\n_a._ As first truths, or primary data of intelligence, they are, of\ncourse, not derived from observation or experience, but are prior and\nnecessary to such experience.\n\n_b._ They are _simple_ truths, not resolvable into some prior and\ncomprehending truth from which they may be deduced.\n\n_c._ As simple truths, they _do not admit of proof_, there being\nnothing more certain which can be brought in evidence of them.\n\n_d._ While they do not admit of proof, _the denial of them involves us\nin absurdity_.\n\n_e._ Accordingly, as simple, and as self-evident, they are universally\nadmitted.\n\n_Enumeration of some of the Truths usually regarded as\nprimary._--Different writers have included some more, some fewer, of\nthese first principles in their list; while no one has professed,\nso far as I am aware, to give a complete enumeration of them. Such\nan enumeration, if it were possible, would be of great service in\nphilosophy. The following have been generally included among primary\ntruths by those who have attempted any specification, viz.; our\npersonal existence, our personal identity, the existence of efficient\ncauses, the existence of the material world, the uniformity of nature;\nto which would be added, by others, the reliability of memory, and of\nour natural faculties generally, and personal freedom or power over our\nown actions and volitions.\n\n_Correctness of this Enumeration._--That the truths now specified are\nin some sense primary, that they are generally admitted and acted\nupon, among men, without process of reasoning, and that, when stated,\nthey command the universal and instant assent of even the untaught and\nunreflecting mind, there can be little doubt. Whether, in all cases,\nhowever, they come strictly under the rules and criteria now given;\nwhether, for example, our own existence and identity are primary\ndata of consciousness; or whether, on the contrary, they are not\n_inferred_ from the existence of those thoughts and feelings of which\nwe are directly conscious, as, for example, in the famous argument of\nDescartes, _Cogito, ergo sum_, may admit of question.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--INTUITIVE CONCEPTIONS.\n\nOf the results or operations of the faculty under consideration, we\nhave considered, as yet, only that class which may be designated\nas primary _truths_, in distinction from primitive or intuitive\n_conceptions_. To this latter class let us now direct our attention.\n\n_Proposed consideration of some of the more important._--Without\nundertaking to give a complete list of our original or intuitive\nconceptions, there are certain of the more important, which seem\nto require specific consideration. Such are the ideas of space,\ntime, identity, cause, the beautiful, the right--ideas difficult to\ndefine and explain, but, on that account, requiring the more careful\ninvestigation. Let us, then, take up these conceptions one by one, and\ninquire more particularly into their nature.\n\n\nI. _Space._\n\n_Subjective View._--What is space? Is it a mere idea, a mere conception\nof the mind, or has it reality? This is a question which has much\nperplexed philosophers. Kant and his school regard both time and space\nas merely subjective, mere conceptions or forms which the mind imposes\nupon outward things, having no reality, save as conceptions, or laws of\nthought.\n\n_Opposite View._--On the other hand, if we make space a reality, and\nnot a mere conception, what is it, and where is it? Not matter, and\nyet real, a something which exists, distinct from matter, and yet not\nmind. Pressed with these difficulties, some distinguished and acute\nwriters have resolved time and space into qualities of the one infinite\nand absolute Being, the divine mind. Such was the view of Clarke and\nNewton, a view favored also by a recent French writer of some note--C.\nH. Bernard, Professor of Philosophy in the Lyc\u00e9e Bonaparte.\n\n_A middle Ground._--These must be regarded as, on either hand, extreme\nviews. But is there a middle ground possible or conceivable? Let us\nsee. What, then, is the simple idea of space? What mean we by that word?\n\n_Idea of Space._--When we contemplate any material object, any\nexistence of which the senses can take cognizance, we are cognizant\nof it as _extended_, _i. e._, _occupying space_, nor can we possibly\nconceive of it as otherwise. The idea of space, then, is involved in\nthe very idea of extended substance, or material existence, given\nalong with it, impossible to be separated from it. We may regard it,\ntherefore, as _the condition or postulate of being, considered as\nmaterial existence, possessing extension_, etc. The idea of it is\nessential to the idea of matter, the reality of it to the reality of\nmatter; for if there were no space, there could be no extension in\nspace, and, without extension, no matter.\n\n_Not a mere Conception._--Is space, then, a mere conception of the\nmind, merely subjective? Unquestionably not. It is not, indeed, a\n_substance_ or _entity_, it has no _being_. It is not matter, for it\nis, itself, the _condition_ of matter; it is not spirit, for then it\nwere intelligent. It is not an _existence_, then, strictly speaking,\nnot a thing created, nor is it in the power of deity either to create\nor to annihilate it, for creation and annihilation relate only to\n_existence_. And yet space is a _reality_, and not a _mere conception_\nof the mind. For, if so, then were there no longer any mind to conceive\nit, there would be no longer any space; if no mind to think, then no\nthought. Were the whole race of intelligent beings, then, to be blotted\nout of existence, and all things else to remain as now, space would be\ngone, while, yet, matter would exist, extension--worlds moving on as\nbefore. Extension in what, motion in what? Not in space, for that is\nno longer extant; defunct, rather, with the last mind whose expiring\ntorch went out in the gloom of night. Unless we make _matter_, then, to\nbe also a mere conception of the mind, space is not so. If the one is\nreal, the other is. If one is a mere conception, so is the other; and\nto this result the school of Kant actually come. Matter, itself, is a\nsubjective phenomenon, a mode of mind, or, rather, if it be any thing\nmore, we have no means of knowing it to be so.\n\nIf, on the contrary, as we hold, matter _exists_, and is an object\nof immediate perception by the senses, then there is such a thing as\nspace also, the _condition_ of its existence, a _reality_, though\nnot an _entity_, the idea of it given along with that of matter, the\nreality of it implied in the reality of matter. Matter _presupposes_\nit, depends on it as its _sine qu\u00e2 non_. It depends on nothing. Were\nthere no matter, there would be none the less space, but only space\nunoccupied. In that case, the idea of space might never occur to any\nmind, but the reality would exist just as now. Were all matter and all\nmind to be blotted out of being, space would still be what it is now.\n\n_The Idea, how awakened_--_How come we by our Idea of Space?_--Sense\ngives us our first knowledge of matter, as extended, etc., and so\nfurnishes the _occasion_ on which the idea of space is first awakened\nin the mind. In this sense, and no other, does it originate in\nsensation or experience. It is a simple idea, _logically_ prior to\nexperience, because the very notion of matter _presupposes_ space; yet,\n_chronologically_, as regards the matter of development in the mind,\nsubsequent to experience and cognizance of matter.\n\n\nII. TIME.\n\n_Idea and Definition._--What we have said of space will enable\nus better to understand what is the nature of that analogous and\nkindred conception of the mind, in itself so simple, yet so difficult\nof definition and explanation--_Time._ The remarks already made,\nrespecting space, will almost equally apply to this subject also.\n\nSpace, we defined as the _condition of being, regarded as extended,\nmaterial_. Time is the _condition of being, regarded as in action,\nmovement, change_.\n\nSense informs us not only of magnitudes, extensions, material objects,\nand existences, as around us in nature, but of movements and changes\ncontinually taking place among these various existences; as _extension_\nis essential to those material forms, so _succession_ is essential to\nthese movements and changes; they cannot take place, nor be conceived\nto take place, without it; and as space is involved in, and given\nalong with, the very idea of _extension_, so time is involved in, and\ngiven along with, the very idea of _succession_. Time, then, is the\ncondition of action, movement, change, event, as space is of extended\nand material existence. It is that which is required in order that\nsomething should _take place_ or occur, just as space is that which\nis required in order that something should exist as material and\nhaving form. As space gives us the question _where_, time gives us the\nquestion _when_. It is the place of events, as space is of forms.\n\n_Brown's View._--Dr. Brown defines time to be the mere relation of\none event to another, as prior and subsequent. It follows, from this\nview, that if there were no _events_, then no _time_, since the latter\nis a mere relation subsisting among the former. Is this so? No doubt\nwe derive our _idea_ of time from the succession of events; but is\ntime merely an idea, merely a conception, merely a relation, or has it\nreality out of and aside from our mind's conceiving it, and independent\nof the series of events that take place in it?\n\n_Not a mere Conception._--Like space, it is a law of thought, a\nconception, and like space it is not a _mere_ law of thought, not a\nmere conception of the mind, not altogether subjective. Nor is it a\nmere relation of one event to another in succession. It is, on the\ncontrary, _necessary to_, and prior to, all succession and all events.\nIt does not depend on the occurrence of events, but the occurrence\nof events depends on _it_. As space would still exist were matter\nannihilated, so time would continue were events to cease. But were\ntime blotted out there could be no succession, no occurrence or event.\nTime is essential, not to the mere thought or _conception_ of events,\nbut to the _possibility_ of the thing itself. It is not, then, a mere\nidea, or conception of the mind, nor a mere relation. It has, in a\nsense, objectivity and reality, since it is the ground and condition\nof all continuous active existence, as space is of all extended formal\nexistence, the _sine qu\u00e2 non_, without which not merely our idea and\nconception of such existence would vanish, but the thing itself. There\ncould be no such thing as active continuous existence, either of mind\nor matter, since mind and spirit, as continuous and persistent in\nany of its moods and phases, much more as passing from one to another\nof those moods, implies succession. Time is to mind what space is to\nmatter. _Matter_ protends in _space_, _mind_ in _time_. Time is even\nless purely subjective than space, for should we say that both matter\nand space are mere subjective phenomena, mere conceptions, yet even to\nthose very conceptions, to those subjective phenomena, as states of\nmind, time is essential.\n\n_Whence our Idea of Time._--It is with the idea of time as with that of\nspace. _Logically_, time is the condition, \u00e0 priori, of all experience,\nbecause of all continuous existence and all consciousness; but\n_chronologically_ it is \u00e0 posteriori, _i. e._, it is, to us, a matter\nof sensible experience. Sense is the occasion on which the idea of time\nis first awakened in our minds. We first exist, continue to exist,\nare conscious of that existence, conscious of succession, thoughts,\nfeelings, sensations, and so we get the idea of time.\n\nTime is necessary to _succession_; yet had there been no succession\nknown to us, we should have had no _idea_ of time. We are to\ndistinguish, of course, between our _idea_ of time and the thing\nitself. Locke is incorrect in making the idea of succession prior to\nthat of duration, _in itself considered_, and not merely as regards our\nknowledge. In this respect, Cousin has ably and justly criticised the\nphilosophy of Locke.\n\n_Time a relative Idea._--Looking at time merely as an idea or\nconception of our own minds, it is simply the perception of _relation_;\nthe relation of passing events to each other, the relation of our\nvarious modes and states of being, our thoughts, feelings, etc., to\neach other, as successive, or to external objects and events, as also\nsuccessive; the whereabouts, in a word, of one's self, one's present\nconsciousness, in relation to what passes, or has passed, within or\nwithout, the relation of the present me to the former me, as regards\nboth the succession of internal or external events. Hence the mind has\nonly to withdraw itself completely from the consciousness of its former\nstates and of events passing without, and it _loses_ altogether its\nidea of time.\n\n_Thus in Sleep._--This we find to be the case in sleep. The thinking\ngoes on; the idea of present self is kept up, but not of self in\nrelation to the objects that are really about us, or to the actual part\nof its own existence. Whatever relation seems to exist, is imaginary\nand untrue. We no longer know where we are, nor exactly who we are.\nThe avenues of communication with the external world are shut up,\nthe eye, the ear, etc., are inactive, the spirit withdraws from the\noutward into itself, as far as this is possible, while the connection\nof body and mind still continues; its relations to former things and\nto present things are forgotten and unknown. What is the consequence?\nWe lose all idea of _time_; the moment of falling asleep and of our\nbeginning to awake, if the sleep have been sound, is apparently one\nand the same moment. The first effect of returning consciousness is\nto resume the broken thread of time, to find your place again in the\nseries of things, whether it is morning or night, what morning or what\nnight it is; to find yourself, in fact. You had _forgotten yourself_,\nto use a familiar phrase exactly descriptive of the present case. What\nof yourself had you forgotten? Simply your _relation_ to the order and\nsuccession of things without, and of thoughts and feelings within--your\nplace in the series. In sleep, your existence, so far as it is an\nobject of consciousness at all, is simply that of each passing moment\nby itself.\n\n_Thus in absorbing Pursuits._--You have only, in your waking moments,\nto lose sight as completely of that relation and succession of the\npresent self to the past self, of the me to the not me, and you lose as\ncompletely all idea of time. Does this ever occur? Partially, whenever\nthe attention is absorbed in any intensely interesting pursuit or\nstudy. Time passes insensibly then. We are abstracted from the series,\nour attention is withdrawn from surrounding objects and events, and\neven from our own thoughts, _as such_. We lose sight of the me, and,\nof course, of the relation of the me, to passing events, and therefore\nlose the sense of time. When the spell is at last broken we must go to\nseek ourselves again, as we would seek a child, that, in its play, had\nwandered from our side.\n\n_Also in Disease._--Something of the same sort occurs in severe and\nprotracted sickness. The mind loses its reckoning, so to speak, as a\nship in a storm loses latitude and longitude, and wanders from its\ncourse, unable longer to take its daily observations.\n\n_Idea of Time in Children._--You have doubtless noticed that children\nhave little idea of time. It is much the same to them, one day with\nanother, one week with another; it is morning, or afternoon, or night\nindifferently. The distinction and recognition of time, and of one time\nas different from another, is slowly acquired, and with difficulty.\nThey have not that self-consciousness, that apprehension of the present\nand of the past, as related to each other in the series of events,\nwhich is involved in the idea of time. They are more like one in sleep,\nlike one dreaming, like one in reverie, wholly absorbed with the\npresent moment, the present consciousness.\n\n_Time longer to a Child than an Adult._--What has been said explains,\nalso, the well-known fact, that time seems longer to a child than to\nan adult person. It is, as we have seen, the relation of the present\nself, as affected by changes internal and external, to the past self\nas thus affected, that gives us the idea and the standard of time. Of\ncourse, the shorter the line that represents the past, the longer, in\ncomparison, that present duration which is measured by it. Now the\nchild has fewer past thoughts and events with which to compare the\npresent ones; hence, they hold a greater comparative magnitude to\nhim than to us, who have a greater range of past existence and past\nconsciousness with which to connect the passing moments. Hence, the\nlonger we live, the more quickly pass our years, the shorter appears\nany given period of duration.\n\n_Applied to eternal Duration._--You have but to apply this thought to\nHim whose going forth is from of old, who _inhabiteth eternity_, and\nyou have a new meaning in the beautiful thought of the Hebrew poet,\nthat with Him a thousand years are but as a day. To that eternal mind,\nthe remoteness of the period when the first star lighted up the vault\nof night at his bidding, may be recent as an event of yesterday.\n\n\nIII. IDENTITY.\n\n_Difficult of Explanation._--Perhaps no subject, in the whole range\nof intellectual philosophy, has been the occasion of more perplexity\nand embarrassment than this. It is, in itself, a difficult subject\nto comprehend and explain. We know what we mean by identity, but to\ntell what that meaning is, to state the thing lucidly, and explain it\nphilosophically, is another matter. It becomes necessary to examine\nthe subject, therefore, with some care, in order to avoid confusion of\nideas, and positively erroneous opinions. The subject is one of some\nimportance in its theological, as well as its strictly philosophical\nbearings.\n\n_Not Similarity._--Identity is _not similarity_, not mere\nresemblance--_similar_ things are not the _same_ thing. We may suppose\ntwo globes or spheres precisely alike in every respect--of the\nsame size, color, form, of the same material, of the same chemical\ncomposition and substance, presenting to the eye and the touch, and\nevery other sense, the very same appearance and qualities, so that,\nif viewed successively, we should not recognize the difference; yet\nthey are not identical; they are, by the very supposition, _two_\ndistinct globes, two entities, two substances, and to say that they are\nidentical, is to say that two things are only one. _Similarity_ is not\nidentity, so far from it, as Archbishop Whately has well remarked,\nit is not even implied of necessity in identity. A person may so far\nchange as to be quite unlike his former self in appearance, size, etc.,\nand yet be the same person. Not only are the two ideas quite distinct,\nbut the one may be, and in fact is, in most cases, the virtual\n_negation_ of the other. Resemblance, in most cases, implies difference\nof objects, the opposite of identity. To say that A and B resemble each\nother, is to say that, as known to us, they are _not_ one and the same,\nnot identical. It is only when one and the same object falls under\ncognizance at diverse times, so that we compare the object, as now\nknown, with the same object as previously known, that resemblance and\nidentity can possibly be predicated of the same thing.\n\nIdentity is only another term for _sameness_ (_idem_); any one who\nknows what that means, knows what identity means, and that it does not\nmean mere similarity or resemblance.\n\n_Not sameness of chemical Composition._--Nor does sameness of chemical\ncomposition constitute identity. This is merely similarity. Two\nbodies may be composed of the same chemical elements, in the same\nproportion, and possessing the same general form and structure, yet\nthey are not the same body. A given piece of wood or iron may be\ndivided into a number of parts, each closely resembling the others,\nof the same appearance, size, figure, color, weight, and of the same\nchemical components; yet no one of these is identical with any other.\nWhen we say, in such a case, that the different pieces are of the\nsame material, we use the word _same_ with some latitude, to denote,\nnot that they are composed of strictly the same particles, that the\nsubstance of the one is the very identical substance of the other,\nbut only that they consist of the same _sort_ or _kind_ of substance,\nthat they are, _e. g._, both wood, or both iron. But this does not\nconstitute identity.\n\nThere is no limit to the number of identical bodies which it is\npossible to conceive on this theory of identity. The same power that\nconstructs one body of given chemical elements, and of given form\nand structure, may make two such, or ten, and if the first two are\nidentical, the ten are, and they may exist at one and the same time,\nbeside each other, identical with each other, yet ten, every one of\nwhich is itself, and yet every one is each of the others!\n\n_A relative Term._--Identity is a relative term, like most others that\nare expressive of quality. The term straight implies the idea of that\nwhich is not straight; beauty, the idea of deformity; greatness, its\nopposite; and so of others. Identity stands related to _diversity_\nas its opposite. To have the idea of identity, is to have that of\ndiversity also. To affirm the former, is to deny the latter, and to\ndeny is to have the idea of that which is denied. I do not say there\ncan be no _identity_ without diversity, but only that there can be no\n_idea_ of the one without the idea, also, of the other, any more than\nthere can be the idea of a tall man without the idea of short men.\n\n_Opposite of Diversity._--To affirm identity, then, is simply to deny\n_diversity_, to predicate unity, sameness, oneness. Other objects\nthere are, like this, it may be, similar in every respect, capable of\nbeing confounded with it, and mistaken for it, but they are _other_\nand not _it_. This we affirm when we affirm identity, _non-diversity_,\n_non-otherness_. Whatever it be that marks off and distinguishes a\nthing from all other like or unlike objects--whatever constitutes its\n_individuality_, its _essence_--_in that consists its identity_.\n\n_Different applications of the Term._--Evidently, then, the word has\nsomewhat different senses as applied to different classes of objects,\nwhose individuality or essence varies. There are three distinct classes\nof objects to which the term is applicable. 1. Spiritual existence. 2.\nOrganic and animate material existence. 3. Inorganic matter.\n\n_As applied to the first Class._--As regards the first class,\n_spiritual existences_, their identity consists in simple oneness and\ncontinuity of existence. It is enough that the soul or spirit exist,\nand continue to exist. So long as this is the case, identity is\npredicable of it. Should that existence cease, the identity ceases,\nsince the object no longer exists of which identity can be affirmed.\nShould another spirit be created in its place, and even, _if the thing\nbe supposable_, should it be endowed, not only with the same qualities,\nbut the same _consciousness_, so as to be conscious of all that of\nwhich the former was conscious, still it would not be identical with\nthe former. It is, by the very supposition, _another_ spirit, and not\nthe same. To be identical with it, it must be the very same essence,\nbeing, or existence, and not some other in its place.\n\nIt is only of spiritual immaterial existence that identity, in its\nstrict and complete sense, is properly predicable, since it is only\nthis class of existences that retains, unimpaired, its simple oneness,\nsameness, continuity of essence.\n\n_Personal Identity._--When we speak of _personal_ identity, we mean\nthat of the spirit, the soul, the ego, in distinction from the\ncorporeal material part. The _evidence_ of personal identity is\n_consciousness_. We know that the thinking conscious existence of\nto-day, which we call _self_, _me_, is one and the same with the\nthinking conscious self or me of yesterday, and not some other personal\nexistence of like attributes and condition.\n\n_Locke's Idea._--Mr. Locke strangely mistook the _evidence_ of personal\nidentity for identity _itself_, and affirmed that our identity\n_consists_ in our consciousness. If this were so, then, whenever our\nconsciousness were interrupted, as in sound sleep, or in fainting, or\ndelirium, our identity would be gone. This error has been pointed out,\nand fully explained, by Dr. Reid, and Bishop Butler, the former of\nwhom makes this supposition: that the same individual is, at different\nperiods of life, a boy at school, a private in the army, and a military\ncommander; while a boy, he is whipped for robbing an orchard; when\na soldier, he takes a standard from the enemy, and at that time\nrecollects, perfectly, the whipping when a boy; when commander, he\nremembers taking the standard but not the whipping. It follows,\naccording to Mr. Locke, that the soldier is identical with the boy, and\nthe general with the soldier, because conscious of the same things, but\nthe general is not identical with the boy, because not conscious of the\nsame things, that is, _a_ is _b_, and _b_ is _c_, yet _a_ is not _c_.\nThe truth is, _identity_, and the _evidence_ of it, are two things.\nWere there no consciousness of any thing past, there would still be\nidentity so long as unity and continuity of existence remained.\n\n_2. Identity as applied to the second Class._--As regards _organic\nmaterial_ existence, whether animal or vegetable, the identity consists\nin that which constitutes the essence or being of the thing, which\nconstitutes it an animal or vegetable existence. It is not mere body,\nnot mere particles of matter, of such number and nature, or even of\nsuch arrangement and structure, but along with this, there is a higher\nprinciple involved--that of life. The continuity of this mysterious\nprinciple of life, under the same general structure and organization\nof material parts, making throughout one complex unity, one entity,\none being, though with many changes, it may be, of separate parts and\nparticles composing the organization; this constitutes the identity of\nthe object.\n\nThe identity is no longer complete, no longer absolute, because there\nis no longer, as in the case of spiritual existence, absolute sameness\nof essence. Of the complex being under consideration, animal or\nvegetable, the life-principle is, indeed, one and the same throughout\nall periods of its existence, but the material organization retains not\nthe same absolute essence, only the same general structure, and form,\nand adaptation of parts, while the parts and particles themselves are\ncontinually changing. It is only in a modified and partial sense, then,\nnot in strict philosophical use of language, that we can predicate\nidentity of any material organic existence. We mean by it, simply,\n_continuity of life_ under the same general structure and organization;\nfor so far as it has unity at all, this is it. This enables us to\ndistinguish such an object from any and all other like objects of the\nsame kind or sort.\n\n_3. Identity as applied to the third Class._--As regards mere inorganic\nmatter, its identity consists, again, in its absolute oneness and\nsameness. There must be no change of particles, for the essence of\nthe thing now considered lies not in any peculiarity of form, or\nstructure, or life-principle, all which are wanting, but simply in the\nnumber and nature of the particles that make up the mass or substance\nof the thing, and if these change in the least, it is no longer the\nsame essence. There is, properly, then, no such thing as identity in\nthe cases now under consideration, since the particles of any material\nsubstance are liable to constant changes. It is only in a secondary\nand popular sense that we speak of the identity of merely inorganic\nmaterial substance; strictly speaking, it has no identity, and\ncontinues not the same for any two moments.\n\nWe say, however, of two pieces of paper, that they are of the _same_\ncolor, meaning that they are both white or both red; of two coins,\nthat they are of the same fineness, the same size, and weight, etc.,\nmeaning, thereby, only that the two things are of the same _sort_ of\ncolor, the same degree of fineness, etc., and not that the color of the\none or the fineness and size of the one is absolutely the essential and\nidentical color, size, fineness of the other. It is by a similar use\nof terms, not in their strict and proper, but in a loose and secondary\nsense, that we speak of the identity or sameness of any material\nsubstance in itself considered. Strictly, it has no identity unless\nits substance is absolutely unchanged, which is not true of most, if,\nindeed, of any material existence, for any successive periods of time.\n\n_Popular Use._--There is a popular use of this term which requires\nfurther notice. We speak of the identity of a mountain, a river, a\ntree, or any like object in nature. It is the same mountain, we say,\nthat we looked upon in childhood, the same tree under which we sat\nwhen a boy, the same river in which we bathed or fished in youth.\nNow there is a sense in which this is true and correct. There has\nbeen change of substance unquestionably, and therefore there is not\n_absolute_ identity; but there is, after all, _numerical_ sameness,\nand this is what we mean when we speak of the sameness or identity of\nthe object. It constitutes a sufficient ground for such use of terms.\nYou recognize the book, the mountain, the river, as one you have seen\nbefore. The tree that you pass in your morning walk you recognize as\nthe very tree under which you sat ten years ago. Leaves have changed,\nbark and fibres have changed; branches are larger and more numerous;\nboughs, perhaps, have fallen by time and by tempest; it has changed\nas you have changed, it has grown old like yourself, with changing\nseasons; its verdure and foliage, like your hopes and plans, lie\nscattered around it, and yet it is _to you_ the same tree. How so? It\nis the same numerical unity. Of a thousand or ten thousand _similar_\ntrees, similar in species, in growth, and form, and adaptation of\nparts, in size, color, general appearance, etc., it is this individual\none, and not some other of the same sort or species growing elsewhere,\nthat you refer to. It is the same numerical unity and not some other\none of the series. Still there must be continuity of existence in order\nto identity even in this popular sense of the term. Were the parts\nentirely changed and new ones substituted, as in the puzzle of the\nknife with several successive handles and blades, or the ship whose\noriginal timbers, planks, cordage, and entire substance, had, in course\nof time, by continued repairs, been removed and replaced by new; in\nsuch a case, we do not ordinarily speak or think of the object as being\nany longer the same.\n\n_This not absolute Identity._--In the cases now under consideration, in\nwhich, in popular language, objects are termed \"same\" and \"identical,\"\nwhich are not strictly so, there is _comparative_ rather than\n_absolute_ unity and identity. There is reference always in such cases\nto other objects of the same kind, sort, and description, a series of\nwhich the object of present cognition is one, and to which series it\nholds the same relation now that it held formerly. As when, of several\nbooks on a table, you touch _one_, and after the interval of some\nmoments or hours touch the same again; you say, The book I last touched\nis the same I touched before, the _identical_ one; you do not mean that\nits _substance_ is absolutely unchanged, that it has the same precise\nnumber of particles in its composition as before--this is not in your\nmind at all--but only that the unity thus designated is the same unity\npreviously designated, that, and not some other one of the series of\nsimilar objects. It is a _comparative_ idea, a comparative identity, in\nwhich numerical unity is the element chiefly regarded.\n\n_Possible Plurality implied._--In all cases where the idea of identity\narises in the mind, there is implied a _possible_ plurality of\nobjects of the same general character; the idea of such diversity or\nplurality is before the mind, and the foundation of that idea is the\ndifference of cognition. The same object is viewed by the same person\nat _different times_ or by _different persons_ at the same time, and\nin that case, though the object itself should be absolutely one and\nthe same, yet there have been distinct, separate cognitions of it, and\nthis plurality or difference of cognition is a sufficient foundation\nfor the idea of a possible diversity of object. The book _as known_\nto-day and the book _as known_ yesterday, are two distinct objects of\nthought. The cognition now, and the cognition then, are two separate\nacts of the mind; and the question arises, Are the _objects_ distinct,\nas well as the cognitions? This is the question of identity. You have\nan immediate, irresistible conviction that the object of these several\ncognitions is one and the same. You affirm its identity, absolute or\ncomparative, as the case may be.\n\n_The Conception of Identity amounts to what._--In every case of\naffirmed identity, then, there is implied a possible plurality of\nobjects; a difference of cognition of a given object, whether one\nperson cognizant at different times, or different persons at the same\ntime; a question whether the possible plurality, as regards the object\nof these different cognitions, is an _actual_ plurality; a conviction\nand decision that it is not, that the object is one and the same; and\nthis sameness and unity are _absolute_ or _comparative_, according as\nwe use the language in its strict, primitive, philosophical meaning,\nor in its loose and popular sense. In the one case, it is sameness of\nabsolute essence, in the other, sameness of nominal relation to others\nof a series or class.\n\n\nIV. CAUSE.\n\n_Meaning of the Term._--The idea of cause is one with which every mind\nis familiar. It is not easy, however, to explain precisely what we mean\nby it, nor to fix its limits, nor to unfold its origin.\n\nWe mean by this term, I think, as ordinarily employed, that on which\nsome consequence depends, that but for which some event or phenomenon\nwould not occur. In order to affirm that one thing is the cause of\nanother, I must know, not merely that they are connected, but that the\nexistence of the one depends on that of the other. This is more than\nmere antecedence, however invariable. The approach of a storm may be\ninvariably indicated by the changes of the barometer. These changes\nprecede the storm, but are not the cause of it.\n\n_Origin of the Idea._--_Whence do we derive_ the idea of cause?--a\nquestion of some importance, and much discussed.\n\nEvidently not from sense. I observe, for example, the melting of snow\nbefore the fire, or wax before the flame of a taper. What is it that I\nsee in this case? Merely the phenomenon, nothing more. All that sense\nconveys, all that the eye reports, is simply the melting of the one\nsubstance in the presence and vicinity of the other. I _see_ no cause,\nno form transmitted from the one to the other, no action of the one on\nthe other, but simply the vicinity of the two, and the change taking\nplace in one. I _infer_ that the change takes place in consequence of\nthe vicinity. I believe it; and if the experiment is often repeated\nwith the same results, I cannot doubt that it is so. The idea of\ncausality is, indeed, _suggested_ by what I have seen, but is not\ngiven by sense. I have not seen the cause; that lies hidden, occult,\nits nature wholly unknown, and its very existence known, not by what\nI have actually seen, but by that law of the mind which leads me to\nbelieve that every event must have a cause, and to look for that cause\nin whatever circumstance is known to be invariably connected with the\ngiven change or event.\n\n_Constitution of the Mind._--That such is the constitution of the mind,\nsuch the law of its action, admits of no reasonable doubt. No sooner is\nan event or phenomenon observed, than we conclude, at once, that it is\nan effect, and begin to inquire the cause. We cannot, by any effort of\nconception, persuade ourselves that there is absolutely no cause.\n\n_Not derived from Sense._--But is not this principle of causality\nderived from experience? We have already said that sense does not give\nit. I do not see with the eye the cause of the melting of the wax, much\nless does what I see contain the general principle, that _every_ event\nmust have a cause. Sense does not give me this.\n\n_Whether from Consciousness._--Still, may it not be a matter of\nexperience in another way, given by _consciousness_, though not by\n_sense_. For example, I am conscious of certain volitions. These\nvolitions are accompanied with certain muscular movements, and these,\nagain, are followed by certain sensible effects upon surrounding\nobjects. These changes produced on objects without are directly\nconnected thus with my own mental states and changes, with the\nvolitions of which I am directly conscious. Given, the volition on my\npart, with the corresponding muscular effort, and the external change\nis produced. I never observe it taking place without such preceding\nvolition. I learn to regard my will as the _cause_, and the external\nchange as the _effect_. I observe that it is in the power of others\nto produce changes in like manner. Thus I obtain the general idea of\ncause. It is given by consciousness and experience.\n\n_Notion of Causality not thus derived._--It is to this source that\na very able and ingenious French philosopher would attribute our\nfirst idea of cause. I refer to Maine de Biran. I should agree with\nM. de Biran, that consciousness of our own voluntary efforts, and of\nthe effects thus produced, may give us our first notion of cause.\nBut it does not give us the law of causality. It extends to a given\ninstance only, explains that, explains nothing further than that,\ncannot go beyond. I am conscious that in this given instance I have\nset in operation a train of antecedents and sequences which results\nin the given effect. I am not conscious that _every_ event has, in\nlike manner, a cause. My experience warrants no such assumption. No\ninduction of facts and cases can possibly amount to this. Induction\ncan multiply and generalize, but cannot stamp on that which is merely\nempirical and contingent, the character of universality and necessity.\nThe law of causality, in a word, is to be distinguished from any given\ninstance, or number of instances, of actually observed causation. The\nlatter fall within the range of consciousness and experience, the\nformer is given, if at all, as a law of the mind, a primary truth, an\nidea of reason.\n\n_Remarks of Professor Bowen._--As Professor Bowen has well observed,\n\"The maxim, '_Every event must have a cause_,' is not, like the\nso-called laws of nature, a mere induction founded on experience, and\nholding good only until an instance is discovered to the contrary; it\nis a necessary and immutable truth. It is not derived from observation\nof natural phenomena, but is super-imposed upon such observation by a\nnecessity of the human intellect. It is not made known through the\nsenses; and its falsity, under any circumstances, is not possible, is\nnot even conceivable. The _cause_ to which it points us, is not to\nbe found in nature. The mere physicist, after vainly searching, ever\nsince the world began, for a single instance of it, has, at length,\nabandoned the attempt as hopeless, and now confines himself to the mere\n_description_ of natural phenomena. The _true cause_ of these phenomena\nmust be sought for in the realm, not of _matter_, but of _mind_.\"\n\n_What constitutes Cause._--In this last remark, the author quoted\ntouches upon a question of no little moment. What constitutes a cause?\nWe cannot here enter into the discussion of this question. It is\nsufficient to remark, that in the ordinary use of the word, as denoting\nthat, but for which a given result will not be, many things beside mind\nare included as causes. A hammer, or some like instrument, is essential\nto the driving of a nail. The hammer may be called the cause of the\nnail being driven; the blow struck by means of the hammer may also be\nso designated. More properly, the arm which gave the blow, and, more\ncorrectly still, the mind which willed the movement of the arm, and not\nthe consequent blow of the hammer, may be said to be the cause. If we\nseek for _ultimate_ and _efficient_ causes, we must, doubtless, come\nback to the realm of mind. It is mind that is, in every case, the first\nmover, the originator of any effect, and it may, therefore, be called\nthe true and prime cause, the cause of causes.\n\n_History of the Doctrine._--_Aristotle's View._--The history of the\ndoctrine of causality presents a number of widely different theories, a\nbrief outline of which is all that we can here give. The most ancient\ndivision and classification of causes is that of Aristotle, which is\nbased on the following analysis: Every work brought to completion\nimplies four things: an agent by whom it is done, an element or\nmaterial of which it is wrought, a plan or idea according to which\nit is fashioned, and an end for which it is produced. Thus, to the\nproduction of a statue there must be a statuary, a block of marble,\na plan in the mind of the artist, and a motive for the execution of\nthe work. The first of these is termed the _efficient_ cause, the\nsecond the _material_ cause, the third the _formal_, and the fourth\nthe _final_ cause. This classification was universally adopted by the\nscholastic philosophers, and, to some extent, is still prevalent. We\nstill speak of _efficient_ and of _final_ causes.\n\n_Locke's Derivation of Cause._--With regard to the origin of the idea\nof cause, there has been the greatest diversity of opinion. Locke\nderives it from sense; so do the philosophers of the sensationalist\nschool. We perceive bodies modifying each other, and hence the notion\nof causality.\n\n_Theory of Hume and of Brown._--Hume denies the existence of what we\ncall cause, or power of one object over another. He resolves it into\nsuccession or sequence of objects in regular order, and consequent\nassociation of them in our thoughts. Essentially the same is the theory\nof Brown, who resolves cause and effect into simple antecedence and\nsequence, beyond which we know nothing, and can affirm nothing.\n\n_Theory of Leibnitz._--The theory of Leibnitz verges upon the opposite\nextreme, and assigns the element of power or causal efficiency to every\nform of existence; every substance is a force, a cause, in itself.\n\n_Of Kant._--Kant and his school make cause a merely subjective notion,\na law of the understanding, which it impresses upon outward things, a\ncondition of our thought. We observe external phenomena, and, according\nto this law of our intelligence, are under the necessity of arranging\nthem as cause and effect; but we do not know that, independent of our\nconception, there exists in reality any thing corresponding to this\nidea. The tendency of this theory, as well as that of Hume and Brown,\nto a thorough-going skepticism, is obvious at a glance. The theory of\nMaine de Biran has been already noticed.\n\n\nV. THE IDEA OF THE BEAUTIFUL, AND OF RIGHT.\n\n_These Ideas Intuitive._--- Among the primary ideas awakened in the\nmind by the faculty of original or intuitive conception, ideas of\nreason, as some writers would prefer to call them, must be included\nthe notion of the _beautiful_, and also that of _right_--ideas more\nimportant in themselves, and in their bearing on human happiness, than\nalmost any others which the mind entertains. That these ideas are to\nbe traced, ultimately, to the originative or intuitive faculty, there\ncan be little doubt. They are simple and primary ideas. They have\nthe characteristics of universality and necessity. They are awakened\nintuitively and instantaneously in the mind, when the appropriate\noccasion is presented by sense. There are certain objects in nature\nand art, which, so soon as perceived, strike us as beautiful. There\nare certain traits of character and courses of conduct, which, so soon\nas observed, strike us as morally right and wrong. The ideas of the\nbeautiful and the right are thus awakened in the mind on the perception\nof the corresponding objects.\n\n_Things to be considered respecting them._--Viewed as notions of the\nintuitive faculty, or original conceptions, it would be in place\nto consider more particularly the _circumstances_ under which each\nof these ideas originates, and the _characteristics_ of each; also\nwhat _constitutes_, in either case, the object, what constitutes the\nbeautiful and the right.\n\n_These Topics reserved for separate Discussion._--These matters\ndeserve a wider and fuller discussion, however, than would here be\nin place. The ideas under consideration are to be viewed, not merely\nas conceptions of the reason or intuition, but as constituting the\nmaterial of two distinct and important departments of mental activity,\ntwo distinct classes of judgments, viz., the _\u00e6sthetic_ and the\n_moral_. The conceptions of the beautiful and the right, furnished\nby the originative or intuitive power of the mind, constitute the\nmaterial and basis on which the reflective power works, and as thus\nemployed, the mental activity assumes the form, and is known under the\nfamiliar names of _taste_ and _conscience_, or, as we may term them,\nthe \u00e6sthetic and moral faculties. As such, we reserve them for distinct\nconsideration in the following pages, bearing in mind, as we proceed,\nthat these faculties, so called, are not properly new powers of the\nmind, but merely forms of the reflective faculty, as exercised upon\nthis particular class of ideas.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE CONCEPTION AND COGNIZANCE OF THE BEAUTIFUL\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--CONCEPTION OF THE BEAUTIFUL.\n\n_The Science which treats of this._--The investigation of this topic\nbrings us upon the domain of a science as yet comparatively new,\nand which, in fact, has scarcely yet assumed its place among the\nphilosophic sciences--_\u00c6sthetics_, the science of the beautiful.\n\n_Difficulty of defining._--What, then, is the beautiful?--A question\nthat meets us at the threshold, and that has received, from different\nsources, answers almost as many and diverse as the writers that have\nundertaken its discussion. It is easy to specify instances of the\nbeautiful without number, and of endless variety; but that is not\ndefining it. On the contrary, it is only increasing the difficulty;\nfor, where so many things are beautiful, and so diverse from each\nother, how are we to decide what is that one property which they all\nhave in common, viz., beauty? The difficulty is to fix upon any one\nquality or attribute that shall pertain alike to all the objects that\nseem to us beautiful. A figure of speech, a statue, a star, an air from\nan opera, all strike us as beautiful, all awaken in us the emotion\nwhich beauty alone can excite. But what have they in common? It were\neasy to fix upon something in the case of the statue, or of the star,\nwhich should account, perhaps, for the pleasure those objects afford\nus; but the same thing might not apply to the figure of speech, or to\nthe musical air. It would seem almost hopeless to attempt the solution\nof the problem in this method. And yet there _must be_, it would seem,\nsome principle or attribute in which these various objects that we call\nbeautiful agree, which is the secret and substance of their beauty,\nand the cause of that uniform effect which they all produce upon\nus. Philosophers have accordingly proposed various solutions of the\nproblem, some fixing upon one thing, some upon another; and it may be\ninstructive to glance at some of these definitions.\n\n_Some make it a Sensation._--Of those who have undertaken to define\nwhat beauty is, there are some who make it a mere _feeling_ or\nsensation of the mind, and not an objective reality of any sort. It\nis not this, that, or the other quality of the external object, but\nsimply a subjective emotion. It lies within us, and not without. Thus,\nSir George Mackenzie describes it as \"a certain degree of a certain\nspecies of pleasurable effect impressed on the mind.\" So also Grohman,\nProfessor of Philosophy at Hamburg, in his treatise on \u00e6sthetic as\nscience, defines the beautiful to be \"the infinite consciousness of the\nreason as _feeling_.\" As the true is the activity of reason at work\nas _intellect_ or knowledge, and as the good is its province when it\nappears as _will_, so the beautiful is its activity in the domain of\n_sensibility_. Brown, Upham, and others, among English and American\nwriters, frequently speak of the emotion of beauty, as if beauty itself\nwere an emotion.\n\n_Others an Association._--Closely agreeing with this class of writers,\nand hardly to be distinguished from it, is that which makes beauty\nconsist in certain _associations of idea and feeling_ with the\nobject contemplated. This is the favorite doctrine with the Scotch\nmetaphysicians. Thus Lord Jeffrey, who has written with great clearness\nand force on this subject, regards beauty as dependent entirely on\nassociation, \"the reflection of our own inward sensations.\" It is not,\naccording to this view, a quality of the object external, but only a\nfeeling in our own minds. Its seat is within and not without.\n\n_Theory that Beauty consists in Expression._--Of the same general\nclass, also, are those who, with Alison, Reid, and Cousin, regard\nbeauty as the _sign_ or _expression_ of some quality fitted to awaken\npleasing emotions in us. Nothing is beautiful, say these writers, which\nis not thus expressive of some mental or moral quality or attribute.\nIt is not an original and independent quality of any peculiar forms or\ncolors, says Alison, for then we should have a definite rule for the\ncreation of beauty. It lies ultimately in the mind, not in matter, and\nmatter becomes beautiful only as it becomes, by analogy or association,\nsuggestive of mental qualities. The same is substantially the ancient\nPlatonic view. Kant, also, followed in the main by Schiller and\nFichte, takes the subjective view, and makes beauty a mere play of the\nimagination.\n\n_All these Theories make it subjective._--Whether we regard beauty,\nthen, as a mere emotion, or as an association of thought and feeling\nwith the external object, or as the sign and expression of mental\nqualities, in either case we make it ultimately subjective, and deny\nits external objective reality.\n\n_Different Forms of the objective Theory._--Of those who take the\nopposite view, some seek for the hidden principle of beauty in\n_novelty_; others, as Galen and Marmontel, in _utility_; others,\nas Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Hogarth, in the principle of _unity in\nvariety_; others, in that of _order and proportion_, as Aristotle,\nAugustine, Crousez.\n\nAll these writers, while they admit the existence of beauty in the\nexternal object, make it to consist in some quality or conformation of\nmatter, as such.\n\n_The spiritual Theory._--There is still another theory of the\nbeautiful, which, while admitting its external objective reality, seeks\nto divest it of that material nature in which the writers last named\npresent it, and searches for its essence among principles ethereal\nand spiritual. According to this view beauty is the _spiritual life\nin its immediate sensible manifestation_; the hidden, invisible\nprinciple--spirit in distinction from matter, animating, manifesting\nitself in, looking out through, the material form. It is not matter\nas such, it is not spirit as such, much less a mere mental quality or\nmental feeling; it is the expression of the invisible and spiritual\nunder sensible material forms. This view was first fully developed\nby Schelling and Hegel, and is adopted, in the main, by Jouffroy in\nhis Cours d'Esthetique, by Dr. August Ruhlert, of the university\nof Breslau, in his able system of \u00e6sthetics, and by many other\nphilosophical writers of distinction in Europe.\n\n_Questions for Consideration._--The following questions grow out of\nthese various and conflicting definitions, as presenting the real\npoints at issue, and, as such, requiring investigation.\n\nI. Is beauty something objective, or merely subjective and emotional?\n\nII. If the former, then what is it in the object that constitutes its\nbeauty?\n\nI. _Question stated._--Is beauty merely subjective, an emotion of our\nown minds, or is it a quality of objects? When we speak, _e. g._,\nof the beauty of a landscape, or of a painting, do we mean merely a\ncertain excitement of our sensitive nature, a certain feeling awakened\nby the object, or do we mean some quality or property belonging to that\nobject? If the latter, then are we _correct_ in attributing any such\nquality to the object?\n\n_Emotion admitted._--Unquestionably, certain pleasing emotions\nare awakened in the mind in view of certain objects which we term\nbeautiful; unquestionably those objects are the cause or occasion of\nsuch emotions; they have, under favorable circumstances, the power\nof producing them; unquestionably they have this power by virtue,\nmoreover, of some quality or property pertaining to them. All this will\nbe admitted by those who deny the objective reality of beauty. The\nquestion is not, whether there is in the object any quality which is\nthe occasion or cause of our emotion, but whether the term beauty is\nproperly the name of that cause, or of the emotion it produces.\n\n_Beauty not an Emotion._--The question would seem a very plain one\nif submitted to common sense. It would seem strange that any one\nshould deliberately and intelligently take the position that beauty\nand sublimity are merely emotions of our minds, and not qualities of\nobjects: when we hear men speaking in this way, we are half inclined\nto suspect that we misunderstand them, or that they misunderstand\nthemselves. I look upon a gorgeous sunset, and call it beautiful. What\nis it that is beautiful? That sky, that cloud, that coloring, those\ntints that fade into each other and change even as I behold them, those\nlines of fire that lie in brilliant relief upon the darker background,\nas if some radiant angel had thrown aside his robe of light as he\nflew, or had left his smile upon the cloud as he passed through the\ngolden gates of Hesperus, these, these, are beautiful; _there_ lies\nthe beauty, and surely not in me, the beholder. An emotion is in my\nmind, but that emotion is not beauty; it is simple _admiration_, _i.\ne._, wonder and delight. There is no such emotion as beauty, common as\nis the ambiguous expression \"emotion of beauty.\" There are emotions of\nfear, hope, joy, sorrow, and the like, and these emotions I experience;\nI know what they mean; but I am not conscious of having ever\nexperienced an emotion of _beauty_, though I have often been filled\nwith wonder and delight at the sight of the beautiful in nature or art.\nWhen I experience an emotion of fear, of hope, of joy, or of sorrow,\nwhat is it that is joyful or sorrowful, hopeful or fearful? My mind,\nof course, that is, I, myself. The object that occasions the emotion\non my part, is in no other sense fearful or joyful than as it is the\noccasion of my being so. If, in like manner, beauty is an emotion, and\nI experience that emotion, it is, of course, my mind that is beautiful,\nand not the object contemplated. It is I, myself, that am beautiful,\nnot the sunset, the painting, the landscape, or any thing of that sort,\nwhatever. These things are merely the occasion of _my_ being beautiful.\nCould any doctrine be more consoling to those who are conscious of any\nserious deficiency on the score of personal attractions! Can any thing\nbe more absurd?\n\n_The common View correct._--I beg leave to take the common sense\nview of this question, which I cannot but think is, in the present\ninstance, the most correct, and still to think and speak of the beauty\nof _objects_, and not of our own minds. Such is certainly the ordinary\nacceptation and use of the term, nor can any reason be shown why, in\nstrictest philosophy, we should depart from it. There is no need of\napplying the term to denote the emotion awakened in the mind, for that\nemotion is not, in itself, either a new or a nameless one, but simply\nthat mingled feeling of wonder and delight which we call admiration,\nand which passes, it may be, into love. To make beauty itself an\nemotion, is to be guilty of a double absurdity. It is to leave the\nquality of the object which gives rise to the emotion altogether\nwithout a name, and bestow that name where it is not needed, on that\nwhich has already a name of its own.\n\n_Beauty still objective, though reflected from the Mind._--If to this\nit be replied, that the beauty which we admire and which _seems_ to\nbe a property of the external object, is, nevertheless, of internal\norigin, being merely a transfer to the object, and association with it,\nof certain thoughts and feelings of our own minds, a reflection of our\nown consciousness gilding and lighting up the objects around us, which\nobjects are then viewed by us as having a light and beauty of their\nown, I answer, that even on this supposition, the external object, as\nthus illumined, has the power of awakening the pleasing emotion within\nus, and that power is its beauty, a property or quality of the object\nstill, although borrowed originally from the mind; just as the moon,\nthough it give but a reflected light, still shines, and with a beauty\nof its own. So long as those thoughts and feelings lay hidden in the\nmind, untransferred, unassociated with the external object, they were\nnot _beauty_. Not until the object is invested with them, and they have\nbecome a property of that object, do they assume, to the mental eye,\nthe quality of beauty. So, then, beauty is even still an objective\nreality, something that lies without us, and not within us.\n\n_The Power of expressing an objective Quality, likewise._--In like\nmanner, if it be contended that beauty is only the sign and expression\nof mental qualities, I reply, that power of signifying or expressing is\ncertainly a property of the object, and that property is its beauty,\nand is certainly a thing objective, and not a mere emotion.\n\n_All Beauty not Reflection, nor Expression._--I am far from conceding,\nhowever, that all beauty is either the reflection or expression of\nwhat passes within the mind. There are objects which no play of the\nfancy, no transfer or association of the mental states, can ever render\nbeautiful; while, on the other hand, there are others which require no\nsuch association, but of themselves shine forth upon us with their own\nclear and lustrous beauty. Suppose a child of lively sensibility, and\nwith that true love of the beautiful, wherever discerned, which is one\nof the finest traits of the child's nature, to look for the first time\nupon the broad expanse of the ocean; it lies spread out before him a\nnew and sudden revelation of beauty; its extent of surface, unbroken\nby the petty lines and boundaries that divide and mark off the lands\nupon the shore; its wonderful deep blue, a color he has seen hitherto\nonly in the firmament above him, and not there as here--that deep blue\nrelieved by the white sails, that, like birds of snowy wing, flit\nacross its peaceful bosom, or lie motionless in the morning light on\nits calm expanse; its peculiar convexity of surface, as it stretches\nfar out to the horizon, and lifts up its broad shoulders against the\nsky;--these things he beholds for the first time, they are associated\nwith nothing in his past experience; he has never seen, never dreamed\nof such a vision; it is not the reflection of his own thoughts or\nfancies; but it is, nevertheless, to him a scene of rare and wondrous\nbeauty, the recollection and first impression of which shall haunt him\nwhile he lives. If, in after life, he came to philosophize upon the\nmatter, it would be difficult to convince him that what he thus admired\nwas but the play of his own imagination, the transfer of his own mental\nstate, the association of his own thought and feeling with the object\nbefore him; in a word, that the beauty which so charmed him lay not at\nall in the object contemplated, but only in his own mind.\n\n_A further Question._--That the beauty which we perceive is a quality\nof objects, and not merely a subjective emotion, that there is in the\nobject something which, call it what we will, is the producing cause of\nthe emotion in us, and that this objective cause, whatever it be, is,\nin the proper use of terms, to be recognized as beauty, this we have\nnow sufficiently discussed. Admitting, however, these positions, the\nquestion may still arise, whether that which we call beauty in objects\nhas, after all, an absolute existence, independent of the mind that\nis impressed by it? The beauty that I admire in yonder landscape, or\nin the wild flower that blooms at my feet, is, indeed, the beauty of\nthe landscape or the flower, and not of my mind; it pertains to, and\ndwells in, the object, and not in me; but dwells it there independently\nof me, the observer, and when I do not behold it? If there were no\nintelligent, observing mind, to behold and feel that beauty, would the\nobject still be beautiful, even as now? This admits of question. Is the\nbeauty a fixed, absolute quality, inherent in the object as such, and\n_per se_, or is it something springing out of the relation between the\nmind of the observer and the object observed.\n\n_No Evidence of its Existence except its Effect._--That it is relative,\nand not absolute, may be argued from the fact that we have no evidence\nof any such quality or cause, save as in operation, save as producing\neffects in us; and as we could never have inferred the existence of the\ncause, had it not been for the effect produced, so we have no reason\nto suppose its existence when and where it does not manifest itself\nin operation, that is to say, when and where it is not observed. As\nthe spark from the smitten steel is not strictly to be regarded as\nitself a property of the steel, nor yet of the flint, but as a relative\nphenomenon arising from the collision of the two, so beauty, it may\nbe said, dwells not absolutely in the object _per se_, nor yet in the\nintelligent subject, but is a phenomenon resulting from the relation of\nthe two.\n\n_Further Argument from diversity of Effects._--The same may be argued\nfrom the diversity of the effects produced. If beauty is a fixed,\nabsolute quality of objects, it may be said, then the effects ought to\nbe uniformly the same; whereas there is, in fact, no such uniformity,\nno standard of beauty, none of taste, but what seems to one man\nexceedingly fine, excites only the aversion and disgust of another,\nand even the same person is at different times differently affected by\nthe same object. Hence it may be inferred that the beauty is merely a\nrelation between the mind and the object contemplated, varying as the\nmind varies.\n\n_Reply to the first Argument._--To these arguments I reply, in the\nfirst place, that it is not necessary that a cause should be in actual\noperation, under our immediate eye, in order that we should conclude\nits independent and constant existence. If, whenever the occasion\nreturns, the effects are observed, we conclude that the cause exists\n_per se_, and not merely in relation to us. Otherwise we could never\nbelieve the absolute existence of any thing, but should, with Berkley\nand Hume, call in question the existence of matter itself, save as\nphenomenal and relative to our senses. The same argument that makes the\nbeauty of a rose relative merely to the observer, makes the rose itself\nmerely a relative existence. How do I know that it exists? I see it,\nfeel it, smell it; it lies upon my table; it affects my senses. I turn\naway now. I leave the room. How do I know _now_ that the rose exists?\nIt no longer affects my senses; the cause no longer operates; the\neffect is no longer produced. I have just as much reason to say it no\nlonger exists, as to say it is no longer beautiful.\n\n_Reply to the second Argument._--To the argument from the diversity\nof effect, I reply, that admitting the fact to be as stated, viz.,\nthat the same object is differently regarded by different minds, the\ndiversity may arise from either of two sources. The want of uniformity\nmay lie in the cause, or it may lie in the minds affected by it. The\nexciting cause may vary, and the effects produced by it will then be\ndiverse; or the minds on which it operates may differ, and in that\ncase, also, the effects will be diverse. We are not to conclude, then,\nfrom diversity of effect that the cause is not uniform. A beautiful\nobject, it is true, affects different observers differently, but the\nreason of the diversity may be in _them_ and not in the object.\n\nWhat then is the fact? Are the minds of all observers equally\nsusceptible of impression from the beautiful? By no means. They differ\nin education, habit of thought, culture, taste, native sensibility, and\nmany other things. Hardly two minds can be found that are not diverse\nin these respects. Ought we then to expect absolute uniformity of\neffect?\n\n_Not to be conceded that there is no Agreement._--It is by no means\nto be conceded, however, that there is no such thing as a standard of\nbeauty or of taste, no general agreement among men as to what is or\nis not beautiful, no general agreement as to the emotions produced.\nThere is such agreement in both respects. Within certain limits it\nis uniform and complete. Certain aspects of nature, and certain works\nof art, are, in all ages, and by all men, regarded as beautiful. The\nApollo Belvidere, and the Venus of the Capitol, are to us what they\nwere to the ancients; the perfection of the beautiful. The great work\nof Raphael, scarcely finished at his death, the last touches still\nfresh from his hand--that work which, as it hung above his bier, drew\ntears from all eyes, and filled with admiration all hearts--is still\nthe wonder and admiration of men. And so it will be in centuries to\ncome. And so of the emotions produced by the contemplation of the\nbeautiful. Making due allowance for habits of association, mental\nculture, and differences of native sensibility, we shall find men\naffected much in the same way by the beautiful in nature or art. The\nmen of the same class and condition as to these matters--the peasant\nof one age or country, and the peasant of another, the philosopher of\none time, and of another, the wealthy, uneducated citizen, and the\nfashionable fool, of one period and nation, and of another--experience\nmuch the same effects in view of one and the same object. The same\ngeneral laws, too, preside over and regulate the different arts which\nhave relation to the beautiful, in all ages of the world.\n\n_Consequences of the Theory that Beauty is merely relative._--If beauty\nbe not absolute but relative only, it follows, 1. That, if there were\nno observers of nature or art, neither would be longer beautiful. 2.\nIf, for any reason any thing is for the time unseen, as, _e. g._, a\npearl in the sea, a precious stone in the mine, or a rich jewel in the\ncasket, it has no beauty so long as it is there and thus. 3. As minds\nvary in susceptibility of impression, the same thing is beautiful to\none person and not to another; at one time and not at another; nay,\nat one and the same moment it is both beautiful and not beautiful,\naccording as the minds of the observers vary. I cannot say with truth,\nthat the Mosaics of St. Peter's, or the great diamond of the East,\nare, at this moment, really beautiful, because I do not know who, or\nwhether any one, may, at this moment, be looking at them.\n\n_Intimate Relation between the Mind and the Object._--While I maintain,\nhowever, the existence of beauty as an absolute and independent quality\nof objects, and not merely as relative to the mind that perceives and\nenjoys it, I would, by no means, overlook the very intimate relation\nwhich subsists, in the present case, between the perceiving mind\nand the object perceived. Beauty makes its appeal primarily to the\nsenses. It pleases and charms us, because we are endowed with senses\nand a nature fitted to receive pleasure from such objects. In the\n_adaptation_ of our physical and mental constitution to the order and\nconstitution of material things as they exist without, lies the secret\nof that power which the beautiful exerts over us.\n\n_Might have been otherwise constituted._--We might have been so\nconstituted, doubtless, that the most beautiful objects should have\nbeen disgusting, rather than pleasing: the violet should have seemed\nan ugly thing, and the sweetest strains of music harsh and discordant.\nThere are disordered senses, and disordered minds, to which, even\nnow, those things, which we call beautiful, may so appear. For that\nadaptation of our sensitive nature to external objects, and of these\nobjects to our sensitive nature, by virtue of which, the percipient\nmind recognizes and feels the beauty of the object perceived, and takes\ndelight in it, we are indebted wholly to the wisdom and benevolence of\nthe great Creator.\n\n_The Doctrine maintained._--Still, _given_, the present constitution\nand mutual adaptation of mind and matter, and we affirm the independent\nexistence of the beautiful as an object _per se_, and not merely as an\naffection of the percipient mind. The perception and enjoyment of the\nbeauty are subjective, relative, dependent; the beauty itself not so.\n\n_The second Question._--If beauty be, then, as we find reason to\nbelieve, not wholly a subjective affair, but a quality or property of\nexternal objects, the question now arises,\n\nII. What is it in the object, that constitutes its beauty?\n\n_Theory of Novelty._--And first, is it the _novelty_ of the thing? Is\nthe novel the beautiful? Doubtless, novelty pleases us. It has this in\ncommon with the beautiful. Yet some things that are novel, are by no\nmeans beautiful. A mill for grinding corn is a great curiosity to one\nwho has never seen such a machine before, but it might not strike him\nas particularly beautiful.\n\nEvery thing, when first beheld, is novel; but every thing is not\nbeautiful. Let us look more closely at the element of novelty. That\nis novel which is new to _us_ merely, which appears to us for the\nfirst time. It may be new to the intellect, a new idea, or to the\nsensibility, a new feeling, or to the will, a new act. As a new idea it\nsatisfies our curiosity, as a new feeling it developes our nature, as a\nnew volition it enlarges the sphere of our activity. In these respects,\nand for these reasons, novelty pleases, but in all this we discover no\nresemblance to the beautiful.\n\n_Novelty heightens Beauty._--It is not to be denied that novelty, in\nmany cases, heightens the beauty of an object. By familiarity, we\nbecome, in a measure, insensible to the charms of that which, as first\nbeheld, filled us with delight. The sensibility receives no further\nexcitement from that to which it has become accustomed. To enjoy\nmountain scenery most highly, one must not always dwell among the\nmountains. To enjoy Niagara most highly, one must not live in the sight\nof it all his days. But beauty, and the _enjoyment_ of the beautiful,\nare surely different things, and while novelty is accessory to the full\neffect of the beautiful on our minds, and even indispensable to it, it\nis not, itself, the element of beauty, not the ground and substance of\nit.\n\n_Not always pleasing._--Jouffroy even denies that novelty is always\npleasing. Some things, he contends, _displease_ us, simply because they\nare new. We become accustomed to them, and our dislike ceases. Thus it\nis, to some extent, with difference of color in the races.\n\n_Theory of the Useful._--Is, then, the _useful_ the beautiful? This\ntheory next claims our attention. The foundation of the emotions\nawakened in us by the beautiful in nature or art, is the perception\nof utility. We perceive in the object a fitness to conduce, in some\nway, to our welfare, to serve, in some way, our purposes, and for this\nreason, we are pleased. The utility is the beauty.\n\n_The most useful not the most beautiful._--That the beauty of an object\nmay, in our perception, be heightened by the discovery of its fitness\nto produce some desirable end, or rather, that this may add somewhat\nto the pleasure we feel in view of the object, is quite possible; that\nthis is the main element and grand secret, either of that emotion on\nour part, or of the beauty which gives rise to it, is not possible. It\nis sufficient to say, that, if this were so, the most useful things\nought, of course, to be the most beautiful. Is this the case? A stream\nof water conducted along a ship canal is more useful than the same\nstream tumbling over the rapids, or plunging over a perpendicular\nprecipice. Is it also more beautiful? A swine's snout, to use a homely\nbut forcible illustration of Burke, is admirably fitted to serve the\npurpose for which it was intended; useful exceedingly for rooting and\ngrubbing, but not, on the whole, very beautiful.\n\n_Dissimilarity of the two._--Indeed, few things can be more unlike, in\ntheir effect upon the mind, in the nature of the emotions they excite,\nthan the useful and the beautiful. This has been well shown by Jouffroy\nin his analysis of the beautiful. Kant has also clearly pointed out the\nsame thing. Both please us, but not in the same way, not for the same\nreason. We love the one for its advantage to us, the other _for its own\nsake_. The one is a purely selfish, the other a purely disinterested\nlove, a noble, elevated emotion. The two are heaven-wide asunder. The\nglorious sunset is of no earthly use to us, otherwise than mere beauty\nand pleasure are in themselves of use. The gorgeous spectacle becomes\nat once degraded in our own estimation by the very question of its\npossible utility. We love it not for the benefit it confers, the use\nwe can make of it, but for its own sake, its own sweet beauty, because\nit is what it is. There it lies, pencilled on the clouds, evanescent,\nmomentarily changing. There it is, afar off. You cannot reach it,\ncannot command its stay, have no wish to appropriate it to yourself,\nno desire to turn it to your own account, or reap any benefit from\nit, other than the mere enjoyment; still you admire it, still it is\nbeautiful to you. Of what use to the beholder is the ruddy glow and\nflash of sunrise on the Alpine summits as seen from the Rhigi or Mount\nBlanc? Of what use, in fact, is beauty in any case, other than as it\nmay be the means of refining the taste, and elevating the mind? That\nit has this advantage we are free to admit; and it is certainly one of\nthe noblest uses to which any thing can be made subservient; but surely\nthis cannot be what is meant when we are told that beauty _consists_\nin utility, for this would be simply affirming that the cause consists\nin the effect produced. Beauty refines and elevates the mind, is a\nmeans of \u00e6sthetic and moral culture; as such it is of use, and in\nthat use lies the secret and the subtle essence of beauty itself. In\nother words, a given cause produces a given effect, and that effect\n_constitutes_ the cause!\n\n_The utility of Beauty an incidental Circumstance._--The truth is, that\nwhile the beautiful does elevate and ennoble the mind, and thus furnish\nthe means of the highest \u00e6sthetic and moral culture, this advantage is\nwholly incidental to the existence of beauty, not even a necessary or\ninvariable effect, much less the constituting element. This is not the\nreason why we admire the beautiful. It does not enter into our thoughts\nat the moment. As on the summit of Rhigi, I watch the play of the first\nrosy light on the snowy peaks that lift themselves in stately grandeur\nalong the opposite horizon, I am not thinking, at that moment, of the\neffect produced on my own mind, by the spectacle before me; I am wholly\nabsorbed in the magnificence of the scene itself. It is beautiful, not\nbecause it is useful, not because it elevates my mind, and cultivates\nmy taste, and contributes, in various ways, to my development, but it\nproduces these effects because it is beautiful. The very thought of the\nuseful is almost enough, in such cases, to extinguish the sentiment of\nthe beautiful.\n\n_Beauty cannot be appropriated._--That only is useful which can be\n_appropriated_, and turned to account. But the beautiful, in its very\nnature, cannot be appropriated or possessed. You may appropriate the\npicture, the statue, the mountain, the waterfall, but not their beauty.\nThese do not belong to you, and never can. They are the property of\nevery beholder. Hence, as Jouffroy has well observed, the possession\nof a beautiful object never fully satisfies. The beauty is ideal, and\ncannot be possessed. It is an ethereal spirit that floats away as a\nsilver cloud, ever near, yet ever beyond your grasp. It is a bow,\nspanning the blue arch, many-colored, wonderful; yonder, just yonder,\nis its base, where the rosy light seems to hover over the wood, and\ntouch gently the earth; but you cannot, by any flight or speed of\ntravel, come up with it. It is here, there, everywhere, except where\nyou are. It is given you to behold, not to possess it.\n\n_Theory of Unity in Variety._--Evidently we must seek elsewhere than in\nutility the dwelling-place of beauty. The secret of her tabernacle is\nnot there. Let us see, then, if _unity in variety_ may not be, as some\naffirm, the principle of the beautiful. The intellect demands a general\nunity, as, _e. g._, in a piece of music, a painting, or a play, and\nis not satisfied unless it can perceive such unity. The parts must be\nnot only connected but related, and that relation must be obvious. At\nthe same time the sensibility demands variety, as _e. g._, of tone and\ntime in the music, of color and shade in the painting, of expression\nin both. The same note of a musical instrument continuously produced,\nor the same color unvaried in the painting, would be intolerable. The\ndue combination of these two principles, unity and variety, say these\nwriters, constitutes what we call beauty in an object. The waving line\nof Hogarth may be taken as an illustration of this principle.\n\n_Objection to this View._--Without entering fully into the discussion\nof this theory, it may be sufficient to say, that while the principle\nnow named does enter, in some degree into our conception of the\nbeautiful, it can hardly be admitted as the ground and cause, or even\nas the chief element of beauty. Not every thing is beautiful which\npresents both unity and variety. Some things, on the other hand, are\nbeautiful which lack this combination. Some colors are beautiful,\ntaken by themselves, and the same is true of certain forms, which,\nnevertheless, lack the element of variety. In the construction of\ncertain mathematical figures, which please the eye by their symmetry\nand exactness, we may detect, perhaps, the operation of this principle.\nOn the other hand, it will not account for the pleasure we feel when\nthe eye rests upon a particular color that is agreeable. A bright red\npebble, or a bit of stained glass, appears to a child very beautiful.\nIt is the color that is the object of his admiration. We have simple\nunity but no variety there. On the other hand, in a beautiful sunset we\nhave the greatest variety, but not unity, other than simply a numerical\nunity.\n\nWe cannot, on the whole, accept this theory as a complete and\nsatisfactory resolution of the problem of the beautiful, although it is\nsupported by the eminent authority of Cousin, who, while he regards all\nbeauty as ultimately pertaining to the spiritual nature, still finds in\nthe principle, now under consideration, its chief characteristic so far\nas it assumes external form.\n\n_Order and Proportion._--Shall we then, with Aristotle. Augustine,\nAndr\u00e8, and others, ancient and modern, seek the hidden principle\nof beauty in the elements of _order and proportion_? What are order\nand proportion? Order is the arrangement of the several parts of a\ncomposite body. Proportion is the relation of the several parts to\neach other in space and time. Not every possible arrangement is order,\nbut only that which appears conducive to the end designed, and not\nevery possible arrangement of parts is proportion, but only that which\nfurthers the end to be accomplished. To place the human eye in the\nback part of the head, the limbs remaining as they now are, would be\n_disorder_, for motion must in that case, as now, be forward, while the\neye, looking backward, could no longer survey the path we tread. The\nlimbs of the Arabian steed, designed for swiftness of locomotion, bear\na proportion to the other parts of the body, somewhat different from\nthat which the limbs of the swine, designed chiefly for support, and\nfor movements slower, and over shorter distances, bear to his general\nframe. The proportion of each, however, is perfect as it is. Exchange\neach for each, and they are quite out of proportion.\n\n_Only another Form of the Useful._--Since order and proportion, then,\nhave always reference to the end proposed to be accomplished, we have,\nin fact, in these elements, only another form of the useful, which, as\nwe have already seen, is not the principle of beauty.\n\n_Not always Beautiful._--Accordingly, we find that order and proportion\ndo not, in themselves, and when unassociated with other elements,\ninvariably strike us as beautiful. The leg of the swine is as fine a\nspecimen of order and proportion as that of the Arab courser, but is\nnot so much admired for its beauty. It must be admitted, however, that\nthese elements in combination, do with others, enter more or less fully\ninto the formation of the beautiful, are intimately associated with its\nexternal forms. The absence or violation of these principles would mar\nthe beauty of the object.\n\n_The spiritual Theory._--The only theory of beauty remaining to be\nnoticed is the spiritual theory, which makes beauty consist, not\nin matter as such, nor in any mere arrangement of matter in itself\nconsidered, but in the manifestation or expression, under these\nsensible material forms, of the higher, the _hidden spiritual nature_,\nor element, appealing thus to our own spiritual nature, which is\nthereby awakened to sympathy. In the sensible world about us we find\ntwo elements diverse and distinct each from the other, the idea and the\nform, spirit and matter, the invisible and the visible. In objects that\nare beautiful we find these two elements united in such a way, that the\none expresses or manifests the other, the form expresses the idea, the\nbody expresses the spirit, the visible manifests the invisible, and our\nown spiritual nature recognizing its like, holds communion and sympathy\nwith it as thus expressed. That which constitutes the beautiful, then,\nis this manifestation, under sensible forms, and so to our senses, of\nthe higher and spiritual principle which is the life and soul of things.\n\n_Relation of the Beautiful to the True and the Good._--It differs from\nthe true in that the true is not, like the beautiful, expressed under\nsensible forms, but is isolated, pure, abstract, not addressed to the\nsenses, but to reason. It differs from the good, in that the good\nalways proposes an end to be accomplished, and involves the idea of\nobligation, while the beautiful, on the contrary, proposes no end to be\naccomplished, acknowledges no obligation or necessity, but is purely\nfree and spontaneous. Yet, though differing in these aspects, the good,\nthe true, and the beautiful, are at basis essentially the same, even as\nold Plato taught, differing rather in their mode of expression, and the\nrelations which they sustain to us, than in essence.\n\n_Relation of the Beautiful to the Sublime._--The relation of the\nbeautiful to the _sublime_, according to this theory, is simply this:\nIn the beautiful, the invisible and the visible, the finite and the\ninfinite, are harmoniously blended. In the sublime, the spiritual\nelement predominates, the harmony is disturbed, the sensible is\noverborne by the infinite, and our spirits are agitated by the\npresence, in an unwonted degree, of the higher element of our own\nbeing. Hence, while the one pleases, the other awes and subdues us.\n\n_Application of this Theory._--Such, in brief outline, is the theory.\nLet us see now whether it is applicable to the different forms of\nbeauty, and whether it furnishes a satisfactory explanation and account\nof them.\n\nSurveying the different forms of being, we find among them different\ndegrees of beauty. Does, then, every thing which is beautiful express\nor manifest, through the medium, and, as it were, under the veil, of\nthe material form, the presence of the invisible spiritual element? and\nthe more beautiful it is, does it so much the more plainly and directly\nmanifest this element?\n\n_The Theory applied to inorganic Forms._--And first, to begin with\nthe lowest, how is it with the inanimate, inorganic, merely chemical\nforms of matter? Here we have certain lines, certain figures, certain\ncolors, that we call beautiful. What do they express of the higher or\nspiritual element of being? In themselves, and directly, they express\nnothing, perhaps. Yet are they not, after all, suggestive, symbolical\nof an idea and spirit dwelling, not in them, but in him who made\nthem, of the Creator's idea and spirit, inarticulate expressions,\nmere natural signs, of a higher principle than dwells in these poor\nforms? Do they not suggest and express to us ideas of grace, elegance,\ndelicacy, and the like? Do we not find ourselves attracted by, and,\nin a sort, in sympathy with these forms, as thus significant and\nexpressive? Is it not thus that lines, and figures, and mathematical\nforms, the regular and sharply cut angles of the crystal, the light\nthat flashes on its polished surface, or lies hid in beautiful color\nwithin it, the order, proportion, and movement, by fixed laws, of the\nvarious forms of matter, appear beautiful to us? For what are order,\nproportion, regularity, harmony, and movement, by fixed laws, and what\nare elegance, and grace of outline and figure, but so many signs and\nexpressions of a higher intelligence?\n\n_Theory applied to vegetable Forms._--Passing onward and upward in the\nscale of being, taking into view, now, the organic forms of vegetable\nlife, do we not find a more definite articulate expression of the\nspiritual and invisible under the material form? The flower that blooms\nin our path, the sturdy tree that throws out its branches against the\nsky, or droops pensively, as if weighed down by some hidden sorrow,\naddress us more directly, speak more intimately to our spirits, than\nthe mere crystal can do, however elegant its form, or definite its\noutline. They express sentiments, not ideas merely. They respond to\nthe sensibilities, they appeal to the inner life of the soul. They are\nstrong or weak, timid or bold, joyous or melancholy. It requires no\nvigorous exercise of fancy to attribute to them the sensibilities which\nthey awaken in us. When in lively communion and sympathy with nature,\nwe can hardly resist the conviction that the emotions which she calls\ninto play in our own bosoms are, somehow, her own emotions also; that\nunder these forms so expressive, so full of meaning to us, there lurks\nan intelligence, a soul.\n\n_To the animal Kingdom._--In the animal kingdom, this invisible\nspiritual principle, the energy that lies hidden under all forms\nof animate and organized substance, becomes yet more strongly and\nobviously developed. The approach is nearer, and the appeal is more\ndirect, to our own spiritual nature. We perceive signs, not to be\nmistaken, of intelligence and of feeling; passion betrays itself,\nlove, hate, fear, the very principles of our own spiritual being, the\nvery image of our own higher nature. Beauty and deformity are now more\nstrongly marked than in the lower degrees of the scale of being.\n\n_To Man._--In man we reach the highest stage of animal existence with\nwhich we are conversant, the highest degree of life, intelligence,\nsoul--the being in whom the spiritual shines forth most clearly\nthrough the material veil--and, shall we not say also, the being\nmost beautiful of all? The highest style of beauty to be found in\nnature pertains to the human form, as animated and lighted up by the\nintelligence within. It is the expression of the soul that constitutes\nthis superior beauty. It is that which looks out at the eye which sits\nin calm majesty on the brow, lurks in the lip, smiles on the cheek,\nis set forth in the chiselled lines and features of the countenance,\nin the general contour of figure and form, and the particular shading\nand expression of the several parts, in the movement, and gesture,\nand tone; it is this looking out of the invisible spirit that dwells\nwithin, through the portals of the visible, this manifestation of\nthe higher nature, that we admire and love; this constitutes to us\nthe beauty of our species. Hence it is that certain features, not in\nthemselves, perhaps, particularly attractive, wanting, it may be, in\ncertain regularity of outline, or in certain delicacy and softness, are\nstill invested with a peculiar charm and radiance of beauty from their\npeculiar expressiveness and animation. The light of genius, or the\nsuperior glow of sympathy, and a noble heart, play upon those plain,\nand, it may be, homely features, and light them up with a brilliant and\nregal beauty. Those, as every artist knows, are precisely the features\nmost difficult to portray. The expression changes with the instant. The\nbeauty flashes, and is gone, or gives place to a still higher beauty,\nas the light that plays in fitful corruscations along the northern sky,\ncoming and going, but never still.\n\n_Man not the highest Type of Beauty._--Is then the human form the\nhighest expression of the principle of beauty? It can hardly be; for in\nman, as in all things on the earth, is mingled along with the beauty\nmuch that is deformed, with the excellence much imperfection. We can\nconceive forms superior to his, faces radiant with a beauty that sin\nhas never darkened, nor passion nor sorrow dimmed. We can conceive\nforms of beauty more perfect, purer, brighter, loftier than any thing\nthat human eye hath seen or human ear heard. We conceive them, however,\nas existing only under some sensible form, as manifest in some way\nto sense, and the beauty with which we invest them is the beauty of\nthe spiritual expressing itself in the outward and visible. It is the\nprovince of imagination to fashion these conceptions, and of art to\nattempt their realization. This, the poet, the painter, the sculptor,\nthe architect, the orator, each in his way, is ever striving to do, to\npresent under sensible forms, the ideal of a more perfect loveliness\nand excellence than the actual world affords.\n\nThis ideal can never be adequately and fully represented. The\nperfection of beauty dwells alone with God.\n\n_Consideration in favor of the Theory now explained._--It is in favor\nof the theory now under consideration, that it seems thus more nearly\nto meet and account for the various phenomena of beauty, than any other\nof those which have passed under our review, and that it accounts for\nthem, withal, on a principle so simple and obvious. The crystal, the\nviolet, the graceful spreading elm, the drooping willow, the statue,\nthe painting, the musical composition, the grand cathedral, whatever\nin nature, whatever in art is beautiful, all mean something, all\nexpress something, and in this lies their beauty; and we are moved by\nthem, because we, who have a soul, and in whom the spiritual nature\npredominates, can understand and sympathize with that which these forms\nof nature and art, in their semi-articulate way, seem all striving to\nexpress.\n\n_The Ideas thus expressed pertain not to Nature but to the divine\nMind._--It is not necessary that, with the ancient Greeks, we should\nconceive of nature, as having herself an intelligent soul of these\nforms as themselves conscious of their own meaning and beauty. It is\nenough that we recognize them as conveying a sentiment and meaning not\ntheir own, but his who made them, and made them representative and\nexpressive of his own beautiful thought. Words are not the only modes\nof expression. The soul speaks more earnestly and eloquently often in\nsigns than in words. And when God speaks to men, he does it not always\nin the barren forms of human speech, but in the flower that he places\nby my path, in the tree, the mountain, the rolling ocean, the azure\nfirmament. These are his _words_, and they are beautiful, and, when he\nwill, they are terrible. Happy he who, in all these manifestations,\nrecognizes the voice of God.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--COGNIZANCE OF THE BEAUTIFUL.\n\n_Beauty an Object of Cognition._--We have treated, in the preceding\nsection, of the idea of the beautiful, in itself considered. We proceed\nto investigate the action of the mind as cognizant of the beautiful in\nits actual manifestations, whether in nature or art. Beauty, as we have\nfound reason to believe, is not a conception merely, existing only in\nthe mind, but a quality of certain objects. As such it has objective\nvalue and existence, and the mind is cognizant of it as such, perceives\nit, observes it, compares it and the object to which it pertains\nwith other like and unlike objects, judges and decides respecting\nit. This quality of objects makes its appeal, as do all objects of\nperception, first to the senses, and through them to the mind. There\nis thus awakened in the mind, or suggested to it, the original and\nintuitive conception of the beautiful; there is also, and beside this,\nthe cognizance by the mind of the beautiful as an actual and present\nreality manifest in the object before it. As it perceives other\nobjects of a like nature, it classes them with the preceding, compares\nthem severally, judges of their respective merits, their respective\ndegrees and kinds of beauty. This discriminating power of the mind, as\nexercised upon the various objects of beauty and sublimity, whether in\nnature or art, we may designate by the general name of _taste_.\n\n_Nature of this Power._--There has been much difference of opinion as\nto the precise nature of this power, whether it is a distinct faculty\nof the mind, or the simple exercise of some faculty already known and\ndescribed, whether it is of the nature of intellect, or of emotion, or\nthe combination of both. Hence the various definitions of taste which\nhave been given by different writers, some regarding it as strictly an\nintellectual faculty, others as an emotion, while the greater number\nregard it as including the action both of the intellect in perceiving,\nand of the sensibility in feeling, whatever is beautiful and sublime.\n\nWhat has been already said, sufficiently indicates with which of these\ngeneral views our own most nearly accords. We use the term taste\nto denote the mind's power of cognizing the beautiful, a power of\nknowing, of discriminating, rather than of feeling, an exercise of\njudgment and the reflective power, directed to one particular class\nof objects, rather than any distinct faculty of the mind. Feeling is\ndoubtless awakened on the perception of the beautiful; it may even\nprecede the judgment by which we decide that the object before us is\ntruly beautiful; but the feeling is not _itself_ the perception, or the\njudgment; is not itself _taste_, whatever may be its relation to taste.\n\n_Proposed Investigation._--As this is a matter of some importance to a\ncorrect psychology, and also of much difference of opinion, it seems\nnecessary, for purposes of science, to investigate somewhat carefully\nthe nature of this form of mental activity. It is not a matter to be\nsettled by authority, by arbitrary definition, or dogmatic assertion.\nWe must look at the views and opinions of others, and at the reasons\nfor those opinions.\n\n_Definitions._--As preliminary to such investigation, I shall present\nsome of the definitions of taste, given by the more prominent writers,\nrepresenting each of the leading views already indicated.\n\nBlair defines it \"a power of receiving pleasure from the beauties of\nnature and art.\" Montesquieu, a French author of distinction, defines\nit \"something which attaches us to certain objects by the power of an\ninternal sense or feeling.\" Gerard, author of an Essay on Taste, makes\nit consist in the improvement of the internal senses, viz., sense of\nnovelty, sublimity, beauty, imitation, harmony, etc. Accordant with\nthis are the lines of Akenside:\n\n    \"What, then, is taste but those internal powers,\n    Active and strong, and feelingly alive\n    To each fine impulse?\"\n\n_Nature of these Definitions._--The definitions now given, it will be\nperceived, make taste a matter of _sensibility_, of mere _feeling_,\na sensation or sense, a passive faculty of being pleased with the\nbeauties of nature and art.\n\n_Another Class of Definitions._--Differing from this, others have\ncarefully distinguished between the rational and emotional elements,\nthe power of _discriminating_ and the power of _feeling_, and have\nmade taste to consist properly in the former. Of this class is Brown.\nMcDermot also takes the same view. This author, in his critical\ndissertation on the nature and principles of taste, defines it as the\n_power of discriminating_ those qualities of sensible and intellectual\nbeing, which, from the invisible harmony that exists between them and\nour nature, excite in us pleasant emotions. The emotion, however,\nthough it may be the parent of taste, he would not regard as a\nconstituent element of it.\n\n_Definitions combining both Elements._--The greater number, however,\nof those who have written on this subject, have combined in their\ndefinitions of taste both these elements, the power of perceiving and\nthe power of feeling. So Burke: \"That faculty, or those faculties of\nthe mind which _are affected with_, or which _form a judgment of_, the\nworks of imagination and the elegant arts.\" Alison: \"That faculty of\nthe mind by which we _perceive_ and _enjoy_ whatever is beautiful or\nsublime in the works of nature and art.\" Reid also makes it consist in\n\"the power of discerning and relishing\" these objects. Voltaire makes\nthe feeling quite as essential as the perception. Benard, Professor of\nPhilosophy in the College Royal at Rouen, in the excellent article on\ntaste, in the Dictionnaire des Sciences Philosophiques, defines taste\nas \"that faculty of the mind which makes us to discern and feel the\nbeauties of nature, and whatever is excellent in works of art.\" It\nis a compound faculty, according to this author, inhabiting at once\nboth worlds, that of sense and that of reason. Beauty reveals itself\nto us only under sensible forms, the faculty which contemplates the\nbeautiful, therefore, seizes it only in its sensible manifestation. The\npure idea, on the other hand, in its abstract nature, addresses not the\ntaste but the understanding; it appears to us, not as the beautiful,\nbut as the true. Taste, then, has to do with sense. Still, says Benard,\n\"the essential element which constitutes it, pertains to the reason;\nit is, in truth, only one of the forms of this sovereign power, which\ntakes different names according to the objects which it deals with;\n_reason_, properly speaking, when it employs itself in the sphere of\nspeculative truth; _conscience_, when it reveals to us truths moral or\npractical; _taste_, when it appreciates the beauty and suitableness of\nobjects in the real world, or of works of art.\"\n\n_These three Classes comprehensive._--Other authorities and\ndefinitions, almost without number, might be added, but they fall\nessentially under the three classes now specified. Which of these\nviews, then, is the correct and true one? is the question now before\nus. Is taste a matter of feeling, or is it an intellectual discernment,\nor is it both? Evidently we cannot depend on authority for the decision\nof this question, since authorities differ. We must examine for\nourselves.\n\n_Etymology of the Term._--To some extent the word itself may guide us.\nBorrowed, as are most if not all words expressing mental states and\nacts, from the sphere of sense, there was doubtless some reason why\nthis word in particular was selected to denote the power of the mind\nnow under consideration. Some close analogy, doubtless, was supposed to\nexist between the physical state denoted by this word in its primary\nsense, and the mental faculty to which we refer, so that, in seeking\nfor a term by which to designate that intellectual faculty, none would\nmore readily present itself, as appropriate and suggestive of the\nmental state intended, than the one in question. This analogy, whatever\nit be, while it cannot be taken as decisive of the question before us,\nis still an element not to be overlooked by the psychologist. What,\nthen, is the analogy? How comes this word--_taste_--to be used, rather\nthan any other, to denote the idea and power now under consideration?\n\n_Taste as a Sense._--In the domain of sense, certain objects brought\nin contact with the appropriate physical organ, affect us as sweet,\nsour, bitter, etc. This is purely an affection of the sensibility,\nmere feeling. We say the thing _tastes_ so and so. The power of\ndistinguishing such qualities we call the power or sense of taste.\nPrimarily mere sensation, mere feeling, we transfer the word to denote\nthe power of judging by means of that sensation. There is, in the\nfirst instance, an affection of the organ by the object brought in\ncontact with it, of which affection we are cognizant; then follows an\nintellectual perception or judgment that the object thus affecting us,\npossesses such and such qualities, is sweet, sour, bitter, salt, etc..\nThe sensation affords the ground of the judgment. The latter is based\nupon the former. The sensation, the simple feeling, affords the means\nof discriminating, judging, distinguishing, and to this latter power\nor process the word taste, in the physical sense, is more frequently\nappropriated. We say of such or such a man, his taste is acute, or his\ntaste is impaired, or dull, etc., meaning his power of perceiving and\ndistinguishing the various properties of objects which affect his sense\nof taste.\n\n_Analogy of this to the mental Process called Taste._--It is easy to\nperceive, now, the analogy between the physical power and process thus\ndescribed, and the psychological faculty under consideration, to which\nthe name primarily denoting the former has been transferred. Objects\nin nature and art present themselves to the observation, and awaken\npleasure as beautiful, or excite disgust as the opposite. A mere matter\nof sensibility, of feeling, this. Presently, however, we begin to\nnotice, not the mere feeling of pleasure or aversion, but the character\nof the object that awakens it, we discriminate, we attribute to the\nobject such and such qualities, take cognizance of it as possessing\nthose qualities. This discriminating power, this judgment of the mind\nthat the object possesses such properties, we call taste. As, in the\nsphere of sense, the feeling awakened affords the means of judging\nand distinguishing, as to the qualities of the object, so here. The\nbeautiful awakens sensation--a vivid feeling of pleasure, delight,\nadmiration; deformity awakens the reverse; and this feeling enables\nus to judge of the object, as regards the property in question, viz.,\nbeauty or deformity, whether, and how far, as compared with other\nobjects of the mind, it possesses this quality. In either case--the\nphysical and the psychological--the process begins with sensation\nor feeling, but passes on at once into the domain of intellect, the\nsphere of understanding or judgment; and while, in either case, the\nword taste may, without impropriety, be used to denote the feeling\nor susceptibility of impression which lies at the foundation of the\nintellectual process, it is more strictly appropriate to the faculty of\ndiscriminating the objects, and the qualities of objects, which awaken\nin us the given emotions.\n\nSo far as the word itself can guide us, then, it would seem to be in\nthe direction now indicated.\n\n_Appeal to Consciousness._--Analogy, however, may mislead us. We must\nnot base a doctrine or decide a question in psychology upon the meaning\nof a single term. Upon observation and consciousness of what actually\npasses in our own minds, in view of the beautiful, we must, after all,\nrely. Let us place ourselves, then, in the presence of the beautiful in\nnature or art, and observe the various mental phenomena that present\nthemselves to our consciousness.\n\nI stand before a statue of Thorwalsden or Canova. The spell and\ninspiration of high art are upon me. What passes now in my mind?\n\n_The first Element._--First of all, I am conscious of almost instant\nemotion in view of the object, an emotion of pleasure and delight.\nNo sooner do my eyes rest upon the chiselled form that stands in\nfaultless and wondrous beauty before me, than this emotion awakens. It\nsprings into play, as a fountain springs out of the earth by its own\nspontaneous energy, or, as the light plays on the mountain tops, and\nflushes their snowy summits, when the sun rises on the Alps. It is by\nno volition of mine that this takes place.\n\n_A second Element._--Along with the emotion, there is another thing\nof which, also, I am conscious. Scarcely have my eyes taken in the\nform and proportions on which they rest with delight, scarcely has\nthe first thrill of emotion, thus awakened, made itself known to the\nconsciousness, when I find myself exclaiming, \"How beautiful!\" The soul\nsays it; perhaps the lips utter it. If not an oral, it is, at least, a\nmental affirmation. The mind perceives, at a glance, the presence of\nbeauty, recognizes its divinity, and pays homage at its shrine; not now\nthe blind homage of feeling, merely, but the clear-sighted perception\nof the intellect, the sure decision of the understanding affirming,\nwith authority 'That which thou perceivest and admirest is beautiful.'\nThis is an act of judgment, based, however, on the previous awakening\nof the sensibility. I know, because I feel.\n\n_A third Element._--In addition to these, there may, or may not be,\nanother phase of mental action. I may begin, presently, to observe,\nwith a more careful eye, the work before me, and form a critical\nestimate of it, scan its outline, its several parts, its effect as\na whole, ascertain its merits, and its defects as a work of art,\nstudy its design, its idea, and how well it expresses that idea, and\nfulfills that design. I seek to know what it is in the piece that\npleases me, and why it pleases me. This may, or may not, take place.\nWhether it shall occur, or not, will depend on the state of the mind\nat the moment, the circumstances in which it is placed, its previous\ntraining and culture, its habits of thought. This, too, is an exercise\nof judgment, comparing, distinguishing, deciding; a purely intellectual\nprocess. It is not so much a new element, as a distinct phase of that\nlast named. It is the mind deciding and affirming now, not merely that\nthe object is beautiful, but _in what_ and _why_ it is so.\n\n_Uniformity of Results._--I change now the experiment. I repeat it. I\nplace myself before other works, before works of other artists--works\nof the painter, the architect, the musician, the poet, the orator.\nWhatever is beautiful, in art or nature, I observe. I perceive, in\nall cases, the same results, the occurrence of essentially the same\nmental phenomena. I conclude that these effects are produced, not\nfortuitously, but according to the constitution of my nature; that they\nare not specific instances, but general laws of mental action; in other\nwords, that the mind possesses a susceptibility of being impressed\nin this manner by such objects, and also a faculty of judging and\ndiscriminating as above described. To these two elements, essentially,\nthen, do the mental phenomena occasioned by the presence of the\nbeautiful, reduce themselves.\n\n_The Question._--Which, then, of these elements is it that answers\nto the idea of taste, as used to denote a power of the mind? Is it\nthe susceptibility of emotion in view of the beautiful, the power of\nfeeling; or is it the faculty of judging and discriminating; or is it\nboth combined? Our definitions, as we have seen, include both; the\nword, itself, may denote either; both are comprised in our analysis of\nthe mental phenomena in view of the beautiful.\n\n_Not the first._--Is it the first? I think not. Taste is not mere\nemotion, nor mere susceptibility of emotion. A child or a savage may\nbe deficient in taste, yet they may be as deeply moved in view of\nthe beautiful, in nature or art, as the man of cultivated mind; nay,\ntheir emotion may exceed his. They may regard, with great delight and\nadmiration, what he will view with entire indifference. So far from\nindicating a high degree of taste, the very susceptibility of emotion,\nin such cases, may be the sure indication of a want of taste. They are\npleased with that which a cultivated and correct taste would condemn.\nThe power of being moved is simply sensibility, and sensibility is not\ntaste, however closely they may be related.\n\n_Taste the intellectual Element._--Is taste, then, the power of mental\ndiscrimination which enables me to say that such and such things are,\nor are not, beautiful, and which, in some cases, perhaps, enables me\nto decide why, or wherein they are so? Does it, in a word, denote the\n_intellectual_ rather than the _emotional_ element of the process? I am\ninclined to think this the more correct view. Susceptibility of emotion\nis, doubtless, concerned in the matter. It has to do with taste. It\nmay be even the ground and foundation of its exercise, nay, of its\nexistence. But it is not, itself, taste, and should not be included,\ntherefore, in the definition.\n\n_Reason for distinguishing the two._--As we distinguish, in\nphilosophical investigation, between an emotion and the intellectual\nperception that precedes and gives rise to it, or between the\nperception and the sensation on which it is founded, so I would\ndistinguish _taste_, or the intellectual perception of the beautiful,\nfrom the _sensation_ or _feeling_ awakened in view of the object. The\nfact that both elements exist, and enter into the series of mental\nphenomena in view of the beautiful, is no reason why they should both\nbe designated by the same term, or included in the same definition,\nbut, rather, it is a reason why they should be carefully distinguished.\n\nThe precise nature of this faculty may be more distinctly perceived,\nif we consider, more particularly, its relation to the _judgment_, and\nalso to the _sensibility_.\n\n_Taste, as related to Judgment._--According to the view now taken,\ntaste is only a modification, or rather a particular direction of that\ngeneral power of the mind which we call _judgment_; it is judgment\nexercised about the beautiful. It is the office of the judgment to\nform opinions and beliefs, to inform us of relations, to decide\nthat things are thus and thus, that this is this, and that is that.\nAs employed in different departments of thought, it appears under\ndifferent forms, and is known under diverse names. As employed about\nthe actual and sensible, we call it understanding; in the sphere of\nabstract truth it works under the cognomen of reason; in the sphere\nof practical truth, the thing that is good and right to be done by\nme, it is known as conscience; in the sphere of the ideal and the\nbeautiful it is taste. In all these departments of mental activity\nit is exercised, employs itself upon all these subjects, giving us\nopinion, belief, knowledge, as to them all. The judgment as thus\nexercised in relation to the beautiful, that is to say, the mind\nobserving, comparing, discriminating, deciding, forming the opinion,\nor reaching it may be the positive knowledge that this thing is, or\nis not, beautiful--for this is simply what we mean by judgment in any\nparticular instance--judgment, as thus exercised, is known by the name\nof _taste_. More strictly speaking, it is not so much the _exercise_\nof the judgment in this particular way in given instances, as the\n_foundation_ or _ground_ of that exercise, the _discriminating faculty_\nor _power_ of the mind by virtue of which it thus operates.\n\n_Judgment does not furnish the Ideas._--Does, then, the judgment, it\nmay be asked, give us originally the ideas of the true, the beautiful,\nand the good? This we do not affirm. Judgment is not the source of\nideas, certainly not of those now mentioned. It does not originate\nthem. Their origin and awakening in the human mind is we should say,\non this wise. The beautiful, the true, the good, exist as simple,\nabsolute, eternal principles. They are in the divine mind. They are in\nthe divine works. In a sense they are independent of Deity. He does not\ncreate them. He cannot reverse them or change their nature. He works\naccording to them. They are not created by, but only _manifested in_,\nwhat God does. We are created with a nature so formed and endowed as\nto be capable of recognizing these principles and being impressed by\nthem. The consequence is, that no sooner do we open the eye of reason\nand intelligence upon that which lies around and passes before us, in\nthe world, than the idea of the true, the beautiful, the morally good,\nis awakened in the mind. We instinctively perceive and feel their\npresence in the objects presented to our notice. They are the product\nof our rational intelligence, brought into contact, through sense, with\nthe world in which we dwell. The idea of beauty or of the right, thus\nonce awakened in the mind, when afterward examples, or, it may be,\nviolations, of these principles occur, the judgment is exercised in\ndeciding that the cases presented do or do not properly fall under the\nclass thus designated; and the judgment thus exercised in respect to\nthe beautiful, we call _taste_, in respect to the right, _conscience_.\n\n_Taste as now defined._--As now defined, taste is, as to its principle,\n_the discriminating power of the mind with respect to the beautiful or\nsublime in nature or art_; that certain state, quality, or condition\nof the mental powers and the mental culture, the result partly of\nnative difference and endowment, partly of education and habit, by\nvirtue of which we are able to judge more or less correctly as to the\nbeauty or deformity, the merit or demerit of whatever presents itself\nin nature or art as an object of admiration, whether and how far it is\nin reality beautiful, and of its fitness to awaken in us the emotions\nthat we experience in view thereof. If we are able to observe, compare,\ndiscriminate, form opinions and conclusions well and correctly, on\nthese matters, our taste is good; otherwise bad. Whether it be the\none or the other, will depend not entirely on native endowment, not\naltogether on the degree to which the judgment is cultivated and\ndeveloped in respect to other matters, but quite as much on the culture\nand training of the mind with respect to the specific objects of\ntaste, viz., the beauties of nature and art. Men of strong minds, good\nunderstanding, and sound judgment in other matters, are not necessarily\nmen of good taste. Like every other faculty of the mind, taste requires\ncultivation.\n\n_Taste and good Taste._--It is necessary to distinguish between taste,\nand good taste. Many writers use the terms indifferently, as when we\nsay such a one is a man of taste, meaning of good taste, or such a one\nhas no taste whatever, meaning that he is a man of bad taste. Strictly\nspeaking, the savage who rejoices in the disfigurement of his person\nby tattooing, paint, and feathers, is a man of _taste_, as really as\nthe Broadway dandy, or the Parisian exquisite. He has his faculty of\njudging in such matters, and exercises it--his standard of judging, and\ncomes up to it. He is a man of taste, but not of correct taste. He has\nhis own notions, but they do not agree with ours. He violates all the\nrules and principles by which well-informed minds are guided in such\nmatters. He shocks our notions of fitness and propriety, excites in us\nemotions of disgust, or of the ludicrous, and, on the whole, we vote\nhim down as a man of no authority in such matters.\n\n_As related to Sensibility._--Thus far we have spoken of taste only as\nrelated to the judgment. It is necessary to consider also its relation\nto the _sensibility_. Taste and sensibility are very often confounded.\nThey are, in reality, quite distinct. Sensibility, so far as we are at\npresent concerned with it, is the mind's _capability of emotion_ in\nview of the beautiful or sublime. Taste is its _capability of judging_,\nin view of the same. Viewed as acts, rather than as states or powers of\nthe mind, sensibility is the feeling awakened in view of a beautiful\nobject; taste is the judgment or opinion formed respecting it. In the\ncase already supposed, I stand before a fine statue or painting. It\nmoves me, attracts me, fills me with delight and admiration. In this,\nit is not directly and immediately my taste, but my sensibility, that\nis affected and brought into play. I begin to judge of the object\nbefore me as a work of art, to form an opinion respecting its merits\nand demerits; and, in so doing, my taste is exercised.\n\n_The two not always proportional._--Not only are the two principles\ndistinct, but not always do they exist in equal proportion and\ndevelopment in the same mind. Persons of the liveliest sensibility\nare not always, perhaps not generally, persons of the nicest taste.\nThe child, the uneducated peasant, the negro, are as highly delighted\nwith beautiful forms and beautiful colors as the philosopher, but\ncould not tell you so well why they were moved, or what it was, in the\nobject, that pleased them; neither would they discriminate so well\nthe truly beautiful from that which is not worthy of admiration. If\nthere may be sensibility without taste, so, on the other hand, a high\ndegree of taste is not always accompanied with a corresponding degree\nof sensibility. The practised connoisseur is not always the man who\nenjoys the most at sight of a fine picture. The skillful musician has\nmuch better taste in music than the child that listens, with mingled\nwonder and delight, to his playing; but we have only to glance at the\ncountenance of each, to see at once which feels the most.\n\n_Sensibility not inconsistent with Taste._--I should not, however,\ninfer from this, that a high degree of sensibility is inconsistent with\na high degree of taste. This was Mr. Stewart's opinion. The feeling,\nhe would say, will be likely to interfere with the judgment, in such a\ncase. Doubtless; where the feeling is highly wrought upon and excited,\nit may, for the time, interfere with the cool and deliberate exercise\nof the judgment. Yet, nevertheless, if sensibility be wanting, there\nwill not be likely to be much taste. If I feel no pleasure at sight of\na beautiful landscape or painting, I shall not be likely to trouble\nmyself much about its comparative merits or defects. It is useless, in\nsuch a case, to inquire what pleases me, or why I am pleased, when,\nin truth, nothing pleases me. There is no motive for the exercise\nof judgment in such a case, neither is there an opportunity for its\naction. The very foundation for such an exercise is wanting. A lively\nsensibility is the basis of a correct taste, the ground on which it\nmust rest, the spring and life of its action. The two are related\nsomewhat as genius and learning which are not always found in equal\ndegree, yet are by no means inconsistent with each other. There may be\na high degree of mental strength and activity, without corresponding\nacquisitions; yet there can hardly be learning without some degree\nof mental power and activity. There may be sensibility without much\ntaste, but hardly much taste without sensibility. Taste is, in a great\nmeasure, acquired, cultivated, an art; sensibility, a native endowment.\nIt may be developed, strengthened, educated, but not acquired. Genius\nproduces, sensibility admires, taste judges or decides. Their action\nis reciprocal. If taste corrects and restrains the too ready or too\nextravagant sensibility, the latter, on the other hand, furnishes the\nground and data upon which, after all, taste must rely in its decisions.\n\n_Cultivation of Taste._--We have investigated, with some care, as was\nproposed, the nature of that power of the mind which takes cognizance\nof the beautiful. On the cultivation of this power, a few words must be\nsaid in this connection. Taste is an intellectual faculty, a perceptive\npower, a matter of judgment, and, as such, both admits and requires\ncultivation. No forms of mental activity depend more on education and\nexercise, for their full development, than that class to which we give\nthe general name of judgment, and no form of judgment more than that\nwhich we call taste. The mind uncultivated, untrained, unused to the\nnice perception of the beautiful, can no more judge correctly, in\nmatters of taste, than the mind unaccustomed to judge of the distance,\nmagnitude, or chemical properties of bodies, can form correct decisions\nupon these subjects. It must be trained by art, and strengthened by\nexercise. It must be made familiar with the laws, and conversant\nwith the forms of beauty. It must be taught to observe and study the\nbeautiful, in nature and in art, to discriminate, to compare, to judge.\nThe works in literature and in art which have received the approbation\nof time, and the honorable verdict of mankind, as well as the objects\nin nature which have commanded the admiration of the race, must become\nfamiliar, not by observation only, but by careful study. Thus may taste\nbe cultivated.\n\n\nHISTORICAL SKETCH.\n\n_View of Plato._--Among the ancients, _Plato_ was, perhaps, the first\nto distinguish the idea of the beautiful from other kindred ideas, and\nto point out its affinity with the true and the good, thus recognizing\nin it something immutable and eternal. In making the good and the\nbeautiful identical, however, he mistakes the true character and end of\nart, Previously to Plato, and even by him, art and the beautiful were\ntreated only in connection with ethics and politics' \u00e6sthetics, as a\ndistinct department of science, was not known to the ancients.\n\n_Of Aristotle._--_Aristotle_ has not treated of the beautiful but\nonly of dramatic art. Poetry, he thinks, originates in the tendency\nto imitate, and the desire to know. Tragedy is the imitation of _the\nbetter_. Painting should represent, in like manner, not _what is_,\nbut what _ought to be_. In this sense, may be understood his profound\nremark, that _poetry is more true than history_.\n\n_Plotinus and Augustine._--After Aristotle, _Plotinus_ and _Augustine_\nalone, among the ancients, have treated of the beautiful. The work of\nAugustine is not extant. It is known that he made beauty consist in\nunity and fitness of parts, as in music. The treatise of Plotinus is\nregarded as at once beautiful and profound. Material beauty is, with\nhim, only the expression or reflection of spiritual beauty. The soul\nalone, the mind, is beautiful, and in loving the beautiful, the soul\nloves its own image as there expressed. Hence, the soul must, itself,\nbe beautiful, in order to comprehend and feel beauty. The tendency of\nthis theory is to mysticism.\n\n_Longinus and Quintilian._--Longinus, and Quintilian, treat of the\nsublime, only with reference to eloquence and oratory; so, also,\nHorace, of art, as having to do with poetry.\n\n_Bacon._--Among the moderns, _Bacon_ recognizes the fine arts as among\nthe sciences, and poetry as one of the three chief branches of human\nknowledge, but nowhere, that I am aware, treats of the beautiful,\ndistinctly, as such.\n\n_School of Leibnitz._--It was the school of _Leibnitz_ and _Wolf_ in\nGermany that first made the beautiful a distinct science. Baumgarten,\ndisciple of Wolf, first conceived this idea. Like Plato, however, he\nmakes the beautiful too nearly identical with the good and with morals.\n\n_School of Locke._--In England, the school of _Locke_ have much to\nsay of beauty. Shaftesbury and Hutcheson, while they do not clearly\ndistinguish between the beautiful and the good, adopt the theory of\nunity in variety, as already explained. Hogarth falls into the same\nclass, his idea of beauty being represented by the waving line. Burke\ndoes not distinguish sufficiently between the sublime and the terrible.\n\n_French Encyclopedists._--In France, the _Encyclopedists_ coincide,\nessentially, with the school of Locke, and treat of the beautiful,\nchiefly in its moral aspect.\n\n_The later Germans._--In Germany, again, _Winckelman_, an artist, and\nnot a philosopher, seizing the spirit of the Greek art, ascribes, as\nPlato had done, the idea of beauty to God, from whom it passes into\nsensible things, as his manifestations.\n\nIn opposition to this ideal and divine aspect, _Lessing_ takes a more\npractical view, regarding the beautiful from the stand-point of the\n_real_. _Herder_ and _Goethe_ contribute, also, much to the science of\n\u00e6sthetics. All these do little more than prepare the way for _Kant_,\nwho goes more profoundly into the philosophy of the matter. He makes\nbeauty a _subjective_ affair, a play of the imagination.\n\n_Schiller_ makes it the joint product of the reason and the\nsensibility, but still a _subjective_ matter, as Kant.\n\n_Schelling and Hegel._--_Schelling_ develops the spiritual or ideal\ntheory of beauty. _Hegel_ carries out this theory and makes a complete\nscience of it, classifies and analyzes the arts. His work is regarded\nas the first complete discussion of the philosophy of the fine arts.\nIt is characterized by strength, clearness, depth, power of analysis,\nrichness of imagination.\n\n_Theory of Jouffroy._--_Jouffroy_, in France, among the later writers,\nhas treated fully, and in an admirable manner, of the philosophy\nof the beautiful. His theory is derived from that of Hegel, with\nsome modifications. It is essentially the theory last presented in\nthe discussion of the subject in the preceding section, viz., the\nexpression of the spiritual or invisible element under sensible forms.\nNo writer is more worthy of study than Jouffroy. His work is clear,\nstrong, and of admirable power of analysis.\n\n_Cousin._--Among the eclectics, _Cousin_, in his treatise on the true,\nthe beautiful, and the good, has many just observations, with much\nbeauty and philosophic clearness of expression.\n\n_McDermot._--In English, beside the works already referred to, must be\nnoticed the treatise of _McDermot_ on Taste, in which the nature and\nobjects of taste are fully and well discussed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nIDEA AND COGNIZANCE OF THE RIGHT.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--IDEA OF RIGHT.\n\n_The Idea of Right a Conception of the Mind._--Among the conceptions\nwhich constitute the furniture of the mind, there is one, which, in\nmany respects, is unlike all others, while, at the same time, it is\nmore important than all others; that is, the notion or idea of _right_.\n\n_Universally prevalent._--When we direct our attention to any given\ninstance of the voluntary action of any intelligent rational being,\nwe find ourselves not unfrequently pronouncing upon its character as\na _right_ or _wrong_ act. Especially is this the case when the act\ncontemplated is of a marked and unusual character. The question at once\narises, is it right? Or, it may be, without the consciousness of even a\nquestion respecting it, our decision follows instantly upon the mental\napprehension of the act itself--this thing is right, that thing is\nwrong. Our decision may be correct or incorrect; our perception of the\nreal nature of the act may be clear or obscure; it may make a stronger\nor weaker impression on the mind, according to our mental habits, the\ntone of our mental nature, and the degree to which we have cultivated\nthe moral faculty. There may be minds so degraded, and natures so\nperverted, that the moral character of an act shall be quite mistaken,\nor quite overlooked in many cases; or, when perceived, it shall make\nlittle impression on them. Even in such minds, however, the _idea_ of\nright and wrong still finds a place, and the understanding applies\nit, though not perhaps always correctly, to particular instances of\nhuman conduct. There is no reason to believe that any mind possessing\nordinary endowments, that degree of reason and intelligence which\nnature usually bestows, is destitute of this idea, or fails altogether\nto apply it to its own acts, and those of others.\n\n_The Question and its different Answers._--But here an important\nquestion presents itself: _Whence come_ these ideas and perceptions;\ntheir origin? How is it, why is it, that we pronounce an act right or\nwrong, when once fairly apprehended? How come we by these notions? The\nfact is admitted; the explanations vary. By one class of writers our\nideas of this nature have been ascribed to _education_ and _fashion_;\nby another, to _legal restriction_, human or divine. Others, again,\nviewing these ideas as the offspring of nature, have assigned them\neither to the operation of a _special sense_, given for this specific\npurpose, as the eye for vision; or to the joint action of certain\nassociated emotions; while others regard them as originating in an\nexercise of _judgment_, and others still, as _natural intuitions_ of\nthe mind, or reason exercised on subjects of a moral nature.\n\n_Main Question._--The main question is, are these ideas _natural_,\nor _artificial and acquired_? If the latter, are they the result\nof education, or of legal restraint? If the former, are they to be\nreferred to the _sensibilities_, as the result of a special sense or\nof association, or to the _intellect_, as the result of the faculty of\njudgment or as intuitions of reason?\n\n1. _Education._--Come they from _Education and Imitation?_--So Locke,\nPaley, and others, have supposed. Locke was led to take this view, by\ntracing, as he did, all simple ideas, except those of our own mental\noperations, to sensation, as their source. This allows, of course,\nno place for the ideas of right and wrong, which, accordingly, he\nconcluded, cannot be natural ideas, but must be the result of education.\n\n_Objection to this View._--Now it is to be conceded that education\nand fashion are powerful instruments in the culture of the mind.\nTheir influence is not to be overlooked in estimating the causes that\nshape and direct the opinions of men, and the tendencies of an age.\nBut they do not account for the _origin_ of any thing. This has been\nably and clearly shown by Dugald Stewart, in answer to Locke; and it\nis a sufficient answer. Education and imitation both _presuppose_\nthe existence of moral ideas and distinctions; the very things to be\naccounted for. How came they who first taught these distinctions, and\nthey who first set the example of making such distinctions, to be\nthemselves in possession of these ideas? Whence did _they_ derive them?\nWho taught _them_, and set _them_ the example? This is a question not\nanswered by the theory now under consideration. It gives us, therefore,\nand can give us, no account of the origin of the ideas in question.\n\n2. _Legal Enactment._--Do we then derive these ideas from legal\n_restriction and enactment_? So teach some able writers. Laws are made,\nhuman and divine, requiring us to do thus and thus, and forbidding such\nand such things, and hence we get our ideas originally of right and\nwrong.\n\n_Presupposes Right._--If this be so, then, previous to all law, there\ncould have been no such ideas, of course. But does not law _presuppose_\nthe idea of right and wrong? Is it not built on that idea as its basis?\nHow, then, can it originate that on which itself depends, and which it\npresupposes? The first law ever promulgated must have been either a\njust or an unjust law, or else of no moral character. If the latter,\nhow could a law which was neither just nor unjust, have suggested to\nthe subjects of it any such ideas? If the former, then these qualities,\nand the ideas of them, must have existed _prior_ to the law itself; and\nwhoever made the law and conferred on it its character, must have had\nalready, in his own mind, the idea of the right and its opposite. It is\nevident that we cannot, in this way, account for the _origin_ of the\nideas in question. We are no nearer the solution of the problem than\nbefore.\n\nIn opposition to the views now considered, we must regard the ideas\nin question, as, directly or indirectly, the work of nature, and the\nresult of our constitution. The question still remains, however, in\nwhich of the several ways indicated, does this result take place?\n\n3. _Special Sense._--Shall we attribute these ideas to a _special\nsense_? This is the view taken by Hutcheson and his followers.\nAscribing, with Locke, all our simple ideas to sensation, but not\ncontent with Locke's theory of moral distinctions as the result of\neducation, he sought to account for them by enlarging the sphere of\nsensation, and introducing a new sense, whose specific office is to\ntake cognizance of such distinctions. The tendency of this theory is\nevident. While it derives the idea of right and its opposite from\nour natural constitution, and is, so far, preferable to either of\nthe preceding theories, still, in assigning them a place among the\nsensibilities, it seems to make morality a mere _sentiment_, a matter\nof feeling merely, an impression made on our sentient nature--a\nmere subjective affair--as color and taste are impressions made on\nour organs of sense, and not properly qualities of bodies. As these\naffections of the sense do not exist independently, but only relatively\nto us, so moral distinctions, according to this view, are merely\nsubjective affections of our minds, and not independent realities.\n\n_Hume and the Sophists._--Hume accedes to this general view, and\ncarries it out to its legitimate results, making morality a mere\nrelation between our nature and certain objects, and not an independent\nquality of actions. Virtue and vice, like color and taste, the bright\nand the dull, the sweet and the bitter, lie merely in our sensations.\n\nThese skeptical views had been advanced long previously by the\nSophists, who taught that man is the measure of all things, that things\nare only what they seem to us.\n\n_Ambiguity of the term Sense._--It is true, as Stewart has observed,\nthat these views do not necessarily result from Hutcheson's theory,\nnor were they, probably, held by him; but such is the natural tendency\nof his doctrine. The term _sense_, as employed by him, is, in itself,\nambiguous, and may be used to denote a _mental perception_; but when\nwe speak of _a_ sense, we are understood to refer to that part of\nour constitution which, when affected from without, gives us certain\nsensations. Thus the sense of hearing, the sense of vision, the sense\nof taste, of smell, etc. It is in this way that Hutcheson seems to have\nemployed the term, and his illustrations all point in this direction.\nHe was unfortunate, to say the least, in his use of terms, and in his\nillustrations; unfortunate, also, in having such a disciple as Hume, to\npush his theory to its legitimate results.\n\nIf, by a special sense, he meant only a direct perceptive power of\nthe mind, then, doubtless, Hutcheson is right in recognizing such a\nfaculty, and attributing to it the ideas under consideration. But\nthat is not the proper meaning of the word _sense_, nor is that the\nsignification attached to it by his followers.\n\n_No Evidence of such a Faculty._--But if he means, by sense, what the\nword itself would indicate, some adaptation of the sensibilities to\nreceive impressions from things without, analogous to that by which we\nare affected through the organs of sense, then, in the first place,\nit is not true that we have any such special faculty. There is no\nevidence of it; nay, facts contradict it. There is no such _uniformity_\nof moral impression or sensation as ought to manifest itself on this\nsupposition. Men's eyes and ears are much alike, in their activity,\nthe world over. That which is white, or red, to one, is not black to\nanother, or green to a third; that which is sweet to one, is not sour,\nor bitter, to another. At least, if such variations occur, they are\nthe result only of some unnatural and unusual condition of the organs.\nBut it is otherwise with the operation of the so-called special sense.\nWhile all men have probably, some idea of right and wrong, there\nis the greatest possible variety in its application to particular\ninstances of conduct. What one approves as a virtue, another condemns\nas a crime.\n\n_No Need of it._--Nor, secondly, have we any need to call in the aid\nof a special sense to give us ideas of this kind. It is not true, as\nLocke and Hutcheson believed, that all our ideas, except those of our\nown mental operations, or consciousness, are derived ultimately from\nsensation. We have ideas of the true and the beautiful, ideas of cause\nand effect, of geometrical and arithmetical relations, and various\nother ideas, which it would be difficult to trace to the senses as\ntheir source; and which, equally with the ideas of right and wrong,\nwould require, in that case, a special sense for their production.\n\n4. _Association._--Shall we, then, adopt the view of that class of\nethical writers who account for the origin of these ideas by _the\nprinciple of association_? Such men as Hartley, Mill, Mackintosh, and\nothers of that stamp, are not lightly to be set aside in the discussion\nof such a question. Their view is, that the moral perceptions are the\nresult of certain combined antecedent emotions, such as gratitude,\npity, resentment, etc., which relate to the dispositions and actions\nof voluntary agents, and which very easily and naturally come to\nbe transferred, from the agent himself, to the action in itself\nconsidered, or to the disposition which prompted it; forming, when\nthus transferred and associated, what we call the moral feelings and\nperceptions. Just as avarice arises from the original desire, not of\nmoney, but of the things which money can procure--which desire comes,\neventually, to be transferred, from the objects themselves, to the\nmeans and instrument of procuring them--and, as sympathy arises from\nthe transfer to others of the feelings which, in like circumstances,\nagitate our own bosoms, so, in like manner, by the principle of\nassociation, the feelings which naturally arise in view of the conduct\nof others, are transferred from the agent to the act, from the enemy\nor the benefactor, to the injury or the benefaction, which acts stand\nafterward, by themselves, as objects of approval or condemnation. Hence\nthe disposition to approve all benevolent acts, and to condemn the\nopposite; which disposition, thus formed and transferred, is a part of\nconscience. So of other elementary emotions.\n\n_Makes Conscience a mere Sentiment._--It will be perceived that this\ntheory, which is indebted chiefly to Mackintosh for its completeness,\nand scientific form, makes conscience wholly a matter of sentiment\nand feeling; standing in this respect, on the same ground with the\ntheory of a special sense, and liable, in part, to the same objections.\nHence the name _sentimental_ school, often employed to designate,\ncollectively, the adherents of each of these views. While the theory,\nnow proposed, might seem then to offer a plausible account of the\nmanner in which our moral _sentiments_ arise, it does not account for\nthe origin of our _ideas_ and _perceptions_ of moral rectitude. Now\nthe moral faculty is not a mere sentiment. There is an intellectual\nperception of one thing as right, and another as wrong; and the\nquestion now before us is, Whence comes that perception, and the\nidea on which it is based? To resolve the whole matter into certain\ntransferred and associated emotions, is to give up the inherent\ndistinction of right and wrong as qualities of actions, and make virtue\nand vice creations of the sensibility, the play and product of the\nexcited feelings. To admit the perception and idea of the right, and\nascribe their origin to antecedent emotion, is, moreover, to reverse\nthe natural order and law of psychological operation, which bases\nemotion on perception, and not perception on emotion. We do not first\nadmire, love, hate, and then perceive, but the reverse.\n\n_Further Objections._--The view now under consideration, while it seems\nto resolve the moral faculty into mere feeling, thus making morality\nwholly a relative affair, makes conscience, itself, an acquired,\nrather than a natural faculty, a secondary process, a transformation\nof emotions, rather than itself an original principle. It does it,\nmoreover, the further injustice of deriving its origin from the purely\n_selfish_ principles of our nature. I receive a favor, or an injury;\nhence I regard, with certain feelings of complacency, or the opposite,\nthe man who has thus treated me. These feelings I come gradually to\ntransfer to, and associate with, the act in itself considered, and this\nwith other acts of the same nature; and so, at last, I come to have a\nmoral faculty, and pronounce one thing right, and another wrong.\n\n_At Variance with Facts._--This view is quite inadmissible; at\nvariance with facts, and the well-known laws of the human mind. The\nmoral faculty is one of the earliest to develop itself. It appears\nin childhood, manifesting itself, not as an acquired and secondary\nprinciple, the result of a complicated process of associated and\ntransferred emotion, requiring time for its gradual formation and\ngrowth, but rather as an original instinctive principle of nature.\n\n_Sympathy._--Adam Smith, in his \"Theory of Moral Sentiments,\" has\nproposed a view which falls properly under the general theory of\nassociation, and may be regarded as a modification of it. He attributes\nour moral perceptions to the feeling of _sympathy_. To adopt the\nfeelings of another is to approve them. If those feelings are such as\nwould naturally be awakened in us by the same objects, we approve them\nas morally proper. Sympathy with the gratitude of one who has received\na favor, leads us to regard the benefaction as meritorious. Sympathy\nwith the resentment of an injured man, leads us to regard the injurer\nas worthy of punishment, and so the sense of demerit originates;\nsympathy with the feelings of others respecting our own conduct gives\nrise to self-approval and sense of duty. Rules of morality are merely a\nsummary of these sentiments.\n\n_This View not sustained by Consciousness._--Whatever credit may be\ndue to this ingenious writer, for calling attention to a principle\nwhich had not been sufficiently taken into account by preceding\nphilosophers, we cannot but regard it as an insufficient explanation\nof the present case. In the first place, we are not _conscious_ of\nthe element of sympathy in the decisions and perceptions of the moral\nfaculty. We look at a given action of right or wrong, and approve of\nit, or condemn it _on that ground_, because it _is_ right or wrong,\nnot because we sympathize with the feelings awakened by the act in the\nminds of others. If the process now supposed intervened between our\nknowledge of the act, and our judgment of its morality, we should know\nit and recognize it as a distinct element.\n\n_No imperative Character._--Furthermore, sympathy, like other emotions,\nhas no _imperative_ character, and, even if it might be supposed to\nsuggest to the mind some idea of moral distinctions, cannot of itself\nfurnish a foundation for those feelings of _obligation_ which accompany\nand characterize the decisions of the moral faculty.\n\n_The Standard of Right._--But more than this, the view now taken\nmakes the standard of right and wrong _variable_, and dependent on\nthe feelings of men. We must know how others think and feel, how the\nthing affects them, before we can know whether a given act is right or\nwrong, to be performed or avoided. And then, furthermore, our feelings\nmust agree with theirs; there must be sympathy and harmony of views\nand feelings, else the result will not follow. If any thing prevents\nus from knowing what are the feelings of others with respect to a\ngiven course of conduct, or if for any reason we fail to sympathize\nwith those feelings, we can have no conscience in the matter. As those\nfeelings vary, so will our moral perceptions vary. We have no fixed\nstandard. There is no place left for right, as such, and absolutely. If\nno sympathy, then no duty, no right, no morality.\n\n_Result of the preceding Inquiries._--We have, as yet, found no\nsatisfactory explanation of the origin of our moral ideas and\nperceptions. They seem not to be the result of education and\nimitation, nor yet of legal enactment. They seem to be natural, rather\nthan artificial and acquired. Yet we cannot trace them to the action\nof the sensitive part of our nature. They are not the product of a\nspecial sense, nor yet of the combined and associated action of certain\nnatural emotions, much less of any one emotion, as sympathy. And yet\nthey are a part of our nature. Place man where you will, surround him\nwith what influences you will, you still find in him, to some extent\nat least, indications of a moral nature; a nature modified, indeed, by\ncircumstances, but never wholly obliterated. Evidently we must refer\nthe ideas in question, then, to the intellectual, since they do not\nbelong to the sensitive part of our nature.\n\n5. _Judgment._--Are they then the product and operation of the faculty\nof judgment? But the judgment does not _originate_ ideas. It compares,\ndistributes, estimates, decides to what class and category a thing\nbelongs, but creates nothing. I have in mind the idea of a triangle,\na circle, etc. So soon as certain figures are presented to the eye,\nI refer them at once, by an act of judgment, to the class to which\nthey belong. I affirm that to be a triangle, this, a circle, etc.;\nthe judgment does this. But judgment does not furnish my mind with\nthe primary idea of a circle, etc. It deals with this idea already in\nthe mind. So in our judgment of the beauty and deformity of objects.\nThe perception that a landscape or painting is beautiful, is, in one\nsense, an act of judgment; but it is an act which presupposes the idea\nof the beautiful already in the mind that so judges. So also of moral\ndistinctions. Whence comes the _idea_ of right and wrong which lies at\nthe foundation of every particular judgment as to the moral character\nof actions? This is the question before us, still unanswered; and to\nthis there remains but one reply.\n\n6. _These Ideas intuitive._--The ideas in question are _intuitive_;\nsuggestions or perceptions of _reason_. The view now proposed may be\nthus stated: It is the office of reason to discern the right and\nthe wrong, as well as the true and the false, the beautiful and the\nreverse. Regarded subjectively, as conceptions of the human mind,\nright and wrong, as well as beauty and its opposite, truth and its\nopposite, are simple ideas, incapable of analysis or definition;\n_intuitions of reason_. Regarded as objective, right and wrong are\nrealities, qualities absolute, and inherent in the nature of things,\nnot fictitious, not the play of human fancy or human feeling, not\nrelative merely to the human mind, but independent, essential,\nuniversal, absolute. As such, reason recognizes their existence.\nJudgment decides that such and such actions do possess the one or the\nother of these qualities; are right or wrong actions. There follows\nthe sense of obligation to do or not to do, and the consciousness of\nmerit or demerit as we comply, or fail to comply, with the same. In\nview of these perceptions emotions arise, but only as based upon them.\nThe emotions do not, as the sentimental school affirm, originate the\nidea, the perception; but the idea, the perception, gives rise to the\nemotion. We are so constituted as to feel certain emotions in view of\nthe moral quality of actions, but the idea and perception of that moral\nquality must _precede_, and it is the office of reason to produce this.\n\n_First Truths._--There are certain simple ideas which must be regarded\nas first truths, or first principles, of the human understanding,\nessential to its operations, ideas universal, absolute, necessary. Such\nare the ideas of personal existence, and identity, of time and space,\nas conditions of material existence; of number, cause, and mathematical\nrelation. Into this class fall the ideas of the true, the beautiful,\nthe right, and their opposites. The fundamental maxims of reasoning and\nmorals find here their place.\n\n_How awakened._--These are, in a sense, intuitive perceptions; not\nstrictly innate, yet connate; the foundation for them being laid in our\nnature and constitution. So soon as the mind reaches a certain stage\nof development they present themselves. Circumstances may promote\nor retard their appearance. They depend on opportunity to furnish\nthe occasion of their springing up, yet they are, nevertheless, the\nnatural, spontaneous development of the human soul, as really a part\nof our nature as are any of our instinctive impulses, or our mental\nattributes. They are a part of that native intelligence with which we\nare endowed by the author of our being. These intuitions of ours, are\nnot themselves the foundation of right and wrong; they do not make one\nthing right and another wrong; but they are simply the reason why we so\nregard them. Such we believe to be the true account of the origin of\nour moral perceptions.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--COGNIZANCE OF THE RIGHT.\n\n_The Cognition distinguished from the Idea of Right._--Having, in\nthe preceding section, discussed the _idea_ of the right, in itself\nconsidered, as a conception of the mind, we proceed now to consider\n_the action of the mind as cognizant of right_. The theme is one of no\nlittle difficulty, but, at the same time, of highest importance.\n\n_Existence of this Power._--After what has been already said, it\nis hardly necessary to raise the preliminary inquiry, as to the\n_existence_ of a moral faculty in man. That we do possess the power of\nmaking moral distinctions, that we do discriminate between the right\nand the wrong in human conduct, is an obvious fact in the history\nand psychology of the race. Consciousness, observation, the form of\nlanguage, the literature of the world, the usages of society, all\nattest and confirm this truth. We are conscious of the operation of\nthis principle in ourselves, whenever we contemplate our own conduct,\nor that of others. We find ourselves, involuntarily, and as by\ninstinct, pronouncing this act to be right, that, wrong. We recognize\nthe obligation to do, or to have done, otherwise. We approve, or\ncondemn. We are sustained by the calm sense of that self-approval,\nor cast down by the fearful strength and bitterness of that remorse.\nAnd what we find in ourselves, we observe, also, in others. In like\ncircumstances, they recognize the same distinctions, and exhibit the\nsame emotions. At the story or the sight of some flagrant injustice\nand wrong, the child and the savage are not less indignant than the\nphilosopher. Nor is this a matter peculiar to one age or people. The\nlanguages and the literature of the world indicate, that, at all\ntimes, and among all nations, the distinction between right and wrong\nhas been recognized and felt. The [Greek: to dikaion] and [Greek: to\nkalon] of the Greeks, the _honestum_ and the _pulchrum_ of the Latins,\nare specimens of a class of words, to be found in all languages, the\nproper use and significance of which is to express the distinctions in\nquestion.\n\nSince, then, we do unquestionably recognize moral distinctions, it is\nclear that we have a moral faculty.\n\n_Questions which present themselves._--Without further consideration of\nthis point, we pass at once to the investigation of the subject itself.\nOur inquiries relate principally to the _nature_ and _authority_ of\nthis faculty. On these points, it is hardly necessary to say, great\ndifference of opinion has existed among philosophers and theologians,\nand grave questions have arisen. What _is_ this faculty as exercised; a\njudgment, a process of reasoning, or an emotion? Does it belong to the\nrational or sensitive part of our nature: to the domain of intellect,\nor of feeling, or both? What is the value and correctness of our\nmoral perceptions, and especially of that verdict of _approbation_ or\n_censure_, which we pass upon ourselves and others, according as the\nconduct conforms to, or violates, recognized obligation? Such are some\nof the questions which have arisen respecting the nature and authority\nof conscience.\n\nI. _The Nature of Conscience._--What is it? A matter of _intellect_, or\nof _feeling_; a _judgment_, or an _emotion_?\n\nA careful analysis of the phenomena of conscience, with a view to\ndetermine the several elements, or mental processes, that constitute\nits operation, may aid us in the solution of this question.\n\n\nANALYSIS OF AN ACT OF CONSCIENCE.\n\n_Cognition of Right._--Whenever the conduct of intelligent and rational\nbeings is made the subject of contemplation, whether the act thus\ncontemplated be our own or another's, and whether it be an act already\nperformed, or only proposed, we are cognizant of certain ideas awakened\nin the mind, and of certain impressions made upon it. First of all,\nthe act contemplated strikes us as _right_ or _wrong_. This involves\na double element, an _idea_, and a _perception_ or _judgment_. The\n_idea_ of right and its opposite are, in the mind, simple ideas, and,\ntherefore, indefinable. In the act contemplated, we _recognize_ the one\nor the other of these simple elements, and pronounce it, accordingly,\na right or wrong act. This is simply a _judgment_, a perception, an\nexercise of the understanding.\n\n_Of Obligation._--No sooner is this idea, this cognition, of the\nrightness or wrongness of the given act, fairly entertained by\nthe mind, than another idea, another cognition, presents itself,\ngiven along with the former, and inseparable from it, viz., that of\n_obligation_ to do, or not to do, the given act: the _ought_, and\nthe _ought not_--also simple ideas, and indefinable. This applies\nequally to the future and to the past, to ourselves and to others:\nI ought to do this thing. I ought to _have done_ it yesterday. He\nought, or ought not to do, or to have done it. This, like the former,\nis an intellectual act, a perception or cognition of a truth, of a\nreality for which we have the same voucher as for any other reality\nor apprehended fact, viz., the reliability of our mental faculties\nin general, and the correctness of their operation in the specific\ninstance. It is a conviction of the mind inseparable from the\nperception of right. Given, a clear perception of the one, and we\ncannot escape the other.\n\n_Of Merit and Demerit._--There follows a third element, logically\ndistinct, but chronologically inseparable, from the preceding: the\ncognition of merit or demerit in connection with the deed, of good\nor ill desert, and the consequent approval or disapproval of the\ndeed and the doer. No sooner do we perceive an action to be right\nor wrong, and to involve, therefore, an obligation on the part of\nthe doer, than, there arises, also, in the mind, the idea of merit\nor demerit, in connection with the doing; we regard the agent as\ndeserving of praise or blame, and in our own minds do approve or\ncondemn him and his course, accordingly. This approval of ourselves\nand others, according to the apprehended desert of the act and the\nactor, constitutes a process of trial, an inner tribunal, at whose bar\nare constantly arraigned the deeds of men, and whose verdict it is no\neasy matter to set aside. This mental approval may be regarded by some\nas a matter of feeling, rather than an intellectual act. We speak of\n_feelings_ of approval and of condemnation. To approve and condemn,\nhowever, are, properly, acts of the judgment. The feelings consequent\nupon such approval or disapproval are usually of such a nature, and\nof such strength, as to attract the principal attention of the mind\nto themselves, and, hence, we naturally come to think and speak of\nthe whole process as a matter of feeling. Strictly viewed, it is an\nintellectual perception, an exercise of judgment, giving sentence that\nthe contemplated act is, or is not, meritorious, and awarding praise or\nblame accordingly.\n\nThis completes the process. I can discover nothing in the operation of\nmy mind, in view of moral action, which does not resolve itself into\nsome one of these elements.\n\n_These Elements intellectual._--Viewed in themselves, these are,\nstrictly, intellectual operations; the recognition of the right, the\nrecognition of obligation, the perception of good or ill desert, are\nall, properly, acts of the intellect. Each of these cognitive acts,\nhowever, _involves a corresponding action of the sensibilities_. The\nperception of the right awakens, in the pure and virtuous mind,\nfeelings of pleasure, admiration, love. The idea of obligation becomes,\nin its turn, through the awakened sensibilities, an impulse and motive\nto action. The recognition of good or ill desert awakens feelings of\nesteem and complacency, or the reverse; fills the soul with sweet\npeace, or stings it with sharp remorse. All these things must be\nrecognized and included by the psychologist among the phenomena of\nconscience. These emotions, however, are based on, and grow out of, the\nintellectual acts already named, and are to be viewed as an incidental\nand subordinate, though by no means unimportant, part of the whole\nprocess. When we speak of conscience, or the moral faculty, we speak of\na _power_, a faculty and not _merely_ a feeling or susceptibility of\nbeing affected. It is a cognitive power, having to do with realities,\nrecognizing real distinctions, and not merely a passive play of the\nsensibilities. It is simply the mind's power of recognizing a certain\nclass of truths and relations. As such, we claim for it a place among\nthe strictly cognitive powers of the mind, among the faculties that\nhave to do with the perception of truth and reality.\n\n_Importance of this Position._--This is a point of some importance.\nIf, with certain writers, we make the moral faculty a matter of mere\nfeeling, overlooking the intellectual perceptions on which this\nfeeling is based, we overlook and leave out of the account, the chief\nelements of the process. The moral faculty is no longer a cognitive\npower, no longer, in truth, a faculty. The distinctions which it\nseems to recognize are merely _subjective_; impressions, feelings,\nto which there may, or may not, be a corresponding reality. We have\nat least no evidence of any such reality. Such a view subtracts the\nvery foundation of morals. Our feelings vary; but right and wrong do\nnot vary with our feelings. They are objective realities, and not\nsubjective phenomena. As such, the mind, by virtue of the natural\npowers with which it is endowed by the Creator, recognizes them. The\npower by which it gives this, we call the _moral faculty_; just as\nwe call its power to take cognizance of another class of truths and\nrelations, viz., the beautiful, its _\u00e6sthetic_ faculty. In view of\nthese truths and relations, as thus perceived, certain feelings are,\nin either case, awakened, and these emotions may, with propriety, be\nregarded as pertaining to, and a part of, the phenomena of conscience,\nand of taste; the full discussion of either of these faculties will\ninclude the action of the sensibilities; but in neither case will a\ntrue psychology resolve the faculty into the feeling. The mathematician\nexperiences a certain feeling of delight in perceiving the relation\nof lines and angles, but the power of perceiving that relation, the\nfaculty by which the mind takes cognizance of such truth, is not to be\nresolved into the feeling that results from it.\n\n_Result of Analysis._--As the result of our analysis, we obtain the\nfollowing elements as involved in, and constituting, an operation of\nthe moral faculty:\n\n(1.) The mental perception that a given act is right or wrong.\n\n(2.) The perception of obligation with respect to the same, as right or\nwrong.\n\n(3.) The perception of merit or demerit, and the consequent approbation\nor censure of the agent, as doing the right or the wrong thus perceived.\n\n(4.) Accompanying these intellectual perceptions, and based upon them,\ncertain corresponding emotions, varying in intensity according to the\nclearness of the mental perceptions, and the purity of the moral nature.\n\nII. _Authority of Conscience._--Thus far we have considered\nthe _nature_ of conscience. The question arises now as to its\n_authority_--the reliableness of its decisions.\n\nIf conscience correctly discerns the right and the wrong and the\nconsequent obligation, it will be likely to judge correctly as to the\ndeserts of the doer. If it mistake these points, it may approve what is\nnot worthy of approval, and condemn what is good.\n\n_What Evidence of Correctness._--How are we to know, then, whether\nconscience judges right? What voucher have we for its correctness?\nHow far is it to be trusted in its perceptions and decisions? Perhaps\nwe are so constituted, it may be said, as invariably to judge that to\nbe right which is wrong, and the reverse, and so to approve where we\nshould condemn. True, we reply, this may be so. It may be that I am so\nconstituted, that two and two shall _seem_ to be four, when in reality\nthey are five; and that the three angles of a triangle shall _seem_ to\nbe equal to two right angles, when in reality they are equal to three.\nThis may be so. Still it is a presumption in favor of the correctness\nof all our natural perceptions, that they are the operation of original\nprinciples of our constitution. It is not probable, to say the least,\nthat we are so constituted by the great Author of our being, as to be\nhabitually deceived. It may be that the organs of vision and hearing\nare absolutely false; that the things which we see, and hear, and\nfeel, through the medium of the senses, have no correspondence to our\nsupposed perceptions. But this is not a probable supposition. He who\ndenies the validity of the natural faculties, has the burden of proof;\nand proof is of course impossible; for the simple reason, that, in\norder to prove them false, you must make use of these very faculties;\nand if their testimony is not reliable in the one case, certainly it\nis not in the other. We must then take their veracity for granted; and\nwe have the right to do so. And so of our moral nature. It comes from\nthe Author of our being, and if it is uniformly and originally wrong,\nthen he is wrong. It is an error, which, in the nature of the case, can\nnever be detected or corrected. We cannot get beyond our constitution,\nback of our natural endowments, to judge, _\u00e0 priori_, and from an\nexternal position, whether they are correct or not. Right and wrong are\nnot, indeed, the creations of the divine will; but the faculties by\nwhich we perceive and approve the right, and condemn the wrong, are\nfrom him; and we must presume upon their general correctness.\n\n_Not infallible._--It does not follow from this, however, nor do we\naffirm, that conscience is infallible, that she never errs. It does\nnot follow that our moral perceptions and judgments are invariably\ncorrect, because they spring from our native constitution. This is not\nso. There is not one of the faculties of the human mind that is not\nliable to err. Not one of its activities is infallible. The reasoning\npower sometimes errs; the judgment errs; the memory errs. The moral\nfaculty is on the same footing, in this respect, with any and all other\nfaculties.\n\n_Its Value not thus destroyed._--But of what use, it will be said, is\na moral faculty, on which, after all, we cannot rely? Of what use, we\nreply, is _any_ mental faculty, that is not absolutely and universally\ncorrect? Of what use is a memory or a judgment, that sometimes errs?\nWe do not wholly distrust these faculties, or cast them aside as\nworthless. A time-keeper may be of great value, though not absolutely\nperfect. Its authorship and original construction may be a strong\npresumption in favor of its general correctness; nevertheless its hands\nmay have been accidentally set to the wrong hour of the day.\n\n_Actual Occurrence of such Cases._--This is a spectacle that not\nunfrequently presents itself in the moral world--a man with his\nconscience pointing to the wrong hour; a strictly conscientious man,\nfully and firmly persuaded that he is right, yet by no means agreeing\nwith the general convictions of mankind; an hour or two before, or, it\nmay be, as much behind the age. Such men are the hardest of all mortals\nto be set right, for the simple reason, that they are conscientious.\n\"Here is my watch; it points to such an hour; and my watch is from the\nvery best maker. I cannot be mistaken.\" And yet he is mistaken, and\negregiously so. The truth is, conscience is no more infallible than\nany other mental faculty. It is simply, as we have seen, a power of\nperceiving and judging, and its operations, like all other perceptions\nand judgments, are liable to error.\n\n_Diversity of Moral Judgment._--And this which we have just said, goes\nfar to account for the great diversity that has long been known to\nexist in the moral judgments and opinions of men. It has often been\nurged, and with great force, against the supposed existence of a moral\nfaculty in man, as a part of his original nature, that men think and\nact so differently with respect to these matters. Nature, it is said,\nought to act uniformly; thus eyes and ears do not give essentially\nconflicting testimony, at different times, and in different countries,\nwith respect to the same objects. Certain colors are universally\npleasing, and certain sounds disagreeable. But not so, it is said,\nwith respect to the moral judgments of men. What one approves, another\ncondemns. If these distinctions are universal, absolute, essential; and\nif the power of perceiving them is inherent in our nature, men ought to\nagree in their perception of them. Yet you will find nothing approved\nby one age and people, which is not condemned by some other; nay, the\nvery crimes of one age and nation, are the religious acts of another.\nIf the perception of right and wrong is intuitive, how happens this\ndiversity?\n\n_This Diversity accounted for._--To which I reply, the thing has been\nalready accounted for. Our ideas of right and wrong, it was stated,\nin discussing their origin, depend on circumstances for their time\nand degree of development. They are not irrespective of opportunity.\nEducation, habits, laws, customs, while they do not originate, still\nhave much to do with the development and modification of these\nideas. They may be by these influences aided or retarded in their\ngrowth, or even quite misdirected, just as a tree may, by unfavorable\ninfluences, be hindered and thwarted in its growth, be made to turn and\ntwist, and put forth abnormal and monstrous developments. Yet nature\nworks there, nevertheless, and in spite of all such obstacles, and\nunfavorable circumstances, seeks to put forth, according to her laws,\nher perfect and finished work. All that we contend is, that nature,\nunder favorable circumstances, develops in the human mind, the idea of\nmoral distinctions, while, at the same time, _men may differ much in\ntheir estimate of what is right, and what is wrong_, according to the\ncircumstances and influences right and wrong to particular cases, and\ndecide as to the morality of given actions, is an office of judgment,\nand the judgment may err in this, as in any other of its operations.\nIt may be biassed by unfavorable influences, by wrong education, wrong\nhabits, and the like.\n\n_Analogy of other Faculties._--The same is true, substantially, of\nall other natural faculties and their operations. They depend on\ncircumstances for the degree of their development, and the mode of\ntheir action. Hence they are liable to great diversity and frequent\nerror. Perception misleads us as to sensible objects, not seldom; even\nin their mathematical reasonings, men do not always agree. There is\nthe greatest possible diversity among men, as to the retentiveness of\nthe memory, and as to the extent and power of the reasoning faculties.\nThe savage that thinks it no wrong to scalp his enemy, or even to\nroast and eat him, is utterly unable to count twenty upon his fingers;\nwhile the philosopher, who recognizes the duty of loving his neighbor\nas himself, calculates, with precision, the motions of the heavenly\nbodies, and predicts their place in the heaven, for ages to come. Shall\nwe conclude, because of this diversity, that these several faculties\nare not parts of our nature?\n\n_General Uniformity._--We are by no means disposed to admit, however,\nthat the diversity in men's moral judgments is so great, as might, at\nfirst, appear. There is, on the contrary, a general uniformity. As to\nthe great essential principles of morals, men, after all, do judge much\nalike, in different ages and different countries. In details, they\ndiffer, in general principles, they agree. In the application of the\nrules of morality to particular actions, they differ widely, according\nto circumstances; in the recognition of the right and the wrong, as\ndistinctive principles, and of obligation to do the right as known, and\navoid the wrong as known, in this they agree. It must be remembered,\nmoreover, that men do not always act according to their own ideas of\nright. From the general neglect of virtue, in any age or community, and\nthe prevalence of great and revolting crimes, we cannot safely infer\nthe absence, or even the perversion, of the moral faculty.\n\n_Precisely in what the Diversity consists._--It is important to bear in\nmind, throughout this discussion, the distinction between the _idea_\nof right, in itself considered, and the _perception_ of a given act\nas right; the one a simple conception, the other an act of judgment;\nthe one an idea derived from the very constitution of the mind,\nconnate, if not innate, the other an application of that idea, by the\nunderstanding, to particular instances of conduct. The former, the\n_idea_ of moral distinctions, may be universal, necessary, absolute,\nunerring; the latter, the _application_ of the idea to particular\ninstances, and the decision that such and such acts are, or are not,\nright, may be altogether an incorrect and mistaken judgment. Now it is\nprecisely at this point that the diversity in the moral judgments of\nmankind makes its appearance. In recognizing the distinction of right\nand wrong, they agree; in the application of the same to particular\ninstances in deciding _what_ is right and _what_ is wrong--a simple act\nof the judgment, an exercise of the understanding, as we have seen--in\nthis it is that they differ. And the difference is no greater, and no\nmore inexplicable, with respect to this, than in any other class of\njudgments.\n\n_Conscience not always a safe Guide._--I have admitted that conscience\nis not infallible. Is it, then, a safe guide? Are we, in all cases to\nfollow its decisions? Since liable to err, it cannot be, in itself, I\nreply, in all cases, a safe guide. We cannot conclude, with certainty,\nthat a given course is right, simply because conscience approves it.\nThis does not, of necessity, follow. The decision that a given act is\nright, or not, is simply a matter of judgment; and the judgment may,\nor may not, be correct. That depends on circumstances, on education\npartly, on the light we have, be it more or less. Conscientious men\nare not always in the right. We may do wrong conscientiously. Saul of\nTarsus was a conscientious persecutor, and verily thought he was doing\nGod service. No doubt, many of the most intolerant and relentless\nbigots have been equally conscientious, and equally mistaken. Such men\nare all the more dangerous, because doing what they believe to be right.\n\n_It is, nevertheless, to be followed._--What, then, are we to do? Shall\nwe follow a guide thus liable to err? Yes, I reply, follow conscience;\nbut see that it be a right and well-informed conscience, forming its\njudgments, not from impulse, passion, prejudice, the bias of habit,\nor of unreflecting custom, but from the clearest light of reason, and\nespecially of the divine word. We are responsible for the judgments we\nform in morals, as much as for any class of our judgments; responsible,\nin other words, for the sort of conscience we have. Saul's mistake lay,\nnot in acting according to his conscientious convictions of duty, but\nin not having a more enlightened conscience. He should have formed a\nmore careful judgment; have inquired more diligently after the right\nway. To say, however, that a man ought not to do what conscience\napproves, is to say that he ought not to do what he sincerely believes\nto be right. This would be a very strange rule in morals.\n\n_Conscience not exclusively intellectual._--I have discussed, as\nI proposed, the _nature_ and _authority_ of conscience. In this\ndiscussion I have treated of the moral faculty as an intellectual,\nrather than an emotional power I would not be understood, however, as\nimplying that conscience has not also an emotional character. Every\nintellectual act, and faculty of action, partakes more or less of this\ncharacter, is accompanied by feeling, and these feelings are in some\ndegree peculiar, it may be, to the particular faculty or act of mind\nto which they relate. The exercise of imagination involves some degree\nof feeling, either pleasurable or painful, and that often in a high\ndegree; so also the \u00e6sthetic faculty. It is peculiarly so with the\nexercise of the moral faculty. As already stated, in our analysis of an\nact of conscience, it is impossible to view our past conduct as right\nor wrong, and to approve or condemn ourselves accordingly, without\nemotion; and these emotions will vary in intensity, according to the\nclearness and force of our intellectual conception of the merit or\ndemerit of our conduct.\n\nThese feelings constitute an important part of the phenomena of moral\naction, and consequently of psychology; as they belong, however, to the\ndepartment of _sensibility_, rather than of _intellect_, their further\ndiscussion is not here in place. They will be considered in connection\nwith other emotions in the subsequent division of the work.\n\n\n\n\nINTELLECTUAL FACULTIES\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY TOPICS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nINSTINCT.--THE INTELLIGENCE OF THE BRUTE AS DISTINGUISHED FROM THAT OF\nMAN.\n\n\nClosely connected with the philosophy of human intelligence is the\nscience of _instinct_, or the intelligence of the brute--a subject of\ninterest not merely in its relations to psychology, but to some other\nsciences, as natural history, and theology.\n\n_We work at a Disadvantage in such Inquiries._--With regard to this\nmatter, it must be confessed, at the outset, that we work, in some\nrespects, in the dark, in our inquiries and speculations concerning it.\nIt lies wholly removed from the sphere of consciousness. We can only\nobserve, compare, and infer, and our conclusions thus derived must be\nliable, after all, to error. The operations of our own minds we know\nby the clearest and surest of all sources of knowledge, viz., our own\nconsciousness; the operation of brute intelligence must ever be in\ngreat measure unknown and a mystery to us. How far the two resemble\neach other, and how far they differ, it is not easy to determine, not\neasy to draw the dividing line, and say where brute intelligence stops\nand human intelligence begins.\n\n_Method proposed._--Let us first define instinct, the term usually\napplied to denote brute intelligence, and ascertain, if possible, what\nare its peculiar characteristics; we may then be able to determine\nwherein it differs from intelligence in man.\n\n_Definition._--I understand, by instinct, a law of action, governing\nand directing the movement of sentient beings--distinct, on the\none hand, from the mere blind forces of matter, as attraction,\netc., and from reason on the other; a law working to a given end by\nimpulse, yet blindly--the subject not knowing why he thus works;\na law innate, inherent in the constitution of the animal, not\nacquired but transmitted, the origin of which is to be found in the\nintelligent author of the universe. These I take to be the principal\ncharacteristics of that which we term instinct.\n\n_Instinct a Law._--It is a _law of action_. In obedience to it the bee\nconstructs her comb, and the ant her chambers, and the bird her nest;\nand in obedience to it, the animal, of whatever species, seeks that\nparticular kind of food which is intended and provided for it. These\nare merely instances of the operation of that law. The uniformity and\nuniversality which characterize the operations of this principle, show\nit to be a law of action, and not a merely casual occurrence.\n\n_Works by Impulse._--It is a law _working by impulse_, not mechanical\nor automatic, on the one hand, nor yet rational on the other. The\nimpelling or motive force, in the case supposed, is not that of a\nweight acting upon machinery, or any like mechanical principle, nor yet\nthe reflex action of a nerve when irritated, or the spasmodic action of\na muscle. It is not analogous to the influence of gravitation on the\npurely passive forms of matter. Nor yet is it that higher principle\nwhich we term reason in man. The bird constructs her nest as she does,\nand the bee her cell, in obedience to some blind yet powerful and\nunfailing _impulse_ of her nature, guiding and directing her movements,\nprompting to action, and to this specific form of action, with a\nrestless yearning, unsatisfied until the end is accomplished. Yet the\ncreature does not herself understand the law by which she works. The\nbee does not know that she constructs her comb at that precise angle\nwhich will afford the greatest content in the least space, does not\nknow why she constructs it at that precise angle, could give no reason\nfor her procedure, even were she capable of understanding our question.\nIt is not with her a matter of reflection, nor of reason, at all, but\nmerely of blind, unthinking, yet unerring impulse.\n\n_As innate._--This law is _innate_, _inherent_ in the constitution of\nthe animal, _not acquired_. It is not the result of education. The\nbird does not learn to build her nest, nor the bee her comb, nor the\nant her subterranean chambers, by observing how the parent works and\nbuilds. Removed from all opportunities of observation or instruction,\nthe untaught animal still performs its mission, constructs its nest or\ncell, and does it as perfectly in solitude as among its fellows, as\nperfectly on the first attempt as ever after. Whatever intelligence\nthere is involved in these labors and constructions, and certainly\nthe very highest intelligence would seem, in many instances, to be\nconcerned in them, is an intelligence transmitted, and not acquired,\nthe origin of which is to be sought, ultimately, not in the creature\nitself, but in the Author of all intelligence, the Creator of the\nuniverse. The intelligence is that not of the creature, but of the\nCreator.\n\n_Manifests itself irrespective of Circumstance._--It is to be further\nobserved, with respect to the principle under consideration, that it\noften manifests its peculiar tendencies prior to the development of\nthe appropriate organs. The young calf butts with its head before its\nhorns are grown. The instinctive impulse manifests itself, also, under\ncircumstances which render its action no longer needful. The beaver\ncaught and confined in a room, constructs its dam, as aforetime,\nwith whatsoever materials it can command, although, in its present\ncircumstances, such a structure is of no possible use. These facts\nevidently indicate the presence and action of an impulse working\nblindly, without reflection, without reason, without intelligence, on\nthe part of the animal.\n\n_Indications of Contrivance._--On the other hand, there are instances\nof brute action which seem to indicate contrivance and adaptation to\ncircumstances. The bee compelled to construct her comb in an unusual\nand unsafe position, steadies it by constructing a brace of wax-work\nbetween the side that inclines and the nearest wall of the hive. The\nspider, in like manner, whose web is in danger, runs a line, from\nthe part exposed to the severest strain or pressure, to the nearest\npoint of support, in such a manner as to secure the slender fabric. A\nbird has been known, in like manner, to support a bough, which proved\ntoo frail to sustain the weight of the nest, and of her young, by\nconnecting it, with a thread, to a stronger branch above.\n\n_These Facts do not prove Reason._--Facts of this nature, however\ninteresting, and well authenticated, must be regarded rather as\nexceptions to the ordinary rule, the nearest approach which mere\ninstinct has been known to make toward the dividing line that separates\nthe brute from the human intelligence. They do not, in themselves,\nprove the existence of reason, of a discriminating and reflecting\nintelligence, on the part of the animal; for the same law of nature\nthat impels the creature to build its nest or its comb, under ordinary\ncircumstances, in the ordinary manner, may certainly be supposed\nto be capable of inducing a change of operation to meet a sudden\nexigency, and one liable at any time to occur. It is certainly not\nmore wonderful, nor so wonderful, that the bee should be induced to\nbrace her comb, or the spider her web, when in danger, as that either\nshould be able to construct her edifice originally, at the precise\nangle employed. It must be remembered, moreover, that, in the great\nmajority of cases, brute instinct shows no such capacity of adaptation\nto circumstances.\n\n_The Question before us._--We are ready now to inquire how far that\nwhich we call instinct in the brute, differs from that which we call\nintelligence in man. Is it a difference in _kind_, or only in _degree_?\nA glance at the history of the doctrine may aid us here.\n\n_Early Views._--From Aristotle to Descartes, philosophers took\nthe latter view. They ascribed to the brute a degree of reason,\nsuch as would be requisite in man, were he to do the same things,\nand proceeding on this principle, they attributed to animals\nan intelligence proportioned to the wants of their nature and\norganization. This principle, it need hardly be said, is an assumption.\nIt is not certain that the same action proceeds from the same principle\nin man, and in the brute; that whatever indicates and involves\nintelligence and reason, in the one case, as its source, involves the\nsame in the other. This is a virtual _petitio principii_. It assumes\nthe very point in question. It may be that what man does by virtue of\nan intelligent, reflecting, rational soul, looking before and after,\nthe brute does by virtue of entirely a different principle, a mere\nunintelligent impulse of his nature, a blind sensation, prompting him\nto a given course. This is the question to be settled, the thing to be\nproved or disproved. And if the view already given of the character of\nbrute instinct, is correct, the position now stated as possible, may be\nregarded as virtually established.\n\n_View of Descartes._--Descartes, perceiving the error of previous\nphilosophers, went to the opposite extreme, and resolved the instinct\nand action of the brute into mere mechanism, a principle little\ndifferent from that by which the weight moves the hands of the clock.\nThe brute performs the functions of his nature and organization, just\nas the puppet moves hither and thither by springs hidden within, of\nwhich itself knows nothing. The bird, the bee, the ant, the spider,\nare so organized, such is the hidden mechanism of their curious\nnature, that at the proper times, and under the requisite conditions,\nthey shall build, each its own proper structure; and perform, each,\nits own proper work and office. So doing, each moves automatically,\nmechanically.\n\n_Locke and his Disciples._--Differing, again, from this view, which\ncertainly ascribes too little, as the opposite theory ascribes too\nmuch to the brute, Locke, Condillac, and their disciples in France\nand England, took the ground that the actions of the brute which seem\nto indicate intelligence, are to be ascribed to the power of habit,\nand to the law of association. The faculties of the brute, as indeed\nof man, resolve themselves ultimately into impressions from without.\nNothing is innate. The dog scents his prey, and the beaver builds his\ndam, and the bird migrates to a warmer clime, from the mere force of\nhabit, unreflecting, unintelligent. But how, it may occur to some one\nto ask, happens such a habit to be formed in the first place? How\nhappens the poor insect, just emerging from the egg, to find in himself\nall requisite appliances and instruments for capturing his prey? How\nhappens the bee always, throughout all its generations, to hit upon the\nsame contrivance for storing its honey, and not only so, but to select\nout of a thousand different forms, and different possible angles,\nalways the same one? And so of the ant, the spider, etc. And if this is\na matter of education, as it certainly is not, then how came the first\nbee, the first ant, spider, or other insect, to hit upon so admirable\nan expedient?\n\n_The Scotch Philosophers._--On the other hand, Reid, Stewart, and\nthe Scotch philosophers generally, departing widely from the merely\nmechanical view, have ascribed to instinct some actions which are\nproperly automatic and involuntary, as the shutting of the eyelid on\nthe approach of a foreign body, the action of the infant in obtaining\nits food from the mother's breast, and certain other like movements\nof the animal organization, which, according to recent discoveries in\nphysiology, are to be attributed, rather to the simple reflex action of\nthe nerves and muscles. This is not properly instinct.\n\n_Question returns._--Among these several views, where then, lies\nthe truth? Unable to coincide with the merely mechanical theory of\nDescartes, or with the view which resolves all into mere habit and\nassociation, with Locke and Condillac, shall we fall back upon the\nancient, and for a long time universally prevalent, view which\nmakes instinct only a lower degree of that intelligence which, in\nman becomes reason and reflection? This we are hardly prepared to\ndo. The well-known phenomena and laws of instinct, its essential\ncharacteristics as developed in the preceding pages, seem to point to a\ndifference in kind and not merely in degree.\n\n_Reasons for this Opinion._--_1. The Brute incapable of high\nCultivation._--To recapitulate briefly the points of difference: If\ninstinct in the brute were of the same nature with intelligence in\nman, if it were, properly speaking, _intelligence_, the same in kind,\ndiffering only in degree, then, it ought, as in man, to be capable of\ncultivation to an indefinite extent, capable of being elevated, by due\nprocess of training, to a degree very much superior to that in which it\nfirst presents itself. Now, with certain insignificant exceptions, such\nis certainly not the case. No amount of training or culture ever brings\nthe animal essentially above the ordinary range of brute capacity, or\napproximates him to the level of the human species.\n\n_2. Brute does not improve by Practice._--On this theory the brute\nought, moreover, to improve by practice, which, for the most part,\ncertainly he does not. The spider lays out its lines as accurately and\nconstructs its web as well, and the bee her comb, and the bird her\nnest, on the first attempt, as after the twentieth or the fiftieth\ntrial. There is no progress, no improvement. Its skill, if such it may\nbe called, is a fixture. There is nothing of the nature of _science_\nabout it, for it is of the essential nature of all intelligent action\nto improve.\n\n_3. Does not adapt itself to Circumstances._--If it were of the nature\nof intelligence, it ought uniformly and invariably to adapt itself to\nchanging circumstances, and not to keep on working blindly in the old\nway, when such procedure is no longer of use. It is not intelligence,\nbut mere blind impulse, in the beaver, that leads him to build his dam\non a dry floor or the pavement of a court-yard.\n\n_4. Opposite View proves too much._--It is furthermore to be noticed,\nthat the theory under consideration, while it ascribes to the brute\nonly a lower degree of intelligence, in reality places him, in some\nrespects, far beyond man in point of intellect. If the instinct of\nthe brute be intelligence at all, it is intelligence which leaves his\nprouder rival, man, in many cases, quite in the shade. No science of\nman can vie with the mathematical precision of the spider or the bee\nin the practical construction of lines and planes that shall enclose\na given angle. The engineer must take lessons of the ant in the art\nof running lines and parallels. To the same humble insect belongs\nthe invention of the arch and of the dome in architecture. Many of\nthe profoundest questions and problems of science are in like manner\nvirtually solved by those creatures that possess, it is claimed, only\na _lower degree_ of intelligence than man. The facts are inconsistent\nwith the theory. The theory either goes too far, or not far enough. If\ninstinct is intelligence at all, it is intelligence, in some respects\nat least, _superior_ to man's.\n\nFor reasons now stated, we must conclude that the intelligence of the\nbrute differs in _kind_, and not in _degree_ merely, from that of man.\n\n_Faculties wanting in the Brute._--If now the inquiry be raised,\nwhat are the specific faculties which are wanting in the brute, but\npossessed by man, in other words, where runs the dividing line which\nmarks off the domain of instinct from that of intellect, we reply,\nbeginning with the differences which are most obvious, the brute is,\nin the first place, not a _moral_ and _religious_ being. He has no\nmoral nature, no ideas of right and justice, none of accountability,\nand of a higher power. He is, moreover, not an _\u00e6sthetic_ being. He has\nno taste for beauty, nor appreciation of it. The horse, with all his\napparent intelligence, looks out upon the most enchanting landscape as\nunmoved by its beauty as the carriage which he draws. He has no idea,\nno cognizance of the beautiful. The faculty of original conception,\nwhich furnishes man with ideas of this nature, seems to be wanting\nin the brute. He is, furthermore, not a _scientific_ being. He does\nnot understand the principles by which he himself works. He makes no\nprogress or improvement, accordingly, in the application of those\nprinciples, but works as well first as last. He learns nothing by\nexperience. Certain grand rules and principles do indeed lie at the\nfoundation of his work, but they have no _subjective_ existence in the\nbrute himself. Now the faculties which constitute man a scientific\nbeing are those which, in the present treatise, we have grouped\ntogether under the title of _reflective_. These seem to be wanting in\nthe brute. He never classifies, nor analyzes, never forms abstract\nconceptions, never generalizes, judges, nor reasons, never reflects\non what is passing around him; never, in the true sense of the word,\n_thinks_.\n\n_Further Deficiency._--Here many, perhaps most, who have reflected\nupon the matter at all, would place the dividing line between man and\nthe brute, denying him the possession of reason and reflection, the\nhigher intellectual powers, but allowing him the other faculties which\nman enjoys. We must go further, however, and exclude imagination from\nthe list of brute faculties. Having no idea of the beautiful, nor any\npower of forming abstract conceptions, the _ideals_, according to which\nimagination shapes its creations, are wholly wanting, and imagination\nitself, the faculty of the ideal, must also be wanting.\n\n_The Power to perceive and remember._--But has the brute the power\nof perception and memory, the only two distinct remaining faculties\nof the human mind? If we distinguish, as we must, the physical from\nthe strictly intellectual element, in perception by the senses,\nthe capacity to receive impressions of sense, from the capacity to\n_understand_ and _know_ the object, as such, from which the impressions\nproceed, while we must admit the former, we should question the\nexistence of the latter in the brute. To know or understand the objects\nof sense, to distinguish them as such, from each other, and from self\nas the perceiving subject, is an attribute of intelligence in its\nstrict and proper sense, an attribute of mind. If the brute possesses\nit, he possesses as really a mind, though not of so high an order, as\nman.\n\n_The dividing Line._--Now it is just here that we are compelled to\nplace the line of division between the brute and man, between instinct\nand intellect. The brute has senses, as man; in some respects, indeed,\nmore perfect than his. Objects external make impressions upon his\nsenses; his eye, his ear, his various organs of sense, respond to these\nimpressions. In a word, he has sensations, and those sensations are\naccompanied, as all sensations in their nature are, and must be, with\nconsciousness, that is, they are felt. But this does not necessarily\ninvolve what we understand by consciousness in its higher sense, or\n_self-consciousness_. The brute has, we believe, no knowledge of\nhimself as such, no _self-consciousness_, properly speaking; does not\ndistinguish between self as perceiving, and the object as perceived,\nhas no conception of self as a separate existence distinct from the\nobjects around him, has, strictly speaking, no ideas, no thoughts,\nno intelligent comprehension of objects about him; has _sensations_,\nbut no _perceptions_ in the true sense of the word, since perception\ninvolves the distinction of subject and object, or self-consciousness.\nThese distinctions are lost to the brute, blindly merged in the one\nsimple consciousness of physical sensation. He feels, but does not\nthink, does not understand. Sensation takes the place of understanding\nand reason with him. It is his guide. To the impressions thus received,\nhis nature blindly responds, he knows not how or why. He is so\nconstituted by his wise and benevolent Maker, that sensation being\nawakened, the impulses of his nature at once spring into play, and\nprompt irresistibly to action, and to such action as shall meet the\nwants of the being. There is no need for intelligence to supervene, as\nwith man. The brute feels and _acts_. Man feels, _thinks_, and acts.\nThe Creator has provided, for, the former, a substitute which takes\nthe place of intellect, and secures by blind, yet unerring impulse,\nthe simple ends which correspond to his simpler necessities, and his\nhumbler sphere.\n\n_Man's Superiority._--Herein lies man's mastership and dominion over\nthe brute. He has what the brute has not, intellect, mind, the power of\nthought, the power to understand and know. Just so far as he fails to\ngrasp this high prerogative, just so far as he is governed by sensation\nand its corresponding impulses, rather than by intelligence and reason,\njust in such degree he lays aside his superiority, and sinks to the\nsphere of the brute. Thus, in infancy and early life, there is little\ndifference. Thus, many savage and uneducated races never rise far above\nthe brute capacity, are mere creatures of sensation, impulse, instinct.\n\n_In one Respect inferior._--In one respect, indeed, man, destitute\nof intelligence or failing to govern himself by its precepts, sinks\n_below_ the brute. He has not the substitute for intelligence which the\nbrute has, has not instinct to guide him, and teach him the true and\nproper bounds of indulgence, but giving way to passion and inclination,\nwithout restraint, presents that most melancholy spectacle on which the\nsun, in all his course, ever looks down, a man under the dominion of\nhis own appetites, incapable of self-government, lost to all nobleness,\nall virtue, all self-respect.\n\n_Memory in the Brute._--It may still be asked, does not the brute\n_remember_? It is the office of memory to replace or represent what\nhas been once felt or perceived. It simply reproduces, in thought,\nwhat has once passed before the mind. It originates nothing. Whatever,\nthen, of intelligence was involved in the original act of perception\nand sensation, so much and no more is involved in the replacing\nthose sensations and perceptions. If in the original act there was\nnothing but simple sensation, without intellectual apprehension of\nthe object, without self-consciousness or distinction of subject from\nobject, then, of course, nothing more than this will be subsequently\nreproduced. Mere images or phantasms of sensible objects may reappear,\nas shadows flicker and dance upon the wall, or as such images flit\nbefore us in our dreams. The memory of the brute is, probably, of this\nnature, rather a sort of dream than a distinct conception of past\nevents. What was not clearly apprehended at first, will not be better\nunderstood now. Failing, in the first instance, to distinguish self\nfrom the object external, as the source of impressions, there can be no\n_recognition_ of that distinction when the object reappears, if it ever\nshould, in conception. The essential element of memory, which connects\nthe object or event of former perception with _self_ as the percipient,\nmust, in such a case, be wanting.\n\n_The Brute associates rather than remembers._--What is usually\ncalled memory in the brute, is not, however, so much his capacity of\nconceiving of an absent object of sense, as his recognition of the\nobject when again actually present to his senses. The dog manifests\npleasure at the appearance of his master, and the horse chooses the\nroad that leads to his former home. This is not so much memory as\nassociation of ideas or rather of feelings. Certain feelings and\nsensations are associated, confusedly blended, with certain objects.\nThe reappearance of the objects, of course, reawakens the former\nfeelings. Thus, the whip is associated with the sensation experienced\nin connection with it. So, too, a horse which has once been frightened\nby some object beside the road, will manifest fear on subsequently\napproaching the same place, although the same object may no longer\nbe there. The surrounding objects which still remain, and which\nwere associated with the more immediate object of fear in the first\ninstance, are sufficient to awaken, on their reappearance, the former\nunpleasant sensations.\n\nA being endowed with intelligence and reason would connect the\nrecurring object, in such a case, with his own former experience as the\nperceiving subject, would recall the time and the circumstances of the\nevent and its connection with his personal history. This would be,\nproperly, an act of memory.\n\nBut there is no reason to suppose that such a process takes place with\nthe brute. We have no evidence of any thing more, in his case, than the\nrecurrence of the associated conception or sensation, along with the\nrecurrence of the object which formerly produced it. Given, the object\n_a_, accompanied with surrounding objects _b, c, d_, and there is\nproduced a given sensation, _y_. Given, again, at some subsequent time,\nthe same object _a_, or any one of the associate objects _b, c, d_, and\nthere is at once awakened a lively conception of the same sensation _y_.\n\n_Summary of Results._--This is, I think, all we can, with any\ncertainty, attribute to the brute. He has sensations, and so far as\nmere sense is concerned, perceptions of objects, as connected with\nthose sensations, but not perception in the true sense as involving\nintellectual apprehension. These sensations and confused perceptions\nrecur, perhaps, as images or conceptions, in the absence of the\nobjects that gave rise to them, and as thus reappearing, constitute\nwhat we may call the memory of the brute; but not, as with us, a\nmemory which connects the object or event with his own former history,\nand the idea of a personal self as the percipient. Let the object,\nhowever, reappear, and the previous sensation associated therewith, is\nreawakened.\n\nThis, I am aware, is not the view most commonly entertained of brute\nintelligence. We naturally conceive of the brute as possessing\nfaculties similar to our own. The brute, in turn, were he capable\nof forming such a conception, would, probably, conceive of man, as\nendowed with capacities like his own. In neither case is this the right\nconception.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nMIND AS AFFECTED BY CERTAIN STATES OF THE BRAIN AND NERVOUS SYSTEM.\n\n\n_Statement._--There are certain mental phenomena connected with the\nrelation which the mind sustains to the nervous organism, and depending\nintimately on the state of that organism, which seem to require the\nnotice of the psychologist, though often overlooked by him; I refer\nto the phenomena of sleep, dreams, somnambulism, and insanity. So far\nas the activity of the mind is involved in these states or phenomena,\nthey become proper objects of psychological inquiry. They present\nmany problems difficult of solution, yet not the less curious and\ninteresting, as phases of mental activity hitherto little understood.\n\n_View sometimes taken by Physiologists._--It becomes the more important\nfor the psychologist to investigate these phenomena, inasmuch as\nviews and theories little accordant with the true philosophy of the\nmind have sometimes been put forth by physiologists, in attempting\nto explain the phenomena in question. They have viewed the cerebral\napparatus as competent of itself to produce the phenomena of\nthought, as _self-acting_, in the absence of the higher principle of\nintelligence which usually governs its operations, carrying on by a\nsort of automatic action, the processes usually ascribed to the mind\nor spiritual principle, while consciousness and volition are entirely\nsuspended. Consciousness, in fact, is nothing but sensation, and\nthought a mere function of the brain. This is downright materialism,\na doctrine utterly subversive of the very existence of that which we\ncall mind or soul in man. If the cerebral organization is competent\nof itself during sleep to carry on those operations which in waking\nmoments are ascribed to the spiritual element of our being, if thought\nis a function of the brain, as digestion is of the stomach, what need\nand what evidence of any thing more than merely cerebral action at any\ntime? What, in fact, is the mind itself but cerebral activity, and what\nis man, with all his higher powers, but a mere animated organism?\n\nIt becomes important, then, to account for the phenomena under\nconsideration in some way more consistent with all just and true\nnotions of the nature and philosophy of mind.\n\n_Distinction of normal and abnormal States._--Of these phenomena, while\nall may be regarded as intimately connected with and dependent on the\nstate of the brain and nervous system, some seem to proceed from a\nnormal, others from an abnormal and disordered state of the nervous and\nparticularly the cerebral organism. Of the former class, are sleep and\ndreams; of the latter, somnambulism, the mesmeric state, so called, and\nthe various forms of disordered mental action, or insanity.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--SLEEP.\n\n_Meaning of the Term._--What is sleep? Will the name itself afford any\nsolution of this problem? Like most names of familiar things, we find\nthe word descriptive of some particular circumstance or phase, some\none prominent characteristic of the thing in question, rather than a\n_definition_--much less an explanation--of the thing itself.\n\nThe word sleep, from _schlafen_, as the Latin _somnus_ from _supinus_,\nrefers to the supine condition and appearance of the body when in this\nstate; the relaxing of the muscles the falling back or sinking down of\nthe frame, if unsupported. This is the first and most obvious effect to\nthe eye of an observer, of the condition of sleep as regards the body.\nFurther than this the word gives us no light.\n\n1. _Sleep involves primarily Loss of Consciousness._--What then,\nfurther than this, is sleep? If we observe somewhat closely, and with a\nview to scientific arrangement, the different aspects or phenomena that\npresent themselves as constituting that state of body and mind which we\ncall sleep, the primary and most obvious fact, I apprehend, is _loss of\nconsciousness_, of _the me_. Not perhaps of all consciousness, for we\nseem still to exist, but of self-consciousness, of the me as related to\ntime, and place, and external circumstance We _lose ourselves_, as a\ncommon but most exact expression describes it.\n\n_We are not at the Time aware of this Loss._--Of course, sleep\nconsisting primarily in loss of consciousness, we are not conscious\nof the fact that we sleep, for this would be a _consciousness_ that\nwe were unconscious. Illustrations of this fact are of frequent\noccurrence. You are of an evening getting weary over your book. You are\nvaguely conscious of that weariness, amounting even to drowsiness; you\nfind it difficult to follow the course of thought, or even to keep the\nline, but have no idea that you are at length actually asleep for the\nmoment, till the sudden fall of the book awakens you. Nay, one who has\nbeen vigorously nodding for five minutes will, on recovering himself,\nstoutly deny that he has really been asleep at all; the truth is, he\nwas not _conscious_ of it; we never are, directly.\n\n_This results from what?_--This loss of consciousness results from the\ninactivity of the bodily senses. It is these that afford us the data\nfor a knowledge of self in relation to external things. In sleep these\navenues of communication with the external world are shut up, and we\nsilently drop off, and, as it were, float away from all _conscious_\nconnection with it. We no longer recognize our relations to time and\nspace, nor even to our own bodies, which, as material, come under those\nrelations; for it is by the senses alone that we get these ideas. So\nfar as consciousness of these relations is concerned, we exist in\nsleep as in death, out of the laws and limits of time and space, and\nirrespective of the body and of all material existence. Mental action,\nhowever, doubtless goes on, and we are conscious of thought and of the\nfeeling of the moment, but of nothing further. All self-consciousness\nis gone.\n\n_An Affection primarily of the nervous System._--Sleep, then, would\nseem to be primarily an affection of the nervous system; not of the\nreproductive--that goes on as usual, and even with increased vigor; nor\nyet of the muscular--that is still capable of action; but only of the\nnervous. That gets weary; by continued use, its vital active force is\nexhausted, it needs rest, becomes inactive, gradually drops off, and so\nthere results this loss of consciousness, of which I have spoken. It is\nstrictly, then, the nervous system, and not the whole body that sleeps.\n\n_Different Senses fall Asleep successively._--The different senses\nbecome inactive and fall asleep, not all at once, but successively.\nFirst, sight goes. The eye-lids droop, and close. Taste and smell\nprobably next. Touch, and hearing, are among the last to give way.\nHence, noises so easily disturb us, when falling asleep. Hence, too, we\nare most easily awaked by some one repeating our name, or by some one\ntouching us. These senses are also the first to waken. One sense may be\nasleep and another awake. You may still hear what one is saying that\nsits near you, when already the eye is asleep. So in death, one _hears_\nwhen no longer able to see or to speak.\n\n2. _Loss of personal Control._--Accompanying this loss of\nself-consciousness is the loss of _personal control_, _i. e._, the\ncontrol of the will over the bodily organization. This follows from\nthe inactivity of the senses and of the nervous system, for it is only\nthrough that, and not by direct agency of the will, that we, at any\ntime, exert voluntary power over the body. When that system becomes\nexhausted, and its force is spent, so that it can no longer furnish the\nmotive power, nor execute the commands of the higher intelligence the\nwill no longer maintains its empire over the physical organization, its\nlittle realm of matter, its control is suspended, its sceptre falls,\nand it realizes for the time the story of the enchanted palace on which\na magic spell had fallen, suddenly arresting the busy tide of life,\nand sealing up, on the instant, the senses of king, courtiers, and\nattendants, in the unbroken sleep of ages.\n\n_Indications of approaching Sleep._--One of the first indications,\naccordingly, of the approach of sleep, is the relaxing of the muscles,\nthe drooping of the eye-lid, the dropping of the head and of the arm,\nthe sinking down of the body from an erect to a supine position. If\nin church, the head seeks the friendly support of the pew in front,\nfortunate if it can secure itself there from the still further demands\nof gravitation.\n\n_Analogous Cases._--In respect to the point now under consideration,\nthe loss of control over the physical frame, the phenomena of sleep\nclosely resemble those of intoxication, and of fainting; and for the\nsame reason, in either case, _i. e._, the inactivity of the nervous\nsystem, which is the medium of voluntary power over the body. That\ninactivity of the nervous system is produced in the one case by\nnatural, in the other by unnatural causes, but the direct effect is the\nsame as regards the loss of voluntary power. The same effects are also\nproduced in certain diseases, and eventually by death.\n\n3. _Loss of Control over the Mind._--Analogous to this is the loss of\nvoluntary control over the mental operations, which is in fact, so far\nas the mind is concerned, the essential feature and characteristic\nof sleep. Mental action still goes on, there is reason to suppose;\nin many cases we know that it does; but the thoughts come and go at\ntheir own pleasure, without regulation or control. It is not in our\npower to arrest a certain thought, and fix our minds upon it for the\ntime, to the exclusion of others, as we can do in the waking moments,\nand which constitutes, in fact, the chief control and power we have\nover our thoughts, nor can we dismiss, and throw off, an unpleasant\ntrain of thought, a disagreeable impression, however much we may\ndesire to be rid of it. We are at the mercy of our own thoughts and\ncasual associations, which, in the ungoverned, spontaneous play of the\nmind's own inherent energy, and guided only by its own native laws,\nproduce the wildest and strangest phantasmagoria, having to us all the\nsemblance of reality, while we are, in truth, mere passive spectators\nof the scene.\n\n_Faculties of Mind not suspended in Sleep._--It has been supposed by\nsome that the faculties of the mind are, in part or wholly, suspended\nin sleep, especially the higher faculties more immediately dependent\non the will. So long as mental activity goes on, however,--and there\nis no evidence that it ever entirely ceases in sleep--so long there is\nthought, and so long must that thought and activity be exerted in some\nparticular direction, and on some particular object. We cannot conceive\nof the mind as acting or thinking, and not exercising any of its\nfaculties, for what is a faculty of the mind but its capacity of acting\nin this or that way or mode, and on this or that class of subjects.\nIt may be perception, or conception, or memory, or imagination, or\njudgment, or reasoning, or any other faculty that is for the moment\nactive; it _must_ be some one of the known faculties of the mind,\nunless, indeed, we suppose some new faculties to be then developed, of\nwhose existence we are at other times unconscious.\n\n_Mental Action modified by certain Causes in Sleep._--The faculties\nwill, however, be materially modified in their action during sleep,\nby the causes already named; chiefly these two: 1st. the entire\nsuspension of voluntary control over the train of thought; 2d. the\nloss of personal consciousness as regards especially the bodily\norganization, and its present relations to time, and space, and all\nsensible objects. In consequence of the _former_ our thoughts will come\nand go all unregulated and disconnected; there will be no coherence;\nthe slightest analysis will suffice for the associating principle; we\nshall be hurried on and borne away on the rushing tide of thought, as\na frail passive leaf swept on the bosom of the rapids; we shall whirl\nhither and thither as in the dance of the witches; we shall waken in\nconfusion, and seek to recover the reins of self-control, only to lose\nthem again and be swept on in the fearful dance.\n\n_Want of Congruity owing to what._--In consequence of the _latter_\ncause--the loss of sensational consciousness and of our relations to\nsensible objects--there will be an entire want of fitness and congruity\nin our mental operations. The laws of time, and space, and personal\nidentity, will be altogether disregarded, and we shall not be conscious\nof the incongruity, nor wonder at the strangest and most contradictory\ncombinations. Here, there, everywhere, now this and now that. The scene\nis in the valley of the Connecticut, and anon on the Ural mountains,\nor the desert of Arabia, and we do not notice the change as any thing\nat all remarkable. Now we are walking up the aisle of the church, in\ngarments all too scanty for the proprieties of the occasion, and now\nit is a wild bull that is racing after us, and the transition from\none to the other is instantaneous. Why should it not be, for it is by\nthe senses alone that we are brought into conscious relation to the\nexternal world, and so made cognizant of the laws of time and space,\nand those senses being now locked in oblivion, what are time and space\nto us?\n\n_The Causes now named a sufficient Explanation of the Phenomena._--The\ncauses already named will sufficiently account for the strange and\ndistorted action of the various mental faculties as exercised in sleep.\nMemory, _e. g._, will give us the past with _variations_ ad libitum;\nthings will appear to us, and events will seem to transpire, and forms\nand faces familiar will look out upon us, not as they really are, or\never were. We talk with a former friend, without the thought once\noccurring to us that he has been dead these many years. Impression\nthere is, feeling, idea, fancy, association of all these, but hardly\nmemory, or even imagination, much less judgment or reasoning. So it\nwould seem at first. A closer inspection, however, will show us that\nthere is in reality, in this spontaneous play of the mind, the exercise\nof all these faculties, only so modified by causes now named as to\npresent strange and uncouth results.\n\n_Mental Faculties not immediately dependent on the Will._--If any of\nthe mental faculties can be shown to be entirely dependent on the will\nfor their activity and operation, so as to have no power to act except\nby its order or permission, then it would follow that when the will is\nno longer in possession of the throne, when its sway is for the time\nsuspended as in sleep, the faculties thus dependent on it must lie\ninactive. But with regard to most if not all mental operations, we know\nthe reverse to be true. They are capable of _spontaneous_, as well as\nvoluntary action. Nay, some of them, it would seem, are not subject, in\nany case, directly to its control. It is not at our option whether to\nremember or forget, whether to perceive surrounding objects, whether\nsuch or such a thought shall, by the laws of association, follow next\nin the train of ideas and impressions. Some mental operations are more\nclosely connected with and admit of a more direct interference on the\npart of the will than others, but it cannot be shown, I think, that any\nfaculty is so far dependent on the will as not to be capable of action,\nirrespective of its demands. Indeed, facts seem to show that where once\na train of mental action has been set in operation by the will, that\naction goes on, for a time, even when the will is withdrawn, or held in\nabeyance, as in sleep, or profound reverie.\n\n_Whence this Suspension of Power of the Will._--The question may occur,\nwhence arises this suspension of the power of the will over the mental\noperations in sleep? What produces it? Does it, like the loss of\nvoluntary power over the physical frame, result from the inactivity of\nthe nervous apparatus? The fact that it always accompanies this, and is\nfound in connection with it, that whatever produces the latter seems\nto be the occasion, also, of the former, as in the case of disease,\ndelirium, mesmeric influence, stupefying drugs, inebriation, etc.,\nand that the degree of the one, whether partial or complete, is in\nproportion to the degree of the other--these facts seem to me to favor\nthe idea now suggested.\n\n_Summary of Results._--These, then, seem to be the principal phenomena\nof sleep: loss of sensational consciousness, loss of voluntary power\nover the body, loss of voluntary power over the operations of the mind.\n\n_Exhaustion of the nervous System._--Sleep, then, appears to be\nprimarily an affection of the nervous system, the result of its\nexhaustion. By the law of nature, it cannot continue always active;\nrepose must succeed to effort. Hence, the more rapid the exhaustion of\nthe nervous system, from any cause, the more sleep is demanded. This we\nknow to be the fact. The more sensitive the system, as in childhood,\nor with the gentler sex, as in men of great sensibility also, poets,\nartists, and others, the more sleep. On the other hand, those sluggish\nnatures which allow nothing to excite or call into action the nervous\nsystem, sleep from precisely the opposite cause; not the exhaustion of\nnervous activity, but its absolute non-existence. If both our systems,\nthe animal and the vegetative or nutritive, should sleep at once,\nsays Rauch, there would be nothing to awaken us. That would be death.\n\"In sleep, every man has a world of his own,\" says Heraclitus; \"when\nawake, all men have one in common.\" Sleeping and waking, it has been\nbeautifully said by another, are the ebb and flood of mind and matter\non the ocean of our life.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--DREAMS.\n\n_Resum\u00e8 of previous Investigation._--It has been shown in the preceding\nsection, that sleep is primarily and chiefly an affection of the\nnervous system, in which, through exhaustion, the senses become\ninactive, and, as it were, dead, while, at the same, the nutritive\nsystem and the functions essential to life go on; that in consequence\nof this inactivity of the sensorium, there results, 1. Loss of\nconsciousness, so far, at least, as regards all connection with, and\nrelation to, external things; 2. Loss of voluntary power over the\nphysical and muscular frame; 3. Loss of voluntary control over the\noperations of the mind; the mind still remaining active, however, and\nits operations going on, uncontrolled by the will.\n\nWe are now prepared to take up, more particularly, that specific form\nof mental activity in sleep, called dreaming; a state which admits of\neasy explanation on principles already laid down.\n\n_A Dream, what._--What, then, is a _dream_? I reply, it is any\nmental action in sleep, of which, for any reason, we are afterward\n_conscious_. This is not the case with all, perhaps, with most mental\naction during sleep. Senses and the will are inactive, then, for the\nmost part, and whatever thoughts and impressions may be wrought out\nin the laboratory of the mind, whatever play of forces and wondrous\nalchemy may there be going on, when the controlling principle that\npresides over and directs its operations is withdrawn, are, for\nthe most part, never subsequently reported. Let the sensitivity be\npartially aroused, however, let some disturbing cause come in to\nprevent entire loss of sensibility, or let the conceptions of the\nmind present themselves with more than usual vividness and force of\nimpression, and what we then think may afterward be remembered. This\nis the philosophy of dreams. What is thus remembered of our thoughts\nin sleep, we call a dream, more especially applying the term to such\nof our thoughts and conceptions in sleep, as have some degree of\ncoherence and connection between themselves, so as to constitute a sort\nof unity.\n\n_Sources of our Dreams._--Our dreams take shape and character from\na variety of circumstances. They are not altogether accidental nor\nunaccountable; and even when we cannot trace the connection, there\nis reason to suppose that such connection exists between the dream,\nand the state of the body, or of the mind, at the time, as, if known,\nwould account for the shape and complexion of the dream. The principal\nsources, or, perhaps, it were more correct to say, modifying influences\nof our dreams are, 1, Our present bodily sensations, and especially\nthe internal state of the physical system, and, 2, Our previous waking\nthoughts, dispositions, and prevalent states of mind.\n\n_Illustrations of the first._--As to the first of these modifying\ncauses, instances of its operation will probably occur to every one\nfrom his own experience. You find yourself on a hard bed, or, it may\nbe, have thrown yourself into some uncomfortable position, and you\ndream of broken bones or of the rack. The band of your robe buttons\ntightly about the neck, and you dream of hanging. You have taken a late\nsupper of food highly seasoned and indigestible, and in your dreams a\nblack bear very heavy and huge, quietly seats himself on your chest,\nor, as a military officer once dreamed, under similar circumstances,\nthe prince of darkness sits cross-legged over your stomach, with the\nBunker Hill monument in his lap. The instance related by Mr. Stewart,\nof the gentleman, who, sleeping with bottles of hot water at his feet,\ndreamed that he was walking along the burning crater of Mount \u00c6tna, is\nin point here. Here the bodily sensation of heat upon the soles of the\nfeet suggests the idea of a situation in which such a sensation would\nbe likely to occur, and this idea blending with the sensation which\nis permanent and real, assumes, also, the character of reality, and\nthe dream shapes itself accordingly. So when a window falls, or some\nsudden noise is heard, if it do not positively awaken you so far as to\nmake known the real cause, you hear the sound, the sensorium partially\naroused, mistakes it, perhaps, for the sound of a gun, and instantly\nyou are in the midst of a battle at sea, or a fight with robbers. To\nsuch an extent are our dreams modified by sensible impressions of\nthis sort, that it is possible, by skillful management, to shape and\ndirect, to some extent, at least, the dreams of another as you will.\nAn instance is related of an officer who was made, in this way, in his\nsleep, to go through with all the minutia of a duel, even to the firing\nof the pistol which was placed in his hand, at the proper moment, the\nnoise of which awoke him. This was simply an _acted_ dream.\n\n_Latent Disease._--Not unfrequently, some physical disorder, incipient\nor latent, of which we may not be aware in our waking moments, makes\nitself felt in the state of sleep, when the system is more susceptible\nof internal impressions, and thus modifies the dreams. In such cases,\nthe dreams may serve as a sort of _index_ of the state of the physical\nsystem, and somewhat, doubtless, of the apparently prophetic character\nof certain dreams may be accounted for in this way.\n\n_The second Source._--A second source, if not of our dreams themselves,\nat least of the peculiar shape and character which they assume, is to\nbe found in our previous thoughts, and prevalent mental occupations\nand dispositions. We fall asleep, and mental action goes on much as\nbefore, in whatever direction and channel it had already received an\nimpulse. Whatever has made the deepest impression on us through the\nday, has longest or most intently occupied us, _repeats_ itself the\nmoment we lose our consciousness of surrounding objects. The mind\ngoes on with the new and strange spectacle, or with the unfinished\nproblem, and unsolved intricate study of the day or of the night\nhour; and not seldom is the train of thought resumed and pursued to\nsome purpose. On waking in the morning, we find little difficulty in\ncompleting a demonstration or solving a difficulty which had appeared\ninsurmountable when we left it the previous night. Now the truth is, we\ndid not leave it the previous night. It occupied us in our sleep. The\nbrain was busy with it, it may be, all the night. It is solved in the\nmorning, not because the mind is fresher then, but because it has been\nat work upon it through the night. Sometimes we are conscious of this\non waking, and can dimly recall the severe continuous mental toil which\nwent on while we slept. Usually, I suppose, we have no consciousness\nof it, and our only evidence of it is the well-known law and habit of\nthe mind, to run in its worn and latest channels, together with the\noften observed fact that the difficulty previously felt is, somehow,\nstrangely solved.\n\n_Further Illustration of the same Principle._--Condorcet is not the\nonly mathematician who has received, in sleep, suggestions which\nled to the right solution of a problem that he had been obliged to\nleave unfinished on retiring for the night; nor is Franklin the only\nstatesman who has, in dreams, reached a satisfactory conclusion\nrespecting some intricate political movement. However this may be,\nthere can be no reasonable doubt that our previous mental occupation,\nour prevalent state and disposition of mind, our habits of thought and\nhabits of feeling, determine and shape the complexion of our dreams.\nThey have a _subjective_ connection, are by no means so disconnected\nwith us and our real history, so much a matter of hap-hazard, as one\nmay suppose. It was not without reason that President Edwards took\nnotice of his dreams as affording an index of the state of his heart,\nand his real native propensities. They are the vane that shows which\nway the mind is set. Who will say that the dreams of Lady Macbeth,\nthose dreams of a guilty conscience, are not among the most truthful of\nthe portraitures of the great master dramatist?\n\n_Native Talent then shows itself._--Not only our native disposition\nand prevalent cast of thought betray themselves in dreams, but,\nas a certain writer has remarked, our native talents show out in\nthose moments of spontaneous mental action. Talents which have had\nno opportunity to develop themselves, owing to our education and\nprofessional pursuits, take their chance and their time when we sleep,\nand we are poets, artists, orators, whatever nature designed, whatever\nthe trammelled mind longs, but longs in vain, to be in our waking\nmoments.\n\n_Incoherency of Dreams._--The _incoherency_ of our dreams has been\nsufficiently accounted for in what I have previously said. It is not,\nI think, owing chiefly, as Upham supposes, to our loss of voluntary\npower and control over our thoughts during sleep, though it is quite\ntrue that we have no such control. The truth is, we are not at the time\n_aware_ of any such incoherency. It cannot, of course, be owing then\nto our loss of voluntary power, since no increase of such power would\nenable us to repair a defect which we are unconscious of, but is owing\nentirely to another cause already mentioned, viz., that in sleep we\nlose our _relation_ to things around us, lose our place, and our time,\nand hence, retain no standard of judging as to what is, and what is\nnot, consentaneous and fit, self-consistent and coherent.\n\n_Apparent Reality._--Nothing is more remarkable in dreams than their\napparent _reality_. The scenes, actions, and incidents, all stand out\nwith peculiar distinctness, are projected as images into the air before\nus, and have not at all the semblance of any thing merely subjective.\nThis has been, by some, ascribed to the fact that there is nothing to\ndistract or call off the attention from the conceptions of the mind\nin dreams; we are wholly in them, and hence they appear as realities.\nI do not find, however, that in proportion as my attention in waking\nmoments is wholly absorbed in any train of thought, those conceptions\nmanifest any such tendency to project themselves, so to speak, into\nobjective reality. They are still mere conceptions, only more vivid.\nI am inclined, therefore, to attribute the seeming reality of dreams\nto another source. We are accustomed to regard every thing as\n_objective_, which is out of the reach and control of our will, which\ncomes and goes irrespective of us and our volition. Now, such we find\nto be the prime law of cerebral action in sleep. Of course, then, we\nare deceived into the belief that these conceptions over which we have\nno control, are not conceptions, but _perceptions_, realities.\n\n_Estimate of Time._--Nothing has seemed to some writers more mysterious\nthan the entire disproportion between the _real_ and _apparent_ time\nof a dream. I refer to the fact that our dreams occupy frequently such\nvery minute portions of time, while they seem to us to stretch over\nsuch long continued periods. An instance is related of an officer\nconfined in the prisons of the French Revolution, who was awakened by\nthe call of the sentry changing guard, fell asleep again, witnessed,\nas he supposed, a very long and very horrible procession of armed and\nbloody warriors, defiling on horseback down a certain street of Paris,\noccupying some hours in their passage, then awoke in terror in season\nto hear distinctly the response of the sentry to the challenge given\nbefore the dream began. The mind in such cases, say some, operates more\nrapidly than at other times. There is no evidence of that. Mr. Stewart\nhas suggested, I think, the right explanation. As our dreams seem to\nus real, and we have no means of estimating time otherwise than by the\napparent succession of events, the conceptions of the brain, that is,\nour dreams, seem to us to take up just so much time in passing as the\n_events themselves_ would occupy were they real. This is perfectly\na natural result, and it fully accounts for the apparent anomaly in\nquestion.\n\n_Prophetic Aspect._--Are dreams sometimes _prophetic_, and how are such\nto be accounted for? Cicero narrates a remarkable instance of what\nwould seem to be a prophetic dream. I refer to the account of the two\nArcadians who came to Megara and occupied different lodgings. The one\nimploring help, then murdered, and informing his comrade that his body\nwould be taken out of the city early in the morning, by a certain gate,\nin a covered wagon. Agitated by the dream, the other repairs at the\ndesigned time to the appointed place, meets the wagon, discovers the\nbody, arrests the murderer, and delivers him to justice.\n\n_Other Instances of the like Nature._--Another instance, perhaps\nequally striking, is narrated in the London _Times_. A Mr. Williams,\nresiding in Cornwall, dreamed thrice in the same night that he saw the\nChancellor of England killed, in the vestibule of the House of Commons.\nThe dream so deeply impressed him that he narrated it to several of his\nacquaintance. It was subsequently ascertained that on the evening of\nthat day the Chancellor, Mr. Perceval, was assassinated according to\nthe dream. Now, this was certainly a remarkable coincidence. Was it any\nthing more? Was it merely an accidental thing--a matter of chance--that\nthe dream should occur as it did, and should tally so closely with the\nfacts? But these are not singular instances. Many such are on record.\n\n_Case related by Dr. Moore._--Dr. Moore, author of an interesting work\non the use of the body in relation to the mind, narrates the following,\nas coming under his own observation. A friend of his dreamed that he\nwas amusing himself, as he was in the habit of doing, by reading the\nepitaphs in a country church-yard, when a newly made grave attracted\nhis attention. He was surprised to find on the stone the name, and date\nof death, of an intimate friend of his, with whom he had passed that\nvery evening in conversation. Nothing more was thought of the dream,\nhowever, nor, perhaps, would it ever have recurred to mind, had he not\nreceived intelligence, some months afterward, of the death of this\nfriend, which took place at the very date he had, in his dream, seen\nrecorded on the tombstone.\n\n_Case related by Dr. Abercrombie._--The case mentioned by Dr.\nAbercrombie is another of these remarkable coincidences. Two sisters\nsleeping in the same room adjoining that of a sick brother, the one\nawakens in affright, having dreamed that the watch had stopped, and\nthat on mentioning it to her sister, the latter replied, \"Worse than\nthat has happened, for ----'s breath has stopped also.\" On examination\nthe watch was found going and the brother in a sound sleep. The next\nnight the dream was repeated precisely as before with the same result.\nThe next morning as one of the sisters had occasion to take the watch\nfrom the writing-desk she was surprised to find it had stopped, and at\nthe same moment was startled by a scream from the other sister in the\nchamber of the sick man, who had, at that moment, expired.\n\n_Additional Cases._--Another instance of a similar nature is related,\nbut I know not on how good authority. The sister of Major Andr\u00e8, it\nis said, dreamed of her absent brother, one night, as arrested and\non trial before a court martial. The appearance of the officers,\ntheir dress, etc., was distinctly impressed on her mind; the room,\nthe relative position of the prisoner and his judges, were noticed;\nthe general nature of the trial, and its result, the condemnation\nof her brother. She woke deeply impressed. Her fears were shortly\nafterward confirmed by the sad intelligence of her brother's arrest,\ntrial, and execution, and, what is remarkable, the facts corresponded\nto her dream, both as respects the time of occurrence, the place,\nthe appearance of the room, position, and dress of the judges, etc.\nWashington and Knox were particularly designated, though she had never\nseen them.\n\nAnother instance is related of a man who dreamed that the vessel in\nwhich his brother was an officer, and, in part, owner of the cargo,\nwas wrecked on a certain island, and the vessel lost, but the hands\nsaved. He was so impressed that he went directly and procured an extra\ninsurance of five thousand dollars on his brother's portion of the\nproperty. By the next arrival news came that the vessel was wrecked,\nat the time and place of which the man had dreamed, and the mariners\nsaved.\n\n_Coincidences._--Now it is perfectly easy to call all these things\n_coincidences_. They certainly are. But is it certain, or it is\nprobable, that they are _mere_ coincidences? To call them coincidences,\nand pass them off as if they were easily and fully accounted for in\nthat way, is but a shallow concealment of our ignorance under a certain\nshow of philosophy. It is but a conjecture at the best; a conjecture,\nmoreover, which explains nothing, but leaves the mystery just as great\nas before; a conjecture which is by no means the most probable of all\nthat might be made, but, on the contrary, one of the most improbable\nof all, as it seems to me. Mark, the cases I have now mentioned do\nnot come under any of the laws or conditions laid down as giving rise\nor modification to our dreams. They are not suggested, so far as it\nappears, by any present bodily sensation on the part of the dreamer,\nnor was there any reason in the nature of the case why any such event,\nmuch less conjunction of events, should be apprehended by the dreamer\nin his waking moments. It was not the simple carrying out of his waking\nthoughts. Doubtless many dreams regarded as prophetic, may be explained\non these principles. They are the result of our present sensations or\nimpressions, or of the excited and anxious state of mind and train of\nthought during the day. But not so in the cases now cited.\n\n_Not necessary to suppose them Supernatural._--Shall we believe, then,\nthat dreams are sometimes prophetic? We have no reason to doubt that\nthey _may_ be so. Are they, in that case, _supernatural_ events? No\ndoubt the future may be supernaturally communicated in dreams. No doubt\nit has been, and that not in a few cases, as every believer in the\nsacred Scriptures must admit. But this is not a necessary supposition.\nA dream may be prophetic, yet not supernatural. Some law, not fully\nknown to us, may exist, by virtue of which the nervous system, when\nin a highly excited state, becomes susceptible of impressions not\nordinarily received, and is put in communication, in some way to us\nmysterious, with scenes, places, and events, far distant, so as to\nbecome strangely cognizant of the coming future. Can any one show that\nthis is impossible? Is it more improbable than that the cases recorded\nare mere chance coincidences? Is it not quite as likely to be so, as\nthat the event should correspond, in so many cases and so striking a\nmanner, with the previous dream, and yet there be _no cause, whatever_,\nfor the correspondence? Is it not as reasonable, even, as to suppose\ndirect divine interposition to reveal the future, the possibility of\nwhich interposition I by no means deny, but the reason for which does\nnot become apparent? Is it not possible that there may be some natural\nlaw or agent of the sort now intimated, some as yet unexplained, but\npartially known, condition of the physical system, when in a peculiarly\nsensitive state, of which the _modus operandi_ is not yet understood,\nbut the existence of which is indicated in cases like those now\ndescribed? That this is the true explanation, I by no means affirm; I\nmake the suggestion merely to indicate what, it seems to me, may be a\n_possible_ solution of the problem.\n\n_Possible Modes of accounting for the Facts._--Evidently there are\nonly these four possible solutions. 1. To deny the facts themselves,\n_i. e._, that any such dreams occurred, or at least, that they were\nverified in actual result. 2. To call them accidental coincidences.\n3. To admit a supernatural agency. 4. To explain them in the way\nsuggested. Our choice lies, as it seems to me, between the second and\nthe last of these suppositions.\n\n\n\u00a7 III.--SOMNAMBULISM.\n\n_Relation to the magnetic State._--Somnambulism or sleep-walking, is\ncalled, by some writers, _natural magnetic sleep_. They suppose it to\ndiffer from the state ordinarily called mesmeric, chiefly in this,\nthat the former is a natural, and the latter an artificial process.\n\n_Resemblance of this to other cognate Phenomena._--We shall have\noccasion, as we proceed, to notice the very close resemblance between\ndreaming, somnambulism, mesmerism, and insanity, all, in fact, closely\nrelated to each other, characterized each and all by one and the\nsame great law, and passing into each other by almost imperceptible\ngradations.\n\n_Method proposed._--It will be to the purpose, first to describe\nthe phenomena of somnambulism, then to inquire whether they can be\naccounted for.\n\n_Description._--The principal phenomena of somnambulism are the\nfollowing: The subject, while in a state of sound sleep, and perfectly\nunconscious of what he does, rises, walks about, finds his way over\ndangerous, and, at other times, inaccessible places, speaks and acts\nas if awake, performs in the dark, and with the eyes closed, or even\nbandaged, operations which require the closest attention and the\nbest vision, perceives, indeed, things not visible to the eye in its\nordinary waking state, perhaps even things absent and future, and\nwhen awakened from this state, is perfectly unconscious of what has\nhappened, and astonished to find himself in some strange and unnatural\nposition.\n\n_An Instance narrated._--A case which fell under the observation of the\nArchbishop of Bordeaux, when a student in the seminary, is narrated\nin the French Encyclopedia. A young minister, resident there, was a\nsomnambulist, and to satisfy himself as to the nature of this strange\ndisease, the Archbishop went every night into his room, after the young\nman was asleep. He would arise, take paper, pen, and ink, and proceed\nto the composition of sermons. Having written a page in a clear legible\nhand, he would read it aloud from top to bottom, with a clear voice and\nproper emphasis. If a passage did not please him, he would erase it,\nand write the correction, plainly, in its proper place, over the erased\nline or word. All this was done without any assistance from the eye,\nwhich was evidently asleep; a piece of pasteboard interposed between\nthe eye and the paper produced no interruption or inconvenience. When\nhis paper was exchanged for another of the same size, he was not aware\nof the change, but when a paper of a different size was substituted, he\nat once detected the difference. This shows that the sense of tact or\nfeeling was active, and served as a guiding sense.\n\n_Other Cases of a similar Nature._--Similar cases, almost without\nnumber, are on record, in which much the same phenomena are observed.\nIn some instances it is remarked that the subject, having written a\nsentence on a page, returns, and carefully dots the i's, and crosses\nthe t's. These phenomena are not confined to the night. Persons have\nfallen into the magnetic state, while in church, during divine service,\nhave gone home with their eyes closed, carefully avoiding obstacles in\ntheir way, as persons or carriages passing; and have been sent, in this\nstate, of errands to places several miles distant, going and returning\nin safety.\n\nAn amusing incident is on record of a gentleman who found that his\nhen-roost was the scene of nightly and alarming depredations, which\nthreatened the entire devastation of the premises, and what was\nstrange, a large and faithful watch-dog gave no alarm. Determined to\nascertain the true state of the case, he employed his servants to\nwatch. During the night the thief made his appearance, was caught,\nafter much resistance, and proved to be the _gentleman himself_, in a\nstate of sound sleep, the author of all the mischief.\n\n_A remarkable Instance._--Another case is also related, which presents\nsome features quite remarkable. In a certain school for young ladies,\nI think in France, prizes had been offered for the best paintings.\nAmong the competitors was a young and timid girl who was conscious\nof her inferiority in the art, yet strongly desirous of success. For\na time she was quite dissatisfied with the progress of her work, but\nby and by began to notice, as she resumed her pencil in the morning,\nthat something had been added to the work since she last touched it.\nThis was noticed for some time, and quite excited her curiosity. The\nadditions were evidently by a superior hand, far excelling her own in\nskill and workmanship. Her companions denied, each, and severally, all\nknowledge of the matter. She placed articles of furniture against her\ndoor in such a way that any one entering would be sure to awaken her.\nThey were undisturbed, but still the mysterious additions continued to\nbe made. At last, her companions concluded to watch without, and make\nsure that no one entered her apartment during the night, but still the\nwork went on. At length it occurred to them to watch her movements, and\nnow the mystery was explained. They saw her, evidently in sound sleep,\nrise, dress, take her place at the table, and commence her work. It\nwas her own hand that, unconsciously to herself, had executed the work\nin a style which, in her waking moments, she could not approach, and\nwhich quite surpassed all competition. The picture, notwithstanding her\nprotestations that it was not her painting, took the prize.\n\n_The Question._--How is it now, that in a state of sleep, with the eye,\nprobably, fast closed, and the room in darkness, this girl can use the\npencil in a manner so superior to any thing that she can do in the day\ntime, with her eyes open, and in the full possession and employment of\nher senses and her will?\n\n_Several Things to be accounted for._--Here are, in fact, several\nthings to be accounted for. How is it that the somnambulist rises and\nmoves about in a state of apparently sound sleep? How is it that she\nperforms actions requiring often a high degree of intelligence, and yet\nwithout apparent consciousness? How is it that she moves fearlessly and\nsafely, as is often the case, over places where she could not stand\nfor a moment, in her waking state, without the greatest danger? How\nis it that she can see without the eye, and perform actions in utter\ndarkness, requiring the nicest attention, and the best vision, and\nnot only do them, but in such a manner as even to surpass what can be\ndone by the same person in any other state, under the most favorable\ncircumstances?\n\n_First, the Movement._--As to the first thing--the movement and\nlocomotion in sleep--it may be accounted for in two ways. We may\nsuppose it to be wholly automatic. This is the view of some eminent\nphysiologists. The conscious soul, they say, has nothing to do with\nit, no knowledge of it. The will has nothing more to do with it, than\nit has with the contraction of a muscle, or irritation in an amputated\nlimb.\n\n_Objection to this View._--For reasons intimated already, we cannot\nadopt the automatic theory. It seems to us subversive of all true\nscience of the mind. The body is self-moved in obedience to the active\nenergy of the nervous organism, and this organism again, acts only as\nit is acted upon by the mind that animates, pervades, and controls that\norganism. In the waking state, this mental action, and the consequent\nnervous and muscular activity, are under the control of the will. In\nsleep, this control is, for the time, suspended, and the thoughts come\nand go as it may chance, subject to no law but that of the associative\nprinciple. The mind, however, is still active, and the thoughts are\nbusy in their own spontaneous movement. To this movement, the brain\nand nervous system respond. That the brain itself thinks, that the\nnerves and muscles act, and the limbs move automatically, without the\nenergizing activity of the mind, is a supposition purely gratuitous,\ninconsistent with all the known facts and evident indications of the\ncase, and at war with all just notions of the relation of body and mind.\n\n_Another Theory._--Another, and much more reasonable supposition is,\nthat the will, which ordinarily in sleep loses control both over the\nmind and the body, in the state of somnambulism regains, in some\nway, and to some extent, its power over the latter, so that the body\nrises and moves about in accordance with the thought and feeling\nthat happen, at the moment, to be predominant in the mind. There is\nno control of the will over those thoughts and suggestions: they are\nspontaneous, undirected, casual, subject only to the ordinary laws of\nassociation; but for the time, whether owing to the greater vividness\nand force of these suggestions and impressions, or to the disturbed and\npartially aroused state of the sensorial organism, the will, acting in\naccordance with these suggestions of the mind, so far regains its power\nover the bodily organism, that locomotion ensues. The dream is then\nsimply acted out. The body rises, the hand resumes the pen, and the\nappropriate movements and actions corresponding to the conceptions of\nthe mind in its dream, are duly performed.\n\n_The second Point of Inquiry._--This virtually answers the second\nquestion, how the somnambulist can perform actions requiring\nintelligence, yet without apparent consciousness.\n\nThere is, doubtless, consciousness at the time--there must be; the\nthought and feeling of the moment are known to us at the moment. Not to\nbe conscious of thought and feeling, is, not to think and feel. That\nthe acts thus performed are not subsequently remembered, is no evidence\nthat they were not objects of consciousness at the time of their\noccurrence. This is absence of memory, and not of consciousness.\n\n_Not remembered._--Why they are not subsequently remembered, we may,\nor may not, be able to explain. Not improbably, it may be owing to\nthe partial inactivity of the senses, and the consequent failure to\nperceive the actual relations of the person to surrounding objects. But\nto whatever it may be owing, it does not prove that the mind is, for\nthe time, unconscious of its own activity, for that is impossible.\n\n_Third Question._--As to the third question, how the somnambulist\ncan safely move where the waking person cannot, as along the edge of\nprecipices, and on the roofs of houses, the explanation is simple and\neasy. The eye is closed. The sense of touch is the only guide. Now\nthe foot requires but a space of a few inches for its support, that,\ngiven it knows nothing further, asks nothing beyond. It is the eye that\ninforms us at other times of the danger beyond, and so creates, in\nfact, the present danger. You walk safely on a two-inch plank one foot\nfrom the ground. The same effort of the muscles will enable you to walk\nthe same plank one hundred feet from the ground, if you do not know the\ndifference. This the somnambulist, with closed eye, and trusting to the\nsense of feeling alone, does not recognize.\n\n_A Question still to be answered._--But the most difficult question\nremains. How is it that the sleep-walker in utter darkness, reads,\nwrites, paints, runs, etc., better even than others can do, or even\nthan he himself can do at other times and with open eyes. How can he\ndo these things without seeing? and how see in the dark and with the\norgans of vision fast locked in sleep. The facts are manifest. Not\nso ready the explanation. I can see how the body can move and with\ncomparative safety, and even how the cerebral action may go on in\nsleep, without subsequent remembrance. But to read, to write, to paint,\nto run swiftly when pursued through a dark cellar, without coming in\ncontact with surrounding objects, are operations requiring the nicest\npower of vision, and how there can be vision without the use of the\nproper organ of vision, is not to me apparent. It does not answer this\nquestion to say that the action is automatic. That would account for\none's seeing, but not _without eyes_. The movement from place to place,\naccording to the same theory, is also automatic; that accounts for a\nperson's walking in sleep, but not for his walking _without legs_. Nor\ndoes it solve the difficulty to say that in sleep the life of the soul\nis merged in that of the body; doubtless, but how can the body see\nwithout the eye, or the eye without light?\n\n_Theory of a general Sense._--The only theory that seems to offer even\na plausible solution is that advanced by some German psychologists, and\nby Rauch in this country, of a _general sense_. The several special\nsenses, they say, are all resolvable into one general sense as their\nsource, viz., that of feeling. They refer us in illustration to the\near of the crab, to the eye of the fly and the snail, to the scent of\nflies, in which cases, respectively, we find no _organ_ of hearing,\nor vision, or smell, but simply an expansion of the general nerve of\nsensation, or some filament from it, connecting with a somewhat thinner\nand more delicate membrane than the ordinary skin. This shows that our\nordinary way of perceiving things is not the only way; that special\norgans of vision, etc., are not needed in order to all perception, much\nless to sensation. It has been found by experiment that bats, after\ntheir eyes have been entirely removed, will fly about as before, and\navoid all obstacles just as before. In these cases, it is contended,\nperception is merely _feeling heightened_, the exercise of the general\nsense into which the special senses are severally merged. And this, it\nis said, may be the case with the somnambulist.\n\n_Remarks on this Theory._--There is doubtless truth in the general\nstatement now advanced. I do not see, however, that it accounts for\nall that requires explanation in the case. It explains, perhaps,\nhow, without the organ of vision, a certain dim, confused perception\nof objects might be furnished by the general sense, but not for a\n_clearer_ vision and a _nicer_ operation than the waking eye can give.\nThis, to me, remains yet unexplained. Is there an inner consciousness,\na hidden soul-life not dependent on the bodily organization, which at\ntimes comes forth into development and manifests itself when the usual\nrelations of body and soul are disturbed and suspended? So some have\nsupposed, and so it may be for aught we know to the contrary, but this\nis only to solve one mystery by supposing another yet greater.\n\n_Must admit what._--Whatever theory we adopt, or even if we adopt\nnone, we must admit, I think, in view of the facts in the case, that\nin certain disordered and highly excited states of the nervous system,\nas, _e. g._, when weakened by disease, so that ordinary causes affect\nit more powerfully than usual, _it can, and does sometimes, perceive\nwhat, under ordinary circumstances, is not perceptible to the eye, or\nto the ear; nay, even dispenses with the use of eye and ear, and the\nseveral organs of special sense_. This occurs, as we have seen, in\nsomnambulism, or natural magnetic sleep. We meet with the same thing\nalso in even stranger forms, in the mesmeric state, and in some species\nof insanity.\n\n_The mental Process obvious._--So far as regards the purely mental part\nof the phenomena, the operations of the mind in somnambulism, there\nis nothing which is not easily explained. In somnambulism, as indeed\nin all these states so closely connected--sleep, dreams, the mesmeric\nprocess, and even insanity--_the will loses its controlling power over\nthe train of thought, and, consequently, the thought or feeling that\nhappens to be dominant gives rise to, and entirely shapes, the actions\nthat may in that state be performed_. This dominant thought or feeling,\nin the case of the somnambulist, is, for the most part, probably, the\nresult of previous causes; a continuation of the former mental action,\nwhich, when the influence of the will is suspended and the senses\nclosed, by a sort of inherent activity keeps on in the same channel as\nbefore. Of such action, the soul is itself probably conscious at the\nmoment, but afterward no recollection of it lingers in the mind.\n\n\n\u00a7 IV.--DISORDERED MENTAL ACTION.\n\n_Relation to other mental Phenomena._--Closely allied to somnambulism,\ndreaming, etc., are certain forms of disordered mental condition\ncommonly termed insanity; having this one element in common with the\nformer, the loss or suspension of all voluntary control over the train\nof thought. This must be regarded as the characteristic feature and\nessential ground-work of the various phenomena in all these various\nstates.\n\n_Classification._--The forms of disordered mental action are various,\nand admit of some classification. Some are transient, others\npermanent, arising from some settled disorder of the intellect, or the\nsensibilities.\n\nI. _Transient Forms._--Of these, some are artificially produced, as\nby exciting drugs, stimulants, intoxicating drinks, etc., others by\nphysical and natural causes, as disease, etc.\n\n_Delirium, artificial._--The most common of these forms of disordered\nmental action is that transient and artificial state produced by\nintoxicating drugs and drinks. This is properly called delirium, and\ntakes place whenever total or even partial inebriation occurs, whether\nfrom alcoholic or narcotic stimulants, as the opium of the Chinese,\nand the Indian hemp or _hachish_ of the Hindoos. The same effects,\nsubstantially, are produced, also, by certain plants, as the deadly\nnight-shade and others, and also by aconite. In all these cases the\neffect is wrought primarily, it would seem, upon the blood, which is\nbrought into a poisonous state, and thus deranges the action of the\nnerves and the brain. The _hachish_ or Indian hemp, which, in the\nEast, is used for purposes of intoxication more generally, perhaps,\nthan even opium, or alcoholic drinks, may serve as an illustration of\nthe manner in which these various stimulants affect the senses. At\nfirst the subject perceives an increased activity of mind; thoughts\ncome and go in swift succession and pleasing variety; the imagination\nis active--memory, fancy, reason, all awake. Gradually this mental\nactivity increases and _frees itself from voluntary control_; attention\nto any special subject becomes difficult or even impossible; ideas,\nstrange and wonderful, come and go at random with no apparent cause\nand by no known law of suggestion; these absorb the attention until\nthe mind is at last given up to them, and there is no further\nconsciousness of the external things, while, at the same time, the\npatient is susceptible, as in the magnetic state, of influence and\nimpression from without. How closely, in many respects, this resembles\nthe state of the mind in somnambulism, mesmerism, and ordinary\ndreaming, I need not point out. The mental excitement produced by opium\nis perhaps greater, and the images that throng the brain, and assume\nthe semblance of reality, are more numerous and real. The subsequent\nexhaustion and reaction in either case are fearful. For illustration of\nthis the reader is referred to the Confessions of an Opium Eater, by\nthe accomplished De Quincey.\n\n_Delirium of Disease._--The ordinary _delirium of disease_ is\nessentially of the same nature with that now described, differing\nrather in its origin, or producing cause, than in its effects. It\ncomes on often in much the same way; increased mental activity shows\nitself; attention is fixed with difficulty; strange images, and trains\nof thought at once singular and uncontrolled by the will, come and go;\nthe mind at last is possessed by them and loses all control over its\nown movements. Every thing now, which the mind conceives, assumes the\nform of reality. It has no longer conceptions but perceptions. Figures\nmove along the walls and occupy the room. They are as really _seen_,\nthat is, the _sensation_ is the same, as in any case of healthy and\nactual vision; only the effect is wrought from within outward, from the\nsensorium to the optic nerve and retina, instead of the reverse, as in\nactual vision. Voices are heard also, and various sounds, in the same\nmanner; the producing cause acting from within outward, and not from\nwithout inward.\n\n_Differs from Dreaming._--This state differs from dreaming in that\nthe subject is not necessarily asleep, and that it involves a greater\nand more serious disorder of the faculties, as well as of longer\ncontinuance. The illusions are perhaps also more decided, and more\nvividly conceived as external and real entities. Like dreams, and\nunlike the conceptions of the magnetic state, these ideas and\nillusions may be subsequently recalled, and in many cases are so; the\nmind, however, finding it difficult still to believe that they were\n_fictions_, and not actual occurrences.\n\nIn dreaming, the things which we seem to see and hear are changes\nproduced in the sensorium by cerebral or other influences. In delirium,\nthe sensorium itself is disordered and produces false appearances,\nspectres, etc.\n\n_Mania._--That form of disordered mental action termed _mania_, differs\nfrom that already described in that, along with the derangement of\nthe intellect, there is more or less emotional disorder. The patient\nis strongly excited on any thing that at all rouses the feelings.\nThere may be much or little intellectual derangement accompanying this\nexcitement. The two forms, in fact, pass into each by a succession of\nalmost indefinable links. The main element is the same in each, _i.\ne._, loss of voluntary control over the thoughts and feelings. Each is\nproduced by physical causes, and is of transient duration.\n\n_Power of Suggestion._--In all these forms of delirium now described,\nwhether artificial or natural, the mind is open to suggestions from\nwithout, and these become often controlling ideas. Hence it is of\nimperative necessity that the attendant should be on his guard as to\nwhat he says or does in the presence of the patient. An instance in\npoint is related by Dr. Carpenter, in which a certain eminent physician\nlost a number of his patients in fever by their jumping from the\nwindow, a fact accounted for at once, when we come to hear that he\nwas stupid enough to caution the attendants, _in the hearing of his\npatients_, against the possibility of such an event.\n\nII. _Permanent Forms._--I proceed next to notice those more permanent\nforms of mental disorder, commonly termed _insanity_, a term properly\napplied to designate those cases of abnormal mental activity in which\nthere seems to be either some settled disorder of the intellect, as,\n_e. g._, when the brain has been weakened by successive attacks of\nmania, epilepsy, etc., or else some permanent tendency to disordered\nemotional excitement.\n\n_Disorder of the Intellect._--Where the intellectual faculties are\ndisordered, the chief elementary feature of the case is the same as in\nthose already noticed, viz., _Loss of voluntary control over the mental\noperations_--the psychological ground-work, as we have seen, of all the\nvarious forms of abnormal mental action which have as yet come under\nour notice.\n\n_Memory affected._--In the cases now under consideration, the memory\nis the faculty that in most cases gives the first signs of failure,\nparticularly that form of memory which is strictly voluntary, viz.,\nrecollection. In consequence of this, past experience is placed out of\nreach, cannot be made available, and therefore reasoning and judgment\nare deficient. The thoughts lose their coherency and connection, as\nthey are thus cut loose from the fixtures of the past, to which the\nlaws of association no longer bind them; they come and go with a\nstrange automatic sort of movement, over which the mind feels that it\nhas little power. Gradually this little fades away; the will no longer\nexercises its former and rightful control over the mental activities;\nits sway is broken, its authority gone; the mind loses control of\nitself, and, like a vessel broken from her moorings, swings sadly and\nhopelessly away into the swift stream of settled insanity. The mind\nstill retains its full measure of activity, perhaps greatly increased;\nbut it acts as in a _dream_. All its conceptions are realities to it,\nand the actually real world, as it mingles with the dream and shapes\nit, is but vaguely and imperfectly apprehended through the confused\nmedia of the mind's own conceptions. All this may be, and often is,\nrealized, where there is entire absence of all emotional excitement.\n\n_Not easily cured._--The condition now described is much less open to\nmedical treatment than the mental states previously mentioned. Indeed,\nwhere there is insanity resulting from settled cerebral disorder, there\nis very little hope of cure. Nature may in time recover herself; she\nmay not. This depends on age, constitution, predisposing causes, and a\nvariety of circumstances not altogether under human control.\n\n_Disordered Action of the Sensibilities._--Another form of insanity is\nthat which consists in, or arises from, not any primary disorder of\nthe intellectual faculties, but a tendency to disordered _emotional_\nexcitement. Sometimes this is general, extending to all the emotions.\nThese cases require careful treatment. The patient is like a child, and\nmust be governed mildly and wisely, is open to argument and motives\nof self-control. In other cases, some one emotion is particularly the\nseat and centre of the disturbance, while the others are comparatively\ntranquil. In such cases the exaggerated emotion may prompt to some\nspecific action, as suicide, or murder, etc. This is termed _impulsive_\ninsanity. The predominant idea or impulse tyrannizes over the mind,\nand, by a sort of irresistible fatality, drives it on to the commission\nof crime. The patient may be conscious of this impulse, and revolt from\nit with horror; there may be no pleasure or desire associated with the\ndeed, but he is unable to resist. He is like a boat in the rapids of\nNiagara. So fearful the condition of man when reason is dethroned, and\nthe will no longer master.\n\n\n\n\nMENTAL PHILOSOPHY.\n\nDIVISION SECOND\n\n\n\n\nTHE SENSIBILITIES.\n\nPRELIMINARY TOPICS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nNATURE, DIFFICULTY, AND IMPORTANCE OF THIS DEPARTMENT OF THE SCIENCE.\n\n\n_Previous Analysis._--In entering upon the investigation of a new\ndepartment of our science, it may be well to recur, for a moment,\nto the analysis and classification of the powers of the mind which\nhas been already given in the introduction to the present volume.\nThe faculties of the mind were divided in that analysis, it will\nbe remembered, into three grand departments, the Intellect, the\nSensibilities, and the Will; the first comprising the various powers\nof _thinking_ and _knowing_, the second of _feeling_, the third of\n_willing_. The first of these main divisions has been already discussed\nin the preceding pages. Upon the second we now enter.\n\n_Difference of the two Departments._--This department of mental\nactivity differs from the former, as feeling differs from thinking. The\ndistinction is broad and obvious. No one can mistake it who knows any\nthing of his own mental operations. Every one knows the difference,\nthough not every one may be able to explain it, or tell precisely in\nwhat it consists. But whether able to define our meaning or not, we\nare perfectly conscious that to think and to feel are different acts,\nand involve entirely different states of mind. The common language of\nlife recognizes the distinction, alike that of the educated and of the\nuneducated, the peasant and the man of science. The literature of the\nworld recognizes it.\n\n_Relation of the two._--As regards the relation of the two departments\nto each other, the intellect properly precedes the sensibility.\nThe latter implies the former, and depends upon it. There can be\nno feeling--I speak, of course, of mental feeling, and not of mere\nphysical sensation--without previous cognizance of some object, in\nview of which the feeling is awakened. Affection always implies an\nobject of affection, desire, an object of desire; and the object is\nfirst apprehended by the intellect before the emotion is awakened in\nthe mind. When we love, we love something, when we desire, we desire\nsomething, when we fear, or hope, or hate, there is always some\nobject, more or less clearly defined, that awakens these feelings,\nand in proportion to the clearness and vividness of the intellectual\nconception or perception of the object, will be the strength of the\nfeeling.\n\n_Strength of Feelings as related to Strength of Intellect._--The range\nand power of the sensibilities, then, in other words, the mind's\ncapacity of feeling, depends essentially upon the range and vigor of\nthe intellectual powers. Within certain limits, the one varies as the\nother. The man of strong and vigorous mind is capable of stronger\nemotion than the man of dwarfed and puny intellect. Milton, Cromwell,\nNapoleon, Webster, surpassed other men, not more in clearness and\nstrength of intellectual perception, than in energy of feeling. In\nthis, indeed, lay, in no small degree, the secret of their superior\npower. In the most eloquent passages of the great orators of ancient\nor modern times, it is not so much the irresistible cogency and\nunrelenting grasp of the terrible logic, that holds our attention, and\ncasts its spell over us, as it is the burning indignation that exposes\nthe sophistries, and tears to shreds the fallacies of an opponent, and\nsweeps all argument and all opposition before it like a devouring\nfire. The orations of Demosthenes, of Burke, of Webster, furnish\nnumerous examples of this.\n\n_Influence of the Feelings on the Intellect._--On the other hand, it\nis equally true that the state of the intellect in any case depends\nnot a little on the nature and strength of the mind's capacities of\nfeeling. A quick and lively sensibility is more likely to be attended\nwith quickness and strength of intellectual conception; imagination,\nperception, fancy, and even reasoning, are quickened, and set in active\nplay, by its electric touch.\n\nA man with sluggish and torpid sensibilities, is almost of necessity a\nman of dull and sluggish intellect. A man without feeling, if we can\nconceive so strange a phenomenon, would be a man, the measure of whose\nintellectual capacity would be little above that of the brutes.\n\n_Importance of this Department of the mental Faculties._--Such being\nthe nature of the sensibilities, the _importance_ of this department\nof mental activity becomes obvious at a glance. The springs of human\naction lie here. We find here a clue to the study of human nature\nand of ourselves. To understand the complicated and curious problem\nof human life and action, to understand history, society, nations,\nourselves, we must understand well the nature and philosophy of the\nsensibilities. Here we find the motives which set the busy world in\naction, the causes which go to make men what they are in the busy and\never changing scene of life's great drama. It is the emotions and\npassions of men which give, at once, the impulse, and the direction,\nto their energies, constitute their character, shape their history and\ntheir destiny. A knowledge of man and of the world is emphatically a\nknowledge of the human heart.\n\n_Extract from Brown._--The importance of this part of our nature is\nwell set forth in the following passage from Dr. Thomas Brown:\n\n\"We might, perhaps, have been so constituted, with respect to our\nintellectual states of mind, as to have had all the varieties of\nthese, our remembrances, judgments, and creations of fancy, without\nour emotions. But without the emotions which accompany them, of how\nlittle value would the mere intellectual functions have been! It is to\nour vivid feelings of this class we must look for those tender regards\nwhich make our remembrances sacred, for that love of truth and glory,\nand mankind, without which to animate and reward us in our discovery\nand diffusion of knowledge, the continued exercise of judgment would\nbe a fatigue rather than a satisfaction, and for all that delightful\nwonder which we feel when we contemplate the admirable creations of\nfancy, or the still more admirable beauties of the unfading model, that\nmodel which is ever before us, and the imitation of which, as has been\ntruly said, is the only _imitation_ that is itself _originality_. By\nour other mental functions, we are mere spectators of the machinery of\nthe universe, living and inanimate; by our _emotions_, we are admirers\nof nature, lovers of man, adorers of God....\n\n_Less attractive Aspects._--\"In this picture of our emotions, however,\nI have presented them in their fairest aspects; there are aspects\nwhich they assume, as terrible as these are attractive; but even\nterrible as they are, they are not the less interesting objects of our\ncontemplation. They are the enemies with which our mortal combat, in\nthe warfare of life, is to be carried on; and of these enemies that are\nto assail us, it is good for us to know all the arms and all the arts\nwith which we are to be assailed; as it is good for us to know all the\nmisery which would await our defeat, as well as all the happiness which\nwould crown our success, that our conflict may be the stronger, and our\nvictory, therefore, the more sure.\n\n\"In the list of our emotions of this formidable class, is to be found\nevery passion which can render life guilty and miserable; a single hour\nof which, if that hour be an hour of uncontrolled dominion, may destroy\nhappiness forever, and leave little more of virtue than is necessary\nfor giving all its horror to remorse. There are feelings as blasting\nto every desire of good that may still linger in the heart of the frail\nvictim who is not yet wholly corrupted, as those poisonous gales of the\ndesert, which not merely lift in whirlwinds the sands that have often\nbeen tossed before, but wither even the few fresh leaves, which on some\nspot of scanty verdure, have still been flourishing amid the general\nsterility.\"\n\n_Difficulty of the Study._--With regard to the difficulty attending\nthe study of this part of our nature, a word seems necessary in\npassing. It has been supposed to constitute a peculiar difficulty in\nthe way of the successful investigation of this department of mental\nactivity, that the sensibilities are, in their very nature, of such an\nexciting character, as to preclude the calm, dispassionate observation\nand reflection so necessary to correct judgment. At the moment of\nexercising any lively emotion, as hope, fear, anger, etc., the mind\nis in too great perturbation to be in any condition for accurate\nself-observation, and when the excitement has subsided, the important\nmoment has already passed. Mr. Stewart has particularly noticed this\ndifficulty in his Introduction to the Active and Moral Powers, and\nquotes Hume to the same effect.\n\n_Not peculiar to this Department of the Science._--The difficulty in\nquestion, however, is one which, in reality, pertains to all mental\nscience, and not to this department of it alone; and so Hume, in the\npassage cited by Mr. Stewart, seems to intend. It is true that while\nwe are under the influence of any exciting emotion, we are in no mood,\nand in no suitable state to observe, with critical eye, the workings of\nour own minds; neither are we in any condition to do so when engaged in\nthe less exciting, but not less absorbing _intellectual_ occupation of\nreasoning, or imagining, or remembering. The moment we begin to observe\nourselves as thus engaged, the mind is no longer employed as before,\nthe experiment which we wish to observe is interrupted, and instead of\nreasoning, imagining, or remembering, we are only observing ourselves.\nOur only resource, in either case, is to turn back and gather up, as\nwell as we can from _memory_, the data of our mental activity and\ncondition while thus and thus employed. And this we can do with regard\nto the action of the sensibilities, as well as of the intellect,\nprovided only the degree of emotion and excitement is not so great as\nto interfere with the present consciousness, and so with the subsequent\nrecollection of what was passing in our own minds.\n\n_Sources of Information._--Nor are we dependent entirely on\nself-observation. Our sources of information are twofold, the\nobservation of our own minds, and of others. From the latter source\nwe may learn much of the nature of this department of mental action.\nThe sensibilities of others are more open to our inspection, and less\nreadily mistaken, than their intellectual states. Nor do we meet, in\nthis case, with the same difficulty; for however excited and incapable\nof self-inspection, at the moment, the subject of any strong emotion or\npassion may be, the spectator, at least, is able to observe the effect\nof that passion, and note its phenomena, with calm and careful eye.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nANALYSIS AND CLASSIFICATION OF THE SENSIBILITIES.\n\n\n_Certain Distinctions may be noticed._--Including, under the term\nsensibility, according to the definition already given, whatever is of\nthe nature of _feeling_, in distinction from thought or cognition, and\nlimiting the term also to feelings strictly _mental_, in distinction\nfrom merely physical sensation, it is obvious that there are certain\nleading distinctions still to be observed in this class of our mental\nstates, certain great and strongly marked divisions or differences,\nby which we shall do well to be guided in our arrangement and\nclassification of them. Our feelings are many and various; it is\nimpossible to enumerate or classify them with perfect precision; yet\nthere are certain points of resemblance and difference among them,\ncertain groups or classes into which they naturally divide themselves.\n\n_A general Distinction indicated._--One general distinction lies at\nthe outset, patent and obvious, running through all forms and modes of\nsensibility, namely, the difference of _agreeable_ and _disagreeable_.\nEvery feeling is, in its very nature, and of necessity, one or the\nother, either pleasing or painful. In some cases the distinction is\nmuch more strongly marked than in others; sometimes it may be hardly\nperceptible, and it may be difficult to determine, so slight is the\ndegree of either, whether the feeling under consideration partakes of\nthe character of pleasure or pain; sometimes there is a blending of the\ntwo elements, and the same emotion is at once pleasing and painful to\nthe mind that experiences it. But I cannot conceive of a feeling that\nis neither agreeable or disagreeable, but positively indifferent. The\nstate of indifference is not an exercise of sensibility, but a simple\n_want_ of it, as the very name denotes by which we most appropriately\nexpress this state of mind, _i. e._, _apathy_ ([Greek: a pathos]).\n\n_Simple Emotions._--Passing this general and obvious distinction, we\nfind among our sensibilities a large class which we may denominate\n_simple emotions_. These comprise the joys and sorrows of life in all\ntheir varieties of modification and degree, according as the objects\nwhich awaken them differ. Under this class fall those general states of\nthe mind which, without assuming a definite and obvious form, impart a\ntinge and coloring of joyousness or sadness to all our activity. Under\nthis class, also, must be included the more specific forms of feeling,\nsuch as the grief or sorrow we feel at the loss of friends, sympathy\nwith the happiness or sorrow of others, the enjoyment arising from the\ncontemplation or persuasion of our own superiority, and the chagrin of\nthe reverse, the enjoyment of the ludicrous, of the new and wonderful,\nof the beautiful, to which must be added the satisfaction resulting\nfrom the consciousness of right action, and those vivid feelings of\nregret in view of the wrong, which, in their higher degree, assume\nthe name of remorse, and fall like a chill and fearful shadow over\nthe troubled path of earthly life. These all are simple emotions, and\nall, moreover, are but so many forms of joy and sorrow, varying as the\nobjects vary which give rise to them.\n\n_Further Difference of instinctive and rational Emotion._--It will\nbe observed, however, that of these several specific forms of simple\nemotion, some are of a higher order than the others. Such are those\nlast named in the series, the feelings awakened in view of the\nludicrous, in view of the new and wonderful, in view of the beautiful,\nand in view of the right, or, in general, the \u00e6sthetic and moral\nemotions. These, as seeming to possess a higher dignity, and to involve\na higher degree of intellectual development, we may denominate the\n_rational_, in distinction from the other simple emotions, which, to\nmark the difference, we may term _instinctive_.\n\n_Emotions of a complex Character._--Passing on in our analysis, we come\nnext to a class of emotions differing from that already considered,\nin being of a complex character. It is no longer a simple feeling of\ndelight and satisfaction in the object, or the reverse, but along with\nthis is blended the wish, more or less definite and intense, of good\nor ill, to the object which awakens the emotion. The feeling assumes\nan active form, becomes objective, and travels out from itself and\nthe bosom that cherishes it, to the object which calls it forth. In\nthis desire of good or ill to the object, the simple element of joy or\nsorrow, the subjective feeling, is often merged and lost sight of; yet\nit ever exists as an essential element of the complex emotion.\n\n_Further Subdivision of this Class._--Of this class are the feelings\nusually denominated _affections_, which may be further subdivided into\n_benevolent_ and _malevolent_, according as they seek the good or the\nill of their respective objects. As the _simple emotions_ are all but\nso many modes and forms of the feeling of _joy_, and its opposite,\n_sorrow_, so the _affections_ are but so many different modifications\nof the one comprehensive principle of _love_, and its opposite, _hate_.\n\n_Various Objects of Affection._--The affections vary as the objects\nvary on which they rest. Of the benevolent class, the more prominent\nare, love of kindred, of friends, of benefactors, of home and country.\nOf the malevolent affections, so called, the more important are the\nfeeling of resentment in view of personal injury, of indignation at the\nwrongs of others, the feeling of jealousy, and the like.\n\n_The Passions._--These various affections, both malevolent and\nbenevolent, when they rise above the ordinary degree, and become\nimpatient of restraint, imperious, no longer under the control of\nreason and sober reflection, but themselves assuming the command of\nthe whole man, and impelling him toward the desired end, regardless of\nother and higher interests, become the _passions_ of our nature, with\nwhich no small part of the self-conflict and self-discipline of this\nour mortal life is to be maintained.\n\n_The Desires._--There is still another class of emotions, differing\nessentially in their nature from each of the two leading divisions\nalready mentioned, that is, our _desires_. These are of two sorts.\nThose which are founded in the physical nature and constitution of\nman--as the desire of food, of muscular exertion, of repose, of\nwhatever is adapted to the animal nature and wants--are usually\ndenominated _appetites_: those, on the other hand, which take their\nrise from the nature and wants of the mind, rather than of the body,\nmay be termed _rational_, in distinction from _animal_ desires or\nappetites. Of these the more important are the desire of happiness, of\nknowledge, of power, of society, of the esteem of others.\n\nAs joy has its opposite, sorrow, and love its opposite, hate, so also\ndesire has its opposite, aversion; and the objects of aversion are\nas numerous as the objects of desire. The desire of wealth has its\ncounterpart, the aversion to poverty and want; the desire of life and\nhappiness stands over against the aversion to suffering and death. The\ntwo are so to speak, the positive and negative poles of feeling.\n\n_Hope and Fear._--There is yet another and important class of our\nemotions, having not a little to do with the happiness or misery of\nlife, casting its lights and shadows over no small part of our little\npath from the cradle to the grave, our _hopes_ and our _fears_. These,\nhowever important in themselves, are, nevertheless, but modifications\nof the principles of desire and aversion, and are, therefore, to be\nreferred to the same general division of the sensibilities. Hope is the\ndesire of some expected good, fear the aversion to some anticipated\nevil.\n\n_Summary of Classes._--To the three comprehensive classes now named,\n_Simple Emotions_, _Affections_, and _Desires_ may be referred, if\nI mistake not, the various sensibilities of our nature; or, if the\nanalysis and classification be not complete and exhaustive, it is at\nleast sufficiently minute for our present purpose.\n\n\nHISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE LEADING DIVISIONS OF THE SENSIBILITIES ADOPTED\nBY DIFFERENT WRITERS.\n\n_Important to know the Principles of Division adopted by others._--The\ndiscussion of the present topic would be incomplete without a glance\nat the _history_ of the same. It is of service, having obtained some\ndefinite results and conclusions of our own, to know also what have\nbeen the views and conclusions of others upon the same matter. As\nwith regard to the intellectual powers, so also with respect to the\nsensibilities, different principles of division and classification have\nbeen adopted by different writers. Our limits will allow us to glance\nonly at the more important of these.\n\n_General Principles of Classification._--Of those who have written upon\nthe sensibilities, some have placed them in contrast to each other,\nas hope and fear, love and hate, etc., making this the principle of\ndivision; others have classed them as personal, social, etc.; others\nas relating to time, the past, the present, and the future; others as\ninstinctive and rational; while most who have had occasion to treat of\nthis part of our mental constitution, have considered it with reference\nsolely or mainly to the science of ethics or morals, and have adopted\nsuch a division and arrangement as best suited that end, without\nspecial regard to the psychology of the matter.\n\n_Of the Greek Schools._--Among the Greeks, the Academicians included\nthe various emotions under the four principal ones, fear, desire, joy,\nand grief, classing despair and aversion under grief, while hope,\ncourage, and anger were comprised under desire.\n\nTo denote the _passivity_ of the mind, as acted upon, and under the\ninfluence of emotion, the Greeks named the passions in general, [Greek:\npathos], suffering, whence our terms pathos, pathetic, etc., whence\nalso the Latin _passio_ and _patior_, from which our word _passion_.\nThe Stoics, in particular, designated all emotions as [Greek: path\u00ea],\ndiseases, regarding them as disorders of the mind.\n\n_Hartley's Division._--Among the moderns, _Hartley_ divides the\nsensibilities into the two leading classes of _grateful_ and\n_ungrateful_ ones; under the former, including love, desire, hope, joy,\nand pleasing recollection; under the latter, the opposites of these\nemotions, hatred, aversion, fear, grief displeasing recollection.\n\n_Distinction of primitive and derivative._--Certain other English\nwriters, as _Watts_ and _Grove_, derive all the emotions ultimately\nfrom the three principal ones, admiration, love, and hatred, which they\nterm the _primitive_ passions, all others being _derivative_.\n\n_Division of Cogan._--_Cogan_, whose treatise on the passions is a\nwork of much interest, divides the sensibilities into _passions_,\n_emotions_, and _affections_; by the first of these terms designating\nthe first impression which the mind receives from some impulsive cause;\nby the second, the more permanent feeling which succeeds, and which\nbetrays itself by visible signs in the expressions of the countenance\nand the motions of the body; while by affections, he denotes the less\nintense and more durable influence exerted upon the mind by the objects\nof its regard. The passions and affections are, by this author, further\ndivided into those which spring from _self-love_ and those which are\nderived from the _social principle_.\n\n_Classification of Dr. Reid._--_Dr. Reid_ divides the active\nprinciples, as he terms them, into three classes, the _mechanical_, the\n_animal_, and the _rational_, including, under the first, our instincts\nand habits, under the second, our appetites, under the third, our\nhigher principles of action.\n\n_Of Stewart._--_Dugald Stewart_ makes two classes, the _instinctive_\nor _implanted_, and the _rational_ or _governing_ principles, under\nthe former including _appetites_, _desires_, and _affections_, under\nthe latter, _self-love_ and the _moral faculty_. The desires are\ndistinguished from the appetites, in that they do not, like the former,\ntake their rise from the body, nor do they operate, periodically, after\ncertain intervals, and cease after the attainment of their object.\nUnder the title of affections, are comprehended all those principles of\nour nature that have for their object the communication of good or of\nill to others.\n\n_Of Brown._--_Dr. Brown_ divides the sensibilities, to which he gives\nthe general name of _emotions_, with reference to their relation\nto _time_, as _immediate_, _retrospective_, and _prospective_.\nUnder the former, he includes, as involving no moral feeling,\ncheerfulness and melancholy, wonder and its opposite, feelings of\nbeauty and the opposite, feelings of sublimity and of the ludicrous;\nas involving moral feeling, the emotions distinctive of vice and\nvirtue, emotions of love and hate, of sympathy, of pride and humility.\nUnder _retrospective_ emotion he includes anger, gratitude, regret,\nsatisfaction; under _prospective_ emotion, all our desires and fears.\n\n_Of Upham._--Prof. Upham divides the sensibilities into the two leading\ndepartments, the _natural_ and the _moral_, the former comprehending\nthe _emotions_ and the _desires_, the latter, the _moral sentiments_ or\n_conscience_. Under the class of desires, he includes our instincts,\nappetites, propensities, and affections.\n\n_Of Hickok._--Dr. Hickok classes the sensibilities under the\ndepartments of _animal_, _rational_, and _spiritual_ susceptibility;\nthe former comprehending instincts, appetites, natural affections,\nself-interested feelings, and disinterested feelings; the second,\n\u00e6sthetic, scientific, ethic, and theistic emotions; while the latter\nor spiritual susceptibility differs from each of the others, in not\nbeing, like them, constitutional, but arising rather from the personal\ndisposition and character.\n\n_Remarks on the foregoing Divisions._--Our limits forbid, nor does the\nobject of the present work require, a critical discussion of these\nseveral plans of arrangement.\n\nIt is but justice to say, however, that no one of these several\nmethods of arrangement is altogether satisfactory. They are not\nstrictly scientific. The method of Cogan, for example, derives all\nour sensibilities ultimately from the two principles of self-love, or\ndesire for our own happiness, and the social principle, or regard for\nthe condition and character of others; which again resolve themselves,\naccording to this author, into the two cardinal and primitive\naffections of _love_ and _hate_. This division strikes us at once as\narbitrary, and, therefore, questionable; and, also, as _ethical_ rather\nthan _psychological_. There are many simple emotions which cannot\nproperly be resolved into either of these two principles. On the other\nhand, the psychological distinction between the emotions and desires is\noverlooked in this arrangement. The same remarks apply substantially to\nseveral of the other methods noticed.\n\n_Objection to Stewart's Division._--The arrangement of Mr. Stewart\nis liable to this objection, that the principle of self-love, and\nalso the moral faculty, which he classes by themselves as _rational_\nprinciples, in distinction from the other emotions as _implanted_ or\n_instinctive_ principles, are as really implanted in our nature, as\nreally constitutional or instinctive, as any other. Appetite, moreover,\nis but one form or class of desires; self-love is but another, _i. e._,\nthe desire of our own happiness.\n\n_To Upham's Division._--The division of Mr. Upham is still more\nobjectionable on the same ground. The _natural_ and the _moral_\nsentiments, into which two great classes he divides the sensibilities,\nare distinct neither in fact nor in name; the moral sentiments, so\ncalled, are as really and truly _natural_, founded in our constitution,\nas are our desires and affections; nor is the term natural properly\nopposed to the term moral as designating distinct and opposite things.\nThe terms instinctive and rational, which Mr. Stewart employs, though\nnot free from objection, much more accurately express the distinction\nin view, could such a distinction be shown to exist.\n\n_Difference of ethical and psychological Inquiry._--In a work, the\nmain object of which is to unfold the principles of ethical science,\nit may be desirable to single out from the other emotions, and place\nby themselves, the principle of self-love, together with the social\nprinciple and the moral sentiments, as having more direct reference to\nthe moral character and conduct. In a strictly psychological treatise,\nhowever, in which the aim is simply to unfold, and arrange in their\nnatural order, the phenomena of the human mind, such a principle of\nclassification is evidently inadmissible. The different operations\nand emotions of the mind must be studied and arranged, not with\nreference to their _logical_ or _ethical_ distinctions, but solely\ntheir _psychological_ differences. Viewed in this light, the moral\nsentiments, so far as they are of the nature of feeling or sensibility\nat all, and not rather of intellectual perception, are simple emotions,\nand do not inherently differ from any other feelings of the same\nclass. The satisfaction we feel in view of right, and the pain in view\nof wrong past conduct, differ from the pain and pleasure we derive\nfrom other sources, only as the _objects_ differ which call forth the\nfeelings. They are essentially of the same class, the difference is\nspecific rather than generic. They are modifications of the one generic\nprinciple of joy and sorrow, and differ from each other not so much as\neach differs from a _desire_, or an affection of love or hate.\n\n_Objection to Brown's Arrangement._--The classification of Dr. Brown,\nif not ethical, is, perhaps, equally far from being psychological. The\nrelation of the different emotions to _time_ is an accidental, and not\nan essential difference, and it is, moreover, a distinction wholly\ninapplicable to far the larger portion of the sensibilities, viz.,\nthose which he calls immediate emotions, or \"those which arise without\ninvolving necessarily _any notion_ of time.\" This is surely _lucus a\nnon lucendo_.\n\n\n\n\nSENSIBILITIES.\n\nPART FIRST.\n\n\n\n\nSIMPLE EMOTIONS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nINSTINCTIVE EMOTIONS.\n\n\n_Previous Analysis._--It will be recollected that in the analysis which\nhas been given of the sensibilities, they were arranged under three\ngeneric classes, viz., Simple Emotions, Affections, and Desires, all,\nhowever, having this in common, that they are in themselves agreeable\nor disagreeable, as states of mind, according as the object which\nawakens them is viewed as either good or evil.\n\n_Nature of simple Emotions._--Of these, the _simple emotions_, which\nare first to be considered, comprise, it will be remembered, that large\nclass of feelings which, in their various modifications and degrees,\nconstitute the joys and sorrows of life. They may be comprised, with\nsome latitude of meaning, under the general terms joy and sorrow,\nas modifications of that comprehensive principle or phase of human\nexperience. They are awakened in view of an object regarded as good\nor as evil; an object, moreover, of present possession and present\nenjoyment or suffering; in which last respect they differ from\n_desires_, which have respect always to some good, or apparent good,\n_not_ in present possession, but viewed as attainable.\n\n_Division of simple Emotions._--Of these simple emotions, again, some\nmay be called _instinctive_, as belonging to the _animal_ nature, and,\nto some extent, common to man with the brutes, in distinction from\nothers of a higher order, involving or presupposing the exercise of\nreason and the reflective powers.\n\nIt is of the former class that we are to treat in the present chapter.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--OF THAT GENERAL STATE OF THE MIND KNOWN AS CHEERFULNESS; AND ITS\nOPPOSITE, MELANCHOLY.\n\n_Nature of this Feeling._--There is a state of mind, of which every\none is at times conscious, in which, without any immediately exciting\ncause, a general liveliness and joyousness of spirit, seldom rising\nto the definiteness of a distinct emotion, a subdued under-current of\ngladness, seems to fill the soul, and flow on through all its channels.\nIt is not so much itself joy, as a disposition to be joyful; not so\nmuch itself a visible sun in the heavens, as a mild, gently-diffused\nlight filling the sky, and bathing all objects in its serene loveliness\nand beauty. It has been well termed \"a sort of perpetual gladness.\"\n\n_Prevalence at different Periods of Life._--There are those, of\nfortunate temperament, with whom this seems to be the prevailing\ndisposition, to whom every thing wears a cheerful and sunny aspect. Of\nothers, the reverse is true. In early life this habitual joyousness\nof spirit is more commonly prevalent; in advanced years, more rarely\nmet with. Whether it be that age has chilled the blood, or that the\nsober experience of life has saddened the heart, and corrected the\nmore romantic visions of earlier years, as life passes on we are less\nhabitually under the influence of this disposition. It is no longer the\nprevailing frame of the mind. In the beautiful language of another,\n\"We are not happy, without knowing why we are happy, and though we may\nstill be susceptible of joy, perhaps as intense, or even more intense,\nthan in our years of unreflecting merriment, our joy must arise from\na cause of corresponding importance; yet even down to the close of\nextreme old age there still recur occasionally some gleams of this\nalmost instinctive happiness, like a vision of other years, or like\nthose brilliant and unexpected corruscations which sometimes flash\nalong the midnight of a wintry sky, and of which we are too ignorant\nof the circumstances that produce them, to know when to predict their\nreturn.\"\n\n_The opposite Feeling._--Corresponding to this general state of mind\nnow described, is one of quite the opposite character--that habitual\ndisposition to sadness which is usually called melancholy. Like its\nopposite, cheerfulness, it is rather a frame of mind than a positive\nemotion, and, like its opposite, it exists, often, without any marked\nand definite cause to which we can attribute it. It is that state in\nwhich subsiding grief, or the pressure of any severe calamity now\npassing away, leaves the mind, the grey and solemn twilight that\nsucceeds a partial or total eclipse. It is, with many persons, the\nhabitual state of mind, through long periods, perhaps even the greater\npart, of life. Not unfrequently it occurs that minds, of the rarest\ngenius and most delicate sensibility, are subject to that extreme\nand habitual depression of spirits which casts a deep gloom over the\nbrightest objects, and renders life itself a burden. This state of\nhabitual gloom and despondency, itself usually a form of disease, the\nresult of some physical derangement, deepens sometimes into a fixed\nand permanent disorder of the mind, and constitutes one of the most\npitiable and hopeless forms of insanity. Such was the case with the\nmelancholy, but most amiable and gentle Cowper.\n\n_Element of poetic Sensibility._--In its milder forms, the state of\nmind which I describe, constitutes, not unfrequently, an element of\nwhat is termed poetic genius, a melancholy arising from some sad\nexperience of the troubles and conflicts of life, and from sympathy\nwith the suffering and sorrowing world, the great sad heart of\nhumanity--a melancholy that, like the plaint of the \u00c6olian harp, lends\nsweetness and richness to the music of its strain. Such are many\nof the strains of Tennyson; such the deep under-current of Milton's\npoetry; such, pre\u00ebminently, the spirit and tone of John Foster, one\nof the truest and noblest specimens of poetic genius, although a\nwriter of prose. A quick and lively sensibility, itself an inseparable\nconcomitant of true genius, is not unfrequently accompanied with this\ngentler form of melancholy. The truly great soul that communes with\nitself, with nature, and with eternal truth, is no stranger to this\nsubdued yet pleasing sadness. It is this to which Milton pays beautiful\ntribute in the _Il Penseroso_, and which he thus invokes:\n\n    \"But hail, thou goddess, sage and holy,\n    Hail, divinest Melancholy!\n    Come, pensive nun, devout and pure,\n    Sober, steadfast, and demure,\n    All in a robe of darkest grain\n    Flowing with majestic train,\n    And sable stole of Cyprus lawn\n    Over thy decent shoulders drawn.\n    Come, but keep thy wonted state,\n    With even step and musing gait,\n    And looks commercing with the skies,\n    Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes.\"\n\n_Not inconsistent with Wit._--It should be remarked that the\ndisposition of which we speak is not inconsistent with the occasional\nand even frequent prevalence of feelings of directly the opposite\nnature. A prevailing tendency to sadness is not unfrequently\nassociated with an almost equally prevailing tendency to emotions\nof the ludicrous. The same liveliness of sensibility which prepares\nthe soul to feel keenly whatever in life is adapted to awaken sad\nand sober reflections, also disposes it to notice quickly the little\nincongruities of character, the foibles and follies of mankind, in\nwhich a duller eye would detect nothing absurd or comical. It is,\nmoreover, the natural tendency of the mind to spring back, like the\nbow unstrung, from one extreme of feeling to its opposite, and seek\nrelief from its sadness in the lighter sallies of wit. And so we have\nthe melancholy Cowper singing John Gilpin, and the author of the Night\nThoughts, in conversation, a jovial and witty man.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--SORROW AT LOSS OF FRIENDS.\n\n_Differs from Melancholy._--Beside the general states of mind already\ndescribed, and which can hardly be called distinct emotions, there are\ncertain specific forms of joy and sorrow which claim our attention.\nProminent among these is the grief we feel at any great and sudden\nbereavement or calamity, as, for example, the loss of friends. This is\na state of mind closely allied, indeed, to the melancholy of which I\nhave spoken, but differs from it in that it springs from a more obvious\nand immediate cause, and is at once more definite and more intense.\nAfter a time, when the first bitterness of anguish is past, and the\nmind recovers itself in a measure from the violence of the shock it\nhas received, and which, for the time, like a sudden blow, seemed to\nstagger all its energies, when other causes begin to operate, and other\nscenes and cares demand its attention, its sorrow, at first violent and\nirrepressible, gradually subsides into that calmer but more permanent\nform which we have already described as melancholy.\n\n_Effects of Grief upon the Mind in the first Shock of any\nCalamity._--When the loss is very great, especially if it comes\nsuddenly to us--and what bereavement, however long anticipated and\nfeared, does not at last overtake us suddenly?--the mind is at first,\nin a manner, stupefied and amazed, unable to realize its loss, and\nlooks helplessly about it for relief. To this succeeds a state of\nmental anguish, more or less intense, in proportion to the liveliness\nof the sensibilities, and the strength of the previous attachment. In\nmany cases the sorrow is uncontrollable, and finds relief in tears, or\nin those more violent expressions of anguish in which the burdened\nheart of man in all ages has been wont to indicate its grief, as the\nrending of the garments, the beating of the breast, the tearing of\nthe hair, and other like demonstrations of utter and hopeless sorrow.\nThe mind in such a state resigns itself passively to the violence of\nits emotion, and is swept on by the rushing current that overflows\nits banks. It is Rachel mourning for her children, and refusing to\nbe comforted. It is David going to the chamber over the gate, and\nexclaiming, as he goes, \"O Absalom, my son! my son!\"\n\n_Subsequent State of Mind._--When the first violence of grief has\nsubsided, and reflection succeeds to passion, the mind begins to recall\nthe circumstances of its loss, and sets itself to comprehend the\ngreatness and reality of the calamity that has befallen it. It dwells\nwith interest and satisfaction on all the worth and virtues of the\ndeparted, magnifies all that was good, excuses or overlooks all that\nwas faulty, recalls the words, the tones, the looks, and gathers up the\nslightest memento of the former history, with the same sacred regard\nand reverence with which it treasures in the funeral urn the ashes of\nthe dead. A sacredness and dignity invest the character, and the life,\nwhen once the angel death has set his seal upon them.\n\n_Silence of deep Grief._--The deepest sorrow is not always, perhaps\nnot usually, the most violent and demonstrative. It is when the first\nsudden passion of grief is passed and the soul retires within herself\nto meditate upon her loss, calmly gathering her mantle about her to\nhide from the observation of others those tears and that sorrow which\nare sacred, it is then that the deepest sorrow, and the heaviest\ndarkness gather about the burdened spirit. The truest, deepest grief\nis ever silent. It shrinks from human observation. It finds no words\nfor expression, wishes none. It is a veiled and silent goddess, whose\nrites and altars are hidden from the eye of day. It is the nature of\njoy to communicate itself. It is the nature of sorrow, whatever may be\nthe occasion whence it springs, to retire within itself. It seeks its\nchamber that it may weep there.\n\n_Effect of Time in assuaging Sorrow._--The effect of time in softening\nand allaying the violence of grief, is known to every one. The manner\nin which this effect is produced is worthy of attention. A recurrence\nto the laws of suggestion may explain this. It will be recollected that\namong the secondary or subjective laws which regulate the suggestion\nof our thoughts, the interval of time which has elapsed since the\noccurrence of any event holds an important place. That which has\ntaken place but recently is more likely to recur again to mind than\nevents of remoter date. On the first occurrence of any calamity, or\nbereavement, every thing tends to remind us of our loss, and this\nconstant suggestion of it has a powerful effect in keeping alive our\nsorrow. As time passes on, however, the objects which once suggested\nonly that which we had lost, become associated with, and so suggest\nother objects and occurrences; or, if they still remind us of our loss,\nthe remembrance is mingled with that of other scenes and events which\nhave since transpired, and other feelings which have since agitated our\nhearts. Thus time is constantly mingling other ingredients in the cup\nof our grief. The law of _the most recent_ still holds in suggestion,\nand thus the very principle that formerly reminded us continually of\nour loss, now shuts it out, by interposing between it and us what has\nsince transpired. The thought of the past comes up less frequently, and\nwhen it recurs, is mingled with so many other associated objects, and\nexperiences, that it no longer awakens emotions of unmitigated grief.\nGradually other objects interest us, other plans and duties engage us,\nother emotions agitate the heart, as successive waves beat on the same\ntroubled shore, and render fainter, at each return, the traces which\nformer billows had impressed upon its sands.\n\nThus time, the _great consoler_, assuages our sorrows, and the unbroken\ndarkness that once hung over the mind, and shrouded all its thoughts\nand purposes, gives place, at length, to a chastened and subdued\nsadness, that suffuses the past with a soft and mellow radiance. We\nare ever moving on, swiftly, steadily, in the current of events, and\nobjects whose fearful magnitude, once, from their very nearness,\nengrossed our whole attention as we passed into their deep shadow,\ngradually diminish as they recede, until their dark outline is barely\ndiscernible on the distant horizon.\n\n\n\u00a7 III.--SYMPATHY WITH THE HAPPINESS AND SORROW OF OTHERS.\n\n_In what Manner awakened._--Closely allied to the emotions of joy\nand sorrow awakened by our own personal experience of good and of\nevil, is the sympathy we feel with the joys and sorrows of others in\nsimilar circumstances. Joy is contagious. So also is grief. We cannot\nbehold the emotions of others, without, in some degree, experiencing a\ncorresponding emotion. Nor is it necessary to be eye-witnesses of that\nhappiness, or sorrow. The simple description of any scene of happiness\nor of misery affects the heart, and touches the chords of sympathetic\nemotion. We picture the scene to ourselves, we fancy ourselves the\nspectators, or, it may be, the actors and the sufferers; we imagine\nwhat would be our own emotions in such a case, and in proportion to\nthe liveliness of our power of conception, and also of our power\nof feeling, will be our sympathy with the real scene and the real\nsufferers.\n\n_Nature of this Principle._--The sympathy thus awakened, whether with\nthe joy or the sorrow of others, is a simple emotion, distinct in its\nnature from both the affections and the desires, and it is, moreover,\ninstinctive, rather than rational--a matter of impulse, a principle\nimplanted in our nature, and springing into exercise, as by instinct,\nwhenever the occasion presents itself, rather than the result of\nreason and reflection. It is a susceptibility which we possess, to\nsome extent, at least, in common with the brutes, who are by no means\ninsensible to the distresses or to the happiness of their fellows. It\nis a susceptibility which manifests itself in early life, before habits\nof reflection are formed, and under circumstances which preclude the\nsupposition that it may be the result of education, or in any manner\nan acquired and not an original and implanted principle. So far from\nbeing the result of reflection, reason and reflection are often needed\nto check the emotion, and keep it within due bounds. There are times\nwhen sympathy, for example, with the distresses of others, would stand\nin the way of efficient and necessary action, and when it is needful\nto summon all the resources of reason to our aid, in the stern and\nresolute performance of a duty which brings us into conflict with\nthis instinctive principle of our nature. The judge is not at liberty\nto regard the tears of the heart-broken wife or child, when he rises\nto pronounce the stern sentence of violated law upon the wretched\ncriminal. The kind-hearted surgeon must for the time be deaf to the\noutcries of his patient, and insensible to his sufferings, or his\nministrations are at an end.\n\n_Usual Limitation of the Term._--The term sympathy is more frequently\nused to denote the emotion awakened by the sufferings of others, than\nour participation in their joys. There can be no doubt, however, of the\ntendency of our nature to each of these results, and that it is, in\nfact, but one and the same principle under a twofold aspect. Nor does\nthe word itself more properly belong to, and more truly express, the\none, than the other of these aspects. We as readily rejoice with those\nwho do rejoice, as we weep with those who weep, and in either case our\nfeeling is _sympathy_ ([Greek: sunpathos]).\n\n_This Limitation accounted for._--The reason why the term is more\nfrequently applied to denote participation in the sorrows of others,\nis obvious on a little reflection. Such, and so benevolent, are the\narrangements of a kind Providence, that happiness is the prevalent law\nof being, and sorrow the exception to that general rule. It is diffused\nas the sunshine, and the gentle air over all things that breathe, and\neven inanimate objects, by a sort of sympathetic gladness, reflected\nfrom our own minds, seem to share in the general joy. Calamity and\nsorrow, at least in their more marked and definite forms, come, like\nstorm and tempest in nature, more seldom, and, when they do occur, are\nthe more remarkable and stand out more impressively from the common\nexperience of life, from their very rarity.\n\n_More Need of Sympathy with Sorrow._--There is doubtless, also, more\noccasion for sympathy with the sorrows of others, when those sorrows\ndo occur, than with their joys, and this may be another reason for\nthe more frequent use of the term in this connection. Sorrow _needs_\nsympathy, as joy does not. It leans for support on some helping and\nfriendly arm. Joy is, in its nature, strong and self-sustaining, sorrow\nthe reverse. It is a wise and kind provision of the Author of our\nnature, by which there is implanted in our constitution an instinctive\nsympathy with sorrow and suffering in all their forms, even when we\nourselves are not directly the objects on which the calamity falls.\n\n_Remark of Dr. Brown._--It is well remarked by Dr. Brown that \"we\nseem to sympathize less with the pleasures of others than we truly\ndo, because the real sympathy is lost in that constant air of\ncheerfulness which it is the part of good manners to assume. If the\nlaws of politeness required of us to assume, in society, an appearance\nof sadness, as they now require from us an appearance of some slight\ndegree of gayety, or, at least, of a disposition to be gay, it is\nprobable that we should then remark any sympathy with gladness, as\nwe now remark particularly any sympathy with sorrow; and we should\ncertainly, then, use the general name to express the former of\nthese, as the more extraordinary, in the same way as we now use it\nparticularly to express the feelings of commiseration. Joy,\" remarks\nthe same writer, \"may be regarded as the common dress of society, and\nreal complacency is thus as little remarkable as a well-fashioned coat\nin a drawing-room. Let us conceive a single ragged coat to appear in\nthe brilliant circle, and all eyes will be instantly fixed on it. Even\nbeauty itself, till the buzz of astonishment is over, will, for the\nmoment, scarcely attract a single gaze, or wit a single listener. Such,\nwith respect to the general dress of the social mind, is _grief_. It is\nsomething for the very appearance of which we are not prepared.\"\n\n_Not true that we sympathize only with Sorrow._--These reasons\nsufficiently account for the almost exclusive attention paid by\nmoralists to this part of our sympathetic nature, as well as for the\nalmost exclusive use of the term itself to denote participation in the\nsorrows, rather than in the joys of others. It is not necessary to\ninfer from this circumstance, as some have done, that our sympathies\nare only with sorrow, that we do not experience a corresponding emotion\nin view of the happiness of others, a view as unfavorable to our nature\nas it is remote from truth.\n\n_Distinction of Terms._--Sympathy, as usually employed, to denote a\nfellowship with the sufferings of others, is synonymous with the more\nspecific term _commiseration_, and this again is interchangeable with\nthe terms pity and compassion. So far as use establishes a difference\nbetween these terms, it is perhaps this: we more frequently employ the\nword compassion where there is an ability and a disposition to relieve\nthe suffering; we pity and we commiserate what it is out of our power\nto remedy.\n\n_Strength of this Feeling._--The emotion of sympathy, especially in\nthat form more specially under consideration, is probably one of the\nstrongest and most marked in its effects upon the mind, of any of the\nfeelings of which we are susceptible. When fully aroused, it amounts\neven to a passion, When the object that awakens it is exposed to\nimminent danger and there is need of instant and efficient exertion\nto avert the danger, and bring that relief which, if it comes at\nall, must come speedily, then there is no prudent calculation of\nconsequences, no deliberation, no hesitation, no fear, but, regardless\nof every danger, the sympathizer, forgetful of himself, and thinking\nonly of the object to be accomplished, plunges into the sea or into the\nflames, faces the wild beast, or the more savage human foe, seizes the\nassassin's arm, or rushes desperately between the murderous weapon and\nits victim. This boldness and energy of action are, indeed, the result\nof sympathy, rather than the direct exercise of the emotion itself, but\nthey show how powerful is the feeling from which they spring.\n\n_Irrespective of moral Qualities._--It is worthy of note, moreover,\nthat the emotion of which we speak, is, in great measure, irrespective\nof the moral qualities of the sufferer. He may be a criminal on the\nrack or the gallows, the most hardened and abandoned of men, and the\nsuffering to which he is exposed may be the just punishment of his\ncrimes, still it is impossible for any one whose heart is not itself\nhardened against all human suffering, to regard the miserable victim\nwith other than feelings of compassion. That must be a hard heart\nthat could witness the agony of even its worst enemy, in such a case,\nwithout pity for the sufferer.\n\n_Design of this Principle._--If we inquire, now, for what end this\nfeeling was implanted in our nature, its final cause is obvious. It\nis a benevolent arrangement, the design of which is twofold:--first,\nto prevent undue suffering, by keeping in check the excited passions\nthat would otherwise prompt to the infliction of immoderate and unjust\npunishment when the object of our resentment is in our power; secondly,\nto secure that relief to the sufferer which, in circumstances of peril,\nmight fail to be afforded were it not for the pressure and impulse of\nso strong and sudden an emotion.\n\n_Adaptation to Circumstances._--A further and incidental benefit\ninsulting from the possession of a lively sensibility to the joys and\nsorrows of others, has been noticed by Cogan, in his treatise on the\npassions, viz., that it disposes the mind to accommodate itself readily\nto the tastes, manners, and dispositions of those with whom we have\noccasion to associate. A mind of quick and ready sympathy easily enters\ninto the feelings and understands the conduct of others under given\ncircumstances, and is able to adapt itself to the same, easily, and by\na sort of instinct. It places itself at once in the same position, and\ngoverns itself accordingly.\n\n_Sympathy not to be traced to Self-love as its Origin._--The question\nhas arisen, whether sympathy, which, of all the sensibilities, would\nseem to lie at the furthest remove from all admixture of selfishness,\nis not, after all, to be traced ultimately to the principle of\nself-love. Those philosophers who regard this principle as the\nmain-spring of all human action, and the parent source of all the\nvarious emotions that agitate the human heart, are at some pains to\nshow that even the feeling of pity may be traced to the same origin. It\nwas the theory of Hobbes, that the sentiment of pity at the calamities\nof others springs from the imagination, or fiction as he terms it, of\na similar calamity befalling ourselves. Adam Smith also maintains that\nit is only from our own experience that we can form any idea of the\nsufferings of others, and that the way in which we form such an idea\nis by supposing ourselves in the same circumstances with the sufferer,\nand then conceiving how we should be affected. All this is very true.\nIt is in this way, doubtless, that we get the idea of what another is\nsuffering. But the _idea_ of what he suffers is one thing, and our\n_sympathy_ with that suffering is another. One is a conception, and the\nother is the feeling awakened by that conception. Moreover, it does\nnot follow, as Mr. Stewart has well shown in his criticism upon this\ntheory, that the sympathy in this case arises from our conceiving or\nbelieving, for the moment, those sufferings to be really our own. The\nfeeling which arises on the contemplation of our own real or fancied\ndistress, is quite another feeling in its character, from that of\npity or compassion. The two emotions are readily distinguished. The\nmere uneasiness which we feel at the sight of another's suffering,\nand the desire which we naturally feel to be rid of that uneasiness,\nare not the chief elements in compassion. If they were, the sure and\nsimple remedy would be to run away from the distress which occasions\nthe uneasiness, to put it as quickly as possible out of sight and out\nof mind. Such an emotion; prompting to such a course, might well be\ntermed selfish. But this is not the true nature of sympathy. It is not\na mere unpleasant sensation produced by observing the sufferings of\nanother, though such a sensation, doubtless, is produced in a sensitive\nmind, and accompanies, or may even be said to form a part of, the\nemotion which we term sympathy; there is, over and above this feeling\nof uneasiness, a _fellowship_ of sorrow and of suffering, a bearing\nof that suffering with him, as _his_, and not as our own, a pain\n_for him_, and not for ourselves, the result and urgent prompting of\nwhich is the impulse, the strong irrepressible desire to relieve, not\nourselves from uneasiness, but the sufferer from that which occasions\nhis distress.\n\n_What follows from this Theory._--If compassion for others were the\noffspring of fear for ourselves, then, as Butler has well said, the\nmost fearful natures ought to be the most compassionate, which is far\nfrom being the case. It may be added, also, that if sympathy is, in\nany respect, a _selfish_ principle, then they who are most completely\nand habitually governed by selfish considerations ought, for the same\nreason, to be the most keenly alive to the sufferings of others, which\nis little less than a contradiction in terms.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nRATIONAL EMOTIONS.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--EMOTIONS OF JOY OR SADNESS ARISING FROM THE CONTEMPLATION OF OUR\nOWN EXCELLENCE OR THE REVERSE.\n\n_Nature and Objects of this Emotion._--Among those susceptibilities\nwhich, while implanted in our nature, and springing into exercise by\ntheir own spontaneous energy, imply in their operation the exercise\nof the reflective powers, and in general, of the higher intellectual\nfaculties, and which on that account, we designate as _rational_,\nin distinction from the _instinctive_ emotions, a prominent place\nis due to those vivid feelings of pleasure, and pain, with which we\ncontemplate any real or supposed excellence, or defect, in ourselves.\nThe direct object of the emotions now under consideration, is self in\nsome form or aspect. The immediate cause of these emotions is some real\nor fancied excellence which we possess, or, on the other hand, some\nreal or imagined deficiency. This excellence or deficiency may pertain\nto our intellectual or to our moral qualities and attainments, or even\nto our circumstances and condition in life, to any thing, in short,\nwhich is _ours_, and which distinguishes us from our fellows. The\nquality contemplated may be a real possession and attainment, or it may\nexist only in our imagination and conceit. And so, also, of the defect;\nthat, too, may be real, or imaginary. In either case, vivid feelings\nare awakened in the mind. It is impossible to contemplate ourselves\neither as possessing or as lacking any desirable quality without\nemotion, pleasing or painful, and that in a high degree.\n\n_In what Manner awakened._--These emotions are awakened in either\nof two ways: by the simple contemplation of the supposed excellence,\nor defect, in _themselves_ considered as pertaining to us; or, more\nfrequently, by _the comparison of ourselves with others_ in these\nrespects. It is to the feelings awakened, in the latter case, by the\nperceived superiority or inferiority of ourselves to others, as the\nresult of such comparison, that the terms pride and humility are\nordinarily applied. These terms are relative, and imply, always, some\nprocess of comparison. There may be, however, the painful consciousness\nof defect, or the pleasing consciousness of some high and noble\nattainment, when the relation which we sustain to others, as regards\nthese points, forms no part of the object of contemplation. The\ncomparison is not of ourselves with others, but only of our present\nwith our former selves. We are satisfied and delighted at our own\nprogress and improvement, or humbled and cast down at our repeated\nfailure, and manifest deficiency.\n\n_Not the same with moral Emotion._--The emotions now under\nconsideration must not be confounded with the satisfaction which arises\nin view of moral worthiness, and the regret and disapprobation with\nwhich we view our past conduct as morally wrong. The emotions of which\nwe now speak, are not of the nature of moral emotion, however closely\nallied in some respects. It is not the verdict of an approving or\ncondemning conscience that awakens them. They have no reference to the\nright as such. The object is viewed, not in the light of obligation or\nduty, but merely as a _good_, a thing agreeable and desirable. Thus\nviewed, its possession gives us pleasure, its absence, pain.\n\n_Not blame-worthy in itself._--In the simple emotion thus awakened, the\nsatisfaction and pleasure with which we regard our own intellectual and\nmoral attainments, or even our external circumstances, there is nothing\nblamable or unworthy of the true man. It is simply the working of\nnature. The susceptibility to such emotion is part of our constitution,\nimplanted and inherent. As Dr. Brown has well remarked, it is\nimpossible to desire excellence, and not to rejoice at its attainment;\nand if it is culpable to feel pleasure at attainments which have made\nus nobler than we were before, it must, of course, have been culpable\nto desire such excellence.\n\n_In what Cases the Emotion becomes culpable._--It is only when the\nemotion exists in an undue degree, or with regard to unworthy objects,\nwhen the supposed excellence upon which we congratulate ourselves\nreally does not exist, or, when existing, we are disposed to set\nourselves up above others on account of it, and perhaps to look down\nupon others for the lack of it, or even to make them feel by our manner\nand bearing what and how great the difference is between them and us;\nit is only under such forms and modifications, that the feeling becomes\nculpable and odious. These it not unfrequently assumes. They are the\nstates of mind commonly denoted by the term _pride_, as the word is\nused in common speech; and the censure usually and very justly attached\nto the state of mind designated by that term, must be understood as\napplicable to the disposition and feelings now described, and not to\nthe simple emotion of pleasure in view of our own real or supposed\nattainments. That which we condemn in the proud man is not that he\nexcels others, or is conscious of thus excelling, or takes pleasure\neven in that consciousness, but that, comparing himself with others,\nand feeling his superiority, he is disposed to think more highly of\nhimself than he ought, on account of it, and more contemptuously of\nothers than he ought, and especially if he seeks to impress others with\nthe sense of that superiority.\n\n_Different Forms which this Disposition assumes._--This he may do in\nseveral ways. He may be fond of displaying his superiority, and of\ncourting the applause and distinction which it brings. Then he is the\n_vain_ man. He may make much of that which really is worth little,\nand plume himself on what he does not really possess. Then he is\nthe _conceited_ man. He may look with contempt upon and treat with\narrogance his inferiors. Then he is the _haughty_ man. Or he may have\ntoo much pride to show in this way his own pride; too much self-respect\nto put on airs, and court attention by display; too much sense to rate\nhimself very far above his real worth; too much good breeding to treat\nothers with arrogance and hauteur. In that case he contents himself\nwith his own high opinion and estimate of himself, and the enjoyment\nof his own conscious superiority to those around him. He is simply\nthe proud man then, not the vain, the conceited, or the arrogant. The\ndifference, however, is not so much that he thinks less highly of\nhimself, and less contemptuously of others in comparison, but that he\ndoes not so fully show what he thinks. The superiority is felt, but it\nis not so plainly manifested.\n\n_The Disposition, as thus manifested, reprehensible._--Of this\ndisposition and state of mind in any of its manifestations as now\ndescribed, it is not too much to say that it is worthy of the\ncensure which it commonly receives. It is not merely unamiable and\nodious, but morally reprehensible. Especially is this the case where\nthe superiority consists, not in mental or moral endowments and\nattainments, but in adventitious circumstances, such as beauty or\nstrength of person, station in society, wealth, or the accident of\nbirth--circumstances which imply no necessary worth in the possessor,\nno real and inherent superiority to those on whom he looks down. In\nsuch a case, pride is purely contemptible.\n\n_Incompatible with the highest Excellence._--The highest excellence is\never incompatible with the disposition to think highly of our present\nattainments and excellence, and to place ourselves above others in\ncomparison. Emotions of pleasure may indeed arise in our minds, as\nwe view the unmistakable evidences of our own improvement. But the\nnoblest nature is that which looks neither at itself, to mark its\nown acquirements, nor yet at others below itself, to mark its own\nsuperiority, but whose earnest gaze is fixed only on that which is\nabove and superior to itself--the beau ideal ever floating before it of\nan excellence not yet attained--in comparison with which all present\nattainments seem of little moment. The truly great and noble mind is\never humble, and conscious of its own deficiencies.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--ENJOYMENT OF THE LUDICROUS.\n\n_Properly an Emotion._--Among the sources of rational enjoyment which\nthe constitution of our nature affords, must be reckoned the feeling\nawakened by the perception of the _ludicrous_. We class this among the\nemotions, inasmuch as it is a matter of feeling, and of pleasurable\nfeeling, differing in its nature not more from the intellectual\nfaculties, on the one hand, than from the affections and desires, on\nthe other. It is a species of joy or gladness, a pleasurable excitement\nof feeling, awakened by a particular class of objects. Whatever else\nmay be true of the feeling in question, the character of agreeableness\nis inseparable from it. It falls, therefore, properly into that class\nof feelings which comprises the various modifications of joy and\nsorrow, and which we have denominated simple emotions.\n\n_Why rational._--We term it _rational_, rather than instinctive,\ninasmuch as it implies, if I mistake not, the exercise of the higher\nintellectual faculties. It is the prerogative of reason. The brute\nnature has no perception, and of course no enjoyment, of the ludicrous.\nThe idiot has none. The uncultivated savage nature has it only in a\nslight degree. In this respect the feeling under consideration is quite\nanalogous to the enjoyment of the beautiful and sublime, and also to\nthe feeling awakened in view of right or wrong action, the approbation\nor disapprobation of our past conduct. All these, though founded in\nour nature and constitution, are rational rather than instinctive,\nas implying the exercise of those faculties which more peculiarly\ndistinguish man from the lower orders of being.\n\n_In what Way to be defined._--To define precisely the emotion of the\nludicrous would be as difficult as to give an exact definition of any\nother feeling. We must content ourselves, as in all such cases, by\ndetermining the circumstances or conditions which give occasion for the\nfeeling. Though we cannot define the emotion itself, we can carefully\nobserve and specify the various objects and occasions that give rise to\nit.\n\n_The Question stated._--_Views of Locke and Dryden._--Under what\ncircumstances, then, is the feeling of the ludicrous awakened? What is\nthat certain peculiarity, or quality, of a certain class of objects,\nwhich constitutes what we call _the ludicrous_, objectively considered?\nVarious answers have been given to this question, by writers not\nunaccustomed to the careful observation of mental phenomena. Mr.\nLocke's definition of wit is to this effect, that it consists in\n\"putting those ideas together with quickness and variety, wherein can\nbe found any resemblance or congruity, whereby to make up pleasant\npictures and agreeable visions in the fancy.\" This, it has been justly\nremarked, is too comprehensive, since it includes the entire range\nof eloquence and poetry. It comprends the sublime and the beautiful\nas well as the witty. It applies to the most facetious passages of\nHudibras; it applies equally well to the most eloquent passages of\nBurke or Webster, and to many of the finest passages of Paradise Lost.\nStill more comprehensive is Dryden's definition, who says of wit,\nthat it is a propriety of thoughts and words, or thoughts and words\neloquently adapted to the subject, a definition which, it has been\njocosely remarked, would include at once Blair's Sermons, Campbell's\nPleasures of Hope, C\u00e6sar's Commentaries, the Philippics of Cicero, and\nthe funeral orations of Bossuet, as peculiarly witty productions. It\nshould in justice be remarked, however, that neither Dryden nor Locke,\nin their use of the term wit, seem to have had in mind what we now\nunderstand by it, viz., facetiousness, or the mirth-provoking power,\nbut rather to have employed the word in that more general sense, in\nwhich it was formerly almost exclusively used, to denote smartness and\nvigor of the intellectual powers, good sense, sound judgment, quickness\nof the apprehension, more particularly as these qualities are exhibited\nin discourse or in writing.\n\n_Definition of Johnson._--Johnson comes nearer the mark when he defines\nwit as \"a kind of _concordia discors_, a combination of dissimilar\nimages, a discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently\nunlike.\" Not much removed from this, if not indeed derived from it,\nis the definition of wit given by Campbell, in his Philosophy of\nRhetoric--\"that which excites agreeable surprise in the mind, by the\nstrange assemblage of related images presented to it.\" To this, also,\napplies the same objection as to the preceding definitions, that\nit includes too much, the beautiful and sublime not less than the\nludicrous, eloquence as well as wit.\n\n_Of Hobbes._--Hobbes defines laughter, which, so far as relates to the\nmind, is merely the expression of the feeling of the ludicrous, to be\n\"a sudden glory, arising from a sudden conception of some eminency\nin ourselves, by comparison with the infirmity of others, or our own\nformer infirmity.\" There can be little doubt, I think, that the object\nwhich excites laughter, always present itself to the mind as in some\nsense its inferior; and in so far, the definition involves an essential\nelement of the ludicrous. The person laughing is always, for the time\nbeing, superior, in his own estimation at least, to the person or thing\nlaughed at. It is some awkwardness, some blunder, some defect of body,\nmind, or manner, some lack of sharpness and sense, or of courage, or\nof dignity, some perceived incongruity between the true character or\nposition of the individual and his present circumstances, that excites\nour laughter and constitutes the ludicrous.\n\n_Objections to this Theory._--It is not true, however, that the\nlaughter, or the disposition to laugh, arises from the simple\nconception of our own superiority, or the inferiority of the object\ncontemplated, even in the cases supposed; for if that were so, then\nwherever and whenever we discover such superiority, the feeling of\nthe ludicrous ought to be awakened, and the greater the superiority,\nthe stronger the tendency to mirth; which is far from being the case.\nWe are not disposed to laugh at the misfortunes of others, however\nsuperior our own condition may be to theirs in that very respect. My\nestate may be better than my neighbor's, or my health superior to\nhis, but I am not disposed to laugh at him on that account. On the\ntheory of Hobbes, no persons ought to be so full of merriment, even to\noverflowing, as the proud, self-conceited, and supercilious, who are\nmost deeply impressed with the idea of their own vast superiority to\npeople and things in general. The fact is precisely the reverse. Such\npersons seldom laugh, and when they do, the smile that plays for a\nmoment on the face is of that cold and disdainful nature which is far\nremoved from genuine and hearty merriment. It has little in it, as it\nhas been well said, \"of the _full glorying and eminency_ of laughter,\"\nbut is rather like the smile of Cassius.\n\n                      \"He loves no plays,\n    As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music;\n    Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort,\n    As if he mocked himself, and scorned his spirit,\n    That could be moved to smile at any thing.\"\n\nWe cannot then resolve the ludicrous into the simple perception of some\ninferiority of the object or person thus regarded, to ourselves, since\nthere are many kinds of inferiority which do not, in the least, awaken\nthe sense of the ludicrous, while, at the same time, those who are most\nimpressed by the consciousness of their superiority are not usually\nmost disposed to mirth.\n\n_Incongruity the essential Element._--If we are required now to\nspecify in what consists the essential character of the ludicrous,\nand of wit which may be regarded as the exciting or producing cause\nof the same, we should detect it in _the grouping_, _or bringing\ntogether in a sudden and unexpected manner_, _ideas or things that are\nin their nature incongruous_. The _incongruity_ of the objects thus\nbrought into juxtaposition, and the _surprise_ felt at the _novel_ and\n_unexpected_ relation thus discovered, are, it seems to me, the true\nessential elements in the idea of the ludicrous. If we examine closely\nthe different objects that give rise to this emotion, we shall find,\nI think, always something incongruous, and consequently unusual and\nunexpected, in the relations presented, whether of ideas or of things.\nIt may be the result of accident, or of awkwardness, or of mental\nobtuseness, or of design; it matters not in what mode or from what\nsource the thing proceeds; whenever these conditions are answered, the\nsense of the ludicrous is awakened.\n\n_Relation of Surprise to the ludicrous._--Surprise is an essential\nconcomitant of the ludicrous. This is the state of mind into which we\nare thrown by the occurrence of any thing new, strange, out of the\nusual course, and, therefore, unexpected. Whatever is incongruous,\nis likely to be unusual, and of course unexpected, and hence strikes\nthe mind with more or less surprise. Not every thing that surprises\nus, however, is witty. The sudden fall of a window near which we are\nsitting, or the unexpected discharge of a musket within a few paces\nof us, may cause us to start with surprise, but would not strike us\nprobably as particularly facetious. We are surprised to hear of the\ndeath of a friend, or of some fearful accident, attended with loss\nof life to many, but there is no mirthfulness in such surprise. It\nis only that form of surprise which is awakened by the perception of\nthe incongruous, and not the surprise we feel in general at any thing\nnew and strange, that is related to the ludicrous. It is rather a\nconcomitant, therefore, than strictly an element of the emotion we are\nnow considering.\n\n_Novelty as related to Wit._--How much novelty and suddenness add to\nthe effect of wit, every one knows. A story however witty, once heard,\nloses its freshness and zest, and, often repeated, becomes not merely\nuninteresting, but irksome, and at length intolerable. In the same\nmanner, and for the same reason, a witticism which we know to have\nbeen premeditated produces little effect, as compared with the same\nthing said in sudden repartee, and on the spur of the moment. That a\nman should have studied out some curious relations and combinations of\nthings in his closet, does not surprise us so much, as that he should\nhappen to conceive of these relations at the very moment when they\nwould meet the exigency of the occasion. The epithets which we most\ncommonly apply to any witty production or facetious remark, indicate\nthe same thing; we call it lively, fresh, sparkling, full of vivacity\nand zest--terms borrowed, perhaps, from the choicer wines, which will\nnot bear exposure but lose their flavor and life when once brought to\nthe air.\n\n_Even the Incongruous not always ludicrous._--We come to this result,\nthen, in our own attempted analysis, that the incongruity of the ideas\nor objects brought into relation with each other constitutes the\nessential characteristic, the invariable element of the ludicrous, the\neffect being always greatly heightened by the surprise we feel at the\nnovel and unexpected combinations thus presented. It must be remarked,\nhowever, that even the incongruous and unexpected fail to awaken the\nsense of the ludicrous, when the object or event contemplated is of\nsuch a nature as to give rise to other and more serious emotions.\nWhen the occurrence, however novel and surprising in itself, or even\nludicrous, is of such a nature as to endanger the life, or seriously\ninjure the well-being of ourselves or of others, in the one case fear,\nin the other compassion, are at once awakened, and all sense of the\nludicrous is completely at an end. The graver passion is at variance\nwith the lighter, and banishes it from the mind. Should we see a well\ndressed and portly man, of some pretension and bearing, accidentally\nlose his footing and sprawl ingloriously in the gutter, our first\nimpulse undoubtedly would be to laugh. The incongruity of his present\nposition and appearance with his general neatness of person and dignity\nof manner would appeal strongly to the sense of the ridiculous. Should\nwe learn, however, that in the fall he had broken his leg, or otherwise\nseriously injured himself, our mirthfulness at once gives place to pity.\n\n_Discovery of Truth not allied to the ludicrous._--It is for a\nsimilar reason that the discovery of any new and important truth in\nscience, however strange and unexpected, never awakens the feeling of\nthe ludicrous. Its importance carries it over into a higher sphere\nof thought and feeling. Kepler's law of planetary motion must have\nbeen at first a strange and wonderful announcement; the chemical\nidentity of charcoal and the diamond presents, in a new and strange\nrelation, objects apparently most unlike and incongruous; yet, in all\nprobability, neither the astronomer, nor the chemist, who made and\nannounced these discoveries, were regarded by the men of the time as\nhaving done any thing peculiarly witty. We look at the importance of\nthe results in such cases, and whatever of oddity or incongruity there\nmay be in the ideas or objects thus related, fails to impress the mind\nin the presence of graver emotions.\n\n_Various Forms of the ludicrous._--The incongruity that awakens the\nfeeling of the ludicrous may present itself in many diverse forms. It\nmay relate to _objects_, or to _ideas_. In either case, the grouping\nor bringing together of the incongruous elements may be _accidental_,\nor it may be _intentional_. If accidental, it passes for a blunder; if\nintentional, it takes the name of wit.\n\n_Accidental and intentional grouping of Objects incongruous._--Of\nthe _accidental_ grouping of _objects_ that are incongruous, we have\nan instance in the case already supposed, of the well dressed and\ndignified gentleman unexpectedly prostrate in the mud. If in place of\nthe dignified gentleman we have the dandy, or the Broadway exquisite,\nfresh from the toilet, the incongruity is so much the greater, and so\nmuch the greater our mirth. Let the hero of the scene, for instance, be\nsuch a one as Hotspur so contemptuously describes as coming to parley\nwith him after battle:--\n\n    \"When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,\n    Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,\n    Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dressed,\n    Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new-reaped,\n    Showed like a stubble-land at harvest home.\n    He was perfumed like a milliner;\n    And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held\n    A pouncet box, which ever and anon\n    He gave his nose, and took't away again;\"\n\n--imagine such a character, with all his finery, floundering in the\nmud, and the ludicrousness of the scene would be such as to set at\nnaught all attempts at gravity, even on the part of those who seldom\nsmile.\n\nWhen the incongruous objects are purposely brought into relation for\nthe sake of exciting mirth, the wit may be _at the expense of others_,\nin which case we have either the practical joke, or simple buffoonery,\nimitating the peculiarities and incongruities of others; or the joker\nmay play off his wit _at his own expense_, and act the clown or the\nfool for the amusement of observers.\n\n_Accidental grouping of incongruous Ideas._--When the incongruity is\nthat not of _objects_, but of _ideas_ brought into new and unexpected\nrelation, and when this is the result of accident or awkwardness,\nrather than of design, we have what is termed a _blunder_ or a _bull_.\nIn such a case there is always involved some inconsistency between\nthe thing meant, and the thing said or done. There is an apparent\ncongruity, but a real incongruity of the related ideas. An instance of\nthis occurs in the anecdote related by Sydney Smith, of a physician,\nwho, being present where the conversation turned upon an English\nnobleman of rank and fortune, but without children, remarked, with\ngreat seriousness, that to be childless was a misfortune, but he\nthought he had observed that it was _hereditary_ in some families.\nOf this nature is most of the wit which we call Irish; the result of\naccident rather than design--a blunder, a bull. It is said that during\nthe late rebellion in Ireland, the enraged populace, on a certain\noccasion, vented their wrath against a famous banker, by solemnly\nresolving to burn all his bank-notes which they could lay hands on;\nforgetting, in their rage, that this was only to make themselves so\nmuch the poorer, and him so much the richer. The instance given by Mr.\nMahan is also in point, of two Irishmen walking together through the\nwoods, the foremost of whom seizing a branch, as he passed along, and\nholding it for a while, suddenly let it fly back, whereby his companion\nbehind was suddenly reduced to a horizontal position, but on recovering\nhimself, congratulated his associate on having held back the branch as\nlong as he did, since it must otherwise have killed him.\n\n_Intentional grouping of incongruous Ideas._--The _intentional_\ngrouping of incongruous ideas, for the purpose of exciting the feeling\nof the ludicrous, is more properly denominated _wit_. This, again,\nmay assume diverse forms. Where the ideas are entirely dissimilar,\nbut have a name or sound in common, which similarity of mere sound or\nname is seized upon as the basis of comparison, the wit takes the name\nof a _pun_. The more complete the incongruity of the two ideas, thus\nbrought into strange and unexpected relation, under cover of a word,\nthe more perfect the pun, and the more ludicrous the effect. This kind\nof wit is deservedly reckoned as inferior. \"By unremitting exertions,\"\nsays a quaint writer, \"it has been at last put under, and driven into\ncloisters, from whence it must never again be suffered to emerge into\nthe light of the world.\" One invaluable blessing, adds the same author,\nproduced by the banishment of punning is, an immediate reduction of the\nnumber of wits.\n\n_The Burlesque._--When the wit is employed in debasing what is great\nand imposing, by applying thereto figures and phrases that are mean and\ncontemptible, it takes the name of _burlesque_. The pages of Hudibras\nafford abundant illustrations of this form of the ludicrous. The\nbattle of Don Quixote and the wind-mills is a burlesque on the ancient\ntournaments.\n\n_The Mock-Heroic._--The mock-heroic, by a contrary process, provokes\nthe sense of the ridiculous by investing what is inconsiderable and\nmean with high-sounding epithets and dignified description. The battle\nof the mice and frogs is an instance of this.\n\n_The double Meaning._--Beside the varieties of intentional incongruity\nof ideas already mentioned, there are certain less important forms\nof witticism, which can perhaps hardly be classed under any of the\nforegoing divisions. The whole tribe of _double entendres_, or double\nmeanings, where one thing is said and another thing is meant, or\nat least where the apparent and honest is not the only or the real\nmeaning; _satire_, which is only a modification of the same principle,\ndrawn out into somewhat more extended and dignified discourse, and\nwhich, under the form of apparent praise, hides the shafts of ridicule\nand invective; _sarcasm_, which conveys the intended censure and\ninvective in a somewhat more indirect and oblique manner;--these are\nall but various modes of what we have called intentional incongruity of\nideas.\n\n_This Principle, in what Respects of dangerous Tendency._--Of the\nvalue of this principle of our nature, I have as yet said nothing. To\nestimate it at its true worth, is not altogether an easy thing. On\nthe one hand, there can be little doubt that, carried to excess, it\nbecomes a dangerous principle. The tendency to view all things, even\nperhaps the most sacred, in a ludicrous light, and to discover fanciful\nand remote relations between objects and ideas the most diverse and\nincongruous, must exert an unhappy influence on the general tone and\ncharacter of both the mind and the heart. Where wit, or the disposition\nto the ludicrous, becomes the predominant quality of the mind,\nimpressing the other and nobler faculties into its lawless service, it\nmust be to the detriment of the mind's highest energies and capacities;\nto the detriment especially of that sincerity and honesty of purpose,\nand that earnest love of truth, which are the foundation of all true\ngreatness. I speak in this of the excess and abuse of wit; I speak of\nthe _mere_ wit.\n\n_Of use to the Mind._--On the other hand, the tendency to the ludicrous\nhas its uses in the economy and constitution of our nature, and they\nare by no means to be overlooked. It gives a lightness and buoyancy, a\nfreshness and life, to the faculties that would otherwise be jaded in\nthe weary march and routine of life. It is to the mind what music is\nto the soldier on the march. It enlivens and refreshes the spirits. A\nhearty laugh doeth good like a medicine. A quick and keen perception\nof the ludicrous, when not permitted to usurp undue control, but made\nthe servitor of the higher powers and propensities, and keeping its\ntrue place, not in the fore-front, but in the background of the varied\nand busy scene, is to be regarded as one of the most fortunate mental\nendowments.\n\n_Wit often associated with noble Qualities._--There is no necessary\nconnection, no connection of any sort, perhaps, between wisdom and\ndullness, although a great part of mankind have always persisted in the\ncontrary opinion. The laughter-loving and laughter-provoking man is by\nno means a fool. He who goes through the world, such as it is, and sees\nin all its caprices, and inconsistencies, and follies, and absurdities,\nnothing to laugh at, much more justly deserves the suspicion of a\nlack of sense. \"Wit,\" it has been justly remarked, \"is seldom the\nonly eminent quality which resides in the mind of any man; it is\ncommonly accompanied by many other talents of every description, and\nought to be considered as a strong evidence of a fertile and superior\nunderstanding. Almost all the great poets, orators, and statesmen of\nall times, have been witty.\"\n\n_Wit as an Instrument for correcting Folly._--There is one important\nuse of the faculty under consideration, to which I have not as yet\nalluded. I refer to its power as an instrument for keeping in check\nthe follies and vices of those who are governed by no higher principle\nthan a regard to the good opinion of society, and a fear of incurring\nthe ridicule of an observing and sharp-sighted world. To such, and such\nthere are in multitudes, \"_the world's dread laugh_\" is more potent\nand formidable than any law of God or man. There are, moreover, many\nlighter foibles and inconsistencies of even good men, for which the\ntrue and most effective weapon is ridicule.\n\n_Remarks of Sydney Smith._--I cannot better conclude my remarks upon\nthis part of our mental constitution, than by citing some very just\nobservations of Sydney Smith--himself one of the keenest wits of the\nage.\n\n\"I have talked of the _danger_ of wit; I do not mean by that to enter\ninto common-place declamation against faculties, because they _are_\ndangerous; wit is dangerous, eloquence is dangerous, a talent for\nobservation is dangerous, every thing is dangerous that has energy and\nvigor for its characteristics; nothing is safe but mediocrity.... But\nwhen wit is combined with sense and information; where it is softened\nby benevolence, and restrained by strong principle; when it is in the\nhands of a man who can use it and despise it, who can be witty and\nsomething much _better_ than witty, who loves honor, justice, decency,\ngood nature, morality, and religion, ten thousand times better than\nwit; wit is _then_ a beautiful and delightful part of our nature.\"\n\n\n\u00a7 III.--ENJOYMENT OF THE NEW AND WONDERFUL.\n\n_Surprise and Ennui._--Of that form of surprise which arises in view of\nthe incongruous, and which accompanies the feeling of the ludicrous, I\nhave already had occasion to speak, in treating of that emotion. Of the\nfeeling of surprise in general, its nature, and occasions, and also of\nthat feeling to which it stands opposed, and which for want of a better\nterm we may call _ennui_, I am now to speak.\n\n_Definition and nature of Surprise._--Surprise may be defined as the\nfeeling awakened by the perception of whatever is new and wonderful. It\nis, in itself considered, an agreeable emotion, rather than otherwise.\nVariety and novelty are usually pleasing; our nature demands them,\nand is gratified at their occurrence. Monotony, the unbroken thread,\nand ever-recurring routine of ordinary life and duty, weary, and,\nafter a time, disgust us. Upon this listlessness and lethargy of the\nmind, a new and unexpected event, as the arrival of a friend, or\nthe reception of some unlooked-for intelligence, breaks in with an\nagreeable surprise. Hence the eagerness of men, in all ages and all\nnations, to hear or see some new thing. It is only when the new event\nor intelligence is of the nature of positive evil, when the news is\nof some misfortune, real or imagined, when the experience of present,\nor the fear of future suffering, is the direct and natural result of\nthe occurrence, that the surprise becomes a painful emotion. And even\nin such cases, I am not quite sure that there is not in the first\nexcitement of the mind upon the reception of bad news, as of the death\nof a friend, or the calamity of a neighbor, something for the moment,\nof the nature of pleasure mingling with the pain. We deeply regret the\noccurrence, but are pleased to have heard the news. The thing grieves\nus, but not the hearing of it. It is not the surprise that pains us,\nbut the thing at which we are surprised. Surprise, like every other\nform of mental excitement, is not, in itself, and within due bounds,\ndisagreeable, but the reverse.\n\n_How awakened._--This emotion is awakened, as already stated, in view\nof any thing unforeseen and unexpected. We naturally anticipate,\nto some extent, the course of the future. We presume it will be\nsubstantially as the past. We expect the recurrence of what has often\nand usually occurred, and whenever any thing breaks in on this\nestablished order of events, we are surprised at the interruption in\nthe ordinary train of sequences. Hence the new and the strange always\nexcite surprise.\n\n_Differs from Wonder._--Surprise differs from wonder, in that the\nlatter involves an _intellectual_ element, the effort of the mind to\nsatisfy itself of the cause and proper explanation of the new and\nstrange phenomenon. Surprise is purely a matter of sensibility, of\nfeeling, and not of intellect. The mind is wholly passive under this\nemotion. It may lead to action, as may any other emotion, but, like\nevery other emotion, it is, in itself, an influence exerted upon the\nmind, and not by it, something passively received, and not actively put\nforth.\n\n_From Astonishment._--It differs from astonishment in that the latter\nexpresses a higher degree of mental excitement, as in view of some\noccurrence exceedingly remarkable and strange, or of some object whose\nmagnitude and importance fills the mind.\n\n_Design of this Principle._--The end to be accomplished by this\nprovision of our nature is sufficiently obvious. Our attention is\nthereby called to whatever is out of the ordinary course, and which,\nfrom the circumstance that it is something unusual, may be supposed to\nrequire attention, and we are put on our guard against the approaching\ndanger, or roused to meet the present emergency. Surprise is the\nalarm-bell that calls all our energies into action, or at least warns\nthem to be in present readiness for whatever service may be needed. The\nsame principle operates also as a stimulus to exertion in the ordinary\naffairs of life. We seek new things, we are weary with the old, and\nthis simple law of our nature is often one of the strongest incitements\nto effort.\n\n_The opposite Feeling._--The opposite of surprise is that uneasy\nfeeling, of which we are conscious, from the constant recurrence of\nthe same objects in unvaried sequence; as, for instance, from the\ncontinued repetition of the same sound, or series of sounds, the\nuniform succession of the same or similar objects in the landscape,\nand the like. Every one knows how tedious becomes a perfectly straight\nand level road, with the same objects occurring at regular intervals,\nand with nothing to break the dead monotony of the scene. The most\nrugged passes of the Alps would be a relief in exchange, both to body\nand mind. The repetition of the same song, or the same succession of\nmusical sounds, however pleasing in themselves, becomes in like manner,\nafter a time, intolerable. For want of a better term, for I am not sure\nthat we have in our own language any one word that exactly expresses\nthe feeling now under consideration, we may borrow of the French the\nsomewhat expressive term _ennui_, by which to designate this form of\nthe sensibility.\n\n_Use of Ennui._--There can be little doubt that this feeling subserves\na valuable purpose in the constitution and economy of our nature. It\nis the needed motive and stimulus to action, without which we should\nsettle down often into a sluggish indifference and contentment with\nthings as they are, instead of pressing forward to something worthier\nand better.\n\n\n\u00a7 IV.--ENJOYMENT OF THE BEAUTIFUL AND SUBLIME.\n\n_The Enjoyment, as distinguished from the intellectual Perception of\nthe Beautiful._--Of the _idea_ of the beautiful, and of the action of\nthe mind as _cognizant_ of it, in so far as regards the intellectual\nfaculties, I have already treated in another connection. But it is not\nthe intellect alone that comes under the influence of the beautiful.\nWhat the sense perceives, what the taste and judgment recognize and\napprove, the sensibility is quick to feel. Emotion is awakened. No\nsooner is a beautiful object perceived in nature or art, than we are\nconscious of lively sensations of pleasure. So strong and so universal\nare these feelings, that many writers have been led to speak of beauty\nitself, as if it were an emotion, a merely subjective matter, an\naffair of feeling merely. The incorrectness of this view has been\nalready shown, and we need not enter upon the discussion anew.\n\n_The term Admiration._--The feeling awakened by the perception of the\nbeautiful, like some other feelings of which we are conscious, has not\na name that precisely designates it; hence the expression--ambiguous,\nand, therefore, objectionable--emotions of beauty, employed by certain\nwriters to denote the feeling in question. The word _admiration_,\nthough often used in a somewhat wider sense, perhaps more nearly\nexpresses the emotion to which I refer, than any other word in our\nlanguage. We are surprised at what is new and strange. We admire what\nis beautiful and sublime. The feeling is one of pure and unalloyed\npleasure, mingled with more or less of wonder or surprise, in case\nthe object contemplated is one which is new to us, or one of rare and\nsurpassing beauty. As the beautiful has its opposite--the deformed\nor ugly--so the feeling which it awakens stands contrasted with an\nopposite emotion, viz., _disgust_.\n\nIn connection with this form of sensibility, there are some questions\nrequiring consideration.\n\n_Whether the Emotion is immediate._--It is a question somewhat debated,\nwhether the emotions awakened by the beautiful and sublime are\nimmediate, or reflective; whether they spring up at once on perception\nof the object, or only as the result of reflection and reasoning.\nThose who maintain that beauty consists in utility, or in order and\nproportion, fitness, unity with variety, etc., must, of course, regard\nthe emotions awakened by it as not immediate, since, according to their\ntheory, time must be allowed for the understanding to convince itself,\nin the first place, that the object _is_ useful, etc. The qualities\nconstituting the beauty must be first apprehended by the mind as\nexisting in the object, before there can be emotion, and to do this is\nthe work of reflection. If, however, beauty is but the expression of\nthe invisible under the visible and sensible forms, then all that is\nnecessary to produce emotion is simply the perception of the object\nthus expressive, since the moment it is perceived, it is perceived as\nexpressing something, and thus, appealing to our own spiritual nature,\nawakens immediate emotion.\n\n_How to be decided._--The question must be decided by the observation\nof facts, and the result will constitute an additional argument in\nfavor of one, or the other, of the general views of the beautiful now\nnamed. What then are the facts in the case, as given by consciousness,\nand observation?\n\n_Testimony of Consciousness._--So far as I can judge, no sooner do we\nfind ourselves in presence of a beautiful object than we are conscious\nof emotions of pleasure. There is no previous cross-questioning of\nthe object to find out whether it is adapted to this or that useful\nend, or whether the rules of order, and proportion, are observed in\nits construction. Before we have time to think of these things, the\nsensibility has already responded to the appeal which beauty ever makes\nto our sensitive nature, and the first distinct fact of which we are\nconscious is an emotion of pleasure.\n\n_Effect of Repetition._--Consciousness assures us, more over, that the\npleasure is usually quite as vivid at the first sight of a beautiful\nobject as ever after, which would indicate that it is not the result of\nreflection. In truth, repetition is found, in most cases, to weaken the\nemotion, and familiarity may even destroy it. Yet every repetition adds\nto our opportunity for observation and reflection, and strengthens our\nconviction of the utility, the order, the fitness, the proportion, of\nthat which we observe.\n\n_Critical Reflection subsequent to Emotion._--It seems evident,\nmoreover, that whatever reflections of this nature we may choose to\nindulge, are uniformly subsequent to the first emotion of pleasure\nand delight, to the first impression made upon us by the beauty of\nthe object--after-thoughts readily to be distinguished from those\nfirst impressions--and that they are usually the result of a special\nvolition to inform ourselves as to these matters; whereas the emotion\nis spontaneous and involuntary. Doubtless a pleasure arises from the\nperception of the qualities referred to, but it is a pleasure of\nanother kind from that which arises in view of the beautiful, as such.\nWe must think, then, that the emotions awakened by the beautiful are\nimmediate, not reflective.\n\n_Further Question._--Closely allied to the preceding is the question,\nWhich precedes the other, the emotion which a beautiful object awakens,\nor the judgment of the mind that the object is beautiful. Logically,\ndoubtless, the two things may be distinguished, but not, perhaps, in\norder of time. No sooner is the object perceived, than it is both\nperceived and felt to be beautiful. The emotion awakened and the mental\naffirmation, \"That is beautiful,\" are both immediate on the perception\nof the object, synchronous events, so far as concerns at least our\nability to distinguish between them in point of time.\n\n_Logically, Emotion precedes._--In point of logical relation, the\nemotion, I think, must be allowed the precedence, although so high an\nauthority as Kant decides otherwise. Had we no emotion in view of the\nbeautiful, we should not know that it was beautiful. As, universally,\nsensation is the indispensable condition of perception, and logically,\nat least, its antecedent, so here the feeling of the beautiful is\nthe condition and source of the perception of the beautiful. The\nobject strikes us as being so, moves us, affects us, produces on us\nthe impression, and hence we say, \"That is beautiful.\" Had we no\nsusceptibility of emotion in view of the beautiful, it may be seriously\nquestioned whether we should ever have the perception or impression\nthat any given object is beautiful.\n\n_The Beautiful as distinguished from the Sublime._--There is still\nanother point deserving attention. In discussing the \u00e6sthetic emotions,\nwe have spoken as yet only of the feeling awakened by the _beautiful_.\nHow do these emotions differ--in degree merely--or in nature?\n\n_The Opinion that they differ only in Degree._--Some have maintained\nthat sublimity is only a higher _degree_ of what we call beauty. A\nlittle stream playing among the hills and tumbling over the rocks\nis beautiful; a little further on, as it grows larger, and swifter,\nand stronger, it becomes sublime. If this be so, it is a very simple\nmatter: the surveyor's chain, or a ten foot pole, will, at any time,\ngive us the difference, and enable us to determine at once whether a\nriver or a mountain is merely pretty, or sublime.\n\n_Different Emotions excited by each._--If they differ in _kind_,\nhowever, and not merely in quantity, it may not be so easy to tell just\nwhat the difference is. We can best detect it, perhaps, by observing\ncarefully the difference of the emotions excited in us by the two\nclasses of objects. I contemplate an object, which, in common with all\nthe world, I call beautiful. What emotion does that object awaken in\nme? An emotion of pleasure and delight, for which I can find, perhaps,\nno better name than admiration. I contemplate now another object\nwhich men call sublime. What now are my emotions? Admiration there\nmay be, but not, as before, a calm, placid delight; far otherwise. An\nadmiration mingled with awe, a sense of greatness and of power in the\nobject now oppresses me, and I stand as before some superior being,\nor element, in whose presence I feel my comparative feebleness and\ninsignificance.\n\n_The Sublime conveys the Idea of superior Power._--Accordingly we\nfind that the objects which men call sublime are invariably such as\nare fitted to awaken such emotions. They are objects which convey the\nidea of superior force and power--something grand in its dimensions\nor in its strength--something vast and illimitable, beyond our\ncomprehension and control. The boundless expanse of the ocean, the\nprairie, or the pathless desert, the huge mass of some lofty mountain,\nthe resistless cataract, the awful crash of the thunder, as it rolls\nalong the trembling firmament, the roar of the sea in a storm when\nit lifteth up its waves on high, the movements of an army on the\nbattle-field--these, and such as these, are the objects we call\nsublime. The little may be beautiful, it is never sublime. Nor is the\nmerely great always so, but only when it conveys the idea of superior\npower. Montmorenci is beautiful, Niagara is sublime. A Swiss valley,\nnestling among the hills, is beautiful; the mountains that tower above\nit through the overhanging clouds into the pure upper sky, and in the\ncalm, serene majesty of their strength stand looking down upon the\nslumbering world at their feet, and all the insignificance of man and\nhis little affairs, are sublime.\n\n_The Sublime and the Beautiful associated._--Nor is the sublime always\nunassociated with the beautiful. Niagara is not more sublime than\nbeautiful. The deep emerald hue of the waters as they plunge, the bow\non the mist, the foam sparkling in the abyss below, are each among\nthe most beautiful objects in nature. The sublime and the beautiful\nare often mingled thus, distinct elements, but conjoined in the same\nobject. The highest \u00e6sthetic effect is produced by this combination.\nThe beauty tempers the sublimity; the sublimity elevates and ennobles\nthe beauty. It is thus at Niagara. It is thus when the sunrise flashes\nalong the summits of the snowy Alps.\n\n_The Beautiful tranquilizes, the Sublime agitates._--The beautiful\npleases us; so, in a sense, does the sublime. Both produce agreeable\nemotions. Yet they differ. In the enjoyment of the beautiful there\nis a calm, quiet pleasure; the mind is at rest, undisturbed, can at\nits leisure and sweet will admire the delicacy and elegance of that\nwhich fills it with delight. But in the perception of the sublime it\nis otherwise. The mind is agitated, is in sympathy with the stir, and\nstrife, and play of the fierce elements, or is oppressed with the\nfeeling of its own insignificance, as contrasted with the stern majesty\nand strength of what it contemplates. Hence the sublime takes a deeper\nhold on the mind than the merely beautiful, awes it, elevates it,\nrouses its slumbering energies, quickens the slow course of thought,\nand makes it live, in brief moments, whole hours and days of ordinary\nlife. The beautiful charms and soothes us; the sublime subdues us and\nleads us captive. The one awakens our sympathy and love, the other\nrouses in us all that is noble, serious, and great in our nature.\n\n_Relation of the Sublime to Fear._--The relation of the sublime to\nfear has been noticed by several writers. Memdelssohn, Ancillon, Kant,\nJouffroy, Blair, have spoken of it, as well as Burke. The latter was\nnot far from right in his theory of fear as an element of the sublime.\nIt were better to say _awe_ than fear, for the boldest and stoutest\nhearts are fully susceptible of it; and it were better to speak of it\nas an element of our emotion in view of the sublime, than as an element\nof the sublime itself.\n\n_Cultivation of \u00e6sthetic Sensibility._--I cannot, in this connection,\nentirety pass without notice a topic requiring much more careful\nconsideration than my present limits will permit--the cultivation of\nthe \u00e6sthetic sensibility--of a love for the beautiful.\n\n_This Culture neglected._--The love of the beautiful is merely one of\nthe manifold forms of the sensibility, and, in common with every other\nfeeling and propensity of our nature, it may be augmented, quickened,\nstrengthened to a very great degree by due culture and exercise. It\nis an endowment of nature, but, like other native endowments, it may\nbe neglected and suffered to die out. This, unfortunately, is too\nfrequently the case with those especially who are engaged in the active\npursuits of life. The time and the attention are demanded for other\nand more important matters, and so the merely beautiful is passed by\nunheeded. It admits of question, whether it is not a serious defect\nin our systems of education, that so little attention is paid to\nthe culture of the taste, and of a true love for the beautiful. The\nmeans of such a culture are ever at hand. The great works and the\nmost perfect models in art are not, indeed, accessible to all. Not\nevery one can cross the seas to study the frescoes of Raphael and\nMichael Angelo. But around us in nature, along our daily paths, are\nthe works of a greater Artist, and no intelligent and thoughtful mind\nneed be unobservant of their beauty. Nor is there danger, as some may\napprehend, that we shall carry this matter to excess. The tendencies of\nour age and of our country are wholly the reverse. The danger is rather\nthat in the activity and energy of our new life, the higher culture\nwill be overlooked, and the love of the beautiful die out.\n\n_Value of this Principle._--The love of the beautiful is the source\nof some of the purest and most exquisite pleasures of life. It is the\ngift of God in the creation and endowment of the human soul. Nature\nlays the foundation for it among her earliest developments. The child\nis, by nature, a lover of the beautiful. Nor is it in early life alone\nthat this principle has its natural and normal developments. On the\ncontrary, under favorable circumstances, it grows stronger and more\nactive as the mind matures, and the years pass on. Happy he who, even\nin old age, keeps fresh in his heart this pure and beautiful fountain\nof his youth; who, as days advance, and shadows lengthen, and sense\ngrows dull, can still look, with all the admiration and delight of his\nchildish years, on whatever is truly beautiful in the works of God or\nman.\n\n\n\u00a7 V.--SATISFACTION IN VIEW OF RIGHT CONDUCT, AND REMORSE IN VIEW OF\nWRONG.\n\n_The Feeling, as distinguished from the Perception of Right._--In the\nchapter on the Idea and Cognizance of the Right, the notion of right,\nin itself considered, and also the mind's action as cognizant of the\nright, so far at least as concerns the _intellectual_ faculties thus\nemployed, were fully discussed. It is not necessary now to enter again\nupon the investigation of these topics. But, as in the cognizance of\nthe beautiful, so in the cognizance of the right, not only is the\nintellect exercised, but the sensibility also is aroused. As consequent\nupon the perceptions of the intellect, _emotion_ is awakened; and\nthat emotion is both definite and strong. It is peculiar in its\noperation. No emotion that stirs the human bosom is more uniform in\nits development, more strongly marked in its character, or exerts a\ndeeper and more permanent influence on the happiness and destiny of\nman, than the satisfaction with which he views the virtuous conduct\nof a well-spent hour or a well-spent life, and the regret, amounting\nsometimes to remorse, with which, on the contrary, he looks back upon\nthe misdeeds and follies of the past. Of all the forms of joy and\nsorrow that cast their lights and shadows over the checkered scene and\npathway of human existence, there are none which, aside from their\nethical relations, are of deeper interest to the psychologist, or more\nworthy his careful study, than the emotions to which I now refer.\n\n_The moral Faculty not resolvable into moral Feeling._--So deeply have\ncertain writers been impressed with the importance of this part of\nour nature, that they have not hesitated to resolve the moral faculty\nitself into the emotions now under consideration, and to make the\nrecognition of moral distinctions ultimately a mere matter of feeling.\nThis, whether regarded ethically, or psychologically, is certainly a\ngreat mistake, fatal in either case to the true science whether of\nmorals or of mind. Right and wrong, as also the beautiful and its\nopposite, are not mere conceptions of the human mind. They have an\nactual objective existence and reality and, as such, are cognized by\nthe mind, which perceives a given act to be right or wrong, and, as\nsuch, obligatory or the opposite, and approves or condemns the deed,\nand the doer accordingly. So far the intellect is concerned. But the\nprocess does not stop here. Sensibility is awakened. The verdict and\ncalm decisions of the judgment are taken up by the feelings, and made\nthe basis and occasion of a new form of mental activity. It is with\nthis excitement of the sensibility in view of conduct as right or\nwrong, that we are now concerned, and while we can by no means resolve\nall our moral perceptions and judgments into this class of emotions,\nwe would still assign it an important place among the various forms of\nmental activity.\n\n_Not limited to our own Conduct._--The emotion of which we speak is\nnot limited to the occasions of our own moral conduct; it arises,\nalso, in view of the moral actions of others. A good deed, an act of\ngenerosity, magnanimity, courage, by whomsoever performed, meets our\napprobation, and awakens in our bosoms feelings of pleasure. If the act\nis one of more than ordinary heroism and self-sacrifice, we are filled\nwith admiration. Instances of the opposite excite our displeasure and\ndisgust. No small part of the interest with which we trace the records\nof history, or the pages of romance, arises from that constant play\nof the feelings with which we watch the course of events, and the\ndevelopment of character, as corresponding to or at variance with the\ndemands of our moral nature.\n\n_A good Conscience an Object of universal Desire._--But it is chiefly\nwhen we become ourselves the actors, and the decisions of conscience\nrespect our own good or evil deeds that we learn the true nature and\npower of the moral emotions. A good conscience, it has been said, is\nthe only object of universal desire, since even bad men wish, though\nin vain, for the happiness which it confers. It would perhaps be more\ncorrect to say that an accusing conscience is an object of universal\ndread. But in either case, whether for approval or condemnation, very\ngreat is its power over the human mind.\n\n_Sustaining Power of a good Conscience._--We all know something of\nit, not only by the observation of others, but by the consciousness\nof our own inner life. In the testimony of a good conscience, in its\ncalm, deliberate approval of our conduct, lies one of the sweetest and\npurest of the pleasures of life; a source of enjoyment whose springs\nare beyond the reach of accident or envy; a fountain in the desert\nmaking glad the wilderness and the solitary place. It has, moreover, a\nsustaining power. The consciousness of rectitude, the approval of the\nstill small voice within, that whispers in the moment of danger and\nweakness, \"_You are right_,\" imparts to the fainting soul a courage\nand a strength that can come from no other source. Under its influence\nthe soul is elevated above the violence of pain, and the pressure of\noutward calamity. The timid become bold, the weak are made strong.\nHere lies the secret of much of the heroism that adorns the annals\nof martyrdom and of the church. Women and children, frail and feeble\nby nature, ill fitted to withstand the force of public opinion, and\nshrinking from the very thought of pain and suffering, have calmly\nfaced the angry reproaches of the multitude, and resolutely met death\nin its most terrific forms, sustained by the power of an approving\nconscience, whose decisions were, to them, of more consequence than the\napplause or censure of the world, and whose sustaining power bore them,\nas on a prophet's chariot of fire, above the pains of torture and the\nrage of infuriated men.\n\n_Power of Remorse._--Not less is the power of an accusing conscience.\nIts disapprobation and censure, though clothed with no external\nauthority, are more to be dreaded than the frowns of kings or the\napproach of armies. It is a silent constant presence that cannot be\nescaped, and will not be pacified. It embitters the happiness of life,\ncuts the sinews of the soul's inherent strength. It is a fire in the\nbones, burning when no man suspects but he only who is doomed to its\nendurance; a girdle of thorns worn next the heart, concealed, it\nmay be, from the eye of man, but giving the wearer no rest, day nor\nnight. Its accusations are not loud, but to the guilty soul they are\nterrible, penetrating her inmost recesses, and making her to tremble as\nthe forest trembles at the roar of the enraged lion, as the deep sea\ntrembles in her silent depths, when her Creator goeth by on the wings\nof the tempest, and the God of glory thundereth. The bold bad man\nhears that accusing voice, and his strength departs from him. The heart\nthat is inured to all evil, and grown hard in sin, and fears not the\nface of man, nor the law of God, hears it, and becomes as the heart of\na child.\n\nHow terrible is remorse! that worm that never dies, that fire that\nnever goes out. We cannot follow the human soul beyond the confines of\nits present existence. But it is an opinion entertained by some, and in\nitself not improbable, that, in the future, conscience will act with\ngreatly increased power. When the causes that now conspire to prevent\nits full development and perfect action, shall operate no longer; when\nthe tumult of the march and the battle are over; when the cares, the\npleasures, the temptations, the vain pursuits, that now distract the\nmind with their confused uproar, shall die away in the distance, and\ncease to be heard, in the stillness of eternity, in the silence of a\npurely spiritual existence, the still small voice of conscience may\nperhaps be heard as never before. In the busy day-time we catch, at\nintervals, the sound of the distant ocean, as a low and gentle murmur.\nIn the still night, when all is hushed, we hear it beating, in heavy\nand constant surges, on the shore. And thus it may be with the power of\nconscience in the future.\n\n\n\n\nSENSIBILITIES.\n\nPART SECOND.\n\n\n\n\nTHE AFFECTIONS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nBENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS.\n\n\n_Character of the Affections as a Class._--Of the three generic classes\ninto which the sensibilities were divided, viz., Simple Emotions,\nAffections, and Desires, the first alone has, thus far, engaged our\nattention. We now approach the second. It will be remembered that, in\nour analysis of the sensibilities, the Affections were distinguished\nfrom the Simple Emotions, as being of a complex character, involving,\nalong with the feeling of delight and satisfaction in the object, or\nthe reverse, the wish, more or less definite and intense, of good or\nill to the object that awakens the emotion. The feeling thus assumes\nan active and transitive form, going forth from itself, and even\nforgetting itself, in its care for the object.\n\n_How divided._--The affections, it will also be remembered, were\nfurther divided into the _benevolent_ and _malevolent_, according as\nthey seek the good or the ill of the object on which they fasten. As\nthe simple emotions are but so many forms of _joy_ and _sorrow_, so,\nlikewise, the affections are but so many modifications of the principle\nof _love_ and its opposite, _hate_.\n\n_Effects upon the Character in their marked Development._--When these\ngive tone to the general character of an individual, he becomes\nthe philanthropist or misanthropist, the man of kind and gentle\ndisposition, or the hater of his race, according as the one or the\nother principle predominates.\n\nRoused to more than ordinary activity, breaking away from the\nrestraints of reason, and the dictates of sober judgment, assuming\nthe command of the soul, and urging it on to a given end, regardless\nof other and higher interests, these affections assume the name of\n_passions_, and the spectacle is presented of a man driven blindly and\nmadly to the accomplishment of his wishes, as the ship, dismantled,\ndrives before the storm; or else, in stern conflict with himself and\nthe feelings that nature has implanted in his bosom, controlling with\nsteady hand his own restless and fiery spirit.\n\n_Relation to the simple Emotions._--The relation which the affections,\nas a class, bear to the simple emotions, deserves a moment's attention.\nThe one class naturally follows and grows out of the other. What we\nenjoy, we come naturally to regard with feelings of affection, while\nthat which causes pain, naturally awakens feelings of dislike and\naversion. So love and hate succeed to joy and sorrow in our hearts, as\nregards the objects contemplated. The simple emotions precede and give\nrise to the affections.\n\n_Enumeration._--The benevolent affections, to which we confine our\nattention in the present chapter, assume different forms, according to\ntheir respective objects.\n\nThe more prominent are, _love of kindred_, _love of friends_, _love of\nbenefactors_, _love of home and country_. Of these we shall treat in\ntheir order.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--LOVE OF KINDRED.\n\n_Includes what._--Under this head we may include the _parental_, the\n_filial_, and the _fraternal_ affection, as modifications of the same\nprinciple, varying according to the varying relations of the parties\nconcerned.\n\n_Does not grow out of the Relations of the Parties._--That the\naffection _grows out_ of the relations sustained by the parties to\neach other, I am not prepared to affirm, although some have taken\nthis view; I should be disposed rather to regard it as an implanted\nand original principle of our nature; still, that it is very much\ninfluenced and augmented by those relations, and that it is manifestly\nadapted to them, no one, I think, can deny.\n\n_But adapted to that Relation._--How intimate and how peculiar the\nrelation, for example, that subsists between parent and child, and\nhow deep and strong the affection that binds the heart of the parent\nto the person and well-being of his offspring. The one corresponds to\nthe other; the affection to the relation; and the duties which that\nrelation imposes, and all the kind offices, the care, and attention\nwhich it demands, how cheerfully are they met and fulfilled, as\nprompted by the strength and constancy of that affection. Without\nthat affection, the relation might still exist, requiring the same\nkind offices, and the same assiduous care, and reason might point out\nthe propriety and necessity of their performance, but how inadequate,\nas motives to action, would be the dictates of reason, the sense of\npropriety, or even the indispensable necessity of the case, as compared\nwith that strong and tender parental affection which makes all those\nlabors pleasant, and all those sacrifices light, which are endured for\nthe sake of the helpless ones confided to its care. There was need of\njust this principle of our nature to meet the demands and manifold\nduties arising from the relation to which we refer; and in no part of\nthe constitution of the mind is the benevolence of the great Designer\nmore manifest. What but love could sustain the weary mother during\nthe long and anxious nights of watching by the couch of her suffering\nchild? What but love could prompt to the many sacrifices and privations\ncheerfully endured for its welfare? Herself famished with hunger, she\ndivides the last morsel among those who cry to her for bread. Herself\nperishing with cold, she draws the mantle from her own shoulders\nto protect the little one at her side from the fury of the blast.\nShe freely perils her own life for the safety of her child. These\ninstances, while they show the strength of that affection which can\nprompt to such privation and self-sacrifice, show, also, the end which\nit was designed to subserve, and its adaptation to that end.\n\n_This Affection universal._--The parental affection is universal, not\npeculiar to any nation, or any age, or any condition of society. Nor is\nit strong in one case, and weak in another, but everywhere and always\none of the strongest and most active principles of our nature. Nor is\nit peculiar to our race. It is an emotion shared by man in common with\nthe lower orders of intelligence. The brute-beast manifests as strong\nan affection for her offspring, as man under the like circumstances\nexhibits. The white bear of the arctic glaciers, pursued by the hunter,\nthrows herself between him and her cub, and dies in its defence.\n\nAll these circumstances, the precise adaptation of the sensibility\nin question to the peculiar exigencies it seemed designed to meet,\nthe strength and constancy of that affection, the universality of its\noperation, and the fact that is common to man with the brute, all go to\nshow that the principle now under consideration must be regarded as an\ninstinctive and original principle, implanted in our nature by the hand\nthat formed us.\n\n_Strengthened by Circumstances._--But though an original principle,\nand, therefore, not derived from habit or circumstance, there can be\nno doubt that the affection of which we speak is greatly modified, and\nstrengthened, by the circumstances in which the parent and child are\nplaced with respect to each other, and also by the power of habit.\nLike most of our active principles, it finds, in its own use and\nexercise, the law of its growth. So true is this, that when the care\nand guardianship of the child are transferred to other hands, there\nsprings up something of the parent's love, in the heart to which has\nbeen confided this new trust. It seems to be a law of our nature that\nwe love those who are dependent on us, who confide in us, and for whom\nwe are required to exert ourselves. The more dependent and helpless\nthe object of our solicitude, and the greater the sacrifice we make,\nor the toil we endure, in its behalf, the greater our regard and\naffection for it. If in the little group that gathers around the poor\nman's scanty board, or evening fireside, there is one more tenderly\nloved than another, one on whom his eye more frequently rests, or\nwith more tender solicitude than on the others, it is that one over\nwhose sick-bed he has most frequently bent with anxiety, and for whose\nbenefit he has so often denied himself the comforts of life. By every\nsacrifice thus made, by every hour of toil and privation cheerfully\nendured, by every watchful, anxious night, and every day of unremitting\ncare and devotion, is the parental affection strengthened. And to the\noperation of the same law of our nature is doubtless to be attributed\nthe regard which is felt, under similar circumstances, by those who\nare not parents, for the objects of their care. But it may reasonably\nbe doubted whether, in such case, the affection, although of the same\nnature, ever equals, in intensity and fervor, the depth and strength of\na parent's love.\n\n_Strongest in the Mother._--The parental affection, though common to\nboth sexes, finds its most perfect development in the heart of the\nmother. Whether this is the natural result of the principle already\nreferred to, the care and effort that devolve in greater degree upon\nthe mother, and awaken a love proportionably stronger, or whether it\nis an original provision of nature to meet the necessity of the case,\nwe can but see in the fact referred to a beautiful adaptation of our\nnature to the circumstances that surround us.\n\n_Stronger in the Parent than in the Child._--The love of the parent\nfor the child is stronger than that of the child for the parent. There\nwas need that it should be so. Yet is there no affection, of all those\nthat find a place in the human heart, more beautiful and touching than\nfilial love. Nor, on the contrary, is there any one aspect of human\nnature, imperfect as it is, so sad and revolting as the spectacle\nsometimes presented, of filial ingratitude, a spectacle sure to awaken\nthe indignation and abhorrence of every generous heart. When the son,\ngrown to manhood, forgets the aged mother that bore him, and is ashamed\nto support her tottering steps, or leaves to loneliness and want the\nfather whose whole life has been one of care and toil for him, he\nreceives, as he deserves, the contempt of even the thoughtless world,\nand the scorn of every man whose opinion is worth regarding.\n\nThere have not been wanting noble instances of the strength of the\nfilial affection. If parents have voluntarily incurred death to save\ntheir children, so, also, though perhaps less frequently, have children\nmet death to save a parent.\n\n_Value of these Affections._--The parental and filial affections lie at\nthe foundation of the social virtues. They form the heart to all that\nis most noble and elevating, and constitute the foundation of all that\nis truly great and valuable in character. Deprived of these influences,\nmen may, indeed, become useful and honorable members of society--such\ncases have occurred--but rather as exceptions to the rule. It is\nunder the genial influences of home, and parental care and love, that\nthe better qualities of mind and heart are most favorably and surely\ndeveloped, and the character most successfully formed for the conflicts\nand temptations of future life.\n\n_Not inconsistent with the manly Virtues._--Nor is the gentleness\nimplied in the domestic affections inconsistent with those sterner\nqualities of character, which history admires in her truly great and\nheroic lives. Poets have known this, painters have seized upon it,\ncritics have pointed it out in the best ideal delineations, both of\nancient and of modern times. It softens the gloomy and otherwise\nforbidding character of stern Achilles; it invests with superior\nbeauty, and almost sacredness, the aged Priam suing for the dead body\nof Hector; it constitutes one of the brightest ornaments with which\nVirgil knew how to adorn the character of the hero of the \u00c6neid, while\nin the affection of Napoleon for his son, and in the grief of Cromwell\nfor the death of his daughter, the domestic affection shines forth in\ncontrast with the strong and troubled scenes of eventful public life,\nas a gentle star glitters on the brow of night.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--LOVE OF FRIENDS.\n\n_Much said in Praise of Friendship._--Among the benevolent affections\nthat find a place in the human heart, friendship has ever been regarded\nas one of the purest and noblest. Poets and moralists have vied with\neach other in its praise. Even those philosophers who have derived all\nour active principles from self-love have admitted this to a place\namong the least selfish of our emotions. There can be no doubt that it\nis a demand of our nature, a part of our original constitution. The man\nwho, among all his fellows, finds no one in whom he delights, and whom\nhe calls his friend, must be wanting in some of the best traits and\nqualities of our common humanity, while, on the other hand, pure and\nelevated friendship is a mark of a generous and noble mind.\n\n_On what Circumstances it depends._--If we inquire whence arises this\nemotion in any given case, on what principles or circumstances it is\nfounded, we shall find that, while other causes have much to do with\nit, it depends chiefly on the _more or less intimate acquaintance_ of\nthe parties. There must, indeed, be on our part some perception of\nhigh and noble qualities belonging to him whom we call our friend,\nand some appreciation, also, of those qualities. We must admire his\ngenius, or his courage, or his manly strength and prowess, or his\nmoral virtues, or, at least, his position and success. All these\nthings come in to modify our estimate and opinion of the man, and may\nbe said to underlie our friendship for him. Still, it is not so much\nfrom these circumstances, as from personal and intimate acquaintance,\nthat friendship most directly springs. Admiration and respect for the\nhigh qualities and noble character of another, are not themselves\nfriendship, however closely related to it. They may be, and doubtless\nare, to some extent, the foundation on which that affection rests, but\nthey are not its immediately producing cause. They may exist where no\nopportunity for personal acquaintance is afforded, while, on the other\nhand, a simple and long-continued acquaintance, with one whom we,\nperhaps, should not, in our own candid judgment, pronounce superior to\nother men, either in genius, or fortune, or the nobler qualities of the\nsoul, may, nevertheless, ripen into strong and lasting friendship.\n\n_How Acquaintance leads to Friendship._--To what is this owing? Not\nso much, I suspect, to the fact that acquaintance reveals always\nsomething to admire, even in those whom we had not previously regarded\nwith special deference--although this, I am willing to admit, may be\nthe case--but rather to that simple law of mental activity which we\ncall association. The friend whom we have long and intimately known,\nthe friend of other, and earlier, and, it may be, happier years, is\nintimately connected with our own history. His life and our own have\nrun side by side, on rather, like vines springing from separate roots,\nhave intertwined their branches until they present themselves as one\nto the eye. It is this close connection of my friend with whatever\npertains to myself, of his history with my history, and his life with\nmy life, that contributes in great measure to the regard and interest I\nfeel for him. He has become, as it were, a part of myself. The thought\nof him awakens in my mind pleasing remembrances, and is associated with\nagreeable conceptions of the walks, the studies, the sports, the varied\nenjoyments and the varied sorrows that we have shared together.\n\n_Regard for inanimate Objects._--The same principle extends also to\ninanimate objects, as places and scenes with which we have become\nfamiliar, the meadows through which we roamed in childhood, the books\nwe read, the rooms we inhabited, even the instruments of our daily\ntoil. These all become associated with ourselves, we form a sort\nof friendship for them. The prisoner who has spent long years of\nconfinement in his solitary cell, forms a species of attachment for\nthe very walls that have shut him in, and looks upon them for the last\ntime, when at length the hour of deliverance arrives, not without a\nmeasure of regret. The sword that has been often used in battle is\nthenceforth, to the old soldier, the visible representative of many a\nhard-fought field, and many a perilous adventure. Uncouth and rusty\nit may be, ill-formed, and unadorned, in its plain and clumsy iron\nscabbard, but its owner would not exchange it for one of solid gold. It\nis not strange that the principle of association, which attaches us so\nclosely even to inanimate objects, should enter largely as an element\ninto the friendships we form with our own species.\n\n_Other Causes auxiliary._--I would by no means deny, however, that\nother causes may, and usually do, contribute to the same result. Mere\nacquaintance and companionship do not, of necessity, nor invariably,\namount to friendship. There must be some degree of sympathy, and\ncongeniality of thought and feeling, some community of interests,\npursuits, desires, hopes, something in common between the two minds,\nor no friendship will spring up between them. Acquaintance, and\nparticipation in the same scenes and pursuits, furnish, to some extent,\nthis common ground. But even where this previous companionship is\nwanting, there may exist such congeniality and sympathy between two\nminds, the tastes and feelings, the aims and aspirations of each may\nbe so fully in unison, that each shall feel itself drawn to the other,\nwith a regard which needs only time and opportunity to ripen into\nstrong and lasting friendship.\n\n_Dissimilarity not inconsistent with Friendship._--Nor is it necessary,\nin order to true friendship, that there should be complete similarity\nor agreement. The greatest diversity even may exist in many respects,\nwhether as to qualities of mind, or traits of character. Indeed, such\ndiversity, to some extent, must be regarded as favorable to friendship,\nrather than otherwise. We admire, often, in others, the very qualities\nwhich we perceive to be lacking in ourselves, and choose for our\nfriends those whose richer endowments in these respects may compensate\nin a measure for our own deficiencies. The strongest friendships are\noften formed in this way by persons whose characters present striking\npoints of contrast. Such diversity, in respect to natural gifts and\ntraits of character, is not inconsistent with the closest sympathy\nof views and feelings in regard to other matters, and therefore not\ninconsistent with the warmest friendship.\n\n_Limitation of the Number of Friends._--It was, perhaps, an idle\nquestion, discussed in the ancient schools of philosophy, whether true\nfriendship can subsist between more than two persons. No reason can\nbe shown why this affection should be thus exclusive, nor do facts\nseem to justify such a limitation. The addition of a new friend to the\ncircle of my acquaintance does not necessarily detract aught from the\naffection I bear to my former friends, nor does it awaken suspicion or\njealousy on their part. In this respect, friendship is unlike the love\nwhich exists between the sexes, and which is exclusive in its nature.\n\nIt must be admitted, at the same time, that there are limits to this\nextension, and that he who numbers a large circle of friends is not\nlikely to form a very strong attachment for any one of them. Not\nunfrequently, indeed, a friendship thus unlimited is the mark, as Mr.\nStewart suggests, of a cold and selfish character, prompted to seek\nthe acquaintance of others by a regard to his own advantage, and a\ndesire for society, rather than by any real attachment to those whose\ncompanionship he solicits. True and genuine friendship is usually more\nselect in its choice, and is wholly disinterested in its character. A\ncold and calculating policy forms no part of its nature. It springs\nfrom no selfish or even prudential considerations. It burns with a pure\nand steady flame in the heart that cherishes it, and burns on even when\nthe object of its regard is no longer on earth. Our friendships are not\nall with the living. We cherish the memory of those whom we no longer\nsee, and welcome to the heart those whom we no longer welcome to our\nhome and fireside.\n\n_Effect of adventitious Circumstances._--Reverses in life, changes in\nfortune, the accidents of health and sickness, of wealth and poverty,\nof station and influence, have little power to weaken the ties of true\nfriendship once formed. They test, but do not impair its strength.\nTrue friendship only makes us cling the closer to our friend in his\nadversity; and when fortune frowns, and the sunshine of popular favor\npasses away, and \"there is none so poor to do him reverence,\" whom once\nall men courted and admired, we still love him, who, in better days,\nshowed himself worthy of our love and who, we feel, is none the less\nworthy of it, now that we must love him for what he _is_, and not for\nwhat he has. That is not worthy the name of friendship, which will not\nendure this test.\n\n_Changes in moral Character._--Much more seriously is friendship\nendangered by any change of moral character and principle, on the part\nof either of the friends. So long as the change affects merely the\nperson, the wealth, the social position, the power, the good name even,\nwe feel that these are but the external circumstances, the accidents,\nthe surroundings, and not the man himself, and however these things\nmay vary, our friend remains the same. But when the change is in the\nheart and character of the man himself, when he whose sympathies and\nmoral sentiments were once in unison with our own, shows himself to\nbe no longer what he once was, or what we fondly thought him to be,\nthere is no longer that community of thought and feeling between us\nthat is essential to true and lasting friendship. Yet, even in such a\ncase, we continue to cherish for the friend of former years a regard\nand affection which subsequent changes do not wholly efface. We think\nof him _as he was_, and not as he is; as he was in those earlier and\nbetter days, when the heart was fresh and unspoiled, and the feet had\nnot as yet turned aside from the paths of rectitude and honor.\n\n\n\u00a7 III.--LOVE OF BENEFACTORS.\n\n_As related to Friendship._--Closely allied to the affections we feel\nfor our friends is the emotion we cherish towards our benefactors. Like\nthe former, it is one of the forms of that principle into which all\nkindly affection ultimately resolves itself, namely, love, differing as\nthe object differs on which it rests, but one in nature under all these\nvarieties of form. The love which we feel for a benefactor, differs\nfrom that which we feel for a friend, as the latter again differs from\nthat which we feel for a parent or a child. It differs from friendship,\nin that the motive which prompted the benefaction, on the part of the\ngiver, may be simple benevolence, and not personal regard; while, on\nour part, the emotion awakened may be simple gratitude to the generous\ndonor, a gratitude which, though it may lead to friendship, is not\nitself the result of personal attachment.\n\n_Nature of this Affection._--If we inquire more closely into the\nnature of this affection, we find that it involves, as do all the\nbenevolent affections, a feeling of pleasure or delight, together with\na benevolent regard for the object on which the affection rests. The\npleasure, in this case, results from the reception of a favor. It is\nnot, however, merely a pleasure in the favor received, as in itself\nvaluable, or as meeting our necessities; it is, over and beyond this, a\npleasure in the giver as a noble and generous person, and as standing\nin friendly relations to us. Such conceptions are always agreeable to\nthe mind, and that in a high degree. The benevolent regard which we\ncherish for such a person, the disposition and wish to do him good in\nturn, are the natural result of this agreeable conception of him; and\nthe two together, the pleasure, and the benevolent regard, constitute\nthe complex emotion which we call gratitude.\n\n_Regards the Giver rather than the Gift._--If this be the correct\nanalysis of the affection now under consideration, it is not so much\nthe _gift_, as the _giver_, that awakens the emotion; and this view is\nconfirmed by the fact that when, from any circumstances, we are led to\nsuspect a selfish motive on the part of the donor, that the gift was\nprompted, not so much by regard to us, as by regard to his own personal\nends, for favors thus conferred we feel very little gratitude. The gift\nmay be the same in either case, but not the giver.\n\n_Modes of manifesting Gratitude._--Philosophers have noticed the\ndifferent manner in which persons of different character, and mental\nconstitution, are affected by the reception of kindness from others,\nand the different modes in which their gratitude expresses itself.\nSome are much more sensibly affected than others by the same acts of\nkindness; and even when gratitude may exist in equal degree, it is\nnot always equally manifested. We naturally look, however, for some\nexhibition of it, in all cases, where favors have been conferred; its\ndue exhibition satisfies and pleases us; its absence gives us pain, and\nwe set it down as indicative of a cold and selfish nature.\n\n_A disordered Sensibility indicated by the Absence of this\nPrinciple._--One of the most painful forms of disordered\nsensibility--the insanity, not of the intellect, but of the\nfeelings--is that which manifests itself in the entire indifference and\napathy with which the kindest attentions are received, or even worse,\nthe ill-concealed and hardly-suppressed hatred which is felt even for\nthe generous benefactor. A case of this sort is mentioned by Dr. Bell,\nthe accomplished superintendent of the MacLean Asylum for the insane,\nas coming under his notice, in which the patient, a lady, by no means\nwanting in mental endowments, seemed utterly destitute and incapable\nof natural affection. Having, on one occasion, received some mark of\nkindness from a devoted friend, she exclaimed, \"I suppose I ought to\nlove that person, and I should, if it were possible for me to love any\none; but it is not. I do not know what that feeling is.\" A more sad\nand wretched existence can hardly be conceived than that which is thus\nindicated--the deep night and winter of the soul, a gloom unbroken by\none ray of kindly feeling for any living thing, one gleam of sunshine\non the darkened heart. Happily such cases are of rare occurrence. The\nkindness of men awakens a grateful response, in every human heart,\nwhose right and normal action is not hindered by disorder, or prevented\nby crime.\n\n_Disorder of the moral Nature._--Is it not an indication of the\nimperfect and disordered condition of our moral nature, that while\nthe little kindnesses of our fellow men awaken in our breasts lively\nemotions of gratitude, we receive, unmoved, the thousand benefits which\nthe great Author of our being is daily and hourly conferring, with\nlittle gratitude to the giver of every good and perfect gift?\n\n\n\u00a7 IV.--LOVE OF HOME AND COUNTRY.\n\n_Its proper Place._--Among the emotions which constitute our sensitive\nnature, the love of home and of country, or the patriotic emotion,\nholds a prominent rank. It falls into that class of feelings which\nwe term affections, inasmuch as it involves not only an emotion of\npleasure, but a desire of good towards the object which awakens the\nfeeling.\n\n_Founded on the Separation of the Race._--The affection now to be\nconsidered implies, as its condition, the separation of the human\nrace into families, tribes, and nations, and of its dwelling-places\ninto corresponding divisions of territory and country, a division\nfounded not more in human nature, than in the physical conditions and\ndistributions of the globe, broken as it is into different countries,\nby mountain, river, and sea. No one can fail to perceive, in this\narrangement, a design and provision for the distribution of the race\ninto distinct states and nations. To this arrangement and design the\nnature of man corresponds. To him, in all his wanderings, there is no\nplace like home, no land like his native land. It may be barren and\nrugged, swept by the storms, and overshadowed by the frozen hills, of\nnarrow boundary, and poor in resources, where life is but one continued\nstruggle for existence with an inhospitable climate, unpropitious\nseasons, and an unwilling soil; but it is his own land, it is his\nfather-land, and sooner than he will see its soil invaded, or its name\ndishonored, he will shed the last drop of blood in its defence.\n\n_Other Causes auxiliary._--The strong tendency to rivalry and war,\nbetween different tribes, tends, doubtless, to keep alive the patriotic\nsentiment, by binding each more closely to the soil, which it finds\nobliged to defend at the sacrifice of treasure, and of life. The great\ndiversity of language, manners, and customs, which prevails among\ndifferent nations, must also tend very strongly to separate nations\nstill more widely from each other, and bind them more closely to their\nown soil, and their own institutions.\n\n_Effect of Civilization._--Such are some of the causes which give\nrise to the patriotic sentiment. Civilization tends, in a measure,\ndoubtless, to diminish the activity of these causes. In proportion\nas society advances, as national jealousies and rivalries diminish,\nas wars become less frequent, as nations come to understand better\neach other's manners, laws, and languages, and to learn that their\ninterests, apparently diverse, are really identical, this progress of\ncivilization and culture, removing, as it does, in great measure, the\nbarriers that have hitherto kept nations asunder, must tend, it would\nseem, to weaken the influence of those causes which contribute to keep\nalive the patriotic feeling. And such we believe to be the fact. It\nis in the early period of a nation's existence, the period of its\norigin and growth, of its weakness and danger, that the love of country\nmost strongly developes itself. It is then that sacrifices are most\ncheerfully made, and danger and toil most readily met, and life most\nfreely given, for the state whose foundations can no other way be laid.\nAs the state, thus founded in treasure and in blood, and vigilantly\nguarded in its infancy, gains maturity and strength, becomes rich, and\ngreat, and powerful, comes into honorable relation with the surrounding\nstates and nations, the love of country seems not to keep pace with its\ngrowth in the hearts of the people, but rather to diminish, as there is\nless frequent and less urgent occasion for its exercise.\n\n_National Pride._--There is, however, a counteracting tendency to\nbe found in the national pride which is awakened by the prosperity\nand power of a country, and especially by its historic greatness.\nThe citizen of England, or of France, at the present day, has more\nto defend, and more to love, than merely his own home and fireside,\nthe soil that he cultivates, and the institutions that guarantee his\nfreedom and his rights. The past is intrusted to him, as well as\nthe present. The land whose honor and integrity he is determined to\nmaintain, at all hazard and personal sacrifice, is not the England,\nor the France, of to-day merely, but of the centuries. He remembers\nthe glories of the empire, the armies, and the illustrious leaders\nthat have carried his country's flag with honor into all lands, the\nmonarchs that, in succession, from Clovis and Charlemagne, from Alfred\nand Harold the dauntless, have sat in state upon the throne that claims\nhis present allegiance, the generations that have contributed to make\nhis country what it now is; and he feels that not merely the present\ngreatness and power of his country, but all its former greatness and\nglory, are intrusted to his present care and keeping.\n\n_Depends upon Association._--If we inquire more closely into the\nphilosophy of the matter, we shall find, I think, that the principle\nof _association_ is largely concerned as the immediately producing\ncause of the emotion now under consideration. We connect with the idea\nof any country the history and fortunes, the virtues and vices of its\ninhabitants, of those who, at any time, recent or remote, have passed\ntheir brief day, and acted their brief part, within its borders, and\nwhose unknown dust mingles with its soil. They have long since passed\naway, but the same hills stand, the same rivers flow along the same\nchannels, the same ocean washes the ancient shores, the same skies look\ndown upon those fields and waters, and with these aspects and objects\nof nature we associate all that is great and heroic in the history of\nthe people that once dwelt among those hills, and along those shores.\nEvery lofty mountain, every majestic river, every craggy cliff and\nfrowning headland along the coast, stand as _representative_ objects,\nsacred to the memory of the past, and the great deeds that have been\nthere performed. How much this must add to the force and power of the\npatriotic emotion is obvious at a glance.\n\n_Same Principle concerned in the Love of Home._--In like manner, by the\nsame principle of association, we connect our own personal history with\nthe places where we dwell, and the country we inhabit. They become,\nin a measure, identified with ourselves. To love the home of our\nchildhood, and our native land, is but to love our former selves, since\nit is here that our little history lies, and whatever we have wrought\nof good or ill.\n\n_An original Principle._--With respect to the character of this\nemotion, while it is doubtless awakened and strengthened by the law\nof association, still I cannot but regard it as an original provision\nand principle of our nature, springing up instinctively in the bosom,\nshowing itself essentially the same under all conditions of society,\nand in all ages and countries. It waits not for education to call it\nforth, nor for reason and reflection to give it birth; while at the\nsame time, reason and reflection doubtless contribute largely to its\ndevelopment and strength.\n\n_Strongest where it might be least expected._--It has been frequently\nobserved, by those who have made human nature their study, that the\npatriotic feeling is not confined to the inhabitants of the most\nfavored climes and countries, but, on the contrary, is often most\nstrongly developed in nations less populous, and in countries little\nfavored by nature. The inhabitants of wild, mountainous regions, of\nsterile shores, of barren plains, manifest as strong a love of home and\ncountry, as any people on the globe. It is thus with the Swiss among\ntheir mountain fastnesses, and with the poor Esquimaux of northern\nGreenland, where, beyond the arctic circle, cold and darkness reign\nundisturbed the greater part of the year. Even in those dreary realms,\nand in those bosoms little refined, the voice of nature is heard, and\nthe love of home and of country is strong. Even beggars have been known\nto die of nostalgia, or home-sickness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nMALEVOLENT AFFECTIONS.\n\n\n_As distinguished from the Benevolent._--The affections have already\nbeen distinguished from other forms of the sensibility, by the\ncircumstance that they involve, along with the feeling of pleasure or\npain, some feeling of kindness or the opposite, toward the object;\nin the one case we term them benevolent, in the other, malevolent\naffections. Of the former, I have treated in the preceding chapter; of\nthe latter, I am now to speak.\n\n_Resentment the generic Name._--These affections may be comprised under\nthe general name _resentment_, as that which underlies and constitutes\nthe basis of them all. Envy, jealousy, revenge, etc., may be regarded\nas but so many modifications, or perversions, of this general\nprinciple. As the benevolent affections are all so many forms of love,\ngoing forth toward diverse objects, and varying as the objects vary, so\nthe malevolent affections are so many forms of the opposite principle,\n_i. e._, aversion, varying, likewise, with the objects.\n\n_Founded in Nature._--As the benevolent, so likewise the malevolent\nor irascible feelings are, as to their principle, instinctive; they\nhave their foundation in our nature. They are, as such, universally\nexhibited under the appropriate circumstances; they are early in their\ndevelopment, showing themselves often prior to the exercise of the\nreflecting and reasoning powers; they are, also, to some extent, common\nto man with the brutes.\n\n_Capable, however, of rational Exercise and Control._--While we\npronounce them instinctive, however, we would by no means imply that\nthey are not capable of being deliberately and intelligently exercised,\nor that they are not in fact, frequently so exercised. What instinct\noriginally teaches, reason and reflection, when, at a later date, they\ncome into play, may sanction and confirm. On the other hand, they may\nrepress and forbid what instinct prompts. In the former case, the\nemotion, affection, passion, is none the less an instinctive principle\nin its nature and origin, although it has now passed from the domain\nof mere instinct to the higher sphere of reason and intelligence. What\nwas done in the first instance from sudden impulse, blindly, without\nthought, is now done deliberately and intelligently. This may be the\ncase with all our instinctive principles of action, as well as with\nthose now particularly under consideration. Instinct and reason,\nor intelligence, though _distinguished_ from, are not necessarily\n_opposed_ to each other, in the sense that one and the same mental act\nmay not proceed, now from one, now from the other, of these principles.\nThe love which I cherish for my friends, or my kindred, may be purely\ninstinctive, it may be strictly rational, a matter of reflection, the\nresult of deliberate purpose.\n\n_Existence of such a Principle denied by some._--The existence of\nsuch a principle as resentment, among the original and constitutional\nelements of our nature, has been called in question by some writers. It\nhas been thought derogatory to the divine character, that the Creator\nshould implant the principle of resentment in the human heart. He\ncommands us to love, and not to hate, and what he expressly forbids, he\ncannot have made provision for in the very constitution of the mind.\nSuch a principle, it is also maintained, is altogether unnecessary.\nThis is the ground taken by Mr. Winslow, in his work on moral\nphilosophy.\n\n_The Question at Issue._--There is certainly much force in the view\nthus presented. The question before us, however, is not, what we might,\n\u00e0 priori, have _supposed_ the nature of man to be, nor, what it _ought_\nto be, but simply, what _is_ that nature as a matter of fact? Whether\nsuch a principle as resentment is _necessary_ in a well-constituted\nmind, is not now the question; nor yet whether the Creator could\nconsistently implant such a principle within us; nor, again, what may\nbe the moral character of such a principle; but simply, Is there such a\nprinciple among the native elements of human character? If it be found\nthere, we may conclude, either, that the Creator has placed it there\nfor some wise purpose, or else, that the nature with which man comes\ninto the world is no longer an adequate expression of the will of the\nCreator concerning him, but has, in some way, lost its original purity\nand integrity.\n\n_Existence of such a Principle._--Now that there are certain irascible\nfeelings which find a place, under certain circumstances, in the human\nbosom, whenever the fitting occasion calls them forth, can hardly be\ndenied; nor yet that they have their foundation in the nature of man.\nWe have the same evidence of this, that we have of the existence of any\nother original and native principle. It manifests itself universally,\nuniformly, under all the varieties of social condition, among all\nnations, in all ages of the world. It developes itself at an early\nperiod of life, before education or example can have come in to account\nfor its existence. Reason may subsequently control and restrain it,\nor it may fail to do so; but the principle exists before it can be\neither indulged or restrained. When the occasion which calls it forth\nis some injury or evil inflicted upon ourselves, the feeling takes the\nname of _resentment_; when others are the objects of that injustice,\nthe feeling awakened is more properly termed _indignation_. We resent\nour own wrongs, we are indignant at those of others. The principle\nis, in either case, the same, and is as truly a part of our nature,\nas gratitude for favors received, or sympathy with the sorrows of the\nafflicted.\n\n_Term Malevolent, how employed._--The term _malevolent_, as used to\ndesignate this class of affections, is, it must be confessed, liable to\nserious objection. It has come into use as a convenient term, in place\nof, and for the want of, something better, to mark the distinction\nbetween the feelings now under consideration, and those of the opposite\ncharacter, already considered; and as we call those _benevolent_, so we\ncall these _malevolent_, merely by way of contrast, and not as implying\nany thing _criminal_ in the character of the emotions themselves. The\nterm, however, is unfortunate, as seeming to involve a meaning not\nintended. The moral character of the affections thus designated, is\nan open question, to be decided upon its own merits, and not to be\nconsidered as settled, one way or the other, by the use of the term now\nunder consideration. This question we shall presently discuss. For the\npresent, we have to consider, more particularly, the several forms in\nwhich the malevolent or irascible feeling presents itself.\n\n_Nature of Resentment._--_Resentment_ is the feeling awakened in view\nof injury received. It is precisely the opposite of gratitude, which is\nthe feeling awakened by benefits conferred. As, in the latter case,\nthere springs up at once in the heart an affectionate regard for the\ngenerous donor, so, in the former there is awakened, at once a feeling\nof resentment against those who have done us the wrong. It is an\ninstinctive emotion. No sooner are we conscious of the injury than we\nare conscious also of the feeling of resentment.\n\n_Design of this Principle._--The design of this principle of our nature\nis evident. It arms us against those sudden dangers and assaults, which\nno foresight can anticipate, nor prudence prevent, and which, when\nthey occur, require instant action, and prompt redress. In such cases,\nreason and reflection would come to our aid too late; were we left to\ntheir counsels, however wise those counsels might be, we should already\nhave suffered the injury from which they would seek to protect us.\nSomething is needed that shall prompt to speedier action; some watchman\nvigilant and armed, ready on the first approach of danger to strike\nhis alarm-bell, and summon the garrison to action. This we have in the\nprinciple of resentment. Were it not for this principle, moreover,\na cautious and timid policy might often prevail over the sense of\njustice, and honor, and right, or a selfish policy might keep us back\nfrom interfering, at our own peril, for the protection of the injured,\nand the punishment of the aggressor. Instinct sets us right in such\nmatters, before reason has time to act.\n\n_Necessary to the Punishment of Crime._--The malevolent feeling, at\nleast in the form now under consideration, seems to be, in some degree,\nnecessary for the punishment of crime, and the protection of society.\nIt may be doubted whether, without it, we should act with sufficient\nenergy, and promptness, for the redress of wrong, when that wrong is\nnot inflicted upon ourselves. Nature has guarded against this danger,\nby planting in the human bosom an innate sense of justice, a hatred of\nwrong and injury wantonly inflicted, and a quick resentment against\nthe perpetrator, which leads us to seek his detection and punishment,\nsilences the pleadings of compassion in his behalf, and arms us\nto inflict the merited blow. That is but a weak and short-sighted\nbenevolence, that is incapable of hatred of crime, and criminals; and\nthat, under the flimsy pretence of compassion for the unfortunate,\nand humanity, would shield from justice, and due punishment, those\nwho strike at the highest interests of society, and put in jeopardy\nall that is most dear and sacred to man. There are cases, in which\ncompassion becomes malice aforethought, and stern resentment is the\nonly true benevolence. It is one of the sublimest and most glorious\nattributes of deity, as portrayed in the Scriptures, that with the\nhighest benevolence he combines the stern, inflexible hatred of wrong,\nso that, while it can with truth be said, \"God is love,\" it can with\nequal truth be affirmed, \"our God is a consuming fire.\"\n\n_Liable to abuse._--While, however, the principle now considered has\nits uses, and must be regarded as a most important provision of nature\nfor the necessities of our race, it must also be conceded that it is a\nprinciple liable to abuse, and requiring to be kept in careful check.\nEspecially in its sudden and instinctive action, upon the reception of\npersonal harm or danger, are we liable to be carried to extremes, and\nindulge a resentment out of proportion to the merits of the case.\n\n_A Check on excessive Resentment._--Against this excessive resentment\nof injuries, real or imaginary, nature has provided a check needful\nand salutary, in the indignation with which any such manifestation\nis sure to be regarded by others, and the loss of that sympathy,\notherwise on our side, but now turned in favor of the object of our\ntoo great resentment. The wise and prudent man will carefully avoid\nsuch a result, and this prudence will act as a powerful curb on his\nanger. To the man of virtuous and honorable sentiments there is also\nanother restraint, hardly less powerful, upon the exercise of the\nmalevolent feeling in any undue degree, and that is, the feeling of\nself-degradation and humiliation which such a man must feel, in\nconsequence of his excessive resentment, when the heat of passion\ncools, and the moments of calmer reflection ensue. Even as exercised\nwithin due bounds, the malevolent affection is, from its very nature, a\npainful one. Not only the first emotion on the reception of injury or\ninsult is one of a disagreeable nature, but the wish or desire, which\ninstantly follows and accompanies it, of inflicting in return some ill\nupon the aggressor, is also a feeling which disturbs and disquiets the\nmind, and inflicts a species of suffering upon the mind that cherishes\nit, that may not improperly be termed its own punishment. And this\nagain may be regarded, and doubtless is, to some extent, a check upon\nthe indulgence of the malevolent affection.\n\n_Violent Exhibitions of this Feeling, where found._--It is accordingly\nin natures uncultivated and rude, little accustomed to self control,\nand the restraints of reason and religion, that we naturally look\nfor the violent and excessive outbursts of passion. A regard for our\nown happiness, a due sense of our own dignity and moral worth, and a\ndecent respect for the opinions of those about us, whose approbation\nand sympathy we desire, contribute, if not to diminish the strength,\nat least to repress the manifestation, in any considerable degree,\nof the feeling of resentment, in those who have arrived at years of\ndiscretion, and have profited by the lessons of experience. The child\nis angry with the stone against which he strikes his foot, and vents\nhis resentment for any injury upon the unconscious instrument, which\nwas the means of its infliction. The savage tears from his flesh the\narrow that has wounded him, and breaks it into fragments. This is\nundoubtedly the instinct of nature, untaught by reason and reflection.\nIt is probably the first impulse of every man, on the reception of\nany injury, and before he has time to reflect on the folly of such a\ncourse, to express in some manner his resentment against the immediate\ninstrument of his suffering.\n\n_Deliberate Form of Resentment._--When the first impulse has passed,\nand time gives opportunity for reflection, this instinctive resentment\ndies away, or gives place to a deliberate and rational form of the same\nemotion. Thus affected, the mind casts about it to ascertain the real\nextent of its injury, and the best means of redress; it distinguishes\nbetween the conscious agent, and the unconscious instrument of its\nwrong, between the intentional injury and the unintentional, and,\nit may be, accidental harm; it takes into view the circumstances of\nthe case, and the probable motives of the doer, and graduates its\nresentment accordingly.\n\n_Illustration of deliberate Resentment._--The law of retaliation which\nprevails among savage tribes, and which demands blood for blood, life\nfor life, and exacts the fearful penalty with a justice inexorable\nand sure, though often long delayed, and which never loses sight of\nits victim, though years, and broad lands, and wide waters intervene,\naffords an illustration of deliberate in distinction from instinctive\nresentment. The law of honor, so called, as it exists among civilized\nnations, also illustrates the same principle.\n\n_Pointed out by Butler and others._--The distinction which we have\nindicated between the instinctive and deliberate form of this emotion,\nwas clearly pointed out by Butler, though by no means original with\nhim, as some writers have supposed; it is quite too obvious and\nimportant a distinction to have escaped the notice of earlier, and\neven of ancient philosophers, nor is it at all peculiar to this one\naffection, but common to all the sensibilities as I have already said.\n\n_Modifications of the general Principle._--There are certain\nmodifications of the malevolent affection, which require a passing\nnotice in this connection. I refer to those emotions commonly known as\n_envy_, _jealousy_, and _revenge_. These are all but different forms of\nthe same general principle, varying as the different circumstances and\nobjects vary which call them forth.\n\n_Nature of Envy._--_Envy_ is that form of resentment which too often,\nand too easily, finds a place in the human bosom, when another is more\nfortunate, more successful, more honored and esteemed, than ourselves.\nEspecially is this the case, when the fortunate one is from our own\ncircle of companionship, and our own rank in life, and when the honors\nand distinctions, or the wealth and power, that fall to his lot are\nsuch as we might ourselves have aspired to reach. We never, I suspect,\nenvy those whose condition is, and originally was, very far removed\nfrom our own. The peasant envies not the lord of the realm, nor the\nbeggar the king, but rather his fellow-peasant, or fellow-beggar, whose\nhut is warmer, and whose ragged garment not so ragged, as his own. It\nis the passion of a weak and narrow mind, a mean and degrading emotion,\nthe opposite of every thing noble and generous.\n\n_Nature of Jealousy._--_Jealousy_ is that form of the malevolent\naffection which has relation more particularly, though not exclusively,\nto the attachment which exists between the sexes, and which is awakened\nby the supposed rivalry of another. It is one of the most painful\nof the malevolent affections, and, when thoroughly roused, one of\nthe strongest and most powerful principles of our nature. It is the\npeculiarity of this passion, that the object of its suspicion, and\nresentment, is, at the same time, the object of the heart's deepest\nlove, and, it may be, adoration; the strength and bitterness of the\npassion being in proportion to the fervor and earnestness of that\naffection. In the character of Othello, we have a fine delineation of\nthe working and development of this trait of human character, as in\nCassius we have a portraiture of the corresponding affection of envy.\n\n_Nature of Revenge._--_Revenge_ is resentment in its most deliberate\nform, planned and carried into execution, not for the prevention of\ncrime or injury, nor yet with reference to the ends of justice, but for\nthe simple gratification of personal hatred. As such, and springing\nfrom such a motive, it is usually excessive in degree, and malicious\nin character. It is a dark and deadly passion, not more dangerous to\nsociety than degrading to the bosom that harbors it. It has not one\nredeeming quality to recommend it. It is neither the mark of a noble\nand generous, nor yet of a manly and brave spirit. It is the offspring\nof fear, rather than of courage. It usually seeks to accomplish, by\nsecret and unlawful means, what it is ashamed or afraid to do openly,\nand by fair and honorable measures. It is a passion closely allied to\nthose which may be supposed to reign in the bosom of a fiend.\n\n_Qualifying Remark._--I have spoken of envy, jealousy, and revenge,\nas modifications or different forms of the general principle of\nresentment, or the irascible propensity. There is, however, one\nimportant respect in which they all differ from the parent principle\nfrom which they spring. The latter, resentment, while founded in our\nnature, may, in exercise, be either instinctive or deliberate, as\nalready shown; the former imply, I suspect, always some degree of\ndeliberation, some element of choice. They are natural, in so far as\nthere is a tendency in our nature to the exercise of these feelings\nunder given circumstances, and, inasmuch as the principle from which\nthey spring is founded in our nature, as one of its original elements;\nbut they are not, like that principle, sometimes instinctive in their\noperation, but always, on the contrary, involve, as it seems to me,\nsome process of thought, reflection, deliberation, choice.\n\n_Moral Character of the malevolent Affections._--It has been a\nquestion, much discussed, whether the class of feelings under\nconsideration, in the present chapter, has _any moral character_, and\nif so, _what_? The question pertains, perhaps, more properly, to moral\nthan to mental science, but we cannot pass it entirely without notice\nin this connection. So far as regards those forms of the malevolent\nemotion last considered, envy, jealousy, and revenge, there can be\nlittle doubt. Their exercise involves, as already stated, something of\nreflection and choice. They are not instinctive, but voluntary in their\noperation, capable, therefore, of control, and if not subjected to the\nstern dominion of reason, if not checked and subdued by the higher\nprinciples that should ever govern our conduct, we are reprehensible.\nTheir indulgence in any form, and to any degree, must be regarded as\nblameworthy. They are _perversions_ of that principle of resentment,\nwhich, for wise reasons, nature has implanted in our bosoms. Their\ntendency is evil, and only evil. They are _malevolent_ in the full and\nproper sense of that term.\n\n_Of simple Resentment._--As to the primary principle of resentment in\nits simple and proper form, in so far as its operation is deliberate\nand voluntary, rather than purely instinctive, implying the exercise of\nreflection and reason, it must possess, in common with all other mental\nacts of that nature, some moral character. Within due limits, and on\njust occasions, it is a virtue; when it passes those limits, when it\nbecomes excessive, or is uncalled for, by the circumstances of the\ncase, it becomes a vice.\n\n_Of Resentment as instinctive._--The question before us properly\nrelates to that form of resentment which is purely instinctive,\nunaccompanied by the exercise of reason and the reflective powers.\nHas such an emotion, strictly speaking, any moral character? How far\nare we responsible for its exercise? It seems to be a principle of\nmanifest justice, and accordant with the common sense of mankind, that\na man should be held responsible only for his rational and voluntary\nacts, for such things as it lies in his power to do, or not to do,\naccording as he chooses. But that which is purely instinctive, is\ncertainly not of this character. It may be in my power to repress the\nfeeling of resentment that arises in my bosom on the reception of\nmanifest injustice and wrong; I may refuse to harbor such a feeling; I\nmay struggle to rise above it; but the feeling itself is instinctive,\nand I can no more prevent its first awakening and impulse, than I can\nprevent the involuntary contraction of the muscles upon the incision of\nthe surgeon's knife.\n\n_Views of others--Upham, Reid, Chalmers._--Such is the view now\ngenerally entertained, we believe, by psychologists. \"Instinctive\nresentment,\" says Mr. Upham, \"has no moral character.\" \"A moral\ncharacter attaches only to the voluntary form of resentment.\" The same\nmay be said of other affections, and of the sensibilities generally. In\nso far as they are purely instinctive, they have no moral character.\n\nDr. Reid, in his Active Powers of the Human Mind, holds this language,\n\"Nothing in which the will is not concerned can justly be accounted\neither virtuous or immoral.\" The practice of all criminal courts, and\nall enlightened nations, he adds, is founded upon this principle;\ninsomuch, \"that if any judicature in any nation should find a man\nguilty, and the object of punishment, for what they allow to be\naltogether involuntary, all the world would condemn them as men who\nknew nothing of the first and most fundamental rules of justice.\"\n\nDr. Chalmers claims for the principle now under consideration a place\namong the primary and universal moral judgments of mankind. \"It is in\nattending to these popular, or rather universal decisions, that we\nlearn the real principles of moral science. And the first, certainly,\nof these popular, or rather universal decisions is, that nothing is\nmoral or immoral that is not voluntary.\n\n\"That an action, then, be the rightful object either of moral censure\nor approval, it must have had the consent of the will to go along with\nit. It must be the fruit of a volition, else it is utterly beyond the\nscope, either of praise for its virtuousness, or of blame for its\ncriminality. If an action be involuntary, it is as unfit a subject for\nany moral reckoning, as are the pulsations of the wrist.\"\n\n(Sketches of Moral and Mental Philosophy, Chapter V. _On the Morality\nof the Emotions_.)\n\n\n\n\nSENSIBILITIES\n\nPART THIRD.\n\n\n\n\nDESIRES.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nNATURE AND CLASSIFICATION OF DESIRES.\n\n\n_General Character of Desire._--What we enjoy we love, and what we\nenjoy and love, becomes, when no longer present, or when, although\nyet present, its future absence is regarded as probable, an object\nof _desire_. In the latter case it is perhaps more properly the\ncontinuance of the loved object, rather than the object itself, that\nis desired. Strictly speaking, we desire only that which is not\nin possession, and which is regarded as good and agreeable. More\nfrequently the objects of desire are those things which, in some\nmeasure, we have actually enjoyed, and learned by experience how to\nprize. In many cases, however, we learn in other ways than by our own\nexperience the value of an object; we gather it from observation,\nfrom the testimony of others, partly, perhaps, from imagination; and\nin such cases what is known or supposed to be agreeable and a good\nthing, though never, perhaps, actually enjoyed by ourselves, may be an\nobject of desire. Thus I may desire wealth, or power, long before they\ncome into my possession to be enjoyed. The felicities which await the\nrighteous in the future may be distinct and definite objects of desire,\nwhile yet we are pilgrims on the earth, and have not seen \"the land\nthat is very far off.\" Even in the cases supposed, however, we have\nenjoyed, to some extent, if not the very same, yet similar objects; we\nhave experienced something, though it may be on a small scale, of the\nadvantages which wealth and power confer, while in our enjoyment of\nearthly happiness there is doubtless something on which the imagination\ncan build its more glorious anticipations of the future, and it is this\nenjoyment and realization of a present or a past good, that constitutes\nthe foundation of our desires. If we had never enjoyed aught, it may be\ndoubted whether we should ever desire aught.\n\n_Law of the Sensibility._--The great law of the sensibility, then,\nmay be thus stated, as regards the order and relation of the several\nclasses of emotion to each other: I _enjoy_, I _love_, I _desire_; and\nthe reverse, I _suffer_, I _dislike_, I cherish _aversion_. That such\nis the order or law of mental operation has been ably shown by Damiron\nin his Cours de Philosophie, and also, before him, by Jouffroy.\n\n_Conditions of Desire._--Desire is a feeling simple and indefinable.\nWe can merely specify the conditions which it observes, and the\noccasions on which it is awakened. These conditions or occasions are\nthe two already mentioned; the previous enjoyment, in some degree, of\nan agreeable object, and the present or contemplated absence of that\nobject. Where these conditions are fulfilled, desire springs up at\nonce in the mind, a desire proportioned to the degree of that previous\nenjoyment, and the strength of the affection thereby awakened in our\nminds for the object of our regard.\n\n_Opposite of Desire, Aversion._--The opposite of desire is aversion,\nthe feeling that arises in view of an object not as agreeable but as\ndisagreeable, not as a good but as an ill. This, too, like desire,\nis based upon some measure of experience; we have suffered somewhat\nof real or imagined ill, which, while it continues, is an object of\ndislike or hatred, and regarded as something which, though now absent,\nmay possibly be realized in the future, becomes an object of aversion.\nAversion, as well as its opposite, desire, finds its object in the\nfuture, while its basis lies in the past.\n\nIt will not be necessary to treat particularly of our aversions as a\ndistinct class of emotions, since they are, for the most part, simply\nthe counterparts of our desires, the desire of life, or happiness,\nhaving its equivalent in the aversion which we feel to suffering, and\nto death; so of other desires.\n\n_Desire always preceded by Emotion._--With regard to the nature of\ndesires, it may further be remarked that while they imply always an\nobject, an agreeable object, and that an absent one; while they imply,\nalso, some previous enjoyment of that now absent object, or, at least,\nsome knowledge of its existence and adaptation to our wants, as the\nfoundation on which they rest, they do not take their rise immediately\nfrom the simple perception or intellectual contemplation of that\nabsent object, as presented again merely to thought or imagination,\nbut always some emotion or affection is first awakened by such thought\nor perception, and the desire succeeds to, and springs out of, that\nemotion. The mere perception of the object which formerly pleased me,\ndoes not, of itself, awaken in me immediately a desire for the object,\nbut first an emotion or affection, and from that arises the desire.\n\n_Permanence of the Desires._--The greater permanence which our\ndesires seem to possess, as compared with other simple emotions and\naffections, and which has been sometimes regarded as a distinguishing\ncharacteristic of this class of feelings, is owing, probably, not so\nmuch to the nature of desire, in itself considered, as to the fact\nthat the object desired is always an absent object, and so long as it\nso remains, the desire for it is likely to continue. Were our desires\nalways gratified as soon as they are definitely known, they would be no\nmore permanent than any other state of mind.\n\n_Desire a motive Power._--The desires, it is to be noticed, moreover,\nare, in their nature, motive powers, springs of action to the mind.\nThey are, if not the only, at least the chief source of mental\nactivity. They prompt and excite the mind to action. The faculties,\nboth physical and mental, are, in a manner, subject to their control.\nThe intellect itself leads not to action; nor do the emotions; they\nagitate the mind, but it is only as they awaken desire, and that desire\nfixes upon a definite object, possible, but not in possession, that\nmind and body are both aroused to go forth for the attainment of the\nabsent object of desire.\n\n_Classification of Desires._--Our desires may be classed according to\ntheir objects. These are of two sorts or classes: those which pertain\nto the physical nature and constitution, and those which relate to the\nwants of the mind rather than of the body. The desires, accordingly,\nmay be classed as twofold--the _animal_, and the _rational_; the former\nhaving their source in the physical constitution of man, the latter\nin the nature and wants of the mind, rather than of the body. Of the\nformer class are the desire of food, of sex, of exertion, of repose,\nof whatever, in a word, is adapted to the animal nature and wants. Of\nthe latter class, the more prominent are the desire of happiness, of\nknowledge, of power, of society, of the esteem of others.\n\nIn connection with our desires are to be considered also those emotions\nwhich are known under the name of hope and fear, and which, as was\nstated in our previous analysis of the sensibilities, are to be\nregarded rather as modifications of desire, than as distinct principles\nor modes of mental activity.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nDESIRES ARISING FROM THE PHYSICAL CONSTITUTION.\n\n\n_Nature of Appetite as compared with other Forms of Desire._--These are\nusually called _appetites_, in distinction from those desires which\nare founded in the nature of the mind. They are, however, properly, a\nclass of desires though not always so ranked by philosophical writers.\nThey are feelings which arise always in view of some good, real, or\nsupposed, which has its adaptation to the wants of our nature, but\nwhich is not in present possession. This absence creates a longing for\nthe object, which longing, so far as it relates to the mind at all, and\nnot merely to the muscular sensation--as of hunger, etc.--is purely a\n_desire_. It differs from the other desires, in the respect mentioned,\nthat it takes its rise from the constitution and wants of the body,\nrather than of the mind. It is not, however, on this account, the less\na mental state, a psychological phenomenon.\n\n_Ambiguity of the Term._--The term _appetite_ is ambiguous; sometimes\ndenoting the uneasy physical sensations, as hunger, thirst, etc., which\nare conditions of the muscular and nervous systems, and not states\nof the mind; sometimes the mental condition which results from this,\nand which is properly called desire. It is only with the latter that\npsychology has to do; the former fall within the province of physiology.\n\n_Enumeration of the more important, and the End accomplished by\neach._--The desires, of the class to which we now refer, are various,\ncomprehending all those which immediately relate to, and arise from,\nthe various bodily wants. The more important are the desire of food,\nand of sex, to which may be added the desire of action, and of\nrepose. The constitution of our physical system is such as to lay\nthe foundation of these desires. They pertain to our animal nature,\nand, as such, have a most important part to perform in the economy of\nlife. They all relate, directly or indirectly, to the continuance of\nlife, whether that of the individual, or of the species. Each of the\nappetites, or animal desires, as we prefer to call them, has its own\nspecific object to accomplish, with reference to this general end.\nThe desire of food looks to the preservation of individual life and\nvigor, by repairing the waste which the physical system is continually\nundergoing. The desire of muscular exertion and repose has the same\ngeneral design. The desire of sex has for its object the preservation\nof the species.\n\n_Importance of these Principles._--Not only has each of these desires\na specific end to accomplish, but it is an end which, so far as we\ncan see, would not otherwise be accomplished. Reason might suggest\nthe expediency of taking food to sustain the system, or of resting at\nintervals from exertion, in order to recruit our exhausted energies;\nbut were it not for the desires that nature has implanted in us\ndemanding positive gratification, and reminding us when we transgress\nthose laws which govern our physical being, how often, in the pressure\nof business, should we neglect the due care of the body, and deprive\nourselves of needed food, or needed rest, or needed muscular exertion.\nWere it not for the demands of appetite, how imperfectly should we\njudge either as to the proper proportion, or the proper quantity, and\nquality, of that refreshment which the body needs, and which food, and\nrest, and muscular exercise supply. And the same may be said of the\nother animal desires. They are necessary to the economy of life, by\nsupplying a motive which would not otherwise exist, and thus securing\na result not otherwise obtained. The principles to which we refer, are\nnot, therefore, to be regarded as of little importance because relating\nto the wants of the body, and common to man with the animal races,\ngenerally; or the contrary, they are of the highest importance and\nvalue; a due regard to them is essential to the highest well-being, and\nthe neglect or abuse of them brings its own sure and speedy punishment.\nTo be ashamed of our animal nature, is to be ashamed of ourselves,\nand of the constitution that God gave us; to think lightly of it, is\nto despise the divine wisdom and benevolence. It is no part of an\nintelligent and rational nature to contemn the casket that contains\nall its treasure. Even were that casket worthless in itself, it would\nbe valuable for the office it performs; much more when it is itself a\npiece of rare workmanship, curiously and wonderfully wrought.\n\n_Not selfish._--The appetites are not to be regarded as essentially\nselfish, in their nature. They relate, indeed, to our own personal\nwants; so do all our desires, and, in some measure, all our\nsensibilities. But when exercised within due bounds, they are not\ninconsistent with the rights and happiness of others, but the rather\npromotive of these results; and, therefore, not in the proper sense of\nthe term are they _selfish_ propensities. Their ultimate aim is not\nthe securing of a certain amount of enjoyment to the individual by\ntheir gratification, but the securing of a certain end, not otherwise\nreached, by means of that enjoyment. They are to be set down as\noriginal and implanted principles of our nature, rather than as selfish\nand acquired propensities.\n\n_Dangerous Tendency._--I would, by no means, however overlook the fact\nthat the animal desires are of dangerous tendency when permitted to\ngain any considerable control over the mind, and that they require to\nbe kept within careful bounds. They are liable to abuse. When suffered\nto become predominant over other and higher principles of action,\nwhen, from subjection and restraint, they rise to the mastery, and\ngovern the man, then sinks the man to the level of the brute, and\nthere is presented that saddest spectacle of all that the sun beholds\nin his course about the earth, a mind endowed with capacity of reason\nand intelligence, but enslaved to its own base passions. There is no\nslavery so degrading as that, none so hopeless. The most earnest\nefforts, the best and most sincere purposes and resolutions are too\noften made in vain, and the mind, struggling, to little purpose, with\nits own propensities, and its own vitiated nature, is swept on by the\nfearful current of its ungoverned, and now ungovernable, appetites, as\nthe ship over which neither sail nor helm have any further power, is\nswept along in swift and ever lessening circles by the fatal ma\u00eblstrom.\n\n_Curious Law of our Nature._--It seems to be the law of our nature,\nthat while our active principles gain strength by exercise, the degree\nof enjoyment or of suffering which they are capable of affording,\ndiminishes by repetition. This has been clearly stated by Mr. Stewart.\nIt follows from this, that while by long and undue indulgence of any\nof the animal desires, the gratification originally derived from such\nindulgence is no longer capable of being enjoyed, the desire itself\nmay be greatly increased, and constantly increasing, in its demands.\nIt is hardly possible to conceive a condition more wretched and\nmiserable, than that of a mind compelled thus to drain the bitter dregs\nof its cup of pleasure, long since quaffed, and to repeat, in endless\nround, the follies that no longer have power to satisfy, even for the\nbrief moment, the poor victim of their enchantment. The drunkard, the\nglutton, the debauchee, afford illustrations of this principle.\n\n_Acquired Appetites._--Beside the natural appetites of which I have\nhitherto spoken, and which are founded in the constitution of the\nphysical system, there are certain appetites which must be regarded\nas artificial and acquired, such as the desire, so widely and almost\nuniversally prevalent, in countries both savage and civilized, for\nnarcotic and stimulating drugs of various kinds, and for intoxicating\ndrinks.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nDESIRES ARISING FROM THE CONSTITUTION OF THE MIND.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--DESIRE OF HAPPINESS.\n\n_Propriety of the Designation Self-love._--Among that class of desires\nthat have their foundation in the mental rather than in the physical\nconstitution, one of the most important is the _desire of happiness_,\nor, as it is frequently called, _self-love_. The propriety of this\ndesignation has been called in question. \"The expression,\" says Mr.\nStewart, \"is exceptionable, for it suggests an analogy (where there\nis none, in fact) between that regard which every rational being must\nnecessarily have to his own happiness, and those benevolent affections\nwhich attach us to our fellow-creatures. There is surely nothing in\nthe former of these principles analogous to the affection of _love_;\nand, therefore, to call it by the appellation of _self-love_, is to\nsuggest a theory with respect to its nature, and a theory which has no\nfoundation in truth.\"\n\n_This Position questionable._--I apprehend that in this remark, Mr.\nStewart may have gone too far. The regard which we have for our own\nhappiness certainly differs from that which we entertain for the\nhappiness of others, as the objects differ on which, in either case,\nthe regard is fixed. That the emotion is not essentially of the same\n_nature_, however, psychologically considered, is not so clear. Love\nor affection, as it has been defined in the preceding chapters, is\nthe enjoyment of an object, mingled with a wish or desire of good to\nthe same. Love of friends is the pleasure felt in, and the benevolent\nregard for, them. Love of self, in like manner, is the enjoyment of,\nand the desire of, good to self. Whoever, then, enjoys himself, and\nwishes his own good, exercises self-love; and the essential ingredient\nof this affection is the desire for his own happiness. Not only, then,\nis there an _analogy_ between the two principles, the desire of our\nown happiness, and the regard which we feel for others, but _something\nmore_ than an analogy; they are essentially of the same nature so far\nas regards the mental activity exercised in either case, and the term\nlove as properly designates the one, as the other, of these states of\nmind. I may love myself, as truly as I love my friend, nor is it the\npart of a rational nature to be destitute of the principle of self-love.\n\n_Not to be confounded with Selfishness._--There is more force in the\nobjection, also urged by Mr. Stewart, against the phrase _self-love_,\nused to denote the desire of happiness, that it is, from its etymology,\nliable to be confounded, and in fact, often is confounded, with the\nword _selfishness_, which denotes a very different state of mind. The\nword selfishness is always used in an unfavorable sense, to denote\nsome disregard of the happiness and rights of others; but no such idea\nproperly attaches to self-love, or the desire of happiness, which, as\nMr. Stewart justly remarks, is inseparable from our nature as rational\nand sensitive beings.\n\n_Views of Theologians._--Misled, perhaps, by the resemblance of the\nwords, many theological writers, both ancient and modern, have not only\nrepresented self-love as essentially sinful, but even as the root and\norigin of evil, the principle of original sin.\n\nSo Barrow expressly affirms, citing Zuingle as authority. English\nmoralists have sometimes taken the same view, and the earlier American\ndivines very generally held it.\n\n_Self-love not criminal._--It can hardly be that a principle, which\nseems to belong to our nature as intelligent and rational beings,\nshould be essentially criminal in it nature. The mistake, doubtless,\narises from overlooking the distinction, already indicated, between\nself-love and selfishness The love of self, carried to the extreme of\ndisregarding the happiness of others, and trespassing upon the rights\nof others, in the way to self-gratification, is indeed a violation of\nthe principles of right, and is equally condemned by nature, speaking\nin the common sense and reason of man, and by divine revelation. But\nneither reason, nor the divine law, forbid that regard to our own\nhappiness which self-love, in its true and proper sense, implies,\nand which exists, it may safely be affirmed, in every human bosom in\nwhich the light of intelligence and reason has not gone out in utter\ndarkness. The sacred Scriptures nowhere forbid this principle. They\nenjoin upon us, indeed, the love of our neighbor; but the very command\nto love him as myself, so far from forbidding self-love, implies its\nexistence as a matter of course, and presents that as a standard by\nwhich to measure the love I ought to bear to others.\n\n_Opinion of Aristotle._--Much more correct than the opinions to which\nI have referred, is the view taken by Aristotle in his Ethics, who\nspeaks of the good man as necessarily a lover of himself, and, in _the\ntrue sense, pre\u00ebminently_ so. \"Should a man assume a pre\u00ebminence in\nexercising justice, temperance, and other virtues, though such a man\nhas really _more true self-love_ than the multitude, yet nobody would\nimpute his affection to him as a crime. Yet he takes to himself the\nfairest and greatest of all goods, and those the most acceptable to\nthe ruling principle in his nature, which is, properly, himself, in\nthe same manner as the sovereignty in every community is that which\nmost properly constitutes the state. He is said, also, to have, or\nnot to have, the command of himself, just as this principle bears\nsway, or as it is subject to control; and those acts are considered\nas most voluntary which proceed from this legislative or sovereign\npower. Whoever cherishes and gratifies this ruling part of his nature,\nis _strictly and peculiarly a lover of himself_, but in quite a\ndifferent sense from that in which self-love is regarded as a matter of\nreproach.\" (Ethic. Nic., lib. ix., cap. viii.) This view appears to me\neminently just.\n\nThat man is not, in the true and proper sense, a self-lover who seeks\nhis present at the expense of his future and permanent well-being, or\nwho tramples upon the rights and happiness of others, intent only upon\nhis gratification. The glutton, the drunkard, the debauchee, are not\nthe truest lovers of self. They stand fairly chargeable, not with too\nmuch, but _too little_ regard for their own happiness and well-being.\n\n_Not the only original Principle._--But while the desire of happiness\nis a principle which has its foundation in the constitution of the\nmind, and which is characteristic of reason and intelligence, it is by\nno means to be regarded as the only original principle of our nature.\nCertain moralists have sought to resolve all other active principles\ninto self-love, making this the source and spring of all human conduct,\nso that, directly or indirectly, whatever we do finds its origin and\nmotive in the love of self. According to this view, I love my friends,\nmy kindred, my country, only because of the intimate connection between\ntheir well-being and my own; I pity and relieve the unfortunate only\nto relieve myself of the unpleasant feelings their condition awakens;\nI sacrifice treasure, comfort, health, life itself, only for the sake\nof some greater good that is to be thus and only thus procured; even\nthe sense of right, and the obligations of a religious nature, which\nbind and control me, find their chief strength, as principles of\naction, in that regard for my own happiness which underlies all other\nconsiderations.\n\n_Such a View indefensible._--This is a view not more derogatory to\nhuman nature than inconsistent with all true psychology. That the\nprinciple under consideration is one of the most powerful springs of\nhuman conduct, that it enters more largely than we may ourselves,\nat the time, be aware, into those motives and actions that wear the\nappearance of entire disinterestedness, I am disposed to admit, nor\nwould I deny that our sense of right, and of religious obligation,\nfinds a strong support in that intimate and inseparable connection\nwhich exists between duty and happiness. The Scriptures constantly\nappeal to our love of happiness as a motive to right action. Their\nrewards and promises on the one hand, and their warnings and\nthreatenings on the other, all rest on this assumed law of human\nnature, that man everywhere and always desires his own well-being. But\nthat this is the only and ultimate ground of human action, that all the\nbenevolent affections, all honor, and virtue, all sense of duty and\nright, all religious emotion and religious principle resolves itself\ninto this, neither reason, nor revelation, nor the closest observation\nof the human mind, do either teach or imply.\n\n_This Desire, in what Sense rational._--_Stewart's View._--We have\nspoken, thus far, of the desire of happiness as a rational principle.\nIs it, in such a sense, peculiar to a rational and intelligent nature?\nDoes it so imply and involve the exercise of reason, that it is not\nto be found except in connection with, and as the result of, that\nprinciple? If so, it can hardly be called an original and implanted,\nor, at least, an _instinctive_ principle. And such is the view taken\nby Mr. Stewart, in his Philosophy of the Active and Moral Powers.\nThe desire of happiness implies, in his estimation, a deliberate and\nintelligent survey of the various sources of enjoyment, a looking\nbefore and after, to ascertain what will, and what will not, contribute\nto ultimate and permanent well-being; and this it is the part of reason\nto perform.\n\n_Not exclusively so._--That the desire of happiness, as exercised by\na rational nature, involves something of this process, some general\nidea of what constitutes happiness, or what is good on the whole\nand not merely for the present, some perception of consequences,\nsome comprehensive view and comparison of the various principles of\naction and courses of conduct, as means to this general end, may,\nindeed, be admitted. And, so far as the exercise of self-love is of\nthe nature now indicated, it is certainly a rational rather than an\ninstinctive act. But I see no reason why one and the same emotion,\nor mental activity of any sort, may not be, at one time, the result\nof reflection, at another, of impulse; now deliberate and rational,\nand now, instinctive in its character. We know this to be the case,\nfor example, with the affections, both benevolent and malevolent. A\nprinciple of action may be none the less instinctive, and originally\nimplanted in man's nature, from the fact that, when he arrives at\nyears of discretion, his reason confirms and strengthens what nature\nhad already taught, or even adopts it as one of its own cardinal\nprinciples. It is not necessary, in order to _all_ desire of good, that\nI should know, completely and comprehensively, in what good consists,\nand I may still desire my own happiness, according to the measure of\nmy knowledge and capacity, when I simply know that I am happy at the\npresent moment.\n\n_Desire of continued Existence._--Closely analogous to the principle\nnow under consideration, if not, indeed, properly a form or\nmodification of it, is the desire of _continued existence_. No desire\nthat finds a place in the human bosom, perhaps, is stronger or more\nuniversal than this. Life is valued above all other possessions;\nriches, honors, place, power, ease, are counted as of little worth\nin comparison. There are, indeed, occasions when life is willingly\nsacrificed, rather than to incur dishonor and reproach, or for the\ndefence of the innocent and helpless who depend on us for protection,\nor for some great and good cause that demands of the good and true man\nsuch service as may cost life. Even in such cases, the importance of\nthe interests which demand and receive such a sacrifice, show the value\nwe attach to that which is laid upon the altar.\n\n_Increases with Age._--The desire of continued existence seems to\nincrease, as age advances, and life wears away. We always value that\nthe more of which we have but little. It is a striking proof of the\ndivine benevolence, that, in a world so full of care, and toil,\nand sorrow, as the present is, and must be, to the multitude of its\ninhabitants, there are few so miserable as not to regard continued\nexistence as a boon to be purchased at any price.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--DESIRE OF KNOWLEDGE.\n\n_An original Principle._--Among the various principles that enter\ninto the composition of our nature, and are the motive powers of the\nhuman mind, awakening and calling forth its energies, and impelling\nit to action, the desire of knowledge holds an important place. From\nits early manifestation, before reason and reflection have as yet, to\nany extent, come into play, and from its general, if not universal\nexistence, we infer that it is one of those principles originally\nimplanted in our nature by the great Author of our being.\n\n_Not Curiosity._--The desire of knowledge, though often spoken of as\nsynonymous with _curiosity_, is not altogether identical with it.\nCuriosity has reference rather to the novelty and strangeness of that\nwhich comes before the mind. It is the feeling awakened by these\nqualities, rather than the general desire to know what is yet unknown.\nIt is of more limited application, and while it implies a desire to\nunderstand the object in view of which it is awakened, implies also\nsome degree of wonder, at the unusual and unexpected character of the\nobject as thus presented. While, then, curiosity is certainly a most\npowerful auxiliary to the desire of learning, and stimulates the mind\nto exertions it might not otherwise put forth, it is hardly to be\nviewed as identical with the principle under consideration.\n\n_Manifested in early Life._--The desire of knowledge is never, perhaps,\nmore strongly developed than in early life, and never partakes more\nfully of the character of curiosity than then. To the child, all things\nare new and strange. He looks about him upon a world as unknown to him\nas he is to it, and every different object that meets his eye is a new\nstudy, and a new mystery to him. The desire to acquaint himself with\nthe new and unknown world around him, keeps him constantly employed,\nconstantly learning.\n\n_In later Years._--As he grows up, and the sphere of his intellectual\nvision enlarges, every step of his progress only opens new and\nwider fields to be explored, beyond the limits of his previous\ninvestigations. If there is less of childish curiosity, there is more\nof earnest, manly, irrepressible desire and determination to know. His\nstudies assume this or that direction, according to native taste and\ntemperament, early associations, or the force of circumstances; he\nbecomes a student of science, or a student of letters, or of art, or\nof the practical professions and pursuits of life; but turn in what\ndirection and to what pursuits he will, the desire to know still lives\nwithin him, as a sacred lamp ever burning before the shrine of truth.\n\n_Explains the Love of Narrative._--Every one has remarked the eagerness\nwith which children listen to stories, histories, and fables. This is\nowing not more to the love of the ideal, which is usually very strongly\ndeveloped in early life, than to the desire of knowing what presents\nitself to the mind as something new and unknown, yet with the semblance\nof reality. Nor does this love of narrative forsake us as we grow\nolder. We have still our romances, our histories, our poems, epic and\ntragic, to divert us amid the graver cares of life; and the old man\nis, perhaps, as impatient as the child, to go on with the story, and\ncomprehend the plot, when once his interest and curiosity are awakened.\n\n_A benevolent Provision._--We cannot but regard it as a benevolent\nprovision of the Creator, so to constitute the human mind, that not\nonly knowledge itself, but the very process of its acquisition, should\nbe a pleasure. And when we consider how great is the importance to\nman of this desire of knowledge, and how great is the progress of\neven the humblest mind, from the dawn of its intelligence, on to the\nperiod of its full maturity and strength; how, under the influence\nof this desire, the mind of a Newton, a Kepler, a Bacon, a Descartes,\na Leibnitz, moves on, from the slow and feeble acquisitions of the\nnursery, to the great and sublime discoveries that are to shed a light\nand glory, not only on the name of the discoverer, but on the path of\nall who come after him, we can hardly attach too high an importance to\nthis part of our mental constitution.\n\n_A rational, though an instinctive Principle._--The desire of\nknowledge, like many of the active principles which have already fallen\nunder our notice, is capable of rational exercise and control, while,\nat the same time, an implanted and instinctive principle. It operates,\nat first, rather as a blind impulse, impelling the mind to a given end;\nwhen reason assumes her sway of the mind and its restless energies,\nwhat was before a mere impulse and instinct of nature, now becomes a\ndeliberate and rational purpose.\n\n_Moral Character._--As to moral character, it may, or may not, pertain\nto the exercise of the principle under consideration. The desire\nof knowledge is not of necessity a virtuous affection of the mind.\nCharacteristic as it is of a noble and superior nature, more elevated\nand excellent, as it certainly is, than the merely animal desires and\nimpulses, it is not inseparably connected with moral excellence.\n\nAs rationally exercised it is laudable and virtuous, provided we seek\nknowledge with proper motives, and for right ends; otherwise, the\nreverse. Inasmuch, however, as we are under obligation to act in this,\nas in all other matters, from pure motives, and for right ends, the\nmere absence of such a motive, the desire and pursuit of knowledge in\nanother manner, and from other motives, becomes blameworthy.\n\n\n\u00a7 III.--DESIRE OF POWER.\n\n_A native Principle._--The desire of power must be regarded as an\noriginal principle of our nature. Like the desire of happiness, and of\nknowledge, it is both early in its development, and powerful in its\ninfluence over the mind. It is also universally manifest.\n\n_In what Manner awakened._--Of the idea of power or cause, and of the\nmanner in which the mind comes, in the first instance, to form that\nidea, I have already spoken, under the head of original conception.\nWe see changes taking place in the external world. We observe these\nchanges immediately and invariably preceded by certain antecedents. The\nidea of cause is thus suggested to the mind, and cause implies power of\none thing over another to produce given effects. We find, also, our own\nvolitions attended with corresponding effects upon objects external,\nand thus learn, still further, that we ourselves possess power over\nother objects. The idea thus awakened in the mind, there springs up,\nalso, in connection with the idea, an activity of the sensibilities.\nThe power which we find ourselves to have over objects about us affords\nus pleasure; what we enjoy we love, and what we love we desire; and\nso there is awakened in the mind a strong and growing desire for the\npossession of power.\n\n_Pleasure of exerting Power._--The pleasure which we derive from\nproducing, in any instance, a manifest effect, and from the\nconsciousness that we have in ourselves the power to produce like\neffects whenever we will, is one of the highest sources of enjoyment of\nwhich nature has made as capable. It is, to a great extent, the spring\nand secret of the constant activity of which the world is full. It\nshows itself in the sports of childhood, and in the graver pursuits of\nmaturer years. The infant, when it finds that it can move and control\nits own little limbs, the boy learning the art of such athletic sports\nas he perceives his fellows practise, the man when he finds that he\ncan control the action of his fellow-man, and bend the will of others\nto his own, are each, and perhaps equally, delighted at the acquisition\nof this new power; and the pleasure is generally in proportion to the\nnovelty of the acquisition, and the apparent greatness of the effect\nproduced.\n\n_Strength and Influence of this Principle._--The love of power is one\nof the strongest of the ruling principles of the human mind. It has its\nseat in the deepest foundations of our nature. I can _do_ something;\nI can do what others do; I can do more than they; such is the natural\norder and progression of our endeavors, and such also the measure and\nincrease of our delight. What, but the love of power, leads to those\ncompetitions of strength with strength, which mark the athletic games\nand contests of all nations, civilized and savage? What, but the love\nof power, impels the hunter over the pathless mountains, and deserts,\nin quest of those savage denizens and lords of nature, whose strength\nis so far superior to his own? What, but the love of power, leads the\nwarrior forth, at the head of conquering armies, to devastate and\nsubdue new realms?\n\n_Seen also in other Pursuits._--And in the peaceful pursuits of life,\nhow largely does the same impulse mingle with the other, and perhaps\nmore apparent, motives of human action? The man of science, as he\nwatches the nightly courses of the stars, or resolves the stubborn\ncompounds of nature into their simple and subtle elements, as he\ndiscovers new laws, and unlocks the secrets that have long baffled\nhuman inquiry, derives no small part of his gratification from the\nconsciousness of that power which he thus exercises over the realm of\nmatter subjected to his will. And when, in like manner, the orator, on\nwhose words depend the lives of men, and the fate of nations, stands\nforth to accuse or defend, to arouse the slumbering passions, and\ninflame the patriotism, the courage, the resentment of his audience,\nor to soothe their anger, allay their prejudice, awaken their pity or\ntheir fears, how does the consciousness of his power over the swaying,\nagitated multitude before him, mingle with the emotions that swell his\nbosom, and augment the fierce delight of victory?\n\n_Auxiliary to desire of knowledge._--The desire of power is accessory\nto, and in some cases, perhaps, the foundation of certain other\nprinciples of action. It is especially auxiliary to the desire of\nknowledge, inasmuch as every new acquisition of truth is an accession\nof power to the mind, and is, therefore, on that account, as well as\nfor its own sake, desirable. As a general thing, the more we know, the\nmore and the better we can do. Every mental acquisition becomes, in\nsome sense, an instrument to aid us in further and larger acquisitions.\nWe are enabled to call to our aid the very forces and elements of\nnature which our discoveries have, in a manner, subjected to our sway,\nand to conform our own conduct to those established laws which science\nreveals. The mind is thus stimulated, in all its investigations, and\ntoilsome search for truth, by the assurance that every increase of\nknowledge is, in some sense, an increase, also, of power. Hence the\naphorism so current, and generally attributed to Bacon, which affirms\nthat knowledge _is_ power.\n\n_Auxiliary also to love of Liberty._--The _love of liberty_, according\nto some writers, proceeds also, in part, at least, from the desire\nof power, the desire of being able to do whatever we like. Whatever\ndeprives us of liberty trenches upon our power. In like manner, writers\nupon morals have noticed the fact that the _pleasure of virtue_ is in\na measure due to the same source. When evil habits predominate and\nacquire the mastery, we lose the power of self-control, the mind is\nsubjected to the baser passions, and this loss of power is attended\nwith the painful consciousness of degradation. On the other hand, to\nthe mind that is bent on maintaining its integrity, though it be by\nstern and determined conflict with the evil influences that surround\nit, and its own natural propensities to a course of sinful indulgence,\nevery fresh struggle with those adverse influences becomes a pledge of\nfinal success, and the hour of victory, when it comes at last, as come\nit will, is an hour of triumph and of joy.\n\n\n\u00a7 IV.--CERTAIN MODIFICATIONS OF THE DESIRE OF POWER;--AS, THE DESIRE OF\nSUPERIORITY, AND OF POSSESSION.\n\n_General Statement._--There are certain desires to which the human\nmind is subject, and which seem to have a foundation in nature, which,\nthough frequently regarded as distinct principles of action, are more\nproperly, perhaps, to be viewed as but modifications of the principle\nlast considered. I refer to the _desire of superiority_, and _the\ndesire of possession_; or, as they are more succinctly termed, ambition\nand avarice.\n\n_The Desire to excel, universal._--The desire to excel is almost\nuniversal among men. It shows itself in every condition of society, and\nunder all varieties of character and pursuit. It animates the sports of\nchildhood, and gives a zest to the sober duties and realities of life.\nIt penetrates the camp, the court, the halls of legislation, and of\njustice; it enters alike into the peaceful rivalries of the school, the\ncollege, the learned professions, and into those more fearful contests\nfor superiority which engage nations in hostile encounter on the field\nof strife and carnage. What have we, under all these manifestations,\nbut the desire of superiority, and what is that but the desire of power\nin one of its most common forms?\n\n_Not peculiar to Man._--This is a principle not peculiar to human\nnature, but common to man with the brute. The lower animals have also\ntheir rivalries, their jealousies, their contests for superiority in\nswiftness, and in strength, and he is the acknowledged leader who\nproves himself superior in these respects to his fellows.\n\n_Not the same with Envy._--The desire to excel, or the principle of\nemulation, is not to be confounded with envy with which it is too\nfrequently, but not necessarily, associated. Envy is pained at the\nsuccess of a rival; a just and honorable emulation, without seeking\nto detract from the well-merited honors of another, strives only\nto equal and surpass them. This distinction is an important one,\nand has been very clearly pointed out by _Mr. Stewart_, and also by\n_Bp. Butler_, and, still earlier, by _Aristotle_. \"Emulation,\" says\nButler, \"is merely the desire of superiority over others, with whom we\ncompare ourselves. To desire the attainment of this superiority by the\nparticular means of others being brought down below our own level, is\nthe distinct notion of envy.\" To the same effect, Aristotle, as quoted\nby Stewart: \"Emulation is a good thing, and belongs to good men; envy\nis bad, and belongs to bad men. What a man is emulous of he strives to\nattain, that he may really possess the desired object; the envious are\nsatisfied if nobody has it.\"\n\n_Not malevolent of Necessity._--Dr. Reid has classed emulation with the\nmalevolent affections, as involving a sentiment of ill-will toward the\nrival; but, as Mr. Stewart very justly remarks, this sentiment is not\na _necessary_ concomitant of the desire of superiority, though often\nfound in connection with it; nor ought emulation to be classed with the\naffections, but with the desires, for it is the desire which is the\nactive principle, and the affection is only a concomitant circumstance.\n\n_View maintained by Mr. Upham._--Mr. Upham denies emulation a place\namong the original and implanted principles of our nature, on this\nground. All our active principles, he maintains, from instinct upward,\nare subordinate to the authority and decisions of conscience, as a\nfaculty paramount to every other. But the desire of superiority he\nsupposes to be utterly inconsistent with the law of subordination.\nWhenever man perceives a superior, he perceives one with whom, by this\nlaw of his nature, if such it be, he is brought into direct conflict\nand collision, and as he is surrounded by those who, in some respect,\nare his superiors, he is really placed in a state of perpetual warfare\nand misery; nor can he regard even the Supreme Being with other\nfeelings than those of unhallowed rivalry. A principle that would lead\nto such results, he concludes, cannot be founded in the constitution of\nour nature. He accordingly resolves the desire of superiority into the\nprinciple of imitativeness.\n\n_The Correctness of this View called in Question._--It is difficult\nto perceive the force of this reasoning. The desire of superiority,\nit is sufficient to say, whatever be its origin, leads to no such\nresults. As actually manifest in human character and conduct, it does\nnot show itself to be inconsistent with due subordination to authority,\nnor does it involve man in necessary and perpetual conflict with\nhis fellows, nor does it present the Supreme Being as an object of\nunhallowed rivalry. We have only to do with facts, with the phenomena\nactually presented by human nature; and we do not find the facts to\ncorrespond with the view now given. Nor can we perceive any reason, in\nthe nature of the case, why the desire in question _should_ lead, or be\nsupposed to lead, to such results. The desire of superiority does not\nnecessarily imply the desire to be superior to every body, and every\nthing, in the universe. It may have its natural and proper limits; and\nsuch we find to be the fact.\n\n_Actual Limitations of this Principle._--We desire to excel not,\nusually, those who are far above us in rank and fortune, but our\nfellows and companions; our rivals are mostly those who move in the\nsame sphere with ourselves. The artist vies with his brother artist,\nthe student with his fellow student, and even where envy and ill-will\nmingle, as they too often do, with the desire, still, the object of\nthat envy is not every one, indiscriminately, who may happen to be\nsuperior to ourselves, but only our particular rival in the race\nbefore us. The child at school does not envy Sir Isaac Newton, or the\nillustrious Humboldt, but the urchin that is next above himself in\nthe class. The desire of superiority, like every other desire of the\nhuman mind, looks only at what is possible to be accomplished, at what\nis probable, even; it aims not at the clouds, but at things within our\nreach, things to be had for the asking and the striving. But whatever\nview we take of the matter, the desire of superiority certainly exists\nas an active principle in the human mind; nor do we see any reason\nwhy it should not be admitted as an original principle founded in the\nconstitution of our nature, or, at least, as one of the forms and\nmodifications of such a principle, viz., the love of power.\n\n_This Principle requires Restraint._--I would by no means deny,\nhowever, that the desire now under consideration is one which is liable\nto abuse, and which requires the careful and constant restraints\nof reason and of religious principle. The danger is, that envy and\nill-will, toward those whom we regard as rivals and competitors with\nus, for those honors and rewards which lie in our path, shall be\npermitted to mingle with the desire to excel. Indeed, so frequently\nare the two conjoined, that to the reflecting and sensitive mind,\nsuperiority itself almost ceases to be desirable, since it is but too\nlikely to be purchased at the price of the good-will, and kind feeling,\nof those less fortunate, or less gifted, than ourselves.\n\n_Another Form of the same Desire._--_The desire of possession_ may\nbe regarded, also, as a modification of the desire of power. That\ninfluence over others which power implies, and which is, to some\nextent, commanded by superiority of personal strength or prowess, by\ngenius, by skill, by the various arts and address of life, or by the\naccident of birth and hereditary station, is still more directly and\ngenerally attainable, by another, and perhaps a shorter route--the\npossession of wealth. This, as the world goes, is the key that unlocks,\nthe sceptre that controls, all things. Personal prowess, genius,\naddress, station, the throne itself, are, in no inconsiderable degree,\ndependent upon its strength, and at its command. He who has this can\nwell afford to dispense with most other goods and gifts of fortune; so\nfar, at least, as concerns the possession of power. He may be neither\ngreat, nor learned, nor of noble birth; neither elegant in person,\nnor accomplished in manners, distinguished neither for science, nor\nvirtue; he may command no armies, he may sit upon no throne; yet with\nall his deficiencies, and even his vices, if so he have wealth, he has\npower. Unnumbered hands are ready to task their skill at his bidding,\nunnumbered arms, to move and toil and strive in his service, unnumbered\nfeet hasten to and fro upon his errands. He commands the skill and\nlabor of multitudes whom he has never seen, and who know him not. In\ndistant quarters of the globe, the natives of other zones and climes\nhasten upon his errands; swift ships traverse the seas for him; the\nfurs of the extreme North, the rich woods and spices of the tropics,\nthe silks of India, the pearls and gems of the East--whatever is\ncostly, and curious, and rare, whatever can contribute to the luxury\nand the pride of man--these are his, and for him. No wonder that he who\ndesires power, should desire that which is one of the chief avenues and\nmeans to the attainment of power, and that what is valued, at first,\nrather as an instrument than as an end, should presently come to be\nregarded and valued for its own sake.\n\n_A twofold Aspect--Covetousness, Avarice._--There are, if I mistake\nnot, two forms which the desire of possession assumes. The one is the\nsimple desire of acquiring, that there may be the more to spend; the\nother of accumulating, adding to the heaps already obtained--which may\nbe done by keeping fast what is already gotten, as well as by getting\nmore. The one is the desire of getting, which is not inconsistent with\nthe desire of spending, but, in fact, grows out of that in the first\ninstance; the other is the desire of increasing, and the corresponding\ndread of diminishing, what is gotten, which, when it prevails to\nany considerable degree, effectually prevents all enjoyment of the\naccumulated treasure, and becomes one of the most remarkable and most\nodious passions of our perverted nature. The term _covetousness_\nanswers somewhat nearly to the one, _avarice_ to the other, of these\nforms of desire. It must be added, also, that it seems to be the\nnatural tendency of the primitive and milder form of this principle,\nto pass into the other and more repulsive manifestation. He who begins\nwith desiring wealth as a means of gratifying his various wants, too\nfrequently ends with desiring it for its own sake, and becomes that\npoorest and most miserable of all men, the miser.\n\n_The inordinate love of Money not owing wholly to Association._--Whence\narises that inordinate value which the miser attaches to money, which,\nin reality, is but the mere representative of enjoyment, the mere\nmeans to an end? Why is he so loth to part with the smallest portion\nof the representative medium, in order to secure the reality, the end\nfor which alone the means is valuable? Is it that, by the laws of\nassociation, the varied enjoyments which gold has so often procured,\nand which have a fixed value in our minds, are transferred with all\ntheir value to the gold which procured them? Doubtless this is, in\nsome measure, the case, and it may, therefore, in part, account for\nthe phenomenon in question. The gold piece which I take from my\ndrawer for the purchase of some needful commodity, has, it may be,\nan increased value in my estimation, from the recollection of the\nadvantages previously derived from the possession of just such a sum.\nBut why should such associations operate more powerfully upon the\nmiser, than upon any other person? Why are we not _all_ misers, if such\nassociations are the true cause and explanation of avarice? Nay, why\nis not the spendthrift the most avaricious of all men, since he has\nmore frequently exchanged the representative medium for the enjoyment\nwhich it would procure, and has, therefore, greater store of such\nassociations connected with his gold?\n\n_The true Explanation._--Dr. Brown, who has admirably treated this\npart of our mental constitution, has suggested, I think, the true\nexplanation of this phenomenon.\n\nSo long as the gold itself is in the miser's grasp, it is, and is felt\nto be, a permanent possession; when it is expended, it is usually\nfor something of a transient nature, which perishes with the using.\nIt seems to him afterward as so much utter loss, and is regretted as\nsuch. Every such regretted expenditure increases the reluctance to\npart with another portion of the treasure. There is, moreover, another\ncircumstance which heightens this feeling of reluctance. The enjoyment\npurchased is one and simple. The gold with which it was purchased is\nthe representative, not of that particular form of enjoyment alone, but\nof a thousand others as well, any one of which might have been procured\nwith the same money. All these possible advantages are now no longer\npossible. Very great seems the loss. Add to this the circumstance\nthat the miser, in most cases, probably, has accumulated, or set his\nheart upon accumulating, a certain round sum, say so many thousands\nor hundreds of thousands. The spending a single dollar breaks that\nsum, and, therewith, the charm is broken, and he who was a millionaire\nbefore that unlucky expenditure, is a millionaire no longer. It is\nmainly in these feelings of regret, which attend the necessary expenses\nof the man who has once learned to set a high value upon wealth, that\navarice finds, if not its source, at least its chief strength and\naliment.\n\n_Odiousness of this Vice._--There is, perhaps, no passion or vice\nto which poor human nature is subject, that is, in some respects,\nmore odious and repulsive than this. There is about it no redeeming\nfeature. It is pure and unmingled selfishness, without even the poor\napology that most other vices can offer, of contributing to the present\nenjoyment and sensual gratification of the criminal. The miser is\ndenied even this. He covets, not that he may enjoy, but that he may\nrefrain from enjoying.\n\n_Strongest in old Age._--\"In the contemplation of many of the passions\nthat rage in the heart with greatest fierceness,\" says Dr. Brown,\n\"there is some comfort in the thought that, violent as they may be for\na time, they are not to rage through the whole course of life, at least\nif life be prolonged to old age; that the agitation which at every\nperiod will have some intermissions, will grow gradually less as the\nbody grows more weak, and that the mind will at last derive from this\nvery feebleness a repose which it could not enjoy when the vigor of\nthe bodily frame seemed to give to the passion a corresponding vigor.\nIt is not in avarice, however, that this soothing influence of age is\nto be found. It grows with our growth and with our strength, but it\nstrengthens also with our very weakness. There are no intermissions\nin the anxieties which it keeps awake; and every year, instead of\nlessening its hold, seems to fix it more deeply within the soul itself,\nas the bodily covering around it slowly moulders away.... The heart\nwhich is weary of every thing else is not weary of coveting more gold;\nthe memory which has forgotten every thing else, continues still, as\nCato says in Cicero's dialogue, to remember where its gold is stored;\nthe eye is not dim to gold that is dim to every thing beside; the hand\nwhich it seems an effort to stretch out and fix upon any thing, appears\nto gather new strength from the very touch of the gold which it grasps,\nand has still vigor enough to lift once more, and count once more,\nthough a little more slowly, what it has been its chief and happiest\noccupation thus to lift and count for a period of years far longer than\nthe ordinary life of man. When the relations or other expectant heirs\ngather around his couch, not to comfort, nor even to seem to comfort,\nbut to await, in decent mimicry of solemn attendance, that moment\nwhich they rejoice to view approaching; the dying eye can still send\na jealous glance to the coffer near which it trembles to see, though\nit scarcely sees, so many human forms assembled; and that feeling\nof jealous agony, which follows and outlasts the obscure vision of\nfloating forms that are scarcely remembered, is at once the last misery\nand the last consciousness of life.\"\n\n\n\u00a7 V.--DESIRE OF SOCIETY\n\n_A natural Principle._--There can be little doubt that the desire of\nsociety is one of the original principles of our nature. It shows\nitself at a very early period of life, and under all the diverse\nconditions of existence. Its universal manifestation, and that under\ncircumstances which preclude the idea of education or imitation in\nthe matter, proves it an implanted principle, having its seat in the\nconstitution of the mind.\n\n_Manifested by Animals of every Species._--The child rejoices in the\ncompany of its fellows. The lower animals manifest the same regard for\neach other's society, and are unhappy when separated from their kind.\nMuch of the attachment of the dog to his master may, not improbably, be\nowing to the same source. The beast of labor is cheered and animated by\nhis master's presence, and the patient ox as he toils along the furrow,\nor the highway, moves more willingly when he hears the well-known step\nand voice of his owner trudging by his side. Every one knows how much\nthe horse is inspirited by the chance companionship, upon the way, of a\nfellow-laborer of his own species. Horses that have been accustomed to\neach other's society on the road, or in the stall, frequently manifest\nthe greatest uneasiness and dejection when separated; and it has been\nobserved by those acquainted with the habits of animals, that cattle\ndo not thrive as well, even in good pasture, when solitary, as when\nfeeding in herds.\n\n_Social Organizations of Animals._--Accordingly we find most animals,\nwhen left to the instinct of nature, associating in herds, and tribes,\nlarger or smaller, according to the habits of the animal. They form\ntheir little communities, have their leaders, and, to some extent,\ntheir laws, acknowledged and obeyed by all, their established customs\nand modes of procedure--in which associations, thus regulated, it is\nimpossible not to recognize the essential feature and principle of\nwhat man, in his political associations of the same nature, calls the\n_state_. What else are the little communities of the bee, and the ant,\nand the beaver, but so many busy cities, and states, of the insect and\nanimal tribes?\n\n_The social State not adopted because of its Advantages merely._--It\nmay be said that man derives advantages from the social state, and\nadopts it for that reason. Unquestionably he does derive immense\nadvantages from it; but is that the reason he desires it? Is the desire\nof society consequent upon the advantages, experienced or foreseen,\nwhich accrue from it, or are the advantages consequent upon the desire\nand the adoption of the state in question? Is it matter of expediency\nand calculation, of policy and necessity, or of native instinct and\nimplanted constitutional desire? What is it with the lower animals? Has\nnot nature provided in their very constitution for their prospective\nwants, and, by implanting in them the desire for each other's society,\nlaid the foundation for their congregating in tribes and communities?\nIs it not reasonable to suppose that the same may be true of man? The\nanalogy of nature, the early manifestation of the principle prior\nto education and experience, the universality and uniformity of its\noperation, and the fact that it shows itself often in all its strength\nunder circumstances in which very little benefit would seem to result\nfrom the social condition, as with the savage races of the extreme\nNorth, and with many rude and uncultivated tribes of the forest and\nthe desert--all these circumstances go to show that the desire of\nsociety is founded in the nature of man, and is not a mere matter of\ncalculation and policy.\n\n_Man's Nature deficient without this Principle._--And this is a\nsufficient answer to the theory of those who, with Hobbes, regard the\nsocial condition of man as the result of his perception of what is for\nhis own interest, the dictate of prudence and necessity. The very fact\nthat it is for his interest would lead us to expect that some provision\nshould be made for it in his nature; and this is precisely what we\nfind to be the case. Were it otherwise, we should feel that, in one\nimportant respect, the nature of man was deficient, inferior even to\nthat of the brute. But the truth is, the whole history of the race is\none complete and compact contradiction of the theory of Hobbes, and\nshows with the clearness of demonstration, that the _natural_ condition\nof man is not that of seclusion, and isolation from his fellows, but of\nsociety and companionship.\n\n_Strength of this Principle._--So strongly is this principle rooted in\nthe very depths of our nature, that when man is for a length of time\nshut out from the society of his fellow men, he seeks the acquaintance\nand companionship of brutes, and even of insects, and those animals\nfor whom, in his usual condition, he has a marked repugnance, as a\nrelief from utter loneliness and absolute solitude. Mr. Stewart relates\nthe instance of a French nobleman, shut up for several years a close\nprisoner in the Castle of Pignerol, during the reign of Louis XIV.,\nwho amused himself, in his solitude, by watching the movements of\na spider, to which he at length became so much attached, that when\nthe jailor, discovering his amusement, killed the spider, he was\nafflicted with the deepest grief. Silvio Pellico, in his imprisonment,\namused himself in like manner. Baron Trench sought to alleviate the\nwretchedness of his long imprisonment, by cultivating the acquaintance\nor friendship of a mouse, which in turn manifested a strong attachment\nto him, played about his person, and took its food from his hand. The\nfact having been discovered by the officers, the mouse was removed to\nthe guard-room, but managed to find its way back to the prison door,\nand, at the hour of visitation, when the door was opened, ran into the\ndungeon, and manifested the greatest delight at finding its master.\nBeing subsequently removed and placed in a cage, it pined, refused all\nsustenance, and in a few days died. \"The loss of this little companion\nmade me for some time quite melancholy,\" adds the narrator.\n\n_Case of Silvio Pellico._--How strongly is the desire for society\nmanifested in these words of Silvio Pellico, when forbidden to converse\nwith his fellow-prisoner. \"I shall do no such thing. I shall speak as\nlong as I have breath, and invite my neighbor to talk to me. If he\nrefuse, I will talk to my window-bars. I will talk to the hills before\nme. I will talk to the birds as they fly about. I _will_ talk.\"\n\nFacts of this nature clearly indicate that the love of society is\noriginally implanted in the human mind.\n\n_Illustrated from the History of Prison Discipline._--The same thing is\nfurther evident from the effects of entire seclusion from all society,\nas shown in the history of prison discipline. For the facts which\nfollow, as well as for some of the preceding, I am indebted to Mr.\nUpham.\n\nThe legislature of New York some years since, by way of experiment,\ndirected a number of the most hardened criminals in the State prison at\nAuburn, to be confined in solitary cells, without labor, and without\nintermission of their solitude. The result is thus stated by Messrs.\nBeaumont and Tocqueville, who were subsequently appointed commissioners\nby the French government to examine and report on the American system\nof prison discipline. \"This, trial from which so happy a result had\nbeen anticipated, was fatal to the greater part of the convicts; in\norder to reform them, they had been subjected to complete isolation;\nbut this absolute solitude, if nothing interrupts it, is beyond the\nstrength of man; it destroys the criminal, without intermission, and\nwithout pity; it does not reform, it kills. The unfortunates on whom\nthis experiment was made, fell into a state of depression so manifest\nthat their keepers were struck with it; their lives seemed in danger\nif they remained longer in this situation; five of them had already\nsuccumbed during a single year; their moral state was no less alarming;\none of them had become insane; another, in a fit of despair, had\nembraced the opportunity, when the keeper brought him something, to\nprecipitate himself from his cell, running the almost certain chance\nof a mortal fall. Upon those, and similar effects, the system was\nfinally judged.\" The same results substantially have followed similar\nexperiments in other prisons. It is stated by Lieber, that in the\npenitentiary of New Jersey, ten persons are mentioned as having been\nkilled by solitary confinement. Facts like these show how deeply-rooted\nin our nature is the desire of society, and how essential to our\nhappiness is the companionship of our fellow-beings.\n\n\n\u00a7 VI.--DESIRE OF ESTEEM.\n\n_An important and original Principle._--Of the active principles of our\nnature, few exert a more important influence over human conduct, few\ncertainly deserve a more careful consideration, than the regard which\nwe feel for the approbation of others. The early period at which this\nmanifests itself, as well as the strength which it displays, indicate,\nwith sufficient clearness, that it is an original principle, founded in\nthe constitution of the mind.\n\n_Cannot be regarded as an acquired Habit._--When we see children of\ntender age manifesting a sensitive regard for the good opinion of their\nassociates, shrinking with evident pain from the censure of those\naround them, and delighted with the approbation which they may receive;\nwhen, in maturer years, we find them--children no longer--ready to\nsacrifice pleasure and advantage in every form, and to almost any\namount, and even to lay down life itself to maintain an honorable\nplace in the esteem of men, and to preserve a name and reputation\nunsullied--and these things we do see continually--we cannot believe\nthat what shows itself so early, and so uniformly, and operates\nwith such strength, is only some acquired principle, the result of\nassociation, or the mere calculation of advantage, and a prudential\nregard to self-interest. In many cases we know it cannot be so. It\nis not the dictate of prudence, or the calculation of advantage, that\ninfluences the little child; nor is it the force of such considerations\nthat induces the man of mature years to give up ease, fortune,\nand life itself, for the sake of honor and a name. Even where the\napprobation or censure of those who may pass an opinion, favorable,\nor unfavorable, upon our conduct, can be of no benefit or injury to\nus, that approbation is still desired, that censure is still feared.\nWe prefer the good opinion of even a weak man, or a bad man, to his\ndisesteem; and even if the odium which, in that case, we may chance to\nincur in the discharge of duty, is felt to be unjust and undeserved,\nand our consciousness of right intention and right endeavor sustains\nus under all the pressure of opinion from without, it is impossible,\nnevertheless, not to be pained with even that unjust and undeserved\nreproach. We feel that, in losing the confidence and esteem of others,\nwe incur a heavy loss.\n\nWant and wretchedness may drive a man to desperate and reckless\ncourses; yet few, probably, can be found, so wretched and desperate,\nwho, in all their misery, would not prefer the good opinion and the\ngood offices of their fellow-man.\n\n_Accounted for neither by the selfish nor the associative\nPrinciple._--It can hardly be, then, a _selfish_ and prudential\nprinciple--this strong desire of esteem; nor yet can it be the result\nof association, as some have inferred; since it shows itself under\ncircumstances where a selfish regard for one's own interests could not\nbe supposed to operate, and with a power which no laws of association\ncan explain.\n\n_Hume's Theory._--Hardly better is it accounted for on the principle\nwhich Hume suggests, that the good opinion of others confirms our good\nopinion of ourselves, and hence is felt to be desirable. Doubtless\nthere is need enough, in many cases, perhaps in most, of some such\nconfirmation. Nor would I deny that this may be one element of the\npleasure which we derive from the esteem of others. Dr. Brown, in his\nanalysis of the principle under consideration, has very justly included\nthis among the components of the pleasure thus derived. But it by no\nmeans accounts for the origin, nor explains the nature, of this desire.\nIt is rather an incidental circumstance than the producing cause.\n\n_This Principle as it relates to the Future._--Perhaps in no one of its\naspects is the desire of esteem more remarkable, than when it relates\nto the future--the desire to leave a good name behind us, when we are\nno longer concerned with the affairs of time. It would seem as if the\ngood or ill opinion of men would be of no moment whatever to us, when\nonce we have taken our final departure from the stage of life. We\npass to a higher tribunal, and the verdict of approving or reproving\nmillions, the applause of nations, the condemnation of a world in arms\nagainst us, will hardly break the silence or disturb the deep repose of\nthe tomb. These approving and condemning voices will die away in the\ndistance, or be heard but as the faint echo of the wave that lashes\nsome far-off shore.\n\nYet, though the honors that may then await our names will be of as\nlittle moment to us, personally, as the perishing garlands that the\nhand of affection may place upon our tombs, we still desire to leave\na name unsullied at least, if not distinguished, even as we desire to\nlive in the memory and affections of those who survive us.\n\n_How to be explained._--To what, then, can be owing this desire of\nthe good opinion and esteem of those who are to come after us, and\nwhose opinion, be it good or ill, can in no way affect our happiness?\nPhilosophers have been sadly at a loss to account for it, especially\nthose who trace the desire of esteem to a selfish origin. Some,\nwith Wollaston and Smith, have referred it to the illusions of the\nimagination, by which we seem, to ourselves, to be present, and to\nwitness the honors, and listen to the praises, which the future is to\nbestow. Such an illusion may possibly arise in some hour of reverie,\nsome day-dream of the mind; but it is impossible to suppose that any\none of sound mind should be permanently influenced by such an illusion,\nor fail to perceive, when reason resumes her sway, that it _is_ an\nillusion, and that only.\n\n_Admits of Explanation in another Way._--If, however we regard the\ndesire of the good opinion of others as an original principle of our\nnature, and not as springing from selfish considerations, it is easy to\nsee how the same principle may extend to the future. If, irrespective\nof personal advantage, we desire the esteem of our fellow-men while we\nlive, so, also, without regard to such advantage, we may desire their\ngood opinion when we are no longer among them.\n\nTrue, it is only a name that is transmitted and honored, as Wollaston\nsays, and not the man himself. _He_ does not live because his _name_\ndoes, nor is _he_ known because his name is known. As in those lines of\nCowley, quoted by Stewart:\n\n    \"'Tis true the two immortal syllables remain,\n    But, O! ye learned men, explain\n    What essence, substance, what hypostasis\n    In five poor letters is?\n    In these alone does the great C\u00e6sar live--\n    'Tis all the conquered world could give.\"\n\nYet reason as we may, it is no trait of a noble and ingenuous mind to\nbe regardless of the opinions of the future. The common sentiment of\nmen, even the wisest and the best, finds itself, after all, much more\ninfluenced by such considerations than by any reasoning to the contrary.\n\n_Not unworthy of a noble Mind._--Nor is it altogether unworthy of the\nambition of a noble and generous mind to leave a good name as a legacy\nto the future; in the language of Mr. Stewart, \"to be able to entail on\nthe casual combination of letters which compose our name, the respect\nof distant ages, and the blessings of generations yet unborn. Nor is it\nan unworthy object of the most rational benevolence to render these\nletters a sort of magical spell for kindling the emulation of the wise\nand good whenever they shall reach the human ear.\"\n\n_Desire of Esteem not a safe Rule of Conduct._--I would by no means be\nunderstood, however, to present the desire of esteem as, on the whole,\na safe and suitable rule of conduct, or to justify that inordinate\nambition which too frequently seeks distinction regardless of the means\nby which it is acquired, or of any useful end to be accomplished.\nThe mere love of fame is by no means the highest principle of action\nby which man is guided--by no means the noblest or the safest. It is\never liable to abuse. Its tendencies are questionable. The man who\nhas no higher principle than a regard to the opinions of others is\nnot likely to accomplish any thing great or noble. He will lack that\nprime element of greatness, _consistency_ of character and purpose.\nHis conduct and his principles will vary to suit the changing aspect\nof the times. He will, almost of necessity, also lack firmness and\nstrength of character. It is necessary, sometimes, for the wise and\ngood man to resist the force and pressure of public opinion. He must\ndo that, or abandon his principles, and prove false at once to duty,\nand to himself. To do this costs much. It requires, and, at the same\ntime, imparts, true strength. Such strength comes in no other way. That\nmind is essentially weak that depends for its point of support on the\napplause of man. In the noble language of Cicero, \"To me, indeed, those\nactions seem all the more praiseworthy which we perform without regard\nto public favor, and without observation of man.. The true theatre for\nvirtue is conscience; there is none greater.\" The praise of man confers\nno solid happiness, unless it is felt to be deserved; and if it _be_\nso, that very consciousness is sufficient.\n\n_Disregard of public Opinion equally unsafe._--It must be confessed,\nhowever, that if a regard to the opinions of others is not to be\nadopted as a wise and safe rule of conduct, an entire disregard of\npublic opinion is, on the other hand, a mark neither of a well ordered\nmind, nor of a virtuous character. \"Contempta fama,\" says Tacitus,\n\"contemnantur virtutes.\"\n\nAccordingly we find that those who, from any cause, have lost their\ncharacter and standing in society, and forfeited the good opinion of\ntheir fellow-men, are apt to become desperate and reckless, and ready\nfor any crime.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nHOPE AND FEAR.\n\n\n_Nature of these Emotions._--In the analysis of the sensibilities,\nwhich was given in a preceding chapter, _hope and fear_ were classed\nas modifications of _desire and aversion_, having reference to the\nprobability that the object which is desired or feared may be realized.\nDesire always relates to something in the future, and something that\nis agreeable, or viewed as such, and also something possible, or that\nis so regarded. Add to this future agreeable something the idea or\nelement of _probability_, let it be not only something possible to be\nattained, but not unlikely to be, and what was before but mere desire,\nmore or less earnest, now becomes _hope_, more or less definite or\nstrong, according as the object is more or less desirable, and more or\nless likely to be realized. And the same is true of fear; an emotion\nawakened in view of any object regarded as disagreeable, in the future,\nand as more or less likely to be met.\n\nAs desire and aversion do not necessarily relate to different objects,\nbut are simply counterparts of each other, the desire of any good\nimplying always an aversion to its loss, so, also, hope and fear may\nboth be awakened by the same object, according as the gaining or losing\nof the object becomes the more probable. What we hope to gain we fear\nto lose. What we fear to meet, we hope to escape.\n\n_The Strength of the Feeling dependent, in part, on the Importance of\nthe Object._--The _degree_ of the emotion, however, in either case,\nthe readiness with which it is awakened, and the force and liveliness\nwith which it affects the mind, are not altogether in proportion to\nthe probability merely that the thing will, or will not, be as we\nhope or fear, but somewhat in proportion, also, to the importance of\nthe object itself. That which is quite essential to our happiness is\nmore ardently desired, than what is of much less consequence, though,\nperhaps, much more likely to be attained; and because it is more\nimportant and desirable, even a slight prospect of its attainment, or\na slight reason to apprehend its loss, more readily awakens our hopes,\nand our fears, and more deeply impresses and agitates the mind, than\neven a much stronger probability would do in cases of less importance.\nWhat we very much desire, we are inclined to hope for, what we are\nstrongly averse to, we are readily disposed to fear. Nothing is more\ndesirable to the victim of disease than recovery, and hence his hope\nand almost confident expectation that he shall recover, when, perhaps,\nto every eye but his own, the case is hopeless. Nothing could be more\ndreadful to the miser than the loss of his treasure, and nothing,\naccordingly, does he so much fear. Poverty would be to him the greatest\nof possible calamities, and of this, accordingly, he lives in constant\napprehension. Yet nothing is really more unlikely to occur. It is the\ntendency of the mind, in such cases, to magnify both the danger of the\nevil, on the one hand, and the prospect of good on the other.\n\n_Illustration from the case of a Traveller._--\"There can be no\nquestion,\" says Dr. Brown, \"that he who travels in the same carriage,\nwith the same external appearances of every kind, by which a robber\ncould be tempted or terrified, will be in equal danger of attack,\nwhether he carry with him little of which he can be plundered, or\nsuch a booty as would impoverish him if it were lost. But there can\nbe no question, also, that though the probabilities of danger be the\nsame, the fear of attack would, in these two cases, be very different;\nthat, in the one case, he would laugh at the ridiculous terror of any\none who journeyed with him, and expressed much alarm at the approach\nof evening;--and that, in the other case, his own eye would watch,\nsuspiciously, every horseman who approached, and would feel a sort of\nrelief when he observed him pass carelessly and quietly along, at a\nconsiderable distance behind.\"\n\n_Uneasiness attending the sudden Acquisition of Wealth._--This tendency\nof the imagination to exaggerate the real, and conjure up a thousand\nunreal dangers, when any thing of peculiar value is in possession,\nwhich it is certainly possible, and it may be slightly probable, that\nwe may lose, may, perhaps, account for the uneasiness, amounting often\nto extreme anxiety, that frequently accompanies the sudden acquisition\nof wealth. The poor cobbler, at his last, is a merry man, whistling at\nhis work, from morning till night. Bequeath him a fortune, and he quits\nat once his last and his music; he is no longer the light-hearted man\nthat he was; his step is cautious, his look anxious and suspicious; he\ngrows care-worn and old. He that was never so happy in his life as when\na poor man, now dreads nothing so much as poverty. While he was poor,\nthere was nothing to fear, but every thing to hope, from the future;\nnow that he is rich, there is nothing further to hope, but much to\nfear, since if the future brings any change in his condition, as it\nis not unlikely to do, it will, in all probability, be a change, not\nfrom wealth to still greater wealth, but from present affluence to his\nformer penury.\n\n_The Pleasure of Hope surpasses the Pleasure of Reality._--It will,\ndoubtless, be found generally true, that the pleasure of hope surpasses\nthe pleasure derived from the realization of the object wished and\nhoped for. The imagination invests with ideal excellence the good that\nis still future, and when the hour of possession and enjoyment comes,\nthe reality does not fully answer the expectation. Or, as in the case,\nalready supposed, of the acquisition of wealth, there come along with\nthe desired and expected treasure, a thousand cares and anxieties that\nwere not anticipated, and that go far to diminish the enjoyment of the\nacquisition. From these, and other causes, it happens, I believe, not\nunfrequently, that those enjoy the most, who have really the least,\nwhether of wealth, or of any other good which the mind naturally\ndesires as a means of happiness; nor can we fail to see in this a\nbeautiful provision of divine benevolence for the happiness of the\ngreat human family.\n\n_Influence on the Mind._--The influence of hope, upon the human mind,\nis universally felt, and recognized, as one of the most powerful and\npermanent of those varied influences, and laws of being, that make us\nwhat we are. It is limited to no period of life, no clime and country,\nno age of the world, no condition of society, or of individual fortune.\nIt cheers us, alike, in the childhood of our being, in the maturity of\nour riper years, and in the second childhood of advancing age. There is\nno good which it cannot promise, no evil for which it cannot suggest a\nremedy and a way of escape, no sorrow which it cannot assuage. It is\nstrength to the weary, courage to the desponding, life to the dying,\njoy to the desolate. It lingers with gentle step about the couch of\nthe suffering, when human skill can do no more; and, upon the tombs\nof those whose departure we mourn, it hangs the unfading garland of a\nblessed immortality.\n\n    \"Angel of life! thy glittering wings explore\n    Earth's loveliest bounds, and ocean's widest shore.\"\n\nThe same poet who sang so well the pleasures of hope, has depicted the\ninfluence of this emotion, on the mind which some great calamity has\nbereft of reason.\n\n        \"Hark, the wild maniac sings to chide the gale\n        That wafts so slow her lover's distant sail;\n\n               *       *       *       *       *\n\n        Oft when yon moon has climbed the midnight sky\n        And the lone sea-bird wakes its wildest cry,\n        Piled on the steep, her blazing fagots burn\n        To hail the bark that never can return;\n        And still she waits, but scarce forbears to weep,\n        That constant love can linger on the deep.\"\n\nIt is, indeed, a touching incident, illustrative not more of the\nstrength of this principle of our nature, than of the benevolence which\nframed our mental and moral constitution, that when, under the heavy\npressure of earthly ills, reason deserts her empire, and leaves the\nthrone of the human mind vacant, _Hope_ still lingers to cheer even\nthe poor maniac, and calmly takes her seat upon that vacant throne,\neven as the radiant angels sat upon the stone by the door of the empty\nsepulchre.\n\n\n\n\nMENTAL PHILOSOPHY\n\nDIVISION THIRD\n\n\n\n\nTHE WILL\n\nPRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS.\n\n\n_Leading Divisions._--In our analysis and distribution of the powers\nof the mind, they were divided into three generic classes, viz.,\nIntellect, Sensibility, and Will. Of these, the two former have been\ndiscussed in the preceding pages; it now remains to enter upon the\nexamination of the third.\n\n_Importance and Difficulty of this Department._--This is, in many\nrespects, at once the most important and the most difficult of\nthe three. Its difficulty becomes apparent when we consider what\nquestions arise respecting this power of the mind, and what diverse\nand conflicting views have been entertained, not among philosophers\nonly, but among all classes of men, and in all ages of the world,\nconcerning these matters. Its importance is evident from the relation\nwhich this faculty sustains to the other powers of the mind, and from\nits direct and intimate connection with some of the most practical\nand personal duties of life. Whatever control we have over ourselves,\nwhether as regards the bodily or the mental powers, whatever use and\ndisposition it is in our power to make of the intellectual faculties\nwith which we are endowed, and of the sensibilities which accompany\nor give rise to those intellectual activities, and of the physical\norganization which obeys the behests of the sovereign mind, whatever\nseparates and distinguishes us from the mere inanimate and mechanical\nforces of nature on the one hand, or the blind impulses of irrational\nbrute instinct on the other; for all this, be it more or less, we are\nindebted to that faculty which we call the Will. And hence it happens\nthat in this, as in many other cases, the most abstract questions of\nphilosophy become the most practical and important questions of life.\nIn every system of mental philosophy the Will holds a cardinal place.\nThe system can no more be complete without it, than a steamship without\nthe engines that are to propel her. As is the view taken of the Will,\nsuch is essentially the system.\n\n_Relation to Theology._--Nor is it to be overlooked that the doctrine\nof the Will is a cardinal doctrine of theology, as well as of\npsychology. Inasmuch as it has a direct and practical bearing upon the\nformation of character, and upon the moral and religious duties of\nlife, it comes properly within the sphere of that science which treats\nof these duties, and of man's relation to his Maker. Hence every system\nof theology has to do with the Will; and according to the view taken of\nthis faculty, such essentially is the system. If in psychology, still\nmore in theology, is this the stand-point of the science.\n\n_Not, therefore, to be treated as a theological Doctrine._--Not,\nhowever, on this account, is the matter to be treated as theological\nand not strictly psychological. It is a matter which pertains properly\nand purely to psychology. It is for that science which treats of the\nlaws and powers of the human mind to unfold and explain the activity\nof this most important of all the mental faculties. To this science\ntheology must come for her data, so far as she has occasion to refer to\nthe phenomena of the Will. The same may be said of ethical, as well as\nof theological science. In so far as they are concerned with the moral\npowers, and with the human will, they must both depend on psychology.\nWith in her proper sphere they stand, not as teachers, but as learners.\n\n_The more Care requisite on this Account._--For this reason all the\nmore care is necessary, in the study and explanation of the present\ntheme. An error in this part of the investigation is likely to extend\nbeyond the bounds of the science itself, into other and kindred\nsciences. The most serious consequences may flow from it, in other and\nwider fields of thought.\n\n_Sources of Information._--The sources of our information are\nessentially the same in this as in the preceding divisions of the\nscience. They are twofold; the consciousness of what passes in our\nown minds, and the observation of others. Our single business is to\nascertain facts, actual phenomena; not to inquire what might be, or\nwhat _ought_ to be, according to preconceived notions and theories,\nbut what _is_. This is to be learned, not by reasoning and logical\nargument, but by simple observation of phenomena. Having once\nascertained these, we may infer, and conclude, and reason from them,\nas far as we please, and our conclusions will be correct, provided\nthe data are correct from which we set forth, and provided we reason\ncorrectly from these principles.\n\n_Method to be pursued._--In treating of this department of mental\nactivity, it will be our first business, then, to point out the well\nestablished and evident facts pertaining to the matter in hand, viewed\nsimply as psychological phenomena, as modes in which the human mind\nmanifests itself in action, according to the laws of its constitution.\nThese being ascertained, we shall be prepared to consider some of the\nmore difficult and doubtful matters respecting the will, on which the\nworld has long been divided, and which can never be intelligently\ndiscussed, much less settled, without a clear understanding, in the\nfirst place, of the psychological facts in the case, about which there\nneed be, and should be, no dispute.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nNATURE OF THE WILL.\n\n\n_What the Will is._--I understand, by the will, that power which the\nmind has of determining or deciding what it will do, and of putting\nforth volitions accordingly. The will is the _power_ of doing this;\nwilling, is the exercise of the power; volition, is the deed, the thing\ndone. The will is but another name for the executive power of the mind.\nWhatever we do intelligently and intentionally, whether it implies an\nexercise of the intellect, or of the feelings, or of both, that is an\nact of the will. All our voluntary, in distinction from our involuntary\nmovements of the body, and movements of mind, are the immediate results\nof the activity of the Will.\n\n_Condition of a Being destitute of Will._--We can, perhaps, conceive of\na being endowed with intellect and sensibility, but without the faculty\nof will. Such a being, however superior he might be to the brutes in\npoint of intelligence, would, so far as regards the capacities of\naction, be even their inferior, since his actions must be, as theirs,\nthe result of mere sensational impulse, without even that unerring\ninstinct to guide him, which the brute possesses, and which supplies\nthe place of reason and intelligent will. To this wretched condition\nman virtually approximates when, by any means, the will becomes so far\nenfeebled, or brought under the dominion of appetite and passion, as\nto lose the actual control of the mental and physical powers. _Will\nnot distinct from the Mind._--It must be borne in mind, of course, as\nwe proceed, that the will is nothing but the mind itself willing, or\nhaving power to will, and not something distinct from the mind, or even\na _part_ of the mind, as the handle and the blade are distinct parts\nof the knife. The power to think, the power to feel, the power to will,\nare distinct powers, but the mind is one and indivisible, exercising\nnow one, now another, of these powers.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--ELEMENTS INVOLVED IN AN ACT OF WILL.\n\n_Proposed Analysis._--In order to the better understanding of the\nnature of this faculty, let us first analyze its operations, with a\nview to ascertain the several distinct stages or elements of the mental\nprocess which takes place. We will then take up these several elements,\none by one, for special investigation.\n\n_Observation of an Act of Will._--What, then, are the essential\nphenomena of an act of the will? Let us arrest ourselves in the process\nof putting forth an act of this kind, and observe precisely what it is\nthat we do, and what are the essential data in the case. I am sitting\nat my table. I reach forth my hand to take a book. Here is an act of\nmy will. My arm went not forth self-moved and spontaneously, it was\nsent, was bidden to go; the soul seated within, animating this physical\norganism, and making it subservient to her will, moved that arm. Here,\nthen, is clearly an act of will. Let us subject it to the test of\nobservation.\n\n_The first Element._--First of all, then, there was evidently, in this\ncase, _something to be done_--an end to be accomplished--a book to be\nreached. The action, both of body and of mind, was directed to that\nend, and but for that the volition would not have been put forth. It\nis to be observed, moreover, that the end to be accomplished, in this\ncase, was a _possible_ one--the book was, or was supposed to be, within\nmy reach. Otherwise I should not have attempted to reach it.\n\n_A second Element._--I observe, furthermore, in the case under\nconsideration, a motive, impelling or inducing to that end; a _reason\nwhy_ I willed the act. It was curiosity, perhaps, to see what the\nbook was, or it may have been some other principle of my nature, which\ninduced me to put forth the volition.\n\n_A further Step in the Process._--But the motive does not, itself,\nproduce the act. It is merely the _reason why_ I produce it. It has\nto do not directly with the action, but with me. Its immediate effect\nterminates on me, and it is only indirectly that it affects the final\nact. The next step in the process, then, is to be sought, not in the\nfinal act, but in my mind as influenced by motive; and that step is my\n_choice_. Previous to my putting forth the volition to move my arm,\nthere was a choice or decision to do so. In view of the end to be\naccomplished, and influenced by the motive, I _made up my mind_--to use\na common but not inapt expression--to perform the act. The question\narose, for the instant, Shall I do it? The very occurrence of a thing\nto be done, a possible thing, and of a motive for doing it, raises, of\nitself, the question, Shall it be done? The question may be at once\ndecided in the affirmative, in the absence of reasons to the contrary,\nor, in the absence of reflection, so quickly decided, that, afterward,\nwe shall hardly be conscious that it was ever before the mind. Or it\nmay be otherwise. Reasons to the contrary suggest themselves--counter\ninfluences and motives--in view of which we hesitate, deliberate,\ndecide; and that decision, in view of all the circumstances, is our\n_preference_, or _choice_. In most cases the process is so rapid as to\nescape attention; but subsequent reflection can hardly fail to detect\nsuch a process, more or less distinctly marked.\n\n_The final Stage of the Act._--We have reached now the point at which\nit is decided, in our own minds, what course to pursue. In the case\nsupposed, I have decided to take up the book. The volition is not yet\nput forth. Nothing now remains, however, but to put forth the volition,\nand at once the muscular organism, if unimpeded and in health, obeys\nthe will. The thing is done, and the experiment concluded.\n\n_Summary of Results._--I repeat now the experiment ten or a hundred\ntimes, but always with like results. I find always, where there is an\nact of the will, some end to be obtained, some motive, a choice, an\nexecutive volition. I conclude that these are the essential phenomena\nof all voluntary action.\n\nOf these, the two former, viz., the end to be accomplished, and the\nmotive, may be regarded as more properly _conditions_ of volition,\nthan constituent elements of it. Still, so intimately is the volition\nconnected with one, at least, of these conditions, viz., the motive,\nthat it claims special consideration. The ends to be accomplished by\nvolition are as numerous as the infinite variety of human purposes\nand actions, and, of course, admit of no complete enumeration or\nclassification. We confine our further attention, then, to these\nelements--the motive, the choice, the executive volition--and proceed\nto their more careful investigation as phenomena of the will.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--INVESTIGATION OF THESE ELEMENTS.\n\n_The first of these Elements, Motive, always implied in Action._--I.\nTHE MOTIVE--that which incites the mind to action--the reason why it\nacts, and acts as it does. We never act without some such incitement,\nsome reason for acting; at least this is true of all our intelligent\nand voluntary actions, of which, alone, we now speak. It may be nothing\nmore than mere present impulse, mere animal appetite or passion, even\nthat is a motive, a reason why we act. We cannot conceive of any being\nhaving the power of voluntary action, and exerting that power without\n_any reason whatever_ why he did it. The reason may, or may not, be\nclearly apprehended by his own mind--that is another question; but\nwhether distinctly and clearly recognized as such, or not, by our own\nminds, a reason there always is for what we do.\n\n_In what Sense this Term employed._--Strictly speaking, the motive\nis not any and every influence which may bear upon the mind as an\ninducement to action, but only the _prevailing_ inducement, that which\n_actually moves_ or induces us to perform the proposed act. In this\nsense, there may be many different inducements, but only one motive.\nSuch, however, is not the ordinary use of the term. That is usually\ncalled a motive which is of a nature to influence the mind, and induce\nvolition, whether it is, in the given case, effective, or not. To avoid\nconfusion, I adopt the general use.\n\n_Nature of Motives._--As to the nature of the motives from which we\nact, they are manifestly of two kinds, and widely distinct. There\nis desire, and there is the sense of moral obligation or duty;--the\nagreeable, and the right; each of these constitutes a powerful motive\nto action. We find ourselves, under the influence of these motives,\nacting, now from desire, now from sense of duty, now in view of what is\nin itself agreeable, and now in view of what is right; and the various\nmotives which influence us and result in action, may be resolved into\none or the other of these powerful elements.\n\n_These Elements distinguished._--These are quite _distinct_ elements,\nnever to be confounded with, nor resolved into each other. _Desire_\nis the feeling which arises in view of some good not in present\npossession, something agreeable, and to be obtained; it looks forward\nto that; its root and spring is that grand principle of our nature, the\nlove of happiness. Its appeal is to that. Its strength lies in that\n_Duty_, as we have already shown--that sense of obligation which is\nimplied in the very idea of _right_--is quite another principle than\nthat, not founded in that; springs not from self-love, or the desire of\nhappiness; is, on the contrary, a simple, primitive, fundamental idea\nof the human mind, based in the inherent, essential, eternal nature of\nthings. Given the right, the perception of right, and there is given,\nalso along with it, the sense of _obligation_.\n\n_Their Action not always in Unison._--These two motives may act\nin different directions; they frequently do so. Desire impels me\none way, duty another. Conflict then arises. Which shall prevail,\ndesire or duty, depends on circumstances, on my character already\nformed, my habits of thought and feeling, my degree of self-control,\nmy conscientiousness, the strength of my native propensities, the\nclearness with which, at the time, I apprehend the different courses\nof conduct proposed, their character and their consequences. Desire\nmay prevail, and then I go counter to my sense of obligation. Remorse\nfollows. I am wretched. I suffer penalty. Duty prevails, and I do that\nwhich I believe to be right, regardless of consequences. I suffer\nin property, health, life, external good, but am sustained by that\napproving voice within, which more than compensates for all such losses.\n\nThat there are these two springs or motives of human action, and that\nthey are _distinct_ from each other, is what I affirm, and what no one,\nI think, who reflects on what consciousness reveals, will be disposed\nto deny.\n\n_Motives of Duty not resolvable into Motives of Interest._--Should any\nstill contend that this very approval of conscience, this peace and\nhappiness which result from doing right, are, themselves, the motive to\naction, in the case supposed, and so, self-love, a desire of happiness,\nis, after all, the _only motive_, I reply, this is an assumption\nutterly without proof. Consciousness contradicts it. The history of the\nhuman race contradicts it. There is such a thing as doing right for its\nown sake, irrespective of good to ourselves. Every man is conscious\nof such distinction, and of its force as a motive of conduct. Every\n_virtuous_ man is conscious of acting, at times, at least, from such a\nmotive.\n\n_Coincidence of Desire and Duty._--It is only when desire and duty\ncoincide, that the highest happiness can be reached, when we no longer\ndesire and long for, because we no longer view as agreeable, that which\nis not strictly right. This is a state never fully realized in this\nlife. It implies perfection of character, and a perfect world.\n\n_Desires, as Motives of Action, further distinguished._--Desire, and\nthe feeling of obligation, I have spoken of as motives of conduct. The\nformer, again, is not always of one sort. Desire is, indeed, in itself,\na simple element, springing from one source, but not always directed\nto the same object. We desire now one thing, now another. There are\ntwo classes, at least, of desires quite easy to be distinguished,\nthe physical and the psychical, the one relating to the wants of the\nbody, the other to the craving of the higher nature; the mere animal\ninstincts, propensities, passions, looking to animal gratification;\nand the higher rational self-love, which seeks the true and permanent\nwell-being, under the guidance of reason. Each of these furnishes a\npowerful motive, or class of motives, to human action. They are each,\nhowever, but different forms of _desire_.\n\n_The second Element, Choice, always involved in Volition._--II.\nCHOICE.--This is an essential element in volition, and next in order.\nAs, setting aside such acts as are purely spontaneous and mechanical,\nwe never, intelligently and purposely, do any thing without a volition\nto do it, so we never put forth volition without exercising _choice_.\nThe act performed is not a _voluntary_ act, unless it is something\nwhich I _choose_ to do. True, my choice may be influenced by extraneous\ncauses--may even be constrained--circumstances may virtually compel\nme to choose as I do, by shutting me up to this one course, as being\neither the only right, or the only desirable course. And these\ncircumstances, that thus influence my decisions, may be essentially\nbeyond my control, as they not unfrequently are. Yet, all things\nconsidered, it is my _choice_ to do thus and not otherwise, and so long\nas I do choose, and am free to act accordingly, the act is voluntary.\n\n_The Position illustrated._--This may be illustrated by the case of\nthe soldier who, in the bombardment of his native city, is ordered to\npoint his piece in the direction of his own dwelling. To disobey, is\ndeath. To obey, is to put in jeopardy those who are dear to him. He\nhesitates, but finally chooses to obey orders. He aims his piece as\ndirected, sadly against his inclination; yet, on the whole, it is his\n_choice_ to do it. He prefers that to the certainty of dishonorable\ndeath, a death which would in no way benefit or protect those whom he\nwishes to save. A man, of his own accord, lies down upon the surgeon's\noperating table, and stretches out his arm to the knife. It is his\nchoice--a hard choice, indeed, but, nevertheless, decidedly his choice.\nHe prefers that to still greater suffering, or even death. In these\ncases--and they are only instances and illustrations of what, in a less\nmarked and decided way, is continually occurring--we see the utmost\nstrain and pressure of circumstances upon a man's choice, making it\nmorally certain that he will decide as he does, shutting him up to that\ndecision, in fact, yet his choice remaining unimpaired, and his act a\n_free_ act; free, because he does as he, on the whole, and under the\ncircumstances, chooses to do. He does the thing voluntarily.\n\n_Another Case supposed._--Suppose, now, the man were forcibly seized,\nand borne by sheer strength to the table, and placed upon it, and held\nthere while the operation was performed. In that case, he no longer\nacts, is only acted upon, no longer chooses and wills to go there, nay,\nchooses and wills directly the contrary. The difference in the two\ncases, is the difference between a voluntary act, chosen reluctantly,\nindeed, and under the pressure of an exigency, but still _chosen_, and\nthe passive suffering of an action which, so far from being voluntary,\nwas, in no sense, an act of his own.\n\n_Choice always influenced by Circumstances._--Now, as regards\nthe actual operation of things, our choices are, in fact, always\ninfluenced by circumstances, and these circumstances are various and\ninnumerable; a thousand seen and unseen influences are at work upon\nus, to affect our decisions Were it possible to estimate aright all\nthese influences, to calculate, with precision, their exact weight\nand effect, then our choice, under any given circumstances, might be\npredicted with unerring certainty. This can never be exactly known\nto man. Sagacity may approximate to it, and may, so far, be able to\nread the future, and predict the probable conduct of men in given\ncircumstances. To the omniscient, these things _are_ fully known, and\nto his eye, therefore, the whole future of our lives, our free choices\nand voluntary acts, lie open before they are yet known to ourselves.\n\n_Conclusion stated._--From what has been said, it appears that it is\nnot inconsistent with the nature of choice, to be influenced, nay,\ndecided by circumstances, even when circumstances are beyond our\ncontrol.\n\n_Diversity of Objects essential to Choice._--What is _implied_ in\nan act of choice? Several things. In order to choice, there must,\nof course, be _diversity of objects_ from which to choose. If there\nwere but one possible course to be pursued, it were absurd to speak\nof choice. Hence, even in the cases just now supposed, there was a\ndiversity of objects from which to choose--death, or obedience to\norders, suffering from the surgery, or greater suffering and danger\nwithout it, and between these the man made his choice.\n\n_Liberty of Selection also essential._--As a further condition of\nchoice, there is implied _liberty_ of selection from among the\ndifferent objects proposed. It were of no use that there should be\ndifferent courses of conduct--different ends, or different means of\nattaining an end--proposed to our understanding, if it were not in our\npower to select which we pleased, if we were not free to go which way\nwe will. Choice always implies that different actions and volitions are\npossible, and are, as such, submitted to our decision and preference.\nThere can be no volition without choice, and no choice without liberty\nto choose. Whatever interferes, then, with that liberty, and diminishes\nor takes it away, interferes, also, with my choice, and diminishes or\ndestroys that. The very _essence_ of a voluntary act consists in its\nbeing an act of choice, or a free-will act. No tyranny can take this\naway, except such as destroys, also, all voluntary and responsible\naction. You may command me to burn incense on a heathen altar. The very\ncommand leaves it optional with me whether to obey. If I do not, the\npenalty is death. Very well--I may _choose_ the penalty, rather than\nthe crime, and no power on earth can _compel_ me to choose otherwise. I\ndie, but I die a _free_ man. True, you may bind me, and by mechanical\nforce urge me to the altar, and by superior strength of other arms, may\ncause my hand to put incense there, but it is not _my_ act then; it is\nthe act of those who use me as a mere passive instrument; it is no more\nmy act, than it would be the act of so much iron, or wood, or other\ninstrument.\n\n_Deliberation implied._--Choice, moreover, implies deliberation, the\nbalancing and weighing of inducements, the comparison and estimate of\nthe several goods proposed, the several ends and objects, the various\nmeans to those ends; the exercise of reason and; judgment in this\nprocess. I see before me different courses, different ends proposed to\nmy understanding, am conscious of diverse inducements and reasons, some\nurging me in one direction, some in another. Native propensities impel\nme toward this line of conduct. Rational self-love puts in a claim for\nquite another procedure. Benevolence, and a sense of duty, it may be,\nconspire to urge me in still another direction. I am at liberty to\nchoose I must choose. I can go this way or that, must go in one or the\nother. I hesitate, deliberate, am at a loss.\n\nNow there is no choice which does not virtually involve some process of\nthis kind. It may be very rapid; so rapid as to escape detection, in\nmany cases, so that we are hardly conscious of the process. In other\ncases, we are painfully conscious of the whole scene; we hesitate long,\nare in doubt and suspense between conflicting motives and interests.\nDesire and duty wage a fierce contest within us. Shall we choose the\nagreeable? Shall we choose the right? And then, again, which is really\nthe agreeable, and which is truly the right?\n\n_Final Decision._--As the result of this deliberation, we finally\ndecide, one way, or the other. This decision is our _preference_, our\nchoice. Our minds, as we say, are made up what to do, what course\nto pursue. When the time comes, we shall act. Something may prevent\nour having our way; opportunity may not offer, or we may see fit,\nsubsequently to reconsider and revoke our decision. Otherwise, our\nchoice is carried out in action.\n\nChoice implies, then, these things: diversity of objects, liberty of\nselection, deliberation, decision, or preference.\n\n_The final Element._--III. EXECUTIVE VOLITION.--In our investigation\nof the several elements or momenta of an act of the Will, we have as\nyet considered but two, viz., _motive_ and _choice_--the first, more\nproperly a _condition_ of voluntary action, than itself a constituent\npart of it, yet still, a condition so indispensably connected with\nvolition, as to require investigation in connection with the latter.\nIt only remains now to notice the last stage of the process, the final\nelement, which added, the process is complete--that is, the _executive\nact of the mind_, _volition_ properly so called. When the objects to be\nattained have been presented, when the motives or inducements to action\nhave been considered, when, in view of all, the choice or preference\nhas been made, it still remains to put forth the volition, or the act\nwill not be performed. This may never happen. Opportunity may never\noffer. But suppose it does. We _will_. This done, the bodily mechanism\nsprings into play, obedient to the call and command of the soul.\n\nEven now, the action does not of necessity correspond to the volition.\nEven now, we may be disappointed. Other wills may be in action in\nopposition to ours. Other arms may move in obedience to those other\nwills. Or we may find the thing too much for us to do, impracticable,\nbeyond our strength and means, or disease may palsy the frame,\nso that it shall not obey the mandate of the spirit. Nevertheless\nthe _volition_ is complete. That depends not on the success of the\nexertion. We have _willed_, and with that our mental action ceases.\nWhat remains is physical, not psychological. If we succeed, if the\nvolition finds itself answered in execution, then, also, the act once\nperformed is thenceforth out of our power. It is done, and stands a\npermanent historic event, beyond our control, beyond our decision or\nrevocation. Our power over it ceases in the moment of volition. Our\nconnection with it may never cease. It moves on in its inevitable\ncareer of consequences, and, like a swift river, bears us along with\nit. We have no more to do with it, but it has to do with us; it may be\nto our sorrow, it may be, forever.\n\nSuch are, in brief, the main psychological facts, relating to the will,\nas they offer themselves to our consciousness and careful inspection.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nRELATION OF THE WILL TO OTHER POWERS OF THE MIND\n\n\n_Activity of the Intellect in Volition._--It is a matter of some\nimportance to ascertain the relation which the will sustains to the\nother mental powers. There can be no doubt that the activity of the\nwill is preceded, in all cases by that of the intellect. I must first\nperceive some object presented to my understanding, before I can will\nits attainment. In the case already supposed, the book lying on my\ntable is an object within the cognizance of sense, and to perceive\nit is an act of intellect. Until perceived, the will puts not forth\nany volition respecting it. Nor does the mere perception occasion\nvolition. In connection with the perception of the book, ideas present\nthemselves to the mind, curiosity is awakened, the mind is set upon\na train of thought, which results in the desire and the volition\nto take the book. In all this the intellect is active. In a word,\nwhatever comes in as a motive to influence the mind in favor of, or\nagainst a given course, must in the first instance address itself to\nthe understanding, and be comprehended by that power, before it can\ninfluence the mental decisions. A motive which I do not comprehend is\nno motive; a reason which I do not perceive, or understand, is, to me,\nno reason.\n\n_Activity of the Sensibilities also involved._--But does volition\nimmediately follow the action of the intellect in the case supposed? Do\nwe first understand, and then will; or does something else intervene\nbetween the intellectual perception and the volition? Were there no\n_feeling_ awakened by the intellectual perception, would there be any\nvolition with regard to the object perceived? I think, I _feel_, I\nwill; is not that the order of the mental processes? \"We can easily\nimagine,\" says Mackintosh, \"a percipient and thinking being without a\ncapacity of receiving pleasure or pain. Such a being might perceive\nwhat we do; if we could conceive him to reason, he might reason justly;\nand if he were to judge at all, there seems no reason why he should not\njudge truly. But what could induce such a being to _will_ or to _act_?\nIt seems evident that his existence could only be a state of passive\ncontemplation. Reason, as reason, can never be a motive to action. It\nis only when we superadd to such a being sensibility, or the capacity\nof emotion, or sentiment of desire and aversion, that we introduce him\ninto the world of action.\"\n\n_Opinion of Locke._--To the same effect, Locke: \"Good and evil, present\nand absent, it is true, work upon the mind, but that which immediately\ndetermines the will from time to time, to every voluntary action, is\nthe uneasiness of _desire_, fixed on some absent good, either negative,\nas indolence to one in pain, or positive, as enjoyment of pleasure.\nThat it is this uneasiness that determines the will to the successive\nvoluntary actions, whereof the greatest part of our lives is made up,\nand by which we are conducted through different courses to different\nends, I shall endeavor to show both from experience and the reason of\nthe thing.\" Elsewhere again: \"For good, though appearing and allowed\never so great, yet till it has raised desires in our minds, and thereby\nmade us uneasy in its want, it reaches not our wills; we are not within\nthe sphere of its activity.\"\n\n_Testimony of Consciousness._--The general opinion of philosophical\nwriters is now in accordance with the views thus expressed. The\nintellect they regard as acting upon the will not directly, but through\nthe medium of the sensibilities, the various emotions and desires which\nare awakened by the perceptions of the intellect. That this is the\ncorrect view, admits of little doubt. The question is best settled by\nan appeal to consciousness. In the case supposed, the perception of the\nbook upon the table does not, of itself, directly influence my will. It\nis not until some feeling is aroused, my curiosity excited, or desire,\nin some form, awakened, that my will acts. The object must not only be\nperceived, but perceived as agreeable, and the wish to possess it be\nentertained, before the volition is put forth.\n\n_Whether this Rule applies in all Cases._--That this is so as regards\na large class of our volitions, will hardly be denied. When the motive\nto action is of the nature of _desire_, it is the sensibility, and not\nthe intellect, that is directly, concerned in shaping the action of\nthe will. I first perceive the object to be agreeable; I next desire\nits possession, as such; then I will its attainment. The intellectual\nactivity gives rise to emotion, and the latter leads to volition.\n\nIt may be supposed, however, that when the motive which influences\nthe will is not of the nature of desire, but rather of a sense of\nobligation or duty, then the case is otherwise, the intellectual\nperception of the right, and of the obligation to do the right,\nbeing sufficient of themselves to lead the mind to action. But as\nthe intellectual perception of the agreeable is followed by emotion\nor desire in view of the same, so the intellectual perception of the\nright is followed, in like manner, by a certain class of feelings or\nemotions, usually called moral sensibilities; and it is the _feeling_,\nin either case, and not the _knowing_, the sensibility, and not the\nintellect, that is directly in contact with the will. I know that I\nought, and I feel that I ought, are states of mind closely connected,\nindeed, but not identical; and it is the latter which leads directly to\nvolition.\n\n_Desire and Volition not always distinguished._--Another point\nrequiring investigation, is the precise relation between volition and\n_desire_. Are they the same thing, and if not, wherein do they differ?\nIt has been the custom of certain writers not to distinguish between\ndesire and volition, as states of mind, or to regard them as differing,\nif at all, only in degree. Thus Condillac, and writers of the French\nschool, as also Brown, Mill, and others, in Great Britain, have treated\nof volition as only a stronger degree of desire, which, again, is only\na form of emotion. Even McCosh, in his treatise on moral government,\nwhile insisting on the distinction between emotions and desires,\nregards wishes, desires, and volitions, as belonging essentially to\nthe same class of mental states. \"Appealing to consciousness,\" says\nthat able and elegant writer, \"we assert that there is a class of\nmental states embracing wishes, desires, volitions, which cannot be\nanalyzed into anything else. These mental states or affections are\nvery numerous, and occupy a place in the human mind second to no\nother. They differ from each other in degree, and possibly even in\nsome minor qualities but they all agree in other and more important\nrespects and so are capable of being arranged under one head.\" And in\na subsequent paragraph he remarks to the same effect, \"Later mental\ninquirers are generally disposed to admit that the volition the\npositive determination to take a particular step, the resolution, for\ninstance, to give a sum of money to take our friend to a warmer climate\nfor the restoration of his health, is more than a mere emotion. But\nif we are thus to constitute a separate attribute to which to refer\nvolition, it is worthy of being inquired whether we should not arrange,\nunder the same head, wishes, desires, and the cognate states, as being\nmore closely allied in their nature to volitions than to the common\nemotions.\"\n\n_The Difference generic._--It is on this latter point that we are\ncompelled to join issue with the writer just quoted. A wish, a desire,\nare forms of _feeling_; a volition is not. The difference is generic,\nand not one of degree merely. A desire differs from any other form of\nfeeling, not so much, not so radically, as it differs from a volition.\nA wish or desire may _lead_ to volition, or it may not. We often wish\nor desire what we do not will. The object of our desires may not be\nwithin the sphere of our volitions, may not be possible of attainment,\nmay not depend, in any sense, upon our wills. Or it may be something\nwhich reason and the law of right forbid, yet, nevertheless, an object\nof natural desire. And so, on the other hand, we may, from a sense\nof duty, or from the dictates of reason and prudence, will what is\ncontrary to our natural inclinations, and our volitions, so far from\nrepresenting our desires, in that case, may be directly contrary to\nthem.\n\n_Opinion of Reid._--Accordant with the view now expressed, are the\nfollowing remarks of Dr Reid: \"With regard to our actions, we may\ndesire what we do not will, and will what we do not desire, nay, what\nwe have a great aversion to. A man a-thirst has a strong desire to\ndrink, but, for some particular reason, he determines not to gratify\nhis desire. A judge, from a regard to justice and the duty of his\noffice, dooms a criminal to die, while, from humanity and particular\naffection, he desires that he should live. A man, for health, may take\na nauseous draught for which he has no desire, but a great aversion.\nDesire, therefore, even when its object is some action of our own, is\nonly an excitement to the will, but is not volition. The determination\nof the mind may be not to do what we desire to do.\"\n\n_Opinion of Locke._--To the same effect is the following from Locke:\n\"This caution, of being careful not to be misled by expressions that\ndo not enough keep up the difference between the _will_ and several\nacts of the mind that are quite distinct from it, I think the more\nnecessary, because I find the will often confounded with several of the\naffections, especially _desire_, and one put for the other, and that by\nmen who would not willingly be thought not to have had very distinct\nnotions of things, and not to have writ very clearly about them. This,\nI imagine, has been no small occasion of obscurity and mistake in\nthis matter; and therefore is, as much as may be, to be avoided. For,\nhe that shall turn his thoughts inward upon what passes in his mind\nwhen he _wills_, shall see that the _will_ or power of _volition_ is\nconversant about nothing, but that particular determination of the\nmind, whereby, barely by a thought, the mind endeavors to give rise,\ncontinuation, or stop to any action which it takes to be in its power.\nThis well considered, plainly shows that the _will_ is perfectly\ndistinguished from _desire_, which, in the very same action may have\nquite a contrary tendency from that which our will sets us upon. A man\nwhom I cannot deny, may oblige me to use persuasions to another, which,\nat the same time I am speaking, I may wish may not prevail on him. In\nthis case, it is plain, the _will_ and _desire_ run counter. I will\nthe action that tends one way, while my desire tends another, and that\nright contrary. Whence it is evident,\" he adds, \"that _desiring_ and\n_willing_ are two distinct acts of the mind; and, consequently, that\nthe _will_, which is but the power of _volition_, is much more distinct\nfrom _desire_.\"\n\n_Testimony of Consciousness._--The testimony of consciousness seems\nto be clearly in accordance with the views now expressed. We readily\ndistinguish between our desires and our volitions. We are conscious of\nwilling, often, what is contrary to our desires; the course which honor\nand duty approve, and which we resolutely carry out, is in disregard\nof many fond and cherished desires which still agitate the bosom. And\neven when our desires and volitions coincide, it requires but little\nreflection to discover the difference between them. It is a difference\nrecognized in the common language of life, and in the writings and\nconversation of men who are by no means theorists or metaphysicians.\n\n_Further Illustrations of the Distinction._--Mr. Upham, who has very\nclearly and ably maintained the distinction now in question, refers us,\nin illustration, to the case of Abraham offering his son upon the altar\nof sacrifice, sternly, resolutely willing, in obedience to the divine\ncommand, what must have been repugnant to every feeling of the father's\nheart; to the memorable instance of Brutus ordering and witnessing\nthe execution of his own sons, as conspirators against the State,\nthe struggle between the strong will and the strong paternal feeling\nevidently visible in his countenance, as he stood at the dreadful\nscene; and the case of Virginius, plunging the knife into the bosom of\na beloved daughter, whose dishonor could in no other way be averted.\nIn all these, and many other similar cases, private interests and\npersonal affections are freely and nobly sacrificed, in favor of high\npublic interests, and moral ends; yet, to do this, the will must act in\nopposition to the current of natural feeling and desire.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nFREEDOM OF THE WILL.\n\n\n_Problems respecting the Will._--Our attention has thus far been\ndirected to the psychological facts respecting the will, in itself\nconsidered, and also in its relations to the other mental powers. It\nbecomes necessary now, in order to the more complete understanding\nof the matter, to look at some of the disputed points, the grand\nproblems, respecting the human will, which have for ages excited and\ndivided the reflecting world. The way is prepared for these more\ndifficult questions, when once the simple facts, to which our attention\nhas already been directed, are well understood. These questions are\nnumerous, but, if I mistake not, they all resolve themselves virtually\ninto the one general problem of the _freedom_ of the will, or, at\nleast, so link themselves with that as to admit of discussion in the\nsame connection.\n\n_Freedom, what._--In approaching this much-disputed question, it is\nnecessary to ascertain, in the first place, what is _meant_ by freedom,\nand what by _freedom of the will_, else we may discuss the matter to\nno purpose. Various definitions of freedom have been given. It is a\nword in very common use, and, in its general application, not liable\nto be misunderstood. Every one who understands the ordinary language\nof life, knows well enough what freedom is. It denotes the opposite of\nrestraint; the power to do what one likes, pleases, is inclined to do.\nMy person is free, when it can come and go, do this or that, as suits\nmy inclination. Any faculty of the mind, or organ of the body, is free,\n_when its own specific and proper action is not hindered_. Freedom of\nmotion, is power to move when and where we please Freedom of speech,\nis power to say what we like. Freedom of action, is power to do what we\nlike.\n\n_Freedom of the Will, what._--What, then, is freedom of the _will_?\nWhat can it be but the power of exercising, without restraint or\nhindrance, its own specific and proper function, viz., the putting\nforth volitions, just such volitions as we please. This as we have\nseen, is the proper office of the will, its specific and appropriate\naction. If nothing prevents or restrains me from forming and putting\nforth such volitions as I please, then my will is free; and not\notherwise.\n\nFreedom of the will, then, is _not_ power to _do what one wills_, in\nthe sense of executing volitions when formed that is simple freedom of\nthe limbs, and muscular apparatus, not of will--a freedom which may\nbe destroyed by a stroke of paralysis, or an iron chain;--it is not a\nfreedom of walking, if one wills to walk, or of singing, or flying,\nor moving the right arm, if one is so disposed. That is freedom, but\nnot freedom of the _will_. My will is free, not when I can _do_ what I\n_will_ to do, but _when I can will to do_ just what I please. Whatever\nfreedom the will has, must lie within its own proper sphere of action,\nand not without it; must relate to that, and not to something else.\nThis distinction, so very obvious, has, nevertheless, been sometimes\nstrangely overlooked.\n\nIs, then, the human will free, in the sense now defined? Let us first\nnotice some presumptions in favor of its freedom then the more direct\nargument.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--PRESUMPTIONS IN FAVOR OF FREEDOM.\n\n_The general Conviction of Freedom a Presumption in its Favor._--1.\nIt is a presumption in favor of freedom that there is among men, a\nvery general, not to say universal conviction of freedom. It is a\nprevalent idea, an established conviction and belief of the mind. We\nare conscious of this belief ourselves, we observe it in others. When\nwe perform any act, or choose any course of conduct, we are impressed\nwith the belief that we could have done or chosen differently,\nhad we been so disposed. We never doubt or call in question this\nability, in regard to the practical matters of life. The languages\nand the literature of the world bear witness to the universality of\nthis belief. Now this general conviction and firm belief of freedom\nconstitute, to say the least, a presumption, and a strong one, in favor\nof the doctrine. If men are free to do as they like, then they are free\nto _will_ as they like, for the willing precedes the doing; and if they\nare not thus free, how happens this so general conviction of a freedom\nwhich they do not possess?\n\n_The Appeal to Consciousness._--The argument is sometimes stated, by\nthe advocates of freedom, in a form which is liable to objection.\nThe appeal is made directly to consciousness. We are _conscious_, it\nis said, of freedom, conscious of a power, when we do any thing, to\ndo otherwise, to take some other course instead. Strictly speaking,\nwe are conscious only of our present state of mind. I may _know_\nthe past; but it is not a matter of consciousness; I may also know,\nperhaps, what _might have_ been, in place of the actual past, but of\nthis I am not conscious. When I experience a sensation, or put forth\na volition, I am conscious of that sensation or volition; but I am\nnot conscious of what never occurred, that is, of some other feeling\nor volition instead of an actual one. I may have a firm conviction,\namounting even to knowledge, that at the moment of experiencing that\nfeeling, or exercising that volition, it was possible for me to have\nexercised a different one; but it is a conviction, a belief, at most\na knowledge, and not, properly, consciousness. I am conscious of the\n_conviction_ that I am free, and that I can do otherwise than as I do;\nand this, in itself, is a presumption, that I have such a power; but\nI am not conscious of the power itself. It may be said, that if there\nwere any restraint upon my will, to prevent my putting forth such\nvolitions as I please, or to prevent my acting otherwise than I do,\nI _should be_ conscious of such restraint; and this may be very true;\nand from the absence of any such consciousness of restraint, I may\njustly infer that I am free; but this, again, is an _inference_, and\nnot a _consciousness_. One thing, however, I am conscious of, that my\n_actual_ volitions are such, and only such, as I please to put forth;\nand this leads to the conviction that it is in my power to put forth\nany volition that I may please.\n\n_Our moral Nature a Presumption in Favor of Freedom._--2. It is a\nfurther presumption in favor of the entire freedom of the will, that\nman's moral nature seems to imply it. We approve or condemn the conduct\nof others. It is with the understanding that they acted freely, and\ncould have done otherwise. We should never think of praising a man\nfor doing what he could not help doing, or of blaming him for what\nit was utterly out of his power to avoid. So, also, we approve and\ncondemn our own actions, and always with the understanding that these\nactions and volitions were free. There may be regret for that which\nwas unavoidable, but never a sense of _guilt_, never _remorse_. The\nexistence of these feelings always implies freedom of the will, the\npower to have done otherwise. Let any man select that period of his\nhistory, that act of his whole life, for which he blames himself most,\nand of which the recollection casts the deepest gloom and sadness over\nall his subsequent years, and let him ask himself why it is that he so\nblames himself for that course, and he will find, in every case, that\nit is because he knows that he might have done differently. Take away\nthis conviction, and you take away the foundation of all his remorse,\nand of self-condemnation. The same thing is implied, also, in the\nfeeling of obligation. It is impossible to feel under moral obligation\nto do what it is utterly and absolutely out of our power to do.\n\n_This View maintained by Mr. Upham._--\"There are some truths,\" says Mr.\nUpham, \"which are so deeply based in the human constitution, that all\nmen of all classes receive them, and act upon them. They are planted\ndeeply and immutably in the soul, and no reasoning, however plausible,\ncan shake them. And, if we are not mistaken, the doctrine of the\nfreedom of the will, as a condition of even the possibility of a moral\nnature, is one of these first truths. It seems to be regarded, by all\npersons, without any exception, as a dictate of common sense, and as a\nfirst principle of our nature, that men are morally accountable, and\nare the subjects of a moral responsibility in any respect, whatever,\nonly so far as they possess freedom, both of the outward action, and of\nthe will. They hold to this position, as an elementary truth, and would\nno sooner think of letting it go than of abandoning the conviction of\ntheir personal existence and identity. They do not profess to go into\nparticulars, but they assert it in the mass, that man is a moral being\nonly so far as he is free. And such a unanimous and decided testimony,\nbearing, as it absolutely does, the seal and superscription of nature\nherself, is entitled to serious consideration.\"\n\n_Also by Dr. Reid._--Dr. Reid, also, takes essentially the same view.\nHe regards it as a first principle, to be ranked in the same class\nwith the conviction of our personal existence and identity, and the\nexistence of a material world, \"that we have some degree of power over\nour actions, and the determinations of our will.\" It is implied, he\nmaintains, in every act of volition, in all deliberation, and in every\nresolution or purpose formed in consequence of deliberation. \"It is\nnot more evident,\" he says, \"that mankind have a conviction of the\nexistence of a material world, than that they have the conviction of\nsome degree of power in themselves, and in others, every one over his\nown actions, and the determinations of his will--a conviction so early,\nso general, and so interwoven with the whole of human conduct, that it\nmust be the natural effect of our constitution, and intended by the\nAuthor of our being to guide our actions.\"\n\n_Consequences of the Opposite._--3. The consequences of the opposite\nview afford a presumption in favor of freedom.\n\nIf the will is not free, if all our liberty is merely a liberty to\ndo what we will to do, or to execute the volitions which we form,\nbut we have no power over the volitions themselves, then we have no\npower whatever to will or to act differently from what we do. This is\n_fatalism_. All that the fatalist maintains is, that we are governed\nby circumstances out of our own control, so that, situated as we are,\nit is impossible for us to act otherwise than as we do. From this\nfollows, as a natural and inevitable consequence, the absence of all\naccountability and obligation. The foundation of these, as we have\nalready seen, is freedom. Take this away, and you strike a fatal blow\nat man's moral nature. It is no longer possible for me to feel under\nobligation to do what I have absolutely no power to do, or to believe\nmyself accountable for doing what I could not possibly avoid. Morality,\nduty, accountability, become mere chimeras, idle fancies of the brain,\ndevices of the priest and the despot, to frighten men into obedience\nand subjection.\n\n_This View sustained by Facts._--These are not random statements.\nIt is a significant fact, that those who have undertaken to deny\naccountability, and moral obligation, have, almost without exception,\nI believe, been advocates of the doctrine of necessity. Indeed, it\nseems impossible to maintain such views upon any other ground; while,\non the other hand, the denial of the freedom of the will leads almost\nof necessity to such conclusions. \"Remorse,\" says Mr. Belsham, \"is\nthe exquisitely painful feeling which arises from the belief that,\nin circumstances precisely the same, we might have chosen and acted\ndifferently. This _fallacious_ feeling is superseded by the doctrine of\nnecessity.\"\n\nEqually plain, and to the same effect, are the following passages from\nthe correspondence of Diderot, as quoted by Mr. Stewart: \"Examine it\nnarrowly, and you will see that the word liberty is a word devoid of\nmeaning; that there are not, and that there cannot be, free beings;\nthat we are only what accords with the general order, with our\norganization, our education, and the chain of events. These dispose\nof us invincibly. We can no more conceive of a being acting without a\nmotive, than we can of one of the arms of a balance acting without a\nweight. The motive is always exterior and foreign, fastened upon us by\nsome cause distinct from ourselves.... We have been so often praised\nand blamed, and have so often praised and blamed others, that we\ncontract an inveterate prejudice of believing that we and they will and\nact freely. But if there is no liberty, there is no action that merits\neither praise or blame; neither vice nor virtue; nothing that ought\neither to be rewarded or punished.... The doer of good is lucky, not\nvirtuous.... _Reproach others for nothing, and repent of nothing; this\nis the first step to wisdom._\"\n\n_These Opinions not to be charged upon all Necessitarians._--It is\nnot to be supposed, of course, that all who deny the freedom of the\nwill, adopt the views above expressed. Whether such denial, however,\nconsistently followed out to its just and legitimate conclusions, does\nnot lead to such results, is another question.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--THE DIRECT ARGUMENT.\n\n_Another Mode of Argument._--Thus far we have considered only the\npresumptions in favor of the freedom of the will. We find them numerous\nand strong. The question is, however, to be decided not by presumptions\nfor or against, but by direct argument based upon a careful inquiry\ninto the psychological facts of the case. To this let us now proceed,\nbearing in mind, as we advance, what are the essential phenomena of the\nwill, as already ascertained, and what is meant by freedom of the will\nas already defined.\n\n_The Will free unless its appropriate Action is hindered._--It is\nevident that, if we are right in our ideas of what freedom is, the\nwill is strictly and properly free, provided nothing interferes with,\nand prevents, our putting forth such volitions as we please and choose\nto put forth. The specific and appropriate action of the will, as we\nhave seen, is simply to put forth volitions. Whatever freedom it has,\nthen, must lie within that sphere, and not without it, must relate to\n_that_, and not to _something else_; whatever restraint or want of\nfreedom it has, must also be found within these limits. My will is\nfree, when I can _will to do_ just what I _please_.\n\n_Strength of Inclination, no Impediment._--If this be so, then it is\nclear, 1. That mere _strength of inclination_ can by no means impair\nthe freedom of the will. Be the inclination never so strong, it matters\nnot. Nay, so far from interfering with freedom, it is an essential\nelement of it. Freedom presupposes and implies inclination. One is\nsurely none the less free because very strongly inclined to do as he\nlikes, provided he _can do_ what he wishes or prefers. This is as true\nof the action of the will as of any other action.\n\n_The Source of Inclination, of no Consequence to the present\nInquiry._--2. It is evident, furthermore, that freedom has nothing\nto do with the _source_ of my inclinations, any more than with their\nstrength. It makes no difference what causes my preference, or\nwhether any thing causes it. I _have_ a preference, an inclination, a\ndisposition to do a given thing, and put forth a given volition--am\ndisposed to do it, and _can_ do it--then I am free, my will is free. It\nis of no consequence _how I came_ by that inclination or disposition.\nThe simple question is, Am I at liberty to follow it?\n\n_The Interference must be from without, and must affect the\nChoice._--It is evident, moreover, according to what has now been said,\nthat if there be really any restraint upon the will, or lack of freedom\nin its movements, it must proceed from something extraneous, outside\nthe will itself, something which comes in from without, and that in\nsuch a way as to _interfere, in some way with my choice_; for it is\nthere that the element of freedom lies. But whatever interferes with\nmy choice, _interferes with my willing at all_; the act is no longer a\n_voluntary_ act. Choice is essential to volition, the very element of\nit. In order to an act of will as we have seen, there must be liberty\nto choose, deliberation, actual preference. Volition presupposes them,\nand is based on them. Whatever prevents them, prevents volition.\nWhatever places me in such a state of mind that I have no preference at\nall, no choice, as to any given thing, places me in such a state that\nI have also no volition as to that thing. The question of freedom is\nforestalled in such a case, becomes absurd. Where there is no volition,\nthere is of course no freedom of volition, nor yet any want of freedom.\nFreedom of will is power to will as I like, but now I _have_ no liking,\nno preference.\n\n_The Supposition varied._--But suppose now that I am not prevented from\nchoosing, but only from carrying out my choice in actual volition;\nfrom willing, according to my choice. Then, also, the act is no longer\nproperly a _volition_, an act of will, for one essential element of\nevery such act, viz., _choice_, is wanting. I _have_ a choice, indeed,\nbut it is not here, not represented in this so-called volition, lies\nin another direction, is, in fact, altogether opposed to this, my\nso-called volition. There _can be_ no such volition. The human mind is\na stranger to any such phenomenon, and if it did occur, it would not\nbe volition, not an act of the will, not a _voluntary_ act. Whatever,\nthen, comes in, either to prevent my choosing, or to prevent my\nexercising volition _according_ to my choice, does, in fact, prevent my\nwilling at all. If there _be_ an act of the will, it is, in its very\nnature, a _free_ act, and cannot be otherwise. Allow me to choose, and\nto put forth volition according to my choice, and you leave me _free_.\nPrevent this, and you prevent my willing at all.\n\n_The Limitation, as usually regarded, not really one._--Those who\ncontend that the will is not free, _place the limitation back of\nthe choice_. Choice is governed by _inclination_, they say, and\ninclination depends on _circumstances_, on education, habits, fashion,\netc., things, in great measure, _beyond our control_; and while these\ncircumstances remain the same, a man cannot choose otherwise than\nhe does. To this I reply, that, as we have already seen, the will\nis strictly and properly free, _provided_ nothing interferes with,\nand prevents, our putting forth such volitions as we _choose_ to put\nforth. Is there, then, any thing in these circumstances which are\nsupposed to control our choice, and to be so fatal to our freedom, is\nthere in them any thing which really interferes with, or prevents our\nwilling as we _choose_? Does the fact that I am inclined, and strongly\nso, to a given choice, prevent me from putting forth that choice in\nthe shape of executive volition? So far from this, that inclination\nis the very circumstance that leads to my doing it. All that could\n_possibly_ be contended, is that the supposed inclination to a given\nchoice is likely to prevent my having some _other_ and _different_\nchoice. But that has nothing to do with the question of the freedom of\nmy will, which depends, as we have seen, not on the power to choose\n_otherwise_ than one is inclined, or than one likes, but _as_ he likes.\nWhat force, I ask again, is there in any circumstance, or combination\nof circumstances, which go to mould and shape my inclinations and my\ndisposition, and have no further power over me, what force in them, or\nwhat tendency, to prevent my _willing as I choose_, _as_ I like, _as_ I\nam inclined? Nay, if my will acts at all, it must, as I have shown, act\nin this way, and therefore act freely.\n\n_Freedom of Inclination not Freedom of Will._--But suppose I have\nno power to _like_, or to be inclined, differently from what I do\nlike, and am now inclined? I reply, it matters not as to the present\nquestion. The supposition now made, takes away or limits, not the\nfreedom of the will, it does not touch that; but the freedom of the\n_affections_. Can I like what I do not like--and can I put forth such\nvolitions as I please or choose--are two distinct questions, and again\nI repeat that the freedom of our will depends, _not_ on our having this\nor that particular choice, but on our being able to carry out whatever\nchoice we do make into our volitions; _not_ on our being able to will\notherwise than we choose, nor yet on our ability to choose otherwise\nthan we do, but simply on our being able to will _as_ we choose,\nwhatever that choice may be.\n\n_Are the Sensibilities Free._--Have I, in reality, however, any freedom\nof the affections, any power _under given circumstances_, to be\naffected otherwise than I am, to feel otherwise than I do? I reply, the\naffections are not _elements_ of the will, are not under its immediate\ncontrol; are not strictly voluntary. It depends on a great variety of\ncircumstances, what, in any given case, your affections or inclinations\nmay be. You have no power of will _directly_ over them. You can modify\nand shape them, only by shaping your own voluntary action so far as\nthat bears upon their formation. _By shaping your_ CHARACTER _which_\nIS _under your control_, you may, in a manner, at least, determine\nthe nature and degree of the emotions which will arise, under given\ncircumstances, in your bosom.\n\n_The two Questions entirely distinct._--But, however that may be, it\nhas nothing to do, I repeat, with the question now under discussion.\nThe freedom of the affections, and the freedom of the will, are by no\nmeans the same thing. We have already seen that there may be a fixed\nand positive connection between my inclinations and my choice, and so\nmy will, and yet my will be perfectly free. This is the main thing\nto be settled; and there seems to be no need of further argument to\nestablish this point; and if this be so, it decides the question as to\nthe freedom of the will.\n\n_Bearing of this View upon the divine Government._--The view now taken,\nleaves it open and quite in the power of Providence, so to shape\ncircumstances, guide events, and so to array, and bring to bear on the\nmind of man, motives and inducements to any given course, as virtually\nto control and determine his conduct, by controlling and determining\nhis _inclinations_, and so his choice; while, at the same time, the man\nis left perfectly free to put forth such volitions as he pleases, and\nto do as he _likes_. There can be no higher liberty than this. To this\npoint I shall again revert, when the question comes up respecting the\ndivine agency in connection with human freedom.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nCERTAIN QUESTIONS CONNECTED WITH THE PRECEDING.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--CONTRARY CHOICE.\n\n_The Question stated._--In the preceding chapters our attention has\nbeen directed to the psychological facts respecting the will, and also\nto the general question respecting the freedom of the will. Closely\nconnected with this main question, and involved in its discussion, are\ncertain inquiries of a like nature, which cannot wholly be passed by,\nand for the consideration of which the way is now prepared. One of\nthese respects _the power of contrary choice_. Have we any such power?\nIs the freedom, which, as we have seen, belongs to the very nature\nof the will, _such_ a freedom as allows of our choosing, under given\ncircumstances, any otherwise than we do? When I put forth a volition,\nall other things being as they are, _can_ I, at that moment, in place\nof that volition, put forth a different one in its stead?\n\n_Not identical with the preceding._--This question is not identical\nwith that respecting the freedom of the will, for it has been already\nshown that there may be true freedom without any such power as that now\nin question. My will is free, provided I can put forth such volitions\nas I please, irrespective of the power to substitute other volitions\nand choices in place of the actual ones.\n\n_Such Power not likely to be exercised._--The question, however, is one\nof some importance, whether we have any such power or not. And whether\nwe have it or not, one thing is certain--we are not likely to exercise\nit. If among the fixed and given things, which are to remain as they\nare, we include whatever inclines or induces the mind to choose and\nact as it does, then, power or no power to the contrary, the choice\n_will_ be as it is, and would be so, if we were to try the experiment\na thousand times; for choice depends on these preceding circumstances\nand inducements--the inclination of the mind--and if this is given,\nand made certain, the choice to which it will lead becomes certain\nalso. A choice opposed to the existing inclination, to the sum total\nof the existing inducements to action, is not a choice at all; it is\na contradiction in terms. The power of contrary choice, then, is one\nwhich, from the nature of the case, will never be put in requisition,\nunless something lying back of the choice, viz., inclination, be\nchanged also.\n\n_But does such Power exist._--The question is not, however, whether\nsuch a power is likely to be employed, but whether it _exists_; not\nwhether the choice _will be_ thus and thus, but whether it _can be_\notherwise. When, from various courses of procedure, all practicable,\nand at my option, I select or choose one which, on the whole, I will\npursue, have I no _power_, under those very circumstances, and at that\nvery moment, to choose some other course instead of that? _Can_ my\nchoice be otherwise than it is?\n\n_In what Sense there is such Power._--Abstractly, I suppose, it can.\nPower and inclination are two different things. The power to act\nis one thing, and the disposition to exert that power is another\nthing. _Logically_, one does not involve the other. The power may\nexist without the disposition, or the disposition without the power.\nThere is _power_, logically, abstractly considered, to choose, even\nwhen inclination is wanting; you have only to supply the requisite\ninclination, and the power is at once exerted, the choice is made, the\nact is performed. But the change of inclination does not _create any\nnew power_; it simply puts in requisition a power already existing.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--POWER TO DO WHAT WE ARE NOT DISPOSED TO DO.\n\n_The Question under another Form._--Closely analogous to the question\nlast discussed, virtually, indeed, the same question under another\nform, is the inquiry, whether we can, at any moment, will or do what\nwe are not, at that moment, inclined to do. Have I any such power or\nfreedom as this, that _I_ CAN _do what I am not_ DISPOSED _or do not\nwish to do?_ My disposition being to pursue a given course, is it\nreally in my _power_ to pursue a different one?\n\nIn order to determine this question, let us see what constitutes, or\nin what consists, the _power_ of doing, in any case, what we _are_\ndisposed to do; and then we may be able to judge whether that power\nstill exists, in case the disposition is wanting.\n\n_In what Power consists._--It is admitted that I _can_ do what I wish\nor am disposed to do. Now, in what consists that power? That depends\non _what sort_ of act it is that I am to put forth. Suppose it be a\nphysical act. My power to do what I wish, in that case, consists in my\nhaving certain physical organs capable of doing the given thing, and\nunder the command of my will. Suppose it be an intellectual act. My\npower, in that case, of doing what I like, depends on my having such\nmental faculties as are requisite for the performance of the given\nact, and these under control. So long, then, as I have the faculties,\nphysical or mental, that are requisite to the performance of a given\nact, and those faculties are under the control of my will, so that I\ncan exert them if I please, and when I please, so long my power of\ndoing what I like is unimpaired, and complete, as, _e. g._, the power\nof walking, or adding a column of accounts.\n\n_But suppose the Disposition wanting._--Suppose, now, the disposition\nto be wanting; does the power also disappear, or does it remain? I\nhave the same faculties as before, and they are as fully under the\ncontrol of the will as ever, and that constitutes all the power I ever\nhad. I have the power, then, of doing what I have no inclination to\ndo. Whatever I can do if I like, that also I _can_ do, even if I do\n_not_ like. In itself considered, the power to do a thing may be quite\ncomplete, and independent of the inclination or disposition to do or\nnot to do.\n\n_Will it be put in Requisition?_--But will this power be ever\nexercised? Certainly not, so long as the disinclination continues. In\norder to the doing of any thing, there must not only be _power_ to do\nit, but _disposition_. If the latter be wanting, the former, though it\nmay exist, will never be put forth.\n\n_Our Actions not consequently inevitable._--Have I, then, no power,\nthat is really available, to do what I do not happen to be, at this\nmoment, inclined to do? Am I shut up to the actual inclinations and\nchoices of any given hour or moment? Am I under the stern rule of\ninevitable necessity and fate to do as I do, to choose as I choose,\nto be inclined as I am inclined? By no means. My inclinations are\nnot fixed quantities. They may change. They depend, in part, on the\nintellectual conceptions: these may vary; in part on the state of the\nheart: divine grace may change the heart.\n\n_Actual Choices not necessary ones._--The actual choice of any given\nmoment is by no means a necessary one. Another might have been in its\nstead. A different inclination is certainly possible and conceivable,\nand a different inclination _would_ have led to a different choice.\nIf, instead of looking at the advantage or agreeableness of a proposed\ncourse, and being influenced by that consideration, I had looked at\nthe right, the obligation in the case, my choice would have been a\ndifferent one, for I should have been influenced by a different\nmotive. Two different objects were presented to my mind, _a_ and _b_.\nAs it is, I choose _a_, but _might_ have chosen _b_, and _should_, had\nI been so inclined. Why did I choose _a_? Because, as the matter then\npresented itself to my mind, I was so inclined. But I might have taken\na different view of the whole thing, and then my inclination and my\nchoice would have been different. It was in my power to have thought,\nto have felt, to have acted differently. What is more, I not only\n_might_, but, perhaps, _ought_ to have felt and acted differently. I am\nresponsible for having such an inclination as leads to a wrong choice\nresponsible for my opinions and views which influence my feelings;\nresponsible for my disposition, in so far as it is the result of causes\nwithin my own control.\n\n_Different Uses of the Term Power._--It ought to be clearly defined in\nall such discussions _what we mean_ by the principal _terms_ employed.\nIn the present instance what we mean by the words _power_, _ability_,\n_can_, etc., ought to be distinctly stated. Now, there are two senses\nin which these words are used, and the question before us turns, in\npart, on this difference.\n\n1. We may use the word power, _e. g._, to denote all that is requisite\nor essential to the _actual doing_ of a thing, whatever is so connected\nwith the doing, that, if it be wanting, the thing will not be done.\n\nOr, 2. In a more limited sense, to denote merely all that is requisite\nto the doing the thing, provided we please or choose to do it, all that\nis requisite in order to our doing what we _like_ or wish.\n\nThe latter distinguishes between the _ability_ and the _willingness_ to\ndo; the former includes them both in the idea of power. In order to the\n_actual doing_ there must be both. But does the word _power_ properly\ninclude both? In ordinary language, certainly, we distinguish the two.\nI _can_ do a thing, and I wish to do it, are distinct propositions, and\nneither includes the other. It is only by a license of speech that\nwe sometimes say I _cannot_, when we mean simply, I have no wish or\ndisposition. If we make the distinction in question between power and\ndisposition, then we _can_ do what we have no wish to do. If we do not\nmake it, but include in the term power the disposition to exert the\npower, then we _cannot_ do what we have no disposition to do.\n\n\n\u00a7 III.--INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES\n\nI. IS THE WILL ALWAYS AS THE GREATEST APPARENT GOOD?\n\n_The Answer depends on the Meaning of the Question._--If by this be\nmeant simply whether the mind always wills as it is, on the whole,\nand under all the circumstances, disposed or inclined to will, I have\nalready answered the question. If more than that be meant, if we mean\nto ask whether we always, in volition, act with reference to the one\nconsideration of _advantage_ or utility, the good that is to accrue,\nin some way, to ourselves or others from the given procedure--and\nthis is what the question seems to imply--I deny that this is so. I\nhave already shown, in presenting the psychological facts respecting\nthe will, that our motives of action are from two grand and diverse\nsources: _desire_ and _duty_--_self-love_, or, at most such love as\ninvolves mere natural emotion, and _sense of obligation_; that we do\nnot always act in view merely of the agreeable, but also in view of\nthe _right_, and that these two are not identical. Now the greatest\napparent good is not always the right; nor even the _apparent_ right.\nWe are conscious of the difference, and of acting, now from the one,\nnow from the other, of these motives. But to say that the will is\nalways according to the greatest apparent good, is to resolve all\nvolition into the pursuit of the agreeable, and all motives of action\ninto self-love. It is to merge the feeling of obligation in the feeling\nof desire, and lose sight of it as in itself a distinct motive of\naction.\n\n_Defect in the Socratic Philosophy._--This was the capital defect in\nthe ethical system of Socrates, who held that men always pursue what\nthey think to be good, and, therefore, always do what they think is\nright, since the good and the right are identical; sometimes, indeed,\nmistaking an apparent good for a real one, but always doing as well\nas they know how; from which it is but a short step to the conclusion\nthat sin is only so much ignorance, and virtue so much knowledge--a\nconclusion to which the modern advocates of the doctrines under\ndiscussion would by no means assent, but from which that shrewd thinker\nand most consistent logician saw no escape.\n\n\nII. IS THE WILL DETERMINED BY THE STRONGEST MOTIVE?\n\n_The Term \"strongest\" as thus employed._--Much depends on what we mean\nby \"strongest\" in this connection, and what by the word \"determined?\"\nIf we mean, by the strongest motive, the one which in a given case\nprevails, that in view of which the mind decides and acts, then the\nquestion amounts merely to this. Does the _prevalent_ motive actually\n_prevail_? To say that it does, is much the same as to say, that a\nstraight stick is a straight stick. And what else can you mean by\nstrongest motive? What standard have you for measuring motives and\ngauging their strength, except simply to judge of them by the _effects_\nthey produce? Or, who ever supposed that, of two motives, it was not\nthe stronger but the weaker one that in a given case prevailed?\n\n_The Word \"determined.\"_--The question may be made, however, to turn\nupon the word _determined_. Is the will _determined_ by that motive\nwhich prevails? Is it _determined_ at all by _any_ motive or by any\nthing? If by this word it be meant or implied that the motive, and not\nthe mind itself is the producing cause of the mind's own action, then\nI deny that the will _is, in any such sense_, determined, whether by\nthe strongest motive, or any other. The will is simply the mind or the\nsoul willing; its acts are determined by itself, and itself only. If\nyou mean simply that the motive _influences_ the will, prevails with\nit, becomes the _reason why_ the will decides as it does, this I have\nalready shown to be true, and in this sense, undoubtedly, the motive\ndetermines the volition, just as the fall of an apple from a tree is,\nin the first instance, produced or caused by the law of gravitation;\nbut the particular direction which it takes in falling, depends on, and\nis determined by, adventitious circumstances as, _e. g._, the obstacles\nit meets in its descent. Those obstacles, in one sense, determine the\nmotion; they are the reason and explanation of the fact that it falls\n_just as_ it does, and not otherwise; but they are not the producing\ncause of the motion itself.\n\n\nIII. ARE MOTIVES THE CAUSE, AND VOLITIONS THE EFFECT?\n\n_Incorrect Use of the Term Cause._--It is common, with a certain class\nof writers, to speak of motive as the _cause_ of action or volition.\nThis is, if at all correct and allowable, certainly not a fortunate\nuse of terms. The agent is properly the _cause_ of any act, and in\nvolition the soul itself is the agent. It is the mind itself, which\nis, strictly, the efficient cause of its own acts. The motive is the\n_reason why_ I act, and not the producer or cause of my act. In common\nspeech, this distinction is not always observed. We say, I do such a\nthing _because_ of this or that, meaning for such and such reasons. In\nphilosophical discussion it is necessary to be more exact.\n\n_Liable to be misunderstood._--The use of the word, as now referred\nto, is particularly to be avoided as liable to mislead the incautious\nreader or hearer. It suggests the idea of physical necessity, of\n_irresistibility_. Given, the law of gravitation, _e. g._, and a body\nunsupported _must_ fall--no choice, no volition; whereas, the action of\nthe mind in volition is, by its essential nature, _voluntary_, directly\nopposed to the idea of compulsion. Those who use the word in this\nmanner are generally careful to disclaim, it is true, any such sense;\nbut such are our associations with the word _cause_, as _ordinarily_\nemployed, that it is difficult to avoid sliding, unawares, into the old\nand familiar idea of some sort of absolute physical necessity. It were\nbetter to say, therefore, that motives are the reasons why we act thus\nand thus. To go further than this, to call the motive the _cause_ of\nthe volition, is neither a correct nor a fortunate use of terms, since\nthe idea is thereby conveyed, guard against it as you will, that, in\nsome way, the influence was irresistible, the event unavoidable.\n\n_The Phrase \"moral Necessity.\"_--The same objections lie with still\ngreater force against the phrase _moral necessity_ as applied to this\nsubject. Those who use it are careful, for the most part, to define\ntheir meaning, to explain that they do not mean necessity at all,\nbut only the _certainty_ of actions. The word itself, however, is\nconstantly contradicting all such explanations, constantly suggesting\nanother and much stronger meaning. That is necessary, properly\nspeaking, which depends not on my will or pleasure, which cannot be\navoided, but must be, and must be as it is. Now, to say of an act of\nthe will, that it is necessary, in this sense, is little short of a\ncontradiction in terms. The two ideas are utterly incongruous and\nincompatible.\n\nA volition may be certain to take place; it may be the motive that\nmakes it certain, but if this is all we mean, it is better to say just\nthis, and no more. If this is all we mean, then we do not mean that\nvolitions are necessary in any proper sense of that term. There is no\nneed to use the word necessity, and then explain that we do not mean\nnecessity, but only certainty. It is precisely on this unfortunate use\nof terms that the strongest objections are founded, against the true\ndoctrine of the connection of motive with volition. Even Mill, one of\nthe ablest modern necessitarians, objects to the use of this term, and\nurges its abandonment.\n\n_The true Connection.--What, then, is the connection between Motive and\nVolition?_--I have all along admitted, that there is such a connection\nbetween volitions and motives, that the former never occur without\nthe latter, that they stand related as antecedent and consequent, and\nthat motives, while not the producing cause of volitions, are still\nthe _reason why_ the volitions are _as_ they are, and not otherwise.\nThey furnish the occasion of their existence, and the explanation\nof their character. So much as this, the psychology of the subject\nwarrants--more than this it does not allow. More than this we seem to\nassert, however, when we insist on saying that motive is the cause, and\nvolition the effect. We seem, however we may disclaim such intention,\nto make the mind a mere mechanical instrument, putting forth volitions\nonly as it is impelled by motives, these, and not the mind, being the\nreal producing cause, and the volitions following irresistibly, just\nas the knife or chisel is but the passive instrument in the hand of\nthe architect, and not at all the producing cause of the effects which\nfollow.\n\n_Difference of the two Cases._--Now there is a vast difference between\nthese two cases. The impulse, communicated to the saw, produces\nthe effect irresistibly; not so the motive. The saw is a passive\ninstrument; not so the _mind_. There is, in either case, a fixed\nconnection between the antecedent and the consequent, but the _nature_\nof the connection is widely different, and it is a difference of the\ngreatest moment. It is precisely the difference indicated by the\ntwo words _cause_ and _reason_--as applied to account for a given\noccurrence--the one applicable to material and mechanical powers and\nprocesses, the other to intelligent, rational, voluntary agents.\nThere is a _cause_ why the apple falls. It is gravitation. There is a\n_reason_ why mind acts and wills as it does. It is motive.\n\n_But_ IS _the Mind the producing Cause of its own Volitions?_--This,\nthe advocates of moral necessity deny. \"If we should thus cause a\nvolition,\" says Dr. Edwards, \"we should doubtless cause it by a causal\nact. It is impossible that we cause any thing without a causal act.\nAnd as it is supposed that we cause it freely, the causal act must\nbe a free act, _i. e._, an act of the will, or volition. And as the\nsupposition is, that all our volitions are caused by ourselves, the\ncausal act must be caused by another, and so on infinitely, which is\nboth impossible and inconceivable.\" That is, if the mind causes its own\nvolitions, it can do it only by first acting to cause them, and that\ncausative act is, itself, a volition, and requires another causative\nact to produce it, and so on ad infinitum.\n\n_The Dictum Necessitatis proves too much._--This celebrated argument\nhas been called, not inappositely, the _dictum necessitatis_. It\nrests upon the assumption, that no cause can act, but by first acting\nto produce that act. Now this virtually shuts out _all_ cause from\nthe universe, or else involves us in the infinite series. Apply this\nreasoning to any cause whatever, and see if it be not so. Suppose,\n_e. g._, that _motive_, and not the mind itself, is the producing\ncause of volition. Then, according to the dictum, motive cannot act,\nbut by first acting in order to act, and for that previous causative\nact, there must have been an ulterior cause, and so on forever, in an\nendless succession of previous causative acts.\n\n_The Dictum as applicable to Mind._--But it may be said this dictum\napplies only to mind, or voluntary action. How, then, is it known, that\nmind cannot act without first acting in order to act? Would not this\nvirtually shut out and extinguish all mental action? The mind thinks;\nmust it first think, in order to think? It reasons, judges, conceives,\nimagines; must it first reason, judge, etc., _in order_ to reason, and\njudge, and conceive, and imagine? If not, then why may it not _will_\nwithout first _willing_ to will?\n\n_The Dictum as applicable to Deity._--If mind is not the cause of its\nown volitions, then how is it with the volitions of the infinite and\neternal mind? Are they caused or uncaused? If caused, then by what?\nIf by himself, then there is again the infinitely recurring series\naccording to the dictum. If by something else, still we do not escape\nthe series, for each causative act must have its prior cause. Are the\nvolitions of Deity, then, _uncaused_? Then certainly there is no such\nthing as cause in the universe. Motives, then, are no longer to be\ncalled causes. Deity is not, in fact, the cause of any thing, since not\nthe cause of those volitions by which alone all things are produced. If\nhe is not the cause of these, then not the cause of their consequences\nand effects. In either case, you shut out all cause from the universe,\nwhether the dictum be applied to mind or to motion, to man or to\nGod; or else you are, in either case, involved in the vortex of this\nterrible infinitive series.\n\nTo give up the dictum, is to admit that mind may be the producing cause\nof its own volitions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE DOCTRINE OF THE WILL VIEWED IN CONNECTION WITH CERTAIN TRUTHS OF\nRELIGION.\n\n\n_The Relation of Psychology to Theology._--The very close connection\nbetween the philosophy of the will, and the science of theology, has\nalready been remarked. We have discussed the questions which have come\nbefore us thus far, on purely psychological grounds, without reference\nto their theological bearing. It would be manifest injustice to the\nmatter in hand, however, were we to overlook entirely the relation of\nour philosophy to those higher truths which pertain to the domain of\ntheological science.\n\nThe whole question respecting the freedom of the human will,\nespecially, assumes a new importance, when viewed in connection with\nthe truths of natural and revealed religion. It ceases to be a\nspeculative, and becomes an eminently practical question when thus\nviewed.\n\nThere are two points which require special attention, as regards that\nconnection; the one, _God's power over man_, the other, _man's power\nover himself_.\n\n\n\u00a7 I.--THE POWER WHICH GOD EXERTS OVER THE HUMAN MIND AND WILL.\n\n_Dependence of Man._--It seems to be the teaching of reason, no less\nthan of religion, that man stands to the Creator in the relation of\nabsolute dependence. The one is the subject, the other the sovereign.\nThe control of Deity extends, not merely to the elements and forces\nof nature, which are by no means the chief and most important part of\nhis works, but over all intelligent, rational beings. This is implied,\nnot only in the fact that he is the Creator of all, but in the fact\nof moral government, and of a superintending providence. Manifestly,\nthere could be no such thing as moral government, and no control over\nthe affairs of the world, if the conduct of men, the minds and hearts\nof intelligent beings, were not subject to that control. This is not\nonly the inference which reason draws from the acknowledged supremacy\nof the Creator, it is not only thus a tenet of natural religion, but it\nis also one of the plainest doctrines of revealed truth. In the most\nexplicit and direct terms, the Scriptures ascribe to God the supreme\ncontrol of human conduct, of the human mind and heart. This power over\nthe thoughts and purposes of intelligent beings is the very highest\npower.\n\n_This Control unlimited._--This control, moreover, in order to be\ncomplete and effective, must reach beyond the present and passing\nmoment, must take in the future, must sweep through the whole range of\ncoming duration, and comprehend whatever is to be. Nothing must take\nplace without his foreknowledge and permission. The minutest events,\nthe falling of a sparrow, the number of the forest leaves, and of the\nhairs of our head, must be no exception to this general law.\n\n_Implies a Plan, and that Plan embraces human Conduct._--If we suppose\nthe supreme Being to be, not only a Creator and Ruler, but a wise\nand intelligent one, then we must suppose him to have some _plan_ of\noperations. The very idea of _providence_, indeed, implies this. And\nthis plan must be supposed to extend to, and include, future events,\nall events, minute events; for the little and the great are linked\ntogether, the future and the present are linked together, and the plan\nand government that has to do with one, must have to do with all, and\nwith human conduct among the rest. This, again, is not more clearly the\ndoctrine of reason than of revelation.\n\n_The Difficulty stated._--Whatever freedom man has, then, it must\nbe such a freedom as is consistent with God's complete control and\ngovernment of him. Neither his present nor his future conduct, neither\nhis thoughts, his feelings, nor his purposes, must be beyond the reach\nof the divine purpose and control. But how are these things to be\nreconciled--man's entire freedom, God's entire control and government\nof him?\n\n_Different Positions assumed._--Both are facts, and, therefore, true.\nEither, by itself, can be well enough conceived and comprehended,\nbut, taken together, they appear inconsistent. Many do not hesitate\nto pronounce them so. Some, who accept them both as true, regard them\nas still inexplicable and incomprehensible. Others receive one and\nreject the other, or, at least, assume such a position as amounts to a\nvirtual rejection of one of these truths. Thus the fatalist secures the\nsupreme government of God, only at the expense of human freedom, and\nthus weakens, if not destroys, the foundation of human accountability.\nOthers again, in their horror of fatalism, preserve the freedom and\naccountability of man, at the expense of the divine government and\npurposes, thus virtually placing man beyond the power and control of\nDeity.\n\n_Application of the preceding Psychology to this Question._--How, then,\nare these two great facts to be reconciled? If we mistake not, a true\npsychology, a correct view of the nature of the will, prepares the way\nfor this. What have we found to be the process of the mind in volition?\nThe several steps of the process are found to be these: In the first\nplace, some object to be accomplished is presented, as such, to the\nunderstanding. This object, thus presented, appealing to the desires\nor to the sense of duty influences or inclines the mind. This, again,\nleads to choice, choice to volition, volition to action.\n\n_Freedom lies where._--Now in this whole process, _where_ does the\nelement of freedom lie? Not in the final executive act--the doing as we\nwill to do--for that is merely a bodily function, a physical and not\na mental power; nor yet in the control of the motives which influence\nor incline us; for these are, for the most part, out of our power.\nEvidently freedom, so far as it pertains to the human will, lies in\nthe power of forming and putting forth such volitions as we please, in\nother words, of choosing as we like, and willing as we choose, so that\nwhatever our inclinations may be, we shall be at liberty to choose and\nto will accordingly. This is the highest practical freedom of which it\nis possible to conceive, and it is all the freedom which pertains to\nthe human will.\n\n_How this may consist with the divine Control._--Let us see, now, if\nthis be not a liberty perfectly compatible with the divine government\nand control over us. These volitions and choices of ours are by no\nmeans arbitrary or casual; there is a reason for them; a reason why we\nchoose as we do. We choose thus and thus, because we are, on the whole,\nso disposed or _inclined_; and this inclination or disposition depends\non a great variety of circumstances, on the nature and strength of the\nmotive presented, our physical and mental constitution and habits, our\npower of self-control, the strength of our desires, as compared with\nour sense of duty, the presence or absence of the exciting object; in\nfine, on a great variety of predisposing causes and circumstances, all\nof which are to be taken into the account, when the question is, why\ndo we choose thus, and not otherwise? Now, these circumstances which\ngo to determine our inclinations, and so our choices and volitions,\nare, in a great measure, beyond our direct control. Our physical and\nmental constitution, our external condition, our state of mind, and\ncircumstances at any given moment, whatever in the shape of motive or\ninducement may be present with moving power to the mind, inclining us\nthis way or that, all this lies much more under divine control than\nunder our own.\n\n_The Point of Connection._--Here, then, to speak reverently, lies the\navenue of approach, through which Deity may come in and take possession\nof the human mind, and influence and shape its action, without\ninfringing, in the least, on its perfect freedom. He has only to\npresent such motives as shall seem to the mind weighty and sufficient,\nhas only to touch the main-spring of human inclination, lying back of\nactual choice, has only to secure within us a disposition or liking\nto any given course, and our choice follows with certainty, and our\nvolition, and our action; and that action and volition are _free_ in\nthe highest sense, because our choice was free. We acted just as we\npleased, just as we were inclined.\n\n_The Influence of Man over his fellow Men an Illustration of the same\nPrinciple._--Now this is just what we, in a limited way, and to a\nsmall extent, are constantly doing with respect to our fellow men. We\npresent motives, inducements, to a given course, we work upon their\ninclinations, we appeal to their sensibilities, their natural desires,\ntheir sense of duty, and in proportion as we gain access to their\nhearts, we are successful in shaping and controlling their conduct. The\ngreat and difficult art of governing men lies in this. We have only to\nsuppose a _like_ power, but complete and perfect, to be exercised by\nthe supreme disposer and controller of events, so shaping and ordering\ncircumstances as to determine the inclinations of men, gaining access,\nnot in an uncertain and indirect manner, but by immediate approach to\nthe human heart, all whose springs lie under his control, so that he\ncan touch and command them as he will; we have only to conceive this,\nand we have, as it seems to me, a full and sufficient explanation of\nthe fact that man acts freely, and just as he is inclined, while yet he\nis perfectly under the divine control.\n\n_Power which the Scriptures ascribe to God._--And this, if I mistake\nnot, is precisely the sort of control and power over man which the\nScriptures always ascribe to God, viz., power over the inclinations,\naffections, dispositions, from which proceed all our voluntary actions.\nIn his hand are the _hearts_ of men, and he can turn them as the rivers\nof water are turned.\n\n_The Theory does not suppose a divine Influence to Evil._--It is\nnot necessary to suppose that God ever influences men to evil; the\nsupposition is inconsistent with the divine character, with all we know\nand conceive of Deity. Nor is any such influence over man necessary\nin order to the accomplishment of evil, but, on the contrary, much\nis needed to restrain and prevent him from sin. Sufficient already\nare the motives and influences that incline him to go astray; feeble\nand inefficient, the inducements to a better life. Could we suppose,\nhowever, any influence of this sort to be exerted over man, inclining\nhim to evil, we can still see how such influence might be perfectly\nconsistent with his entire freedom. It is not the integrity of human\nfreedom, but the integrity of the divine character, that forbids such a\nsupposition.\n\n_Does not interfere with Responsibility._--Does such a power over human\nconduct, as that now attributed to the supreme Being, interfere with\nhuman _responsibility_? Not in the least. Responsibility rests with\nhim who acts freely and as he pleases, doing that which is right or\nwrong, of his own accord, knowing what he does, and because he has a\nmind to do it. And it is thus man acts, under whatever decree of divine\ninfluence we may suppose him placed.\n\n\n\u00a7 II.--MAN'S POWER OVER HIMSELF.\n\n_Unjust to require what it is impossible to perform._--Have I power, in\nall cases, to do what the divine will requires; power to do _right_?\nIt would seem to be the verdict of reason, and the common sense of\nmankind, that to require of any man what is literally and absolutely\nbeyond his power, is unjust, and that such a requirement, if it were\nmade, would impose no obligation, since obedience would be impossible.\nWe cannot suppose God to be guilty of such manifest injustice. His\ncommands are right. They carry with them the judgment and reason of\nmen. Conscience approves them. Obligation attends them. They must,\ntherefore, be such commands as it is possible for us to obey. It would\nbe manifest injustice and wrong to require of me what it is actually\nand absolutely out of my power to do.\n\n_Supposed Disinclination._--But suppose I have really no inclination,\nno disposition, to do right. My affections and desires are all wrong,\ninclining me to evil, and my sense of duty or moral obligation is\nnot strong enough to prevail against these natural desires and evil\ninclinations; suppose this, which, alas! is too often true, and what\nthen becomes of my _power_ to do right? Does it any longer exist?\nHave I any power to change those affections and inclinations; or,\nthey remaining as they are, have I any power to go contrary to them?\nA question this, at once profoundly philosophical, and intensely\npractical.\n\n_Position of the Fatalist._--The fatalist has no hesitation in replying\n_no_, to these questions. Man has no power to change the current of his\nown inclinations, nor yet to go against that current. He is wholly\nunder the influence of motives; they turn him this way and that. He has\npower to do as he wills, but no power over the _volitions_ themselves.\nHe has power to do only what he has a mind to do. He has no mind, no\ninclination to do right, therefore, no power to do so.\n\n_This Position at Variance with a true Psychology._--A correct\npsychology, as we have already seen, gives a different answer. It is\nnot true, as a matter of fact in the philosophy of the human mind, that\nman has no _power_ to do what he has no _disposition_ to do; nor is it\ntrue that his inclinations and affections are wholly out of his power\nand control. In both respects, fatalism is at war, not more with the\ncommon sense of mankind, than with a sound and true philosophy.\n\n_Confounds Power with Inclination._--To say that man has no _power_\nto do what he is not _inclined_ to do, is to confound power with\ninclination. They are distinct things. The one may exist without the\nother. I have power to do what I have no disposition to do; on the\nother hand, I may have the disposition to do what is not in my power.\nI have power to set fire to my own house, or to my neighbor's, or to\ncut off my right hand; power, but no disposition. Present a motive\nsufficiently weighty to change my mind, and incline me to the act, and\nyou create, in that way, a new disposition, but no new power. This\npoint has been fully discussed in the previous chapter, and I need not\nhere repeat the argument. It was shown that in order to the actual\ndoing of a thing, two things are requisite, namely, the _power_ to do,\nand the inclination to _exert_ that power; and that neither involves\nthe other. Where the power alone exists, the thing _can be_ done, but\n_will not be_; where both exist, it both _can_ and _will_ be done. It\nis not true, then, in any proper use of terms, that want of inclination\nis want of power.\n\n_Our Inclinations not wholly beyond our Control._--Equally incorrect\nis the position that our inclinations and affections are wholly\nout of our own control. Within certain limits it is in our power to\nchange them. Inclination is not a fixed quantity. It may change. It\nought to change. In many respects it is constantly changing. We take\ndifferent views of things, and so our feelings and inclinations change.\nCircumstances change, the course of events changes; and our disposition\nis modified accordingly. So that while the affections and inclinations\nare certainly not under the _direct_ and _immediate_ control of the\nwill, it is still, in a great measure, in our power to modify and\ncontrol them. While they remain as they are, it is quite certain that\nwe shall do as we do; but it is not _necessary_ that they _should_, nor\n_certain_ that they _will_, remain as they are.\n\n_The true Answer._--To the question, then, _can_ the man whose\ninclinations are to evil, whose heart is wrong, do right? a true\npsychology answers _yes_. He _can_ do what he is not inclined to do;\nnor is that evil inclination itself a fixed quantity; he can be, he may\nbe, otherwise inclined.\n\n_Something else needed beside Power._--- It must be admitted, however,\nthat so long as the heart is wrong, so long as the evil disposition\ncontinues, so long the man _will_ continue to do evil, notwithstanding\nall his _power_ to the contrary. Left to himself, there is very little\nprobability of his effecting any material change in himself for the\nbetter. In order to do this, there is needed an influence from without,\nand from above; an influence that shall _incline_ him to obedience,\nthat shall make him _willing_ to obey.\n\n_The Gospel meets this Necessity._--This is precisely the want of his\nnature which divine grace meets. It creates within him a _clean heart_,\nand renews within him a _right spirit_. This is the sublime mystery of\nregeneration. The soul that is thus born of God is made _willing_ to do\nright. The inclinations are no longer to evil, but to good, and the man\nstill doing that which he pleases, is pleased to do the will of God.\nThe change is in the disposition; it is a change of the affections, of\nthe _heart_; thus the Scriptures always represent it. This was all\nthat was wanted to secure obedience, and this divine grace supplies.\n\nIt is not our province to discuss theological questions, as such. It\nhas been our aim, simply, to show the relation of a true psychology\nto the system of truth revealed in the Scriptures. The perfect\n_coincidence_ of the two is an argument in favor of each.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nPOWER OF WILL.\n\n\n_Differences in this respect._--There are great differences among\nmen, as regards the strength and energy of this, as compared with the\nother departments of mental activity. The difference is, perhaps, as\ngreat in this respect, as in regard to the other mental faculties. Not\nall are gifted with equal power of imagination, not all with equal\nstrength of memory, or of the reasoning faculty; not all with equal\nstrength of the executive power of the mind. Some persons exhibit a\nweakness of will, a want of decision and firmness, an irresolution of\ncharacter and purpose. They waver and hesitate in cases of doubt and\nemergency, requiring decision and energy. They are governed by no fixed\npurpose. The course which they adopt to-day, they abandon to-morrow for\nthe opposite. They are controlled by circumstances. Opposition turns\nthem from their course, difficulties discourage them. They are easily\npersuaded, easily led; ill fitted to be themselves leaders of men.\n\nOthers, again, are firm and inflexible as a rock. They choose their\ncourse, and pursue it, regardless of difficulties and consequences.\nDifficulties only arouse them to new effort. Opposition only\nstrengthens their decision and purpose. They are hard to be persuaded,\nwhen once their minds are made up, and harder still to be driven.\nThey take their stand, nothing daunted by opposing numbers, and, with\nFitz-James, when suddenly confronted and surrounded by the hosts of\nRoderic Dhu, exclaim,\n\n    \"Come one, come all, this _rock_ shall fly\n    From its firm base, as soon as _I_.\"\n\n_Instances of Firmness._--Napoleon, fiery and impetuous as he was,\npossessed this energy and strength of will. Obstacles, difficulties,\ninsurmountable to other men, established usages, institutions, armies,\nthrones, all were swept away before the irresistible energy of that\nmighty will, and that determined purpose, as the wave, driven before\nthe storm, clears itself a path among the pebbles and shells that lie\nstrewn upon the shore. In the character of his brother Joseph, King of\nSpain, we have an example of the opposite. Mild, cultivated, refined,\namiable, of elegant tastes, a man of letters, loving retirement and\nleisure, he was lacking in that energy and decision of character\nwhich fit men for command in camps and courts. We have in the firm\nand terrible energy of Cromwell, as contrasted with the mildness and\ninefficiency of his son and successor Richard, the same difference\nillustrated. The Puritan leaders of the English Revolution were men\nof stern and determined energy of character. Among the Romans, C\u00e6sar\npresents a notable example of that strength of will which fits men\nfor great enterprises; while the great Roman orator, with all his\nacquisitions of varied learning, and all his philosophy, and all his\neloquence, was deficient in firmness of purpose.\n\n_Often exhibited in military Leaders._--In general it may be remarked\nthat great military commanders have usually been distinguished for this\ntrait of character. It was by virtue of their energy, and decision, and\nfirmness of purpose, that they accomplished what they did, succeeding\nwhere other men would have failed. Thus it was with Hannibal, with\nFrederic the Great, with Wellington, with our own Washington. They\nwere, by nature, endowed with those qualities which fitted them for\ntheir important and difficult stations; while, at the same time, the\nwork to which they were called, and the circumstances in which they\nwere placed, tended greatly to develop and strengthen those peculiar\ntraits and qualities, and this among the rest.\n\n_The same Trait exhibited in other Stations of Life._--Strength of will\nshows itself, however, in other relations and stations of life, as well\nas in the military commander. The leader of a great political party,\nas, for example, of the Administration, or of the Opposition, in the\nEnglish Parliament, has abundant occasion for firmness and strength of\npurpose. It was not less strength of will, than of moral principle,\nin Socrates, that led him resolutely to withstand the popular clamor,\nand the opinions of his associate judges, and refuse to sentence the\nunsuccessful military commanders, on the day when the decision lay\nin his hands; the same trait showed itself in that retreat after the\nbattle of Delius, so graphically described by Plato, when he walked\nalone and slowly from the field, where all was confusion and flight,\nwith such coolness and such an air of calm self-reliance, that no enemy\nventured to approach him; it was shown not less in his determined\nrefusal to escape from prison, and the unjust sentence of death,\nnotwithstanding all the entreaties and remonstrances of friends.\n\n_Strength of Will in the Orator._--The truly great orator, rising\nto repel the assaults of his antagonist, or to allay the prejudices\nand take command of the passions and opinions of a popular assembly,\ncalm and collected, and conscious of his strength, master of his own\nemotions, and of all his powers, presents an illustration of the same\nprinciple. It was seen in Webster, when he rose in the Senate to reply\nto Hayne. The very aspect of the man conveyed to all beholders the idea\nof power--a strength, not merely of gigantic intellect, but of resolute\nwill _determined_ to conquer.\n\n_Strength of Will as shown in the Endurance of Suffering._--The same\nprinciple is sometimes manifested in a different manner, and in\ndifferent circumstances. If it leads to heroic _actions_, it leads\nalso to heroic _endurance_ and suffering. It was the firm and stubborn\nwill of Regulus, that sent him back to Carthage, to endure all that\nthe disappointed malice of his foes could invent. It was the firm will\nof Jerome of Prague, that kept him from recantation in the face of\ndeath; the firm will of Cranmer, that thrust his right hand into the\nflames, and kept it there till it was quite consumed. A like firmness\nof purpose has been exhibited in thousands of instances, both in the\nearlier and later annals of Christian martyrdom. Rather than renounce\na principle, or abandon the deeply-cherished convictions of the soul,\nnatures, the most frail and feeble, have calmly met and endured the\ngreatest sufferings, with a firmness, and courage, and power of\nendurance, that nothing could shake or overcome.\n\n_How to be attained._--To multiply instances is needless. But how shall\nthis strength of will, so desirable, so essential to true greatness and\nnobleness of character, be attained?\n\nIn part it is the gift of nature, doubtless--the result of that\nphysical and mental constitution with which some are more fortunately\nendowed; in part it is an acquisition to be made, as any other\nmental or physical acquisition, by due care and training. It will be\nof service, especially, in any endeavor of this sort, to accustom\nourselves to decide with promptness, and act with energy in the many\nsmaller and less important affairs of life, and to carry out a purpose,\nonce deliberately formed, with persistence, even in trivial matters.\nThe habit thus formed, we may be able afterward, and gradually, to\ncarry into higher departments of action, and into circumstances of\ngreater embarrassment and difficulty. On the other hand, this must\nnot be carried to the extreme of _obstinacy_, which is the refusal to\ncorrect a mistake, or acknowledge an error, or listen to the wiser and\nbetter counsels of others.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nHISTORICAL SKETCH.--OUTLINE OF THE CONTROVERSY RESPECTING FREEDOM OF\nTHE WILL.\n\n\n_Question early Discussed._--The question respecting human freedom, was\nvery early a topic of inquiry and discussion. It enters prominently\ninto the philosophy of all nations, so far as we know, among whom\neither philosophy or theology have found a place. It is by no means\nconfined to Christian, or even to cultivated nations. It holds a\nprominent place in the theological systems and disputes of India and\nthe East, at the present day. The missionary of the Christian faith\nmeets with it, to his surprise, perhaps, in the remotest regions, and\namong tribes little cultivated. It is a question, at once so profound,\nand yet of such personal and practical moment, that it can hardly have\nescaped the attention of any thoughtful and reflecting mind, in any\ncountry, or in any age of the world.\n\n_The Greek Philosophy._--Among the Greeks, conflicting opinions\nrespecting this matter prevailed in the different schools. The\n_Epicureans_, although asserting human liberty in opposition to the\ndoctrine of universal and inexorable _fate_, were, nevertheless,\n_necessitarians_, if we may judge from the writings of Lucretius, whose\nidea of liberty, as Mr. Stewart has well shown, is compatible with\nthe most perfect necessity, and renders man \"as completely a piece of\npassive mechanism as he was supposed to be by Collins and Hobbes.\"\nThis liberty is, itself, the _necessary effect of some cause_, and\nthe reason assigned for this view is precisely that given by modern\nadvocates of necessity, namely, that to suppose otherwise, is to\nsuppose _an effect without a cause_.\n\nOn the other hand, the _Stoics_, while maintaining the doctrine of\n_fate_, held, nevertheless, to the utmost liberty of the will. With\nthe consistency of these views, we are not now concerned. Epictetus\nis referred to by Mr. Stewart, as an example of this not unusual\ncombination of fatalism and free-will.\n\n_The Jewish Sects._--Very similar was the relation of the two rival\nsects among the Jews, the Sadducees and the Pharisees, the former\nholding the doctrine of human freedom, the latter of such a degree, at\nleast, of fatality, as is inconsistent with true liberty.\n\n_The Arabian Schools._--Among no people, perhaps, has this question\nbeen more eagerly and widely discussed, than by the Arabians, whose\nphilosophy seems to have grown out of their theology. When that\nremarkable book, the Koran, first aroused the impulsive mind of the\nArab from his idle dreams, and startled him into consciousness of\nhigher truth, the very first topic of inquiry and speculation about\nwhich his philosophic thought employed itself, seems to have been this\nlong-standing question of human ability and the freedom of the will.\nThe Koran taught the doctrine of necessity and fate. A sect soon arose,\ncalled _Kadrites_, from the word _kadr_, power, freedom, holding the\nopposite doctrine, that man's actions, good and bad, are under the\ncontrol of his own will. From this was gradually formed a large body of\n_dissenters_, as they styled themselves, and in maintaining these views\non the one side, and opposing them on the other, the controversy became\nmore and more one of philosophy, and for some three centuries, with\nvaried learning and skill, Arabian scholars and philosophers disputed,\nwarmly, this most difficult and abstruse of metaphysical questions.\nFatalism seems ultimately to have prevailed, as, indeed, a doctrine\nso congenial to error, and to every false system of religious belief,\nwould be quite likely to do, where any such system is established.\n\n_The Scholastics and the Reformers._--Among the scholastic divines of\nthe middle ages, some held to the liberty of the will, while many\nallowed only what they called the liberty of _spontaneity_, _i. e._,\npower to _do_ as we will, in opposition to liberty of _indifference_,\nor power over the determinations of the will itself.\n\nAmong the moderns, the Reformers differed among themselves on the\nmatter of liberty, the Lutherans, with Melanchthon, opposing the\nscheme of necessity; Calvin and Bucer maintaining it, as the necessary\nconsequence of their views of divine predestination.\n\n_Distinguished modern Advocates of Necessity._--Among the philosophical\nwriters of the last and the present century, a very strong array of\neminent names is on the side of necessity. Hobbes, Locke--who is\nclaimed, however, by each side--Leibnitz, Collins, Edwards, Priestley,\nBelsham, Lord Kames, Hartley, Mill, advocate openly the doctrine of\nnecessity.\n\n_Doctrine of Hobbes._--The views of _Hobbes_ seem to have given shape\nto the opinions of subsequent advocates of this theory. The only\nliberty which he allows, is that of doing what one wills to do, or\nwhat the scholastics called the liberty of spontaneity. Water is free,\nand at liberty, when nothing prevents it from flowing down the stream.\nLiberty he defines, accordingly, to be \"_the absence of all impediments\nto action that are not contained in the nature and intrinsical quality\nof the agent_.\" A man whose hands are tied, is not at liberty to go;\nthe impediment is not in him, but in his bands; while he who is sick or\nlame, is at liberty, because the obstacle is in himself. A free agent\nis one who can do as he wills.\n\nThis is essentially the view of freedom adopted by the later advocates\nof necessity, and almost in the same terms it is the view of Collins,\nPriestley, and Edwards.\n\n_Doctrine of Locke._--It is, also, _Locke's_ idea of freedom. Liberty,\nhe says, is the power of any agent \"to do or forbear any particular\naction, according to the determination or thought of the mind, whereby\neither of them is preferred to the other.\" This extends only to the\ncarrying out our volitions when formed, and not to the matter of\nwilling or preferring; power over the determinations of the will,\nitself, is not included in this definition.\n\n_Locke Inconsistent._--In this, Locke was inconsistent with himself,\nsince, in his chapter on power, he seems to be maintaining the doctrine\nof human freedom. The liberty here intended, it has been justly\nremarked by Bledsoe, is not freedom of the will, or of the mind in\nwilling, but only of the body; it refers to the motion of the body, not\nto the action of the mind.\n\nLocke expressly says, \"there may be _volition_ where there is no\nliberty;\" and gives, in illustration, the case of a man falling through\na breaking bridge, who has volition or preference not to fall, but\nno liberty, since he cannot help falling. In this, again, Locke is\ninconsistent, since, elsewhere, he distinguishes between volition and\ndesire or preference, while here he does not distinguish them.\n\nThere can be no doubt that Locke supposed himself an advocate of human\nfreedom, for such is the spirit of his whole treatise, especially of\nhis twenty-first chapter; at the same time, it must be confessed,\nhis definitions are incomplete, and his language inconsistent and\nvacillating, so that there is some reason to class him, as Priestley\ndoes, with those who really adopt the scheme of necessity without\nknowing or intending it.\n\n_View of Leibnitz._--Leibnitz was led to adopt the doctrine of\nnecessity from his general theory of the _sufficient reason_, that is,\nthat nothing occurs without a _reason why_ it should be so, and not\notherwise. This principle he carries so far as to deny the power of\nDeity to create two things perfectly alike, and the power of either\nGod or man to _choose_ one of two things that are perfectly alike.\nThis principle presents the mind as always determined by the greatest\napparent good, and establishes, as its author supposed, by the\ncertainty of demonstration, the absolute impossibility of free agency.\n\n_View of Collins._--Collins maintains the necessity of all human\nactions, from experience, from the impossibility of liberty, from the\ndivine foreknowledge, from the nature of rewards and punishments, and\nthe nature of morality. He takes pains to reconcile this doctrine\nwith man's accountability and moral agency, and is careful to define\nhis terms with great exactness. Thus the terms liberty and necessity\nare defined as follows: \"First, though I deny _liberty_ in a certain\nmeaning of the word, yet I contend for _liberty_ as it signifies a\n_power in man to do as he wills or pleases_. Secondly, when I affirm\n_necessity_, I contend only for _moral necessity_, meaning thereby that\nman, who is an intelligent and sensible being, is determined by his\nreason and his senses; and I deny man to be subject to such necessity\nas is in clocks and watches, and such other beings, which, for want of\nsensation and intelligence, are subject to an _absolute_, _physical_,\nor _mechanical necessity_\".\n\n_Coincidence of Collins and Edwards._--The coincidence of these\nviews and definitions, and, indeed, of the plan of argument, with\nthe definitions and the arguments of Edwards, is remarkable. No two\nwriters, probably, were ever further removed from each other in\ntheir general spirit and character, and in their system of religious\nbelief; yet as regards this doctrine, the definitions and views of one\nwere those of the other, and as Mr. Stewart has justly remarked, the\ncoincidence is so perfect, that the outline given by the former, of the\nplan of his work, might have served with equal propriety as a preface\nto the latter.\n\n_Views of Edwards._--No writer has more ably discussed this question\nthan the elder Edwards. He is universally conceded to be one of the\nablest metaphysicians, as well as theologians, of modern times. His\nwork on the Freedom of the Will is a masterpiece of reasoning. At the\nsame time, as to the character and tendency of the system therein\nmaintained, the greatest difference of opinion exists. By some he is\nregarded as a fatalist, by others he is claimed as an advocate of\nhuman freedom. There is some ground for this difference of opinion.\nNo writer, from Plato downward, was ever perfectly self-consistent;\nit would be strange if Edwards were so. That the general scheme\nof necessity, maintained by Edwards, tends, in some respects, to\nfatalism,--that the ablest champions of fatalism, and even writers of\natheistic, and immoral views, have held essentially the same doctrine,\nand maintained it by the same arguments--must be conceded; that such\nwas not the design and spirit of his work, that such was not his own\nintention, is perfectly evident.\n\n_Main Positions of Edwards._--The definitions of Edwards, as we have\nalready seen, are the same with those of Collins and Hobbes. He\nunderstands by liberty _merely a power to do as one wills_. The mind is\nalways determined by the greatest apparent good. The motive determines\nthe act, _causes_ it. The mind acts, wills, chooses, etc., but the\nmotive is the _cause_ of its action. That the mind should be the cause\nof its own volitions, implies, he maintains, an act of will preceding\nthe volition, that is a volition prior to volition, and so on forever\nin an infinite series. This argument, the famous _dictum necessitatis_,\nhas been considered in a previous chapter. Now, to say that motive\nis the producing cause, and volition the effect, especially if the\nconnection of the two is of the _same nature_ as that between physical\ncauses and effects, as Edwards affirms, is certainly to say that which\nlooks very strongly toward fatalism.\n\n_Necessity, what._--Edwards maintains the doctrine of _necessity_. But\nwhat did he mean by _moral necessity_? The phrase is unfortunate, for\nreasons already suggested--it does convey the idea of irresistibility,\nof something which _must_ and _will be_--in spite of all contrary will\nand endeavor. This, however, he is careful to disclaim. He means by\nmoral and philosophical necessity simple CERTAINTY, \"nothing different\nfrom certainty.\" \"No opposition or contrary will and endeavor,\" he\nsays, \"is supposable in the case of moral necessity, which is a\ncertainty of the inclination and will itself.\" Now we must allow him to\nput his own meaning upon the terms he uses; and to say that under given\ncircumstances, there being given such and such motives, inclinations,\nand preferences, such and such volitions will _certainly_ follow, is\nnot to say that the will is not free in its action--is not to shut\nus up to absolute fate--is not, in fact, to say any thing more than\nis strictly and psychologically true. In defending himself from this\nvery charge, he uses the following explicit language in a letter to a\nminister of the Church of Scotland: \"ON THE CONTRARY, _I have largely\ndeclared that the connection between antecedent things and consequent\nones, which takes place with regard to the acts of men's wills,\nwhich is called moral necessity, is called by the name of necessity_\nIMPROPERLY; and that such a necessity as attends the acts of men's\nwills is more properly called certainty than necessity; it being no\nother than the certain connection between the subject and predicate\nof the proposition which affirms their existence.\" \"Nothing that I\nmaintain supposes that men are at all hindered by any fatal necessity,\nfrom doing, and even willing and choosing as they please, with full\nfreedom; free with the highest degree of liberty that ever was thought\nof, or that could possibly enter into the heart of man to conceive.\"\nThis is explicit, and ought to satisfy us as to what Edwards himself\nthought of his own work, and meant by it. Still a man does not always\nunderstand himself, is not always the best judge of his own arguments,\nis not always consistent with himself, does not always express his own\nreal opinions, nor do himself justice, in every part of his reasonings.\nThis is certainly the case with Edwards. We are at a loss to reconcile\nsome passages in his treatise with the foregoing extract, _e. g._, _the\ndictum necessitatis_; also his declaration that the difference between\nnatural and moral necessity \"lies _not so much_ IN THE NATURE of the\nconnection as in the two terms connected.\" This is an unfortunate\nadmission for those who would shield him from the charge of fatalism.\nIf the necessity, by which a volition follows the given motive, is,\nafter all, of the _same nature_ with that by which a stone falls to the\nearth, or water freezes at a given temperature, it is all over with us\nas to any consistent, intelligible defence of the freedom of the will.\n\nIf, moreover, the doctrine of Edwards leaves man full power, as he\nsays above, to _will and to choose as he pleases_, what becomes of the\n_dictum_, which makes it impossible for the mind to determine its own\nvolitions?\n\n_Does not distinguish between the Affections and the Will._--It should\nbe remembered that Edwards does not distinguish between the will and\naffections. This distinction had not, at that time, been clearly\ndrawn by writers on the philosophy of the mind. The twofold division\nof mental powers, into understanding and will, was then prevalent;\nthe affections, of course, were classed with the latter. Hence there\nis not that definiteness in the use of terms which modern psychology\ndemands. Had Edwards distinguished between the affections and the will,\nit must have given a different cast to his entire work. Even Locke,\nwhose philosophy Edwards follows in the main, had distinguished between\n_will_ and _desire_, as we have already seen; but in this he is not\nfollowed by Edwards, who, while he does not regard them as \"words of\nprecisely the same signification,\" yet does not think them \"so entirely\ndistinct that they can ever be said to _run counter_.\"\n\n_Views of the later Necessitarians._--Of the views of the later\nadvocates of necessity, Priestley, Belsham, Diderot, and others, of\nthat school, we have already spoken in a previous chapter. They carry\nout the scheme, with the greatest boldness and consistency, to its\nlegitimate consequences, fatalism, and the denial of free agency and\naccountability. God is the real and only responsible doer of whatever\ncomes to pass, and man the passive instrument in his hand. Remorse,\nregret, repentance, are idle terms, and to praise or blame ourselves or\nothers, for any thing that we or they have done, is merely absurd.\n\n_Advocates of the Opposite._--On the other hand, the doctrine of the\nfreedom of the will has not wanted able advocates among the more recent\nphilosophical writers. In general it may be remarked, that those who\nhave treated of the powers of the human mind, as psychologists, have,\nfor the most part, maintained the essential freedom of the will, while\nthe advocates of the opposite view have been chiefly metaphysicians,\nrather than psychologists, and, in most cases, have viewed the\nmatter from a theological rather than a philosophical point of view.\nAmong the more recent and able advocates of the freedom of the will,\nare Cousin and Jouffroy, in France, Tappan and Bledsoe, in our own\ncountry. Previously, Mr. Stewart, in his appendix to his \"Active and\nMoral Powers,\" had concisely, but very ably, handled the matter, and\nearlier still, Kant, in Germany, had conceded the liberty of the will\nas a matter of _consciousness_, while unable to reconcile it with the\ndictates of reason.\n\n_View of Hamilton._--Substantially the same view is taken by the\nlate Sir William Hamilton, who, by general consent, stands at the\nhead of modern philosophers, and who accepts the doctrine of liberty\nas a _fact_, an immediate dictum of consciousness, while, at the\nsame time, he is unable to _conceive_ of its possibility, since \"to\nconceive a free act, is to conceive an act which, being a cause, is\nnot, in itself, an effect; in other words, to conceive an absolute\ncommencement;\" and this he regards as impossible. At the same time, it\nis equally beyond our power, he thinks, to conceive the possibility\nof the opposite, the doctrine of necessity, since that supposes \"an\n_infinite series of determined causes_,\" which cannot be conceived.\nBut though inconceivable, freedom is not the less a fact given by\nconsciousness and is to be placed in the same category with many other\nfacts among the phenomena of mind, \"which we must admit as actual, but\nof whose possibility we are wholly unable to form a notion.\"\n\n_Remarks upon this View._--The difficulty here presented,--if I may\nventure a remark upon the opinions of so profound a thinker, and the\nsame is true of Kant,--turns evidently on the peculiar idea of freedom\nentertained by those writers, namely, that in order to be free, an\nact of the will must be wholly undetermined, not itself an effect,\nbut an absolute commencement. Any influence, from any source, going\nto determine or incline a man to will as he does, renders the act no\nlonger free. Such freedom is certainly inconceivable; and what is\nmore, impracticable; it exists as little among the possibilities of\nthe actual world, as among the possibilities of thought. We never act,\nexcept under the influence of motive and inclination; and if acts thus\nperformed are not free then no acts that we perform are so.\n\n_View of Coleridge._--This eminent disciple of the earlier German\nphilosophy, derives from Kant the view of freedom now explained, and\ncarries it to the furthest extreme. All influence and inclination are\ninconsistent with freedom. The disposition to do a thing renders the\nwill, and the act of the will, no longer free. A _nature_, of any kind,\nis inconsistent with freedom. This, of course, shuts out all freedom\nfrom the actual world. Nor is it possible to conceive how even the\nacts of Deity can be any more free than ours, on this supposition; nor\nhow, if any such freedom as this were supposed to exist, an act thus\nperformed, without any motive, or any disposition or inclination on the\npart of the agent, could be a _rational_ or accountable act.\n\n_Views of Cousin, and Jouffroy._--Cousin and Jouffroy while by no\nmeans denying the influence of motive upon the mind, place the fact of\nliberty in the power which the mind has of being itself a cause, and of\nputting forth volitions from its own proper power. The law of inertia,\ncontends Jouffroy, which requires a moving force proportioned to the\nmovement of a material body, does not apply to the human mind, and \"to\napply this law to the relation which subsists between the resolutions\nof my will and the motives which act upon it, is to suppose that my\nbeing, that I myself, am not a cause; for a cause is something which\nproduces an act by its own proper power.\" Cousin, in like manner,\nplaces liberty in the absolute and undetermined power of the will to\nact as cause; and \"this cause, in order to produce its effect, has need\nof no other theatre, and no other instrument than itself. It produces\nit directly, with out any thing intermediate, and without condition;\n... being always able to do what it does not do, and able not to do\nwhat it does. Here, then, in all its plenitude, is the characteristic\nof liberty.\"\n\n_View of Tappan._--One of the ablest defenders of the freedom of the\nwill in our own country, Mr. Tappan, in his review of Edwards, takes\nessentially the position just explained. All cause lies ultimately in\nthe will. It is this which makes the nisus or effort that produces\nany event or phenomenon. Of this nisus the mind or will is itself\nthe cause, and, as such, it is _self-moved_. It makes its nisus of\nitself, and of itself it forbears to make it, and within the sphere\nof its activity, and in relation to its objects, it has the power of\nselecting, by a mere arbitrary act, any particular object. It is a\ncause, all whose acts, as well as any particular act, considered as\nphenomena demanding a cause, are accounted for _in itself alone_.\n\n_Position of Bledsoe._--Similar is the position of Mr. Bledsoe, one\nof the most recent reviewers of Edwards, a writer of marked ability\nand candor. He denies, however, that volition is the _effect_ of any\nthing, whether motive of mind, in the sense that motion of the arm is\nan effect. It is _activity_, _action_, _the cause of action_, but not\n_effect_. In distinction from most writers of the same theological\nviews, he denies that the will is _self-determined_, or that it is\n_determined at all_, and by any thing. It is the _determiner_, but not\nthe _determined_.\n\n\n\n\nREFERENCES.\n\n\nAmong the authorities which have been consulted in the preparation of\nthis work, the following may be referred to, with profit, by the reader\nwho desires to pursue the subject further.\n\n\nI. THE INTELLECT.\n\nA. ON THE INTELLECTUAL FACULTIES IN GENERAL.\n\n  _Locke._--Essays on the Human Understanding.\n\n  _Reid._--Essays on the Intellectual Powers. Walker Ed.\n\n     \"   Works.--By _Hamilton_, with _notes and dissertations_.\n\n  _Dugald Stewart._--Philosophy of the Human Mind. Bowen Ed.\n\n     \"               Philosophical Essays.\n\n  _Brown._--Lectures on the Philosophy of the Mind.\n\n  The works of _Upham_, _Wayland_, _Winslow_, _Mahan_, may\n  also be consulted, with profit.\n\n  _Cousin._--Cours de, 1828. Id., 1829.\n\n     \"       Fragments Philosophiques.\n\n  _Jouffroy._--M\u00e9langes Philosophiques. Nouvelles M\u00e9langes.\n\n     \"         Esquisses de D. Stewart. Pr\u00e9face.\n\n  _Descartes._--M\u00e9ditations. Id., Discours de la M\u00e9tnode.\n\n  _Leibnitz._--Nouveaux Essais sur l'Entendement Humain.\n\n  _Malebranche._--Recherche de la V\u00e9rit\u00e9.\n\n  _Royer Collard._--OEuvres de Reid. Fragments.\n\n  _Damiron._--Cours de Philosophie.\n\n  _Hegel._--Encyklop\u00e4die der Philosoph. Wissenchaft.\n\n  _Rosenkrantz._--Psychologie.\n\n  _Kant._--Anthropologie. Kritik Reiner Vernunft.\n\n     \"     Kritik der Urtheilskraft.\n\n  _Aristotle._--Metaphysics.\n\n     \"          On the Soul.\n\n  _Plato._--Republic.\n\n  _Cicero._--Tusculan\u00e6 Questiones.\n\n\n  B. ON THE SPECIFIC FACULTIES.\n\n  I. SENSATION AND PERCEPTION.\n\n  _Reid._--Intellectual Powers.\n\n  _Hamilton._--Supplementary Dissertation, Note D.\n\n  _O. Wight._--Philosophy of Sir W. Hamilton. Part II.\n\n  _Stewart._--Philosophical Essays. Ess. II.\n\n  Brown.--Philosophy of Human Mind.\n\n  _Mill._--Analysis of Human Mind.\n\n  _A. Smith._--Essays on Philosophical Subjects. Of the External Senses.\n\n  _Young._--Lectures on Intellectual Philosophy.\n\n  _Comte._--Philosophy Positive.\n\n  _M\u00fcller._--Elements of Physiology.\n\n  _Tissot._--Anthropologie.\n\n  _Maine de Biran._--Nouvelles Considerations sur les Rapports, etc.\n\n  _Jouffroy._--Nouvelles M\u00e9langes Philosophiques.\n\n  _Royer Collard._--Fragments in Jouffroy's OEuvres de Reid.\n\n  _Tortual._--Die Sinne des Menschen.\n\n  _Buffier._--Trait\u00e9 des Premi\u00e8res V\u00e9rit\u00e9s.\n\n  _Am\u00e9d\u00e9e Jacques._--Psychologie. Manuel de Phil. \u00e0 l'usage des Coll.\n\n  _Dictionnaire des Sciences Philosophiques._ Art. Sens.\n\n  _Aristotle._--De Anima. Parva Naturalia.\n\n  _J. Barth. Saint Hilaire._--Psychologie de Aristotle. Notes and preface.\n\n\n  II. MEMORY.\n\n  _Stewart._--Intellectual Philosophy.\n\n  _Reid._--Intellectual Powers. (Walker.)\n\n  _Brown._--Philosophy of Human Mind.\n\n  _Mill._--Analysis of Human Mind.\n\n  _Abercrombie._--On Intellectual Powers.\n\n  _Hume._--Treatise on Human Nature. Book I. Part I.\n\n  _Aristotle._--Parva Naturalia.\n\n  _Barth\u00e8leme Saint Hilaire._--Psychologie d'Aristotle. Part II.\n\n  _Malebranche._--Recherche de la V\u00e9rit\u00e9. Liv. II.\n\n  _Rosenkrantz._--Psychologie.\n\n  _Hegel._--Encycl. Phil. Wissench. Dritter Theil.\n\n\n  III. IMAGINATION.\n\n  _Stewart._--Intellectual Philosophy.\n\n  _Brown._--Philosophy of Human Mind.\n\n  _Rauch._--Psychologie. Part II.\n\n  _Sidney Smith._--Sketches of Philosophy.\n\n  _Mill._--Analysis of Human Mind.\n\n  _Am\u00e9d\u00e9e Jacques._--Manuel de Philosophie. Psychol. V.\n\n  _Rosenkrantz._--Psychologie. _Die Einbildungskraft._\n\n  _Hegel._--Encyc. der Phil. Wissenchaft. Dritter Theil. _L's Einbildung._\n\n\n  IV. ABSTRACTION AND GENERALIZATION.\n\n  _Reid._--Intellectual Powers.\n\n  _Brown._--Philosophy of Human Mind.\n\n  _Stewart._--Intellectual Philosophy.\n\n  _A. Smith._--Considerations on First Formation of Language.\n\n  _J. S. Mill._--System of Logic.\n\n  _Whewell_.--Philosophy of Inductive Sciences.\n\n  _James Mill._--Analysis of Human Mind.\n\n  _Thomson._--Laws of Thought.\n\n  _Cousin._--Elements of Psychology. (Henry.)\n\n  _Hume._--Treatise of Human Nature. Book I. Part I.\n\n\n  V. REASONING.\n\n  _Hamilton._--Supplementary Dissertation, Note A.\n\n  _Reid._--Intellectual Powers.\n\n  _Stewart._--Intellectual Philosophy. Part II.\n\n  _Locke._--On the Human Understanding. Book IV.\n\n  _Whewell._--Philosophy of Inductive Sciences.\n\n  _Buffier._--Premi\u00e8res V\u00e9rit\u00e9s.\n\n  _Brown._--Philosophy of Human Mind.\n\n  _Mill._--System of Logic.\n\n  _Hamilton._--Discussions on Philosophy. (Turnbull Ed.) Article IV, Logic;\n  also Appendix II. A and B.\n\n  _Baynes._--New Analytic of Logical Forms.\n\n  _Descartes._--Discours de la M\u00e9thode.\n\n  _Condillac._--Art de Penser.\n\n  _Dictionnaire des Sciences Philosophiques._ Logique.\n\n  _Pascal._--Pens\u00e9es--de l'Art de Persuader.\n\n  _Port-Royal._--Logique.\n\n  _Aristotle._--Organon.\n\n\n  VI. INTUITIVE CONCEPTION.\n\n\n  FIRST PRINCIPLES.\n\n  _Reid._--Intellectual Powers. Essay VI., cap. III.\n\n  _Hamilton._--Dissertation A. \u00a7\u00a7 3, 4, 5.\n\n  _Stewart._--Intellectual Philosophy. Part II., cap. I.\n\n  _Coleridge._--Aids to Reflection.\n\n  _Mill._--System of Logic. Book II., caps. V. and VI.\n\n  _Buffier._--Premi\u00e8res V\u00e9rit\u00e9s. Part I., cap. VII.\n\n\n  TIME, SPACE.\n\n  _Cousin._--Cours de Philosophie. Tome II., Le\u00e7ons XVII, XVIII.\n\n     \"       Idem. Elements of Psychologie. Henry. Cap. III.\n\n  _Locke._--Essay on the Human Understanding. Book II., cap. XXVI.\n\n  _Stewart._--Philosophical Essays. Essay II., cap. II.\n\n  _Reid._--Intellectual Powers. Essay III., cap. II.\n\n  _Mill._--Analysis of the Human Mind. Cap. XIV., \u00a7 V.\n\n  _Roger Collard._--Fragments, IX., X.\n\n  _Kant._--Kritik rein. vernunft. Transcend. \u00c6sthet. Part I., \u00a7 II.\n\n  _Dictionnaire des Sciences Philosophiques._ Temps. Espace.\n\n  _Hegel._--Encyclop. Philosoph. Wissench. Tsweiter Theil.\n            Erst. Abschnitt.\n\n\n  IDENTITY.\n\n  _Locke._--Essay, etc. Book II., cap. XXVII.\n\n  _Cousin._--Review of do. as above. El\u00e9ments Psychologie, cap. III.\n\n  _Reid._--Intellectual Powers. Essay III., cap. III.\n\n  _Mill._--Analysis, etc., cap. XIV., \u00a7 VII.\n\n  _Whately._--Logic--Appendix. On Ambiguous Terms.\n\n  _Butler._--Dissertation on Identity.\n\n\n  CAUSALITY.\n\n  _Mill._--System of Logic. Book III., cap. XXI.\n\n  _Whewell._--Philosophy of Inductive Sciences. Part I. Book III.\n\n  _Locke._--Essay. Book II., cap. XXVI.\n\n  _Tappan._--On the Will. Cap. II. Cause.\n\n  _Bowen._--Metaphysics and Ethics.\n\n  _Maine de Biran._--Examples des Le\u00e7ons de Philosophie de\n                     Laromiqui\u00e8re.\n\n  _Cousin._--OEuvres de Maine Biran. Preface.\n\n  As above. El. Psychologie. cap. IV.\n\n\n  THE BEAUTIFUL.\n\n  _Kames._--Elements of Criticism.\n\n  _Alison._--On Taste.\n\n  _McDermot._--On Taste.\n\n  _Stewart._--Philosophical Essays. Part II.\n\n  _Brown._--Philosophy of the Human Mind. _Emotions of Beauty._\n\n  _Jouffroy._--Cours d'Esthetique.\n\n  _Cousin._--Philosophy of the Beautiful. (Daniel, Trans.)\n\n  _Kant._--Kritik der Urtheilskraft.\n\n  _Hegel._--Cours d'Esthetique. (Benard, Tr.)\n\n\n  THE RIGHT.\n\n  _Stewart._--Active and Moral Powers. (Walker Ed.)\n\n  _Brown._--Philosophy of the Human Mind. Ethical Science.\n\n  _Butler._--Sermons.\n\n  _Paley._--Moral Philosophy.\n\n  _Adam Smith._--Theory of Moral Sentiments.\n\n  _Upham._--Mental Philosophy. Vol. II.\n\n  _Winslow._--Elements of Moral Philosophy.\n\n  _Wayland._--Moral Philosophy.\n\n  _Whewell._--Elements of Morality.\n\n  _Jouffroy._--Introduction to Ethics. (Channing, Tr.)\n\n      \"           Cours de Droit Natural.\n\n  _Emile Saisset._--Manuel de Philosophie \u00e0 l'usage des Coll.\n                   _Morals._\n\n  _Descartes._--Lettres.\n\n  _Cicero._--De Officiis.\n\n  _Aristotle._--Nicom. Eth.\n\n  _Plato._--Republic and Gorgias.\n\n\n  II. THE SENSIBILITIES\n\n  _Stewart._--Active and Moral Powers. (Walker Ed.)\n\n  _Reid._--Faculties of the Human Mind. Essay III.\n\n  _Brown._--Philosophy of the Human Mind. _Emotions._\n\n  _Upham._--Mental Philosophy. Vol. II.\n\n  _Cogan._--On the Passions.\n\n  _Descartes._--Les Passions de l'\u00c2me.\n\n  _Condillac._--Trait\u00e9 des Sensations.\n\n  _Damiron._--Cours de Philosophie. _De la Sensibilit\u00e8._\n\n  _Jouffroy._--M\u00e9langes Philosophiques. _De l'Amour de Soi._\n\n  _Aristotle._--On the Soul. Books II. and III.\n\n\n  III. THE WILL.\n\n  _Edwards._--On the Will.\n\n  _Tappan._--Review of do.\n\n  _Day._--Review of do.\n\n  _Bledsoe._--Examination of do.\n\n  _I. Taylor._--Essay introductory to do.\n\n  _Tappan._--On the Will. and do. on Moral Agency.\n\n  _Mahan._--On the Will.\n\n  _Upham._--On the Will.\n\n  _Reid._--On the Faculties of the Human Soul. Essay IV.\n\n  _Belsham._--Philosophy of the Human Mind.\n\n  _Mill._--System of Logic. Book VI., cap. II.\n\n  _Mill._--Analysis of the Human Mind. Cap. XXIV.\n\n  _Cogan._--Ethical Questions. Question IV.\n\n  _Stewart._--Active and Moral Powers. Cap. VI.\n\n  _Reid._--Essays on Active Powers. Essay II.\n\n  _Locke._--On the Human Understanding. Book II., cap. XXI.\n\n  _Hamilton._--Philosophy of the Conditioned, cap. II., \u00a7 1.\n               (O. W. Wight.)\n\n  _Jouffroy._--Introduction to Ethics, \u00a7 IV.\n\n  _Leibnitz._--Essays de Th\u00e9odic\u00e9e.\n\n  _Cousin._--Fragments Philosophiques. Preface.\n\n  _Am\u00e9d\u00e9e Jacques._--Manuel de Phil. _Psychologie._\n                    _Volont\u00e9._ XV.-XVII.\n\n  _Maine de Biran._--OEuvres. Vol. IV.\n\n     \"        Controversy with Clarke.\n\n  _Cousin._--Psychologie. (Henry, Tr.) Cap. X.\n\n  _Damiron._--Psychologie. Liv. I., \u00a7 II., cap. III.\n\n  _Emile Saisset._--Dictionnaire des Sciences Philosophiques.\n                    Art. _Libert\u00e8._\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n  Many omissions of punctuation have been silently corrected,\n  as have obvious typographical errors.\n\n  Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have\n  been retained.\n\n  Inconsistencies in headings are as in the original.\n\n  Duplicated section headings on consecutive lines have\n  been removed.\n\n  The section General Observations (page 94 and 162) has\n  been added to the Table of Contents.\n\n  References has been added to the Table of Contents.\n\n  Corrections include:\n\n  Page 55 \"as that two straight lines should enclose a space\"\n  the \"a\" is missing in the original and has been added.\n\n  Page 89 \"The soul seated in its presence-chamber, the brain,\n  can cognize nothing beyond and without, for nothing can\n  get except where it is present.\" the first letter of \"get\"\n  is missing. It has been assumed that get is the most\n  likely intention.\n\n  Page 435 No reference to Memdelssohn has been found. It\n  is possibly a reference Moses Mendelssohn.\n\n  Page 568 \"In order to do this, there is needed an influence\n  from without,\" The \"do\" is missing and has been added.\n  The text is arbitrary about spacing of e. g. and i. e., as\n  the spaced variant is in the majority, it has been used\n  throughout.\n\n  The author has wrongly spelled Leibniz as Leibnitz\n  throughout. This has been retained.\n\n  The references to M'Dermot in the text have been changed\n  to McDermot to conform with the References. Likewise\n  M'Cosh (p534) is almost certainly James McCosh.","title":"Mental Philosophy: Including the Intellect, Sensibilities, and Will","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":183832}